I made a promise before I left on this mission to my sister Jessica. She was crying in fear on the phone for my well being. My sister isn't usually emotional like this; I've very rarely seen her cry and probably never before out of distress. I was in my room packing and preparing when she had called me. I held the phone between my shoulder and head talking as I gathered clothes and equipment but when emotion touched her voice I halted. I dropped what was in my hands and lifted the phone to my ear and listened. She was pleading with me not to go. She shared with me all her fears about what she had seen of Tacloban in the news. I comforted her telling her that we wouldn't be going to Tacloban, that there were rescue efforts there already, and that our focus were the forgotten towns outlying. She plead another time for me not to go. I informed her that the tickets were purchased and that I was going no matter what. She began to cry and say, "Promise me you won't go to Tacloban. I know you want to help those people, but it's not worth losing your life over. It's dangerous there, people are desperate... Promise me Charles, you won't go to Tacloban." The formal use of my name combined with her emotion led me to make a promise that I usually otherwise wouldn't have made. I am a man of my word and impeccability is a foundational value for me. I try my absolute hardest not to make promises I don't intend on keeping. In the end my word is truly all I have and in this moment it was all I could do to console my worried sister. I told her, "I promise."
These were the thoughts racing through my mind as we crossed the threshold into the city of Tacloban, Leyte.
When we had woken up that morning I was uncertain exactly of what our plans were. I was under the impression we would be leaving to Tolosa, a town we had passed through on our way to Tanauan which was Walter's last area. I was informed by Mum Beth that we needed to find a way to Tacloban to retrieve the supplies from Manilla. I was seriously confused at first but then everything registered. The supplies that ZEDRU had been waiting for which had previously delayed their travel to Tacloban before meeting us was finally arriving. Apparently they had been able to get off a message to the Cebu team to forward the delivery straight to Tacloban. The Cebu team was intending to travel on that boat with the supplies to join our team to continue our efforts. This was without question the best thing to do for our purpose in being here and the accomplishment of our mission.
I was torn and even a little fear crept into me. Call it superstitious but I feel like broken promises usually end badly. I had yet to feel that our security had been compromised in our recent efforts, however the idea of entering the epicenter of confusion, chaos, and uncertainty caused me to feel anxious about going. Despite this I did believe in our mission and the deliverance that we had experienced up to this point and built within me a confidence sound and utterly certain. I bowed my head in prayer to ask God if this was His will to break this promise, a legitimately difficult thing for me to ask. I knew it was and so we went.
Chantel was feeling much better this morning which was great news for our next expedition. Chantel was in quite the dilemma however. She still had not been able to get in touch with Delta to verify whether Leslie was able to change her flight or not. ZEDRU was planning on returning to the Municipal to hopefully hire a truck to transport our goods and team to Tolosa as predetermined. Chantel and I did the math and realized that we had about a half-hour to get to city hall and make the call before Delta closed back in the States. We took off for the only place we had found any sort of signal before the rest of the team was ready.
We got there and rushed to the top story where signal would hopefully be stronger. Chantel inched her phone up, down, left, and right trying to find a spot where she could get service. This process continued about ten minutes until the tarped roof began to be weighed down by the rain water collected the last few days. RescueNet workers were unloading the water weight causing waterfalls inside the building in the gaps where roofing no longer existed. I pulled off my scarf and covered Chantel and her phone as a certain stream landed a few feet from us splashing us both. She finally got hold of a signal and started through the most frustrating automated system ever. People began showing up and pushing past us. I took stance at the front of the traffic protecting Chantel from being disturbed from her calculated signal spot. Despite our best efforts the phone call dropped right before Chantel was able to confirm her flight change. It would have to be resolved post-trip.
Chantel instantly dropped the weight of that burden from her shoulders assured that it would take care of itself in time if it hadn't already. That was impressive to me. Tickets are over a thousand dollars and the fact that she just shrugged it off like that was admirable. Her perspective was true and focused on what was at hand.
ZEDRU got denied once again for a truck from the mayor who was insisting that the only way we would get a truck is if we brought all our goods to his hall to be distributed in his town. We weren't going to operate under such politics and we had already distributed most of our goods there anyway. Tolosa was still in need so we decided to just start walking towards Tacloban and hope for a way to travel the 12 kilometers through the city and to the dock.
