Typhoon Haiyan Relief Effort: The Medical Mission

A big group of people congregated in the main entrance hallway of our little chapel. More people (especially children) entered to see what all the commotion and excitement was about. ZEDRU had blocked off the chapel with a desk. They protected a pharmacy where people who were diagnosed would register to receive a particular medicine for their ailment. Just in front of that area sat Olsen and Chantel who were recording people’s names, heart rate, and blood pressure. Across the hall was the rest of the EMT team preparing an area to treat any injuries that the survivors had. I walked to the back room where Walter was organizing our personal gear, food, and water. Our relief goods laid there stacked and ready to be distributed. I helped organize our gear for a moment then returned to the main hallway to try contain the hundred children trying to watch the EMTs. We set up some benches for them to sit in to wait their turn but that didn’t do much. We resulted to magic tricks.  

Once the initial wave of people began to die down I stepped outside to see who else needed treatment. I walked around the grounds of the church with the children finding the stubborn teenagers who were trying to just tough it out. Their wounds had a pale swelling to them where the bleeding had stopped. They looked infected and decaying. Even the small half-inch slices looked like healing was refusing to take place. I… eh… “encouraged” these individuals strongly to go to the chapel to have their injuries checked out. The most resilient ones were forced by my small band of children followers. 

  

 One of these stubborn adolescents consented by handing me the infant in his arms and began subtly limping towards the main hall. I followed with the infant in my arms. I was happy to see a baby this young had survived the storm and looked strong, healthy, and uninjured. What a miracle that was. I would say that probably half to two thirds of the survivors we interacted with had some sort of injury that needed some sort of attention -- at the very least disinfecting.  It had been over a week since the storm and even if they had miraculously avoided injury during the typhoon the danger of slipping on debris or stepping on sharp glass or metal as they tried to recover was just as hazardous. I quickly realized that starvation and thirst was not as prevalent a danger as infection and disease was. These humble people likely did not understand how great a risk it was not to treat their seemingly minor injuries. It was a good thing that I was rather bold and forward with them or otherwise they likely would have gotten very sick, lose limbs, or even died. 

Once again I was reminded the importance of how we and ZEDRU were divinely meant to work together in this effort. With our combined resources we were able to get to this neglected town sooner and have a swifter impact on healing and feeding the survivors. To emphasize the dire situation of this isolated town was the appearance of a military helicopter arriving close to our chapel in an open space. This aircraft landed down and a swarm of Philippinos ran over. The soldiers unloaded a big box full of goods and then as swiftly as they landed they took off. ZEDRU tried to organize a proper distribution but this was fruitless. The strongest forced the goods into their possession and carried them away while the injured or weak could only watch. ZEDRU was cautious due to the story circulating that during one of the last drops a man was stabbed in the back as a quarrel broke out over the delivered goods. We initially watched in disappointment as the goods were carried off but we did see that once they were a safe distance away the men opened the goods and began handing them out to people who were standing by. 

I took the opportunity to step outside the chapel grounds to find more survivors who needed treatment and food. I encouraged those living in the rubble to follow me back to the chapel and to bring anyone they knew who had injuries. Some gladly came with while others set out to inform their friends and family that help had arrived.  

Once everyone within and around the chapel were treated we began to shift everything in the room to create another line of benches and desks. ZEDRU had set up their banner against one of the blown out windows. Olsen and I helped bring out our relief goods and stacked them in the hallway at the end of the line. Survivors began walking in one by one to sign their name and receive a package of well needed food and water. I will be honest, the presentation seemed staged and I didn't like the way it felt. It felt almost political. One person would come, one of us would hand them a package, and then a picture would be taken by the designated photographer. In case you were wondering why or how we got so many pictures it was because one of the team was always tasked with recording our daily events. 

