Typhoon Haiyan Relief Effort: The Mass Graves

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 I don't ever want to be insensitive, without feeling, or withdrawn from humanity.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.