Tacloban On My Mind

What a city of paradoxes Tacloban is, I have discovered.

One looks at the city in terms of pre and post Haiyan...yet the paradoxes co exist, juxtaposed against each other regardless of the passage of time.

 

Pre Haiyan, it must have been a sleepy town, home of one of the most interesting and formidable First Ladies this country has ever known, Imelda Marcos.  Post Haiyan, it is still a sleepy town, where only dragonflies light up the night, and it is also home to a formidable people who have managed to survive and move on in the aftermath of the tragedy.

Pre Haiyan, it was the site of the longest and best constructed bridge in the Philippines, the San Juanico Bridge, built by the Marcosian dynasty. Post Haiyan, it is now the site of pitiful bedraggled tent cities housing the survivors of the worst natural calamity to ever befall the province. And the bridge? It is still the best constructed and maintained bridge in a country where the infrastructure is often a bad joke, but now painted a gaudy and garish fire engine red for reasons only greedy government bureaucrats must know.

Pre Haiyan it was where one could find exquisitely woven artifacts and artful tapestries of bamboo, straw, or rattan.  Post Haiyan, it is still where one can rummage through dusty displays of basketry in roadside shops, incongruously alongside the millenials' inevitable electronic gadgets, gizmos, and accessories even as power, mobile, and wifi signals are a hit and miss happenstance.

But for all things that do not seem to work consistently, there are also some persistent and poignant realities.

We spent part of an afternoon in Barangay 89 of a tent city, undertaking a medical dental mission with the Davao Evangelical Church, and distributing teddy bears, loom band kits, clothes, school supplies to children who were hapless victims of the tragedy yet were thankfully still children, seemingly impervious to the true and harsh consequences of their plight, impervious to the daily battle with hunger and for shelter and protection.

They squealed with delight at the gifts...pushed and pulled to get their share or more. In this tableau there were parents who acted like minstrels with the proverbial monkey, egging their children to get more than their share, egging them to trade one gift for another, egging them to ask for more, not caring if others ended up with none.

Cut to 500 meters past the San Juanico bridge side of Samar, in a hilltop mansion owned by Joseph Bonavitacola, with its permanent window to a breathtaking sunset day after day, the breeze blowing and the leaves rustling to the tune of gentle jazz melodies playing on an all weather hi fidelity sound system embracing the garden.  Spirits overflowed, the famed succulent Tanauan lechon plentiful, and the delightful continental appetizers and hors d'oeuvres abundantly displayed on fine linen.

It is the same story in Tacloban as it is elsewhere in the world.  The have nots living peacefully if resignedly with the haves...

And as naive voluntourists, we experience both dimensions, and in our limited ways, appreciate and enjoy both, minutes away, worlds apart.

To what end?

The work in Tacloban did not start with the arrival of CNN and the international pledges...and even with those auspicious starts, it should not have stopped there either.  The work begins now, after the sympathy and compassion have trailed off, after the cursory relief goods find their way through the maze of logistics,  and the real challenges of moving on, surviving, and surmounting stare in the faces of the hapless.

The work starts now, helplessly intertwined with the pre- calamity demands of a small slow town in a developing country, with all its attendant bureaucracies, ills, and idiosyncrasies to begin with.  

What does the future hold for such a place as Tacloban?

With the indomitable will and altruistic spirit of a handful of young citizens, from the pits of despair, one can go nowhere but up.  Jerry and Kathleen Yaokasin, the city's vice mayor and wife, born to affluence, but committed to advocacy, are making a difference, one tent at a time, one child at a time, one family at a time, one square meter of ravaged land at a time.

Impressive in their modesty, simplicity and indefatigable energy and will to better their city, they welcome all efforts from friends and strangers alike, mixing their personal resources with donations and contributions, and  keep keeping on the tiring, thankless and unceasing work to rebuild and rehabilitate a city decimated by nature's wrath.

Tacloban was the site where the legendary Douglas McArthur landed with the US forces, a dramatic climax to and consummation of his promise that "I shall return"...

And for the curious but well meaning would be do gooder or newbie philanthropist like myself, his promise, uttered decades ago, seems to echo...

Farewell for now Tacloban, but because there is so much still to do, I too shall return...