Hurricane Haiyan: land fall November 3 – 11, 2013, the Phillipines and Southeast Asia/Also known as Super Typhoon Yolanda/Fiercest storm recorded in history/Eight thousand known dead/ Unknown thousands missing

November 13, 2013

Dev’s connection from New York to Vancouver left the airport with little fuss and on time as well. As he boarded the plane that would take him first to Vancouver, then changing planes and on to Manila, he disciplined his thoughts, shepherded them, you might say, along certain channels. These would be the last hours of physical comfort and blessed quiet he would enjoy before landing at the place where the worst storm in history had descended. Once seated comfortably on the plane, Dev took out his briefing materials although he knew most of these facts already.

One of the worst hit places by this force of nature was the Phillipines and, especially, the island of Leyte.

Why was he going and what would he find there? There is no answer to the first part of the question. Dev was what is called a “first responder.” This is what Dev did; he was a fully trained medic; he tried and succeeded many times over in saving lives after disasters. As to what he would find there—he had seen Haiti after the earthquake, had seen the wreckage of Katrina and Rita; a co-worker said it was like a gigantic hand taking chairs, cars, food, computers, kids’ toys, telephone poles, stuffing it all into a cosmic blender, then hitting the switch marked “puree.”  And Dev knew what dead bodies smelled like.

There had been pictures of the catastrophe shown on television, which Dev watched oddly dispassionately; he was used to it and a part of him was readying the dependable area of his brain to plan out what was needed of him. Dev’s parents watched these horrific pictures in quiet terror. Dev may have been used to it, but they were not.

So; what were these channels that received his thoughts as the plane climbed? What thoughts did he entice from his consciousness? His parents’ faces: and with this it was always the same; both of them, his mother and father, developed an odd method of splitting their faces horizontally every time Dev left to save lives and do anything else that had to be accomplished where Nature had done her worst. The bottom halves of their faces were smiling stiffly but their eyes were…Dev struggled to find the word that described his parents’ eyes as he left yet again for hell. His mother’s eyes were light brown, his father’s blue, and as they said goodbye to their son yet again, their eyes were like great waters, clear, with fear at the bottom.

Dev couldn’t sleep the night before he left. He was worrying about if he had put the meat in the freezer; what about the stock market? Why lose sleep over the stock market or putting meat in the freezer when he knew that amputations, head injuries, Caesarean sections and deep bloody wounds were waiting for him to be attended to with the most limited supplies and rudimentary equipment? He shook his head, to maintain clarity. This was the time when his mind worked best, once he had actually departed. He was able to keep track of many life-saving and mind-saving details without becoming overwhelmed. As chaos grew deeper his calm accompanied it.

And the chaos would grow deeper…

Dev read on. The winds had been measured at 150 miles per hour; cost in financial resources, between 15 and 20 billion dollars. The storm demolished all forms of power and no buildings stood. There was nothing left in the Phillipines but piles of trees, furniture blown to pieces, some cars overturned by the high winds, and many lost, stunned people.

2

There was an hour’s wait in Vancouver before Dev changed planes for Manila.  Immediately he found the nearest Coke machine and bought two cans.  He always tried, en route to a disaster, to buy and ingest food and drinks that he knew he wouldn’t be able to have for a while. He slugged down the first can of Coke and burped happily.

He had heard his mother talking on the phone to a friend, saying: “There have always been people like Dev around, people who wanted to find out if the world was flat or round, people who wanted to get to Antarctica…adventurers but also healers. What would I accomplish by trying to hold him back and getting hysterical? When he’s in the middle of these unspeakable situations he doesn’t need to be thinking ‘Mom’s mad.’”

It was one of those many, wearying conversations where someone was always asking Dev’s mother “…How could she let him go there?” Dev was pretty sick of it. He thought with relief of his mother’s stability, the way she worked it out in her head.  Dev’s father was similar, full of pride in his son’s stalwart qualities and the many lives he’d saved. Their fixed quality, the way his parents were planted so firmly on their ten acres of land with the old farmhouse and the barn in Northeastern Pennsylvania… his compass would always lead him there.