I appreciate this and respect that a small team like ZEDRU needs to perform acts of publicity so that they can get further funding and support to continue helping. However I still didn't like it -- it felt unnatural, so Olsen (who felt similarly) and I slid uncomfortably into the doorway where the sacks were trying to remove ourselves. Above all else I didn't want the people we were helping feeling like we were only helping to get money, and reflecting back I am sure they didn't. I bet they were just stoked to get some food. I suppose my inexperience to relief groups and my semi-self-righteous view of anonymous-selfless service is the best service caused me this discomfort.  

Also an interesting observation that we noticed was the contrasts in gratitude expressed. There were only a few who you could see in their eyes and feel in their words were truly grateful for the help being offered them. Many of the survivors gave off a feeling of entitlement, as if they were to say "It's about time you got here! What took you so long?" Which is completely understandable and I'm sure I would feel similar frustrations if it had been over a week before anyone came -- especially if I was an LDS church member and the humanitarian relief effort had yet to arrive. It was interesting nonetheless to  see the differences in one of the ten returning to give thanks. 

Once we handed out about half of our supply and the survivors were fed we finally were able to settle down and grab a bite to eat.  

…  

oh yea, we need to eat. 

I wasn't hungry, at least I didn't think I was. I was so focused and engaged in our tasks that only when the idea of eating was brought up did my mind think, "Oh, that's probably a good idea." We hadn't eaten a meal since before we had left to Leyte. So we set up our pots and began cooking the rice. We ate sardines, noodles (ramen status), and rice. Every day, one meal in the morning, and maybe a small bit at night once the work was done -- Rice, Sardines, and Noodles -- the adventurers provision.  

Once we were fed our anxiety to go out and help some more grew even more. We gathered up our equipment, returned our relief goods to the storage room, and headed out to find the city center.

Typhoon Haiyan Relief Effort: The Unrecognizable City

I was sitting on top of a hundred bags in the bed of a truck. There were four vehicles bottlenecked into two lanes with taxis in front blocking everyone trying to flip around using the 30-point turn. Everyone was fighting to get to the port and onto one of the few boats leaving to Leyte. It was early, around 3 am if I remember right. The energy circulating around the throng mobbing the port caused an excitement and urgency that held me wide awake. Four of the ZEDRU team jumped off and walked ahead. They began directing traffic acting with an authority self-assigned. Even the guarding soldiers began following their direction. I have talked to a few people about what I call uniform theory. The idea that one who is wearing something official and acts as such is presumed by all to hold the proper authority to control situations. If I went to a theme park wearing a construction vest and a hat that I bought at a thrift store that had security embroidered on it I guarantee the vast majority of people would listen to anything I told them. So it was there at the port. ZEDRU split the mass of cars and people with an urgency that people respected. As we passed through the gate I saw a massive line with hundreds of people trying to get tickets. Mom Beth had pulled some strings with the Philippines Coast Guard the night before and got all of our tickets. They gave us a considerable discount on tickets, bunk beds in the barge that were air conditioned, and included all our luggage and relief goods for free which would have been a considerable expense.


I remember as we rode up to the boat I felt that reinforced idea that God was making all of this happen so perfectly that it once again instilled within me a heavy dose of unshakable confidence. I felt we were being divinely ushered from point to point. He wanted it done and He was going to get it done. I knew as we were acting for Him we would not be stopped. With this idea I was vitalized and once we arrived we began to lift all of our equipment and relief goods into the boat. As I came out a commotion of photos and group consensus was being had. I saw Chantel arrive with Mom Beth and noticed she seemed very burdened and bothered. I’m kind of ashamed to admit that I chuckled at her because despite her discomfort she was dragged into these group photos to throw on a cordial chalk smile.