After about five minutes of walking a truck passed us as we held out our thumbs hitch hiker style. It was a flat-bed with a small group of people in the back. Mum Beth asked the driver where he was
going. He was headed to the airport and offered to take us that far. Beth thankfully agreed and we all hopped in the back. Within moments we were once again provided a way to accomplish our urgent mission.
Enter the introduction. I saw the Tacloban outskirts and the devastation that had extended the last five or six miles. My sisters promise rang through my mind. I asked Chantel for her phone. Sure enough as we entered the city, service was restored by the relief agencies who had been pushing communication restoration. I used her global phone to send a brief text message to my sister with my confession.
Jessica, I'm sorry I had to break your promise. I'm safe, alive, and accomplishing a lot of good. Please forgive me.
After all the bodies had been carried to the road we returned to one of the few remaining houses standing. This home had a full sized SUV sticking out of the side of it vertically. It all seemed pretty normal by this point. To the side of this house was an exposed water line that was gushing a stream of water out of it. The water was clean(ish) so we all jumped into it with sighs of relief. We began whooping and hollering as the cold water stung against our burning skin. We (the men who did the retrieval) took off most of our clothes and showered side by side smiling at the ridiculous sight we were to those passing by. I cannot properly convey the feeling of relief I felt as I washed death from my clothes. The refreshing water, the soap that replaced the smell of rot, and the liberating cheeriness that once again returned to our company's demeanor.
Once we finished showering we returned to the road where more reporters and media personnel were. Olsen and I mostly avoided them. I didn't feel good about them. It is difficult to explain but I felt that these men were dehumanized. Whether this was their own doing or a result of the work they had done over the years, I could not shake the feeling that they were desensitized. When I returned home I considered seriously switching majors to Emergency Services/Disaster Management but thought back on these kinds of experiences. I don't ever want to be insensitive, without feeling, or withdrawn from humanity. I had already experienced a numbness and I shuddered at the thought of it carrying with me upon my return home and throughout my life. Hell isn't pain and torment -- Hell is numbness, stagnancy, and void. It is still somewhat hard for me to reconcile because I feel that the numbness I experienced was a divine buffer intended to protect me so that I could accomplish the work. Later evidence of this will be explained.
The military returned and asked for our help with body pick-up. Without a second thought I geared back up in my gloves and mask and hopped into the bed of the truck with the others. Thoughts could be handled another time. We traveled down the streets of the flattened city. Every few hundred yards we would jump out, lift a few bodies into the truck, and continue on. I remember one of the bodies
being rather light. It was a child. The bed was full so we began to stack them on top of one another. I longed for a more respectful way to accomplish our end but there was none, not at this time. There would be no memorial. The bodies piled up in the back as we traveled through the city. As I write this I am filled with harrowment and even cringe at the memories but once again, in the moment, there was nothing.
We arrived at the municipal hall. The truck drove up over the curb and onto the grass yard. We rode to the back where massive piles of dirt had been tossed up. As we pulled around I hopped out and saw the field of corpses lying in their final resting place. One by one we handed off our fallen brothers and sisters onto the side of the mass graves to have one final opportunity to be identified by survivors. The bags were zipped but that did not stop the bodily fluids from seeping through crevices within. We were covered once again in that air of death and the grave atmosphere returned. We were exhausted, fatigued, dehydrated, hungry, and burdened with the dead.
Some other events happened as we stood by the delivered. I am unsure to what they were. My mind was in a trance, my ears were ringing, and everything seemed hazy. I had to consciously not touch my face with any part of my sleeves or hands despite my eyes begging to be rubbed in reprieve. Truth be told I don't remember whether we walked back to the chapel or whether we got dropped off... I can't remember. I get this feeling that we walked, I vaguely remember some of the crew buying cold mountain dew -- the first shipment of supplies from the mainland. I found it incredulous that at this point you could buy cold soda before you could buy water. Regardless the next thing I can fully remember is showering on the side of the road outside the chapel. We were in the dark using cell phone camera lights to see what we were doing. Social inhibitions hadn't existed for awhile so our side-of-the-street-well got turned into a men's locker room with all its jokes and nudity. I lift my eyebrows and chuckle thinking back on it. I was the first in and out of the bucket shower. Thoughts had returned to my mind as I began decompressing everything that I had experienced and I wanted to return to my journal to log them. The smell of death did not come out easily. It must have been quite the scene when trucks drove by; to see a group of Filipinos and two giant white guys in their underwear showering and scrubbing their clothes. Well, I guess by this point it was pretty normal.