Then, comforted, he took out the battered black-and-white composition book that accompanied him everywhere. First, he closed his eyes and said “Shm’a Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echod.” Then he began to read.

Dev’s parents were proud Jews but they were mavericks. They tried joining several different synagogues but they could find no “good fit.” Giving up on being able to send Dev to Hebrew school and becoming a bar mitzvah, Dev’s mother and father each had long talks with their son, pouring out everything they had experienced and read about their faith. Dev listened attentively and began to read on his own. Fortunately, the old farmhouse in which they lived was stuffed with books on every conceivable subject, including most classics that dealt with Judaism. Dev read them all, including Jews, God, and History by Max Dimont, This Is My God by Herman Wouk, and even Moses and Monotheism by Sigmund Freud. What conclusions did he come up with?

Privately, a little ashamed of this, he identified with the warriors and rebels, like the Maccabees. His mind and heart were strong, he realized, and it was why he was called to the work he did. He didn’t fight armies made up of people; he fought death itself.

Dev’s mother said some of the important prayers from her heritage in the mornings and evenings. When he began to take on this dangerous, soul-searing work of saving lives, Dev asked if he could write these down in a notebook that he would keep close. Dev’s mother loved Psalms 4 and 5 – “Stand in awe, and sin not; commune within your own heart on your bed and be still.” That kept her steady, she said. Also, from Deuteronomy: “And thy shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and all thy soul and all thy might…and thou shalt teach (thy commandments) diligently unto thy children…” She smiled at Dev when she read this aloud.

“I may not be the best Jew around, but at least I’ve done that,” she had said.

Every time Dev attended a disaster he was either the only Jewish person working on the premises or one of several Jews. Dev had considered; some questions have no answers but thinking these thoughts while dealing with a cataclysm did not help. It didn’t matter to Dev anyway, really; a pair of skilled hands was always more than welcome. There was no time to think about which God the person working next to you in a makeshift hospital tent believed in.

In Haiti, where Dev worked for a month, helping to reinstate the water system while performing his medical duties, there had been a Dr. Aronson. Quite unexpectedly, Dev’s mother received a facebook message from him that read:

“Not only is your son brilliant, but he has a heart of gold.”

This became an effective mantra, used during her worst moments of fear. These moments did not occur often, but they did come when she couldn’t sleep.

En route to Manila, despite the caffeine in two cans of Coke, after reading his mother’s prayers on the pages of his notebook, Dev slept.

Landing at Manila wasn’t too bad; it reminded Dev of an upset anthill, with people scurrying around speedily carrying packages, driving forklifts, talking in groups, other planes landing and people racing to one of many destinations. Chaos it did seem, yes, but he was used to it. He found his contact, a Canadian volunteer medic (always a good omen if a good omen is possible under these circumstances) because Dev liked Canadians and they always liked him. This young man, Robert, briefed him as they boarded the air carrier bound for Leyte, the worst hit island in this Godforsaken place.

“Are you good with babies?” asked Robert.

“I can’t make a baby,” said Dev. “By myself, that is.” His heart sank. Babies for a medic were like working with animals. They couldn’t tell you anything, where it hurt, if something felt better. It was a crap shoot.

Robert gave him a humorous look.

“Prepare yourself, chum. There’ll be possible gangrene, there will have to be amputations. The works.”

Dev looked out into the horizon, calm and blue. The sun was shining.

“You bastard,” he thought. “You’re smiling down on us now. Why couldn’t you have arrived a few days earlier?”

They got to Leyte and practically everyone was pregnant; at least it seemed so to Dev. Women who looked too old to have a child, lots of young women, and very young women, really just out of girlhood—there would be plenty of births and he knew all about that. But it was the babies, and especially the young children—some gravely hurt, wandering around in a state of shock, not knowing where their parents were, bleeding, needing, possibly, amputations.