Chantel was struggling with an incredibly difficult decision. Her flight back home to America was two days away. If Chantel got onto that boat she would have to turn around the self-same day and fly back to Manila or take a tremendous risk of trying to find a plane from Tacloban. It was very uncertain whether we could even get her back to Cebu considering the chaotic state the ports were in. We didn’t know what state internal transportation was in either. Walter or I would have to escort her back through Cebu to get to the airport which would kill a day and a half of work effort for one of us (if we could even travel back and forth that frequently). If Walter were to go with Chantel, he would likely not have returned because he had work just a few days after that. This was the same area that Walter served his mission and I felt that he had to go and that this was divinely willed for him. I would be the one then to take her back to the mainland and then find some way back to Leyte.

(Still looks great despite everything)

Chantel was well aware of this terribly inconvenient circumstance and before you begin to furrow your brow, the purpose of her dilemma was one of commendable loyalty and love. Her closest friend Leslie was getting married and had asked Chantel to be her Maid of Honor. They had gone through so much the past few years and grown close as family. Chantel had been asked to MC and was very involved in the planning. None of this can really conceptualize the depth of the connection that the two of them have. Regardless I know Chantel and the fact that she was willing to make such a great sacrifice to come to the Philippines and then forfeit the opportunity to complete the mission she came to do for an individual she loved attests to the depth of loyalty and commitment that she has.

Her choice was one of great sacrifice either way. It was a noble act in both respects. She would be forfeiting something that she would never have the opportunity to experience again. I’m sure a torrent of thoughts and feelings were going through her mind. I wonder if choosing between two greats is more difficult than choosing the better of two evils. It sure seemed like it. We were ushered onto the boat where we all found our places in our bunks. She was under an urgent pressure to make a decision. I had told her that we should stay in Cebu if she was planning on going to her friend’s wedding which meant we would have to disembark before launch which I guessed was around thirty minutes.

I walked over to Olsen as she sat in her bunk with tears in her eyes. Olsen suggested that we offer her a blessing. I returned and shared the idea to which she agreed. When we placed our hands on her head I meditated for just a moment ensuring that my opinions and bias would not hinder the pure words of God that she needed to hear to make her decision. So there she was, sitting on a box in the middle of a room covered in bunk beds (full of strangers and new found friends) asking God for some guidance. As mentioned previously the sacredness of blessings are not to be specified but the overall feeling was that God was trusting her to make the decision and that He would bless her because of her great sacrifices. Afterwards we walked outside and searched the entire boat for a solitary place. We found a small hallway on the edge of the boat between the bathroom and the general seating. Chantel talked out everything that was going through her mind. Later she told me that she had already made up her mind but struggled immensely to come to terms with it and act on it by contacting Leslie.

The boat horn blew loudly and the ship began to move. Chantel half gasped half yelled with frustration and anxiety with everything that was happening. She actually started laughing as she realized the insanity of it all. We were on a boat headed towards a disaster zone on an island with thousands needing assistance 9,000 miles away from home with nothing but a duffle bag and backpack full of clothes and medicine trying to decide whether she should go to a wedding in a few days. The boat pulled began to pull away from the dock and she said, “Mace I am staying.” She called Leslie.
 
I was very excited that she had decided to stay and knew deep down that she was meant to go. I commended her for making such a difficult decision and making that great of a sacrifice on top of everything that she already had in order to serve these people. Her impact on our little band was immeasurable as you will see and I had a sense of that as we sailed out to Ilongos. We went back into our bunk beds which were on the ground just a few feet from one another. In very Mace and Chantel style we started laughing and doing all sorts of ridiculous jokes and antics getting the other to laugh so hard it hurt. Olsen likely just rolled over and went to bed. We fell asleep and awoke what felt like only seconds later to ZEDRU waking everyone to prepare to disembark. Our eyes were forward now understanding that this was it.

It was around four am I believe when we arrived in the port so it was still very dark outside. We grabbed all of our gear and carried it out of the boat next to a bus. We filed into the back and before I could do anything else bags were being tossed on top of me. Walter, Olsen, and I were buried in bags. We were so immersed in gear that all that could be seen were our arms poking out. We were able to readjust once all the passengers got on. It was insane the amount of people that were crammed inside. All the seats were taken and then the entire walking aisle was packed with people sitting on top of one another. TeeJay and a few others actually sat on the head rests of seats with people already in them. Our relief goods were the last items in, which blocked the exit. Now we only had to endure through a four hour ride to Tanauan.

As light began to peek over the jungle mountains we began to see the effects of the storm. I was surprised to see that the damage was fairly minimal this far south. I evaluated the damage to these small concrete and bamboo houses to be hardly noticeable. As we progressed further north however, I began to observe a catastrophic gradient. The light damage augmented to complete and utter decimation the closer and closer we got to our destination. When we drove through Tolosa, the last town before Tanauan, Walter was shocked. He said he did not realize where we were till we had already almost passed through the whole city. He could not recognize the town despite it being the last area that he had served in.

I felt like we were driving through a movie set. All of this… it couldn’t be real. The world doesn’t look like this… It was so difficult to comprehend, impossible even. I can barely compare it to when an infant is introduced into the world for the first time. Their eyes scan wildly from place to place with so much stimuli it is impossible to process it all. It takes them months or even years of exposure before they can embrace and understand conceptually what they see. None of us could conceptualize what we were seeing. Houses were indiscernible. What once were likely tall strong standing structures were now nothing but concrete obelisks standing erect amongst a field of shredded trees and crumpled metal. It looked as if an atomic bomb had gone off. It was apocalyptic. Some palm trees stayed standing but cast an eerie shadow over the landscape. Their palm leaves were frozen sideways as if a torrential wind was blowing them but the wind was as calm as the death surrounding. It was haunting. No birds, no dogs, no ambiance.

We passed dozens of hungry and shelterless men, women, and children wandering on the street looking hopefully towards us as if we had come to bring them relief. I wish we could have. I wish we could have extended our bus thirty more feet and invited them all on board. I wish I could have returned to them and satisfied their longing for assistance. I felt a deep sorrow and loneliness for them. Their neglect was painful to realize.

The bus finally slowed down as we arrived at our destination. It was the LDS church. We weren’t able to see it until we were right in front of it due to the mountainous piles of rubble surrounding the edifice. We were forced to exit through the windows of the bus due to the throng of people occupying every bit of space. As we climbed down we hurriedly (half-running) carried all of our gear into the chapel. We were likely a bit anxious about the stories of violence over relief goods being dropped off so we made sure to make our insurgence into the city swift and low-key. The grounds of the chapel were covered with lean-tos and makeshift shelters housing dozens of families who had no place to go. The church was one of few free standing structures remaining in the city and it did not boast this fact. The roof had extensive damage. When it rained it leaked in the main hall almost as bad as if no roof existed. The windows had mostly been blown out and debris covered the cultural hall. The sacrament area and many of the rooms had been cleaned and maintained for the management of what little supplies the church had in preparation of the storm. We occupied some of these rooms with our goods and equipment.

While ZEDRU unpacked I did a little exploring to survey and attempt to further take in what was around me. When I walked to the back of the chapel the debris was stacked up to the roof which the storm surge had surely carried there. Later, members told us stories of the massive tsunami-like storm surge that raised fifteen feet high flooding and destroying the entire city. Miracles of the church being protected were told. They said it was like Moses and the Red Sea. The wave had split on both sides and crashed against the church only about three feet high. What an incredible story. I glanced sideways and saw what looked like massive silos which had been toppled and crushed like an aluminum can. This was maybe two hundred yards away. I believe what they witnessed.

As I wandered on and interacted with other survivors I was filled with light, vitality, and energy. I remember thinking, “Is this how I should feel amidst all of this?” but as I interacted with the survivors I knew that my influence was having an affect on them. I was humbled at this realization and gave thanks to God for being able to help even if it was just by offering a warm smile and some pleasantries. I extended my reassurances to those I came across that we were there to help and that they would be provided for.

I returned to