I returned inside to clothe and prepare for bed. We had moved everything inside of the chapel and claimed a few pews behind the church's pulpit to sleep on. Here I finally had the opportunity to catch-up with Chantel to see what she had experienced. Surprisingly to me, she had experienced much the same thing. The emotional numbness, the feeling of being removed, and feeling unaffected by what we had witnessed. We felt better about ourselves after relating. We had wondered if there was something wrong. Shouldn't we have been more disturbed? Olsen entered out conversation and he related the same experience. We all consented that this was God's protection and His way of shielding us.
Our conversation was brief however since Chantel was still recovering from her illness. Olsen and I encouraged her to rest and get to sleep. It wasn't very late in the evening yet, maybe about 7 or 8, but all of us likely could have passed out if given the chance. Just a few moments later I had to rouse Chantel once again. Mum Beth had called for a stress debriefing -- a meeting where the group expresses thoughts, feelings, and experiences. A disclosure to release the potential disturbances within us.
I was asked first to open up. I expressed much of what I have written here and then primarily just gave thanks to the group and to God. I talked about Beth's leadership and the unity that I have felt within our team. I spoke of our instant brotherhood and our divinely arraigned meeting. I gave thanks
for the love and acceptance that the group had given us foreigners. I talked about God's protection of us all and how we will continue to have a great impact as we act for Him. My words were unique in
comparison to my Filipino brothers. They were adversely affected by what they had witnessed. One particular story was told: As we unearthed the bodies of their kin he was paralyzed with pain, sadness, and horror. He said he could barely move and thought to himself that he couldn't continue on. Then he saw Olsen and I laboring with everything we had to deliver the dead. He said that he was amazed and awed at our dedication and unwavering effort. He saw two Americans, far from home, who had sacrificed so much to come to this foreign land, to assist a people not their own, willing to give everything they had, including in that moment, their strength. He said he was inspired and revitalized to such an extent that he was able to continue on with strength and energy.
It was in this moment that I learned another powerful reason why we had been shielded so much. We were truly to be a light unto this people, both for the survivors and for our fellow rescuers. I realized then that this was all of our first time experiencing such horrors.. Brylle put it this way, "It is difficult because we are in the work of saving lives, not of the dead." They continued speaking of the difficulties of experiencing what we had. The conversation did turn to more uplifting things as it progressed. There was a glorifying God for the Gospel which gives us an eternal perspective towards our lost siblings. We knew they would be reunited with their families one day, glorified, and restored. We ended bearing testimony of the truths we knew before closing the meeting in prayer and retiring to our wooden pews for rest and recovery.
Rescue Net informed us where they were searching for the dead. I remember trying to mentally prepare myself for this. Words of warning and caution rung in my mind from concerned friends and family members about seeing these kinds of true horrors. I remembered my sister's greater fears were not that I was going to be harmed by desperate survivors, but that my mind's innocence would be corrupted with the disturbing images of death and tragedy -- to be forever changed by the experience. To have a piece of my positivity or optimism tainted with the realities of calamity and destruction. I thought of war veterans or those who have PTSD from traumatic experiences and wondered if this was going to be similar to that.
I didn't feel fear, I didn't worry about my well being, I just thought about the job that needed to get done. These cadavers were cultures for disease and parasites. They were a danger to the health of the survivors and I considered the work I was about to do as simply a service to those who remained. The more I tried to think about it the more thoughts were displaced from my mind. Actions became automatic and a numbing buffer was placed in my mind. The last thought that came was one for Chantel's welfare. I looked back to see her talking to Mum Beth who had taken her as her companion. She had ignored my requests for any sort of additional arm, head, or neck covering. I smirked and turned forward. She was provided for, she was protected, I was protected, we all were protected. We were here on God's errand and we would not be hindered, we would not be harmed, we were provided for.