The people who had come to help had begun to clear away the wreckage in order to set up the much-needed medical tent which was going to have to function as a hospital. With relief, Dev saw piles of as-yet unopened boxes of medical supplies; they bore red crosses on their sides. He plunged in, using his Swiss Army knife to slit open the boxes, and then to search for materials to act as shelves and storage.

There was nothing there and everybody needed everything. The United Nations had begun to send huge cargoes of bottled water and rice. Fortunately, these people lived mostly on rice, so once establishing safe places to build fires—there was plenty of wood around—and, having the luck to find a stray pot or pan—they got busy and began to cook the rice. Dev admired their doggedness in the face of the devastation.

Then the wounded and the shocked and the many pregnant women began to line up at the hospital tent.

After having worked for some length of time—fortunately there were three medic first responders working— and Dev often lost track of time when he was in hell—he sat and entertained a group of kids who were interested in Dev’s stethoscope. He let them play with it, showed them how it worked and let them listen to each other’s hearts, earning smiles; along with this he received looks of gratitude from women and men who watched; to see the children smile and laugh after withstanding such a shock, not having enough to eat or drink nor a place to sleep, brought tears and they watched and smiled through their tears at Dev.

Robert, Dev, and the other Canadian volunteer named Jean silently stowed bodies into bags.  Nobody talked. Dev saw one bag that had been filled with what looked like a huge person broken into thirds; actually it was a body bag filled with three small children.

3

There was, however, one overwhelming fact that dictated events and affected everyone; Leyte had lost all power so there was no light. Nights were profoundly dark, a drenching black. The only light that emerged was occasional candlelight; rarely would one of the survivors lay hold of a candle. Dark meant anonymity which then led to the unthinkable; gangs of criminals, young crazed boys, would haunt the shelters and frail tents that offered no protection and attack families, taking the few supplies on hand and raping girls and women.

Dev got very little sleep when he went out to try and save lives; he never told his mother this because she would—not worry exactly because she trusted Dev—but would be concerned for her son’s health and safety. The week on Leyte he really got no sleep at all. It was all the usual sights, sounds, odors, cries clustering in his mind when he tried to close his eyes, but it was something more this time—the rapes and the attacks on helpless families. He wanted to kill them all, these animals who preyed on the vulnerable. That is why, when the United Nations began supplying solar lamps to the stranded people of the Philippines, Dev did not relax exactly but his sorrow let up a notch or two.

During the day these lamps, which looked like lanterns, were put out in the sun and drew in the sun’s power.  Then at night the lamps provided light from six to eight hours. This didn’t stop the attacks but drastically cut their numbers. A slight ray of hope began to pervade Leyte.

Dev had already learned that when confronted by hundreds of needy people, it’s almost impossible to make friends among them. Additionally, it’s not a good idea. There is too much to do, so many hurting to attend to, drastic hunger, and bleeding that can’t be stopped. However, during that week on Leyte, this precedent broke; Dev got to be friendly with the Bachio family, especially friendly with Maria, the mother of four girls whose husband had died in the typhoon. It was never meant to happen which is the best way to make a friend, thought Dev afterwards.  Maria reminded him of his own mother.

During the black nights, before the arrival of the solar lamps, Maria sat at the opening of the family’s frail shelter, praying and holding a machete. She’d be damned if any rapist was going to touch any of her girls. Her fierce protective attitude, her refusal to give in totally to the horrendous situation in which she found herself, made Dev remember his own mother’s standing toe to toe with the Vice Principal of the middle school he went to. Dev was being punished because of some wrongdoing which he swore he didn’t do and his mother believed him. She said as much to the Vice Principal and kept eye contact with him during the confrontation. It ended with Dev receiving a mild lecture. Of course, there was no comparison as to the severity of the storm coupled with a visit to the Vice Principal’s office; it was just something in Maria that warmed his soul.

