The Tacloban Chronicles: Darkness

Sunset in Tacloban. Photo by the author.

Damaged Administrative Building in Alangalang, Leyte. Photo by author

A feeling of dread crept slowly over me as the bus made its way across the San Juanico Bridge and crossed into Leyte province on the early evening of November 28. There was no light to be seen outside the windows, save for the headlights of oncoming vehicles and sparse flickering pinpoints of candlelight here and there.

It felt like being sucked into a black hole.

In 2006, after typhoon "Milenyo" turned Metro Manila nights into Earth Hour, one could actually sit back and enjoy counting the stars or hear the delight as children discovered the thrill of nighttime games. Here in Leyte, six years later, there were no streetlights, Christmas lights, or stoplights left in the aftermath of the storm; even the stars above seemed snuffed out.

Top and above: Panoramic views of storm damage in the town center of Alangalang, Leyte. Photos by author

The rising sun did little to dispel the darkness, merely revealing the destruction all around us, and fueling the despair that seemed to rise from the ruins. The team went around the town, surveying the damage, trying to visualize what was needed to rebuild from the massive devastation.

It seemed like a colossal task at best. At every barangay, the team leader tried to get as much information as she could from the barangay chairperson, and in some areas, all she could get was a blank stare, as the hapless village chief tried to make sense of what happened to them.

***
"I was hoping you could help us."

The woman stared at me intently. I tried to look away, but, thought it would be impolite to do so. Instead, I asked the first question that came to mind:

Hasn't the local government been helping you?

She shook her head. "I live there," she said, pointing at her house--or what remained of it--just over 50 steps away from the town hall. "Everyday we see people unloading tons of relief from trucks, like yours," she added, pointing with her lips at our bus several meters away from where we stood. "But we never get any."

Barangay Salvacion lies only a couple of steps behind Alangalang Town Hall, but relief goods takes days to reach them, and when they do, it was usually not enough. Photo by author.

  She went on. "We hardly get anything. The Mormons brought seven sacks of rice to our barangay the other day by helicopter. Our barangay chairman got one sack for himself, and the rest of us had to make do with what was left."

I waited for her to continue.

"All the other barangays, they regularly receive relief from the DSWD, from the Red Cross, or some other group, and also from the mayor. Here, in our barangay, we see the relief goods right in front of us but we are never called to line up to receive something from the mayor."

She corrected herself. "Oh, actually, the mayor did give us something this morning. We all received two kilos of rice and a small potato, to be shared between me, my husband, and three kids."