The
year was 2004.
I
prepared early, getting all my things on my backpack, making sure that all I
need were there. My friend reminded me that the sacks of relief goods were to
be loaded at 2 o’clock in the morning, and I have to catch it on my camera. I
have to document the rescue and relief operation for REINA, from start to
finish. I checked again my camera equipment before going to bed.
It
was more like a nightmare. The towns of Real, Infanta, and Nakar (REINA),
Quezon province almost got wipe out because of the flashflood that almost buried
the three communities. Together with floodwater, uprooted tree trunks, cut logs
and mud ran down from the eroded slopes of the Sierra Madre mountains during the
November monsoon. The tree trunks and logs accumulated through the waterways,
forming a wall like dam, blocking the flow of water from the major tributaries
of Sierra Madre mountains. Because of the continued heavy rains for days brought
by Typhoon Winnie, accumulated rainfall builds up, it broke the wall of logs and
overflowed REINA area with millions of cubic meter of floodwater.
The
day after, REINA area was completely devastated and isolated from the outside
world. Rescue efforts succeeded only after 2 or 3 days, from rescue volunteers from Quezon, from foot soldiers that
braved to cross chest-deep mud, trekking more than 8 hours, escaping more than 10
landslide areas as dangers await from rolling rocks and cascading mud from the
mountains. But rescue efforts was not enough, the numbers of the army
responders were not even enough for 300 or more victims buried in mud, and not
even enough for more than 70,000 combined population of the three towns that was widely affected by the calamity.
Without food and basic needs for three more days, more lives will perish. For a
great scale of disaster like that, national and local emergency operations were
badly needed.
REINA,
being a part of Quezon, the rescue and relief operations must come first from our
province. Initial relief operation attempts to penetrate the area by land were
rejected and prevented because roads were blocked brought by numerous
landslides. Since travelling by land was impassable and impossible, sailing by the sea was the
main option. Sailing by Ro-Ro (Roll-On Roll-Off) ship was the best option to
bring six 6X6 trucks of relief goods for the three towns. It was more than a
week or so, after the flashflood when the first relief operation
from Quezon Province sailed its way to Real, Quezon.
Far
ashore, and sail we go. As we sailed, the open sea made the mountainous Sierra
Madre range on our west side smaller. With the salt water of Lamon Bay and early
sun-gold horizon on our right, our ship as man-made technology was just a tiny
pebble compared to the mountain, and a sand compared to the sea. Inside the
ship, we were about close to 40 (more or less), comprising of multi-sectoral groups – LGUs,
NGOs, POs and some representatives from Media, our team was headed by the Provincial
Government, the first and major relief operation coming from the province of
Quezon.
The
distance from Atimonan to Real, Quezon was more than 80 kilometers (I have
checked it in Google map, recently). We
were almost travelling for more than three hours. When I checked on the captain’s
deck, we were about 10 kilometers before the Ungos port of Real, our
destination. I was on the top deck when our ship was welcomed by scattered logs
- long and large, floating and pushed by tides and wind, almost bumping our
vessel. And more logs were floating as we approached near the shore. Looking at
the more calming tide, all of us noticed how the color of the sea changed, from
crystal clear blue sea to dirty and murky light brown, and then to almost muddy
brown water. We’re almost there. The sea travel took us more than 5 hours.
From the view of the approaching land, we could see the almost white coastline, serving as a dividing
line between the muddy salt water and muddy seashore brought by flashflood and landslides.
Little by little, as our vessel sailed ashore, the sight of white shoreline
became clearer – there were wall of logs as if arranged in place, as if long
kilometers stretch of breakwater to prevent rising tide coming from the sea. More
nearer, the white turned out to be the reflection of light from the thousands
of debarked logs, exposing its shiny circular trunks. The white pile of logs
almost stretching the long coastline of Real town, its height was almost triple
the height of human. Juxtaposed logs, vertically and horizontally criss-crossing
on top of each other, like a handfuls of matchsticks clumsy constructed to create a long
wall. It barricaded the shore, marking the boundary of the land - separating the community from the sea.
From
just a stone-throw distance, we could see that the pier was swarming with
people, clothed in camouflage military uniforms mixing with different colors of
local dress. The dresses were little colors, just like colored dots, compared
to brown color of the destroyed vast land.We
heard the anchor weighted down the water, the metal sound conducting its way to
where we stand, signaling us to prepare. Then a faint sound of slightly shaken ship
jolted us a little, as the lower bow of the vessel touched the edge of the
dock. From the deck, we rushed down to the cargo bay, waiting for the ramp to be lowered.
As
our ship steadily docked and slowly lowered its ramp, a much closer image of the
port was revealing its view: the port was surrounded by soldiers in full-battle-gears;
the people in colored dress were waiting in line, with their personal
belongings, with much that they can carry. Up in the air, helicopters were hovering,
landing and taking off. More soldiers
and rescue personnel alighting, air relief packages being released and secured
in one place. As we waited for the ramp to be secured to the platform, the feeling
was like - we were soldiers from the movie “Saving Private Ryan”, anticipating
and preparing to land in the Omaha beach (but we were not waiting for enemy’s bullets
to hit us). But yes, there were soldiers, not more than a foe but more than a
friend, waiting for our landing. The Philippine Army was there to maintain
order and secure what was left in the community. They were the busiest in
movements as the whirling sound created by friendly helicopters was almost
deafening the conversation between the Military Commander and the heads of our
contingent, the first that stepped on the almost battle ground scenario.
And we stepped on the pier, and our soles kissed the ground. We had noticed
the concrete platform was awash with mud. Everything concrete was awash with
mud, even the metal and wood structures. The height of mud-flood could be
measured from the line marked on the wall of the concrete building on the pier.
The soldier’s boots were brown and muddy, so were the slippers and feet of the
evacuees. The hand signal cleared the thick air between the land and the sea as it waved for the trucks of relief goods to enter the
docks. And one by one, the six 6X6
trucks roll- off from the ship.
The
evacuees, holding closer their family members, some were too young and being
carried by their mothers, some were children, clinging closer to their parents,
started to broke the line. After the last truck moved out from the ramp, people
rushed and ran to the ship with their families and personal belongings in tow.
I
remembered Vietnam war movies. I remembered other war movies where residents
were escaping out from the war torn place. I started to focus my SLR camera, the
shutter was not working, its battery had run out. I switched to my video camera
and shot some footages around. Then I stopped and lowered my camera and just watched.
From
the shore, there were human remains lying and being washed ashore, the in and out waves repeatedly kissing
lightly and giving their final respect to the sons and daughters of the land.
Soldiers were covering the lifeless bodies with lime powder, preserving the onced earthly mortals, preventing infectious diseases to spread and reducing the bad
smell. I smelled nothing, maybe the sea breeze spread and washed the decaying
odors away. Maybe, the sights and sounds of devastations immune my sense of
smell - but not how I feel. I decided not to record those sad moments in my
camera. My memory will be enough to make it remain.
---
jebel
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