Dev was deft, moved silently and quickly, and he was able to lay his hands on all kinds of  “forbidden” objects and materials.  Because of this he slipped extra rice and an extra bottle or two of water to Maria. His conscience did not bother him. He remembered an informative conversation that had taken place some years ago between his father and himself, where Dev’s father told him about the Catholic Church and its interesting system of beliefs. There were two concepts that made sense to Dev: one was “occult compensation” and the other was “overly correct conscience.” It was OK in the eyes of the Church to get what is coming to you in “sneaky” ways—and it is also possible to be too good. Dev didn’t have a Messiah complex. He knew his limitations which was a good thing or he wouldn’t be able to do his work. So Maria Bachio’s family had a little more to eat and drink because of Dev’s crafty ways…

4

You would think that when the solar lamps arrived, everyone on Leyte would be overjoyed and people would feel like celebrating. Dev knew better. The people were still stunned, numb, joyless.  Some people didn’t understand how the lamps worked but eventually, when the nights were not drowned in black anymore, there was a slight and wavering sense of well-being among the shelters where families clung onto life.

Rapes and thefts fell even more.

Dev had learned to communicate with Maria. There were at least ten different dialects spoken on the island. He knew bits and pieces of the languages the people spoke. When Maria got her lamp she smiled slightly and pointed to the sun. Dev nodded; Maria was not stupid just because she didn’t speak English, Dev knew. This was a mistake made all too often by Americans—that people who didn’t speak English were dumb.

On the second night after Maria got her lamp—and was able to snatch a few uneasy hours of sleep at night—it disappeared. Somebody had stolen it.

Dev, furious and heartbroken, could not speak. All of his frustration, exhaustion, any hopes or ideals he still held fell flat and he was flung down into a pit of despair he’d never experienced in all his humanitarian aid work. That somebody could steal this poor woman’s lamp—it was too much for him. He began to cry.

Maria shrugged, smiled at Dev, and made a hand gesture meaning that he should dry his tears. She said “Bahala Na” which in her own language translates to “If God wills it.” Then she held up her machete. She would go back on night duty.

Dev couldn’t stand it. He walked away and for a while, after giving medical care to some of the many ailing and suffering people piled up in the makeshift hospital, he regained his equanimity. It was not all right, it would never be OK, but if he continued like this he would not be able to help anyone.

“Shm’a Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echod”…”Stand in awe and sin not”…”and thy shall love the Lord thy God with all thy soul and all thy might”…”teach them diligently unto thy children…” Interspersed with work shifts, Dev read his mother’s prayer book.

Eight nights passed; Dev worked; Maria sat at the entrance of her makeshift home with her machete each night. No would-be rapist or thief dared approach her.

On the ninth day after the theft of the precious lamp, Dev stepped outside the hospital for a break and walked for a little while. It was then that he saw the lamp. Under a pile of broken boards, shredded furniture, smashed dishes and cups, Dev could see the lamp. The bulb itself was exposed only about two inches and through the crashed furniture and fallen trees he could see a thin, grey light. The post was sticking out at an odd angle but the bulbous part, the part that drew on the sun’s power, was almost hidden from view. It had not been damaged.  To Dev’s complete surprise and shock, the lamp was still alive,

Delicately, oh so carefully, Dev pulled apart the rubbish and grasped the lamp. He knew without doubt that this lamp belonged to Maria. He walked back to her shelter and wordlessly handed it to her and her eyes widened. She smiled happily and nodding, pointed to the solar bulb. Dev let her know that although the lamp had barely been exposed to the sun, it was glowing very faintly. The two of them looked at each other, said no more words, then flung their arms around each other, tears running down their faces.

Dev sewed up more wounds, performed procedures without anesthesia, celebrated with his co-workers when more penicillin, bandages, medical instruments, and splints arrived; he said the Shm’a and read his mother’s prayer book during breaks; he kept sneaking extra food and water to Maria who gave up night duty. And the lamps, having taken in the God-given power of the sun, shone all night.

 

Leslie has an M.Ed. In family counseling. She has been published in Jewish Disability Inclusion News, Jewish Women of Words, and Whispering Angel Books.