We walked off the street and down past the remains of the roadside homes into the jungle debris. We had to climb over and under the fallen palm trees. We saw the first cadaver -- a man with only his stomach exposed with the rest of his body buried. We flagged the corpse and continued on. We saw the two Rescue Net volunteers geared out head to toe wearing gas-like masks walking towards us. They pointed back the way they came. We saw some Filipinos waving at us so we followed them. Two bodies were bagged and ready to be carried. Four of us took corners of the black bag and lifted. The body was heavy and required a lot of strength to carry. We wrapped the handles around our hands and wrists and started up and over the debris the way we came. We struggled and worked to get this victim to the road. We made it back and laid the body in its bag on the side of the road before walking back into the jungle to be picked up by the military.
This process repeated a few times. This work was much different than the day before. There was an air of somber solemnity as we carried the dead. Jokes, laughter, and light-mindedness became absent from our usual conversing. We were much more quiet and with respect for our dead brothers and sisters. It was difficult to comprehend the reality of the work we were doing. I felt disconnected and almost out-of-body. I didn't feel much, the burn perhaps of the muscles in my arms. I didn't feel the heat of the day, I didn't feel the obvious thirst that comes from the dehydrating sun and work, the sadness, the mourning, the disturbance, the hunger, the expected shock... No, I just worked. Where is the next cadaver, the next step to avoid tripping. My thoughts and feelings were minimal.
We returned to our small camp on the side of the road. I looked for Chantel who's head was down and her eyes were squinting in the bright sun. I went to her and asked her how she was feeling. She said her fever had receded some but that she was still feeling tired and weak, but that she was ok. I offered her some food. I told her to take care and to try and stay out of the sun. I was called by Brylle over to where Olsen and the others were. Rescue Net needed help bagging the bodies in another area. We split up into two teams, Olsen with three or four and the same amount with me. Some locals came with us.
When I came home people asked how we found the bodies. We followed our nose. Despite our surgical masks the smell of death was inescapable. It stings the senses, it is sharp, and causes you to recoil. Proceeding was battling biological intuition -- the built in sensor to avoid the dangerous effects of decomposing flesh. Olsen's team was guided almost immediately to a large man buried in a swamp. My team began climbing a land bridge made of toppled homes and fallen trees. It gapped a blackened pool of stagnant water. A body could be seen floating in its depths. It was irretrievable. We were ill equipped as is. We were using surgical gloves and masks that were bought from Wal-Mart. It wasn't until after our trip did I realize how dangerous the work was that we were doing with the lack of protective gear we had. Olsen was wearing a t-shirt with arms exposed and no head/eye protection. We climbed sheets of wrecked aluminum and wood and made our way to a caved in home. We found a woman upside down with her legs trapped between the roof and the debris underneath. He head was buried in rubble revealing only her torso. We got to work lifting off the trees and debris weighing down the roof that trapped her body.
After some time had passed Olsen and a few others scaled the debris to assist in freeing this woman. Finally a door was exposed that I used as leverage to lift the remains. I summoned all my strength and with Olsen pushed the roof off of the woman. Olsen and another held it while I grabbed the woman's thigh and flipped her over rightwards. Her leg had been decaying for over a week and was soft and jelly like. The stench of rot and decay was difficult to tolerate. We unearthed the rest of her body and head which revealed a morbid face, half flesh, half skull squirming with maggots and other flesh eaters. She was recognizable as a nanay (an older woman) and a likely mother. Though haunting this experience was it did not startle me. I was unperturbed as I mentioned before. I remember her face... and looking back it was indeed horrifying, but in the moment I was numb and uninfluenced. I sat down as I caught my breath and the rest of the crew placed her into the body bag. We had to travel a long ways around to avoid the swamp.
As we returned to the street a media crew was there complete with interviewers and photographers. A video recorder was filming us walk back to our positions. I was pretty upset by there presence. Why were these people here before the Red Cross? The LDS Humanitarian Relief Effort? The Salvation Army? Did they bring supplies for the survivors? What are they here for? They asked for our photos. I looked at Olsen with eyes sharp but pleading. This wasn't right. We shouldn't be glorified for this. These fallen brothers and sisters need not be exposed. I kept my mask on and lowered my bandana. We congregated next to those we had carried as ZEDRU stood with us. They captured only our sober eyes and somber faces.
As I look at this photo I notice that it is raining. I don't remember it raining... I didn't feel the rain.
