As the plane touches down in Tacloban there are hushed whispers that overcome the air. Every head is straining to look out the window at the destruction that we have only heard about on the news. I can tell that for many of us, it is the first time we have seen such a sight.
As we drive through the remnants of the city, the air changes. At times the smell of smoke is thick in the air, at others there is a sour pungent taste that they tell me is due to the bodies that are rotting under the wreckage that no one has the courage to yet rummage through.
The first day's morning clinic flies by as majority present with upper respiratory infections, diarrhoeal diseases or poorly controlled hypertension. We head back towards the city for a meeting but not long on our way, a van comes speeding down the highway and into our side. Thankfully there is nothing more than a few bumps and bruises to be reported but the rest of the day is wasted at the hospital waiting..
Day 2 begins a little better although it's easy to beat considering the accident yesterday. We have a restful day attending church, meeting new and old friends but things begin to take a turn. Our front room is completely wet from the rain this afternoon and my sleeping bag is soaking up the rainwater. Not only that my S3 officially breathes its last breath and I have no spare phone.
After spending a good half an hour moping around the house about my losses, I feel ashamed when I am surrounded by thousands who have lost much more than I have. That is the end of my complaining.
5am comes and it is still dark but some of my teammates have already been up since 4am preparing our breakfast and lunch. We are on the road and things seem to go smoothly as we set up clinic. However, two hours into clinic the intermittent showers turn into a downpour as the rain rips off the tarpaulin off the already roofless building. While some of us run to keep our medicines, others climb up to replace our roof as quickly as possible. Especially for the children there is a panic in their eyes as they grip onto their mothers. Clearly the terror of Yolanda is still near. As quickly as we had come, we packed up to the next community for clinic.
It has been a long but satisfying day although my day becomes marred when our driver runs over a dog. Yet another accident in the space of three days. Even crossing the road makes me jittery now..
In this short time, I have felt but an ounce of the frustration of not having what you need or used to and the fear that Yolanda has brought. But I will never know the true extent of the pain that they feel. Especially for the children, the scars run deep and many come to consult the doctor because they can't eat, can't speak or can't sleep. We decide to have a gift exchange on my last night and nearly abandon the idea because it is impossible to find any decent gift in this place. Except for torches, mobile phones from China and umbrellas, there is little to be bought. Finding Christmas is like trying to find something worthwhile out of the rubble.
I have never been a fan of the Christmas scene in Singapore where the season is exploited from October in a bid to increase sales. But here, there are no Christmas trees, lights or decorations and the streets are still lined with rubbish. But here amidst the rubble, I find the true Christmas spirit with people of all countries and colours coming to rebuild this country.
As I ready myself to leave, these words come to my mind:
Peace on earth, goodwill to men.
Merry Christmas Tacloban.
