Who, being loved, is poor?
- Oscar Wilde

Just a few days after Valentine’s Day last year, Markie woke me up at around 1 am, to tell me that on TV was news that a landslide had occured in Guinsaugon, Southern Leyte, barely 2 kilometers from where my parents live. Horrified, I immediately called my parents, who confirmed that they were alright. However, my mom, sounding very shaken by the news, started telling me the names of several people we know (some of them distant relatives) who were still missing under the rubble.

Days passed and the details of story continued to come…how the rescuers were having difficulty looking for survivors under 30 feet of unstable rocks and mud…how aid was starting to pour in…and finally, how the search and rescue effort was called off with still almost a thousand people unaccounted for. As the rescue operations came to a stop, relief efforts for the survivors began. We heard news that such-and-such country was sending in millions of pesos in aid, that so-and-so celebrity or businessman was pledging millions more to help the displaced residents of Guinsaugon. They were being relocated, re-housed, revived, relieved.

This news that a huge amount of help was on the way gave us hope and a sense of relief. However, we were realists: after all, after the Super Typhoon Ruping devastation on Cebu in 1990, help was promised, but very little seemed to trickle down to us, the residents who were affected by the disaster. So we decided to do whatever we could to help this time.

I started setting aside items we could send, and collected clothes, blankets and towels from my friends and co-workers, who were more than willing to help. In Southern Leyte, my mom tried to figure out what the problems were with the distribution process, so we wouldn’t do the same. She discovered that, for the most part, the survivors were well provided for.

However, some of the clothes donated through the big organizations were simply packed in plastic bags and handed out to whomever was in handing distance. In this manner, a little 80-pound lola might get a pair of jeans for a 6-foot man in her plastic bag, and a muscled farmer might get a ladies’ blouse. Still, help was help, and no one was complaining. Because they are a resourceful people with a strong sense of community, they went around exchanging stuff so that most people ended up getting just the thing they needed.

My mom, however, wanted to make things a little easier for the survivors. As soon as a balikbayan box with donations arrived from us, she patiently separated the clothes and other items, went through the list of survivors, and tried to match the clothes and other items with the appropriate people. She would place these items in plastic bags and write that person’s name on the bag. Then, accompanied by one of my brothers or cousins, she would visit the survivors in the shelters and personally give them the donated items.

Some of them were so happy, she said, that they wore the clothes right there and then. In this way we were able to distribute about two hundred pieces of clothing and other items. A small drop in the stream of relief operations, we know, but we were glad to do our little part.

Today, a year after the disaster, most of the survivors have regained some semblance of normal life. They have been relocated to houses built especially for them - tiny huts, for sure, but homes all the same. Most are back to work, and some entrepreneural souls have even opened teeny sari-sari stores. They go about their daily lives, oftentimes with a smile on their lips as most Filipinos do, but in their eyes you could still see that hint of sadness.

Since that time last year, more disasters have descended on other areas of the Philippines, challenging the resiliency of our people. The survivors of Guinsaugon have shown us however, as others have before, that Filipinos are able to bounce back from disaster. And even if they do still need whatever help we can send them, they do pull themselves up, and help themselves and each other carry on.

Posted under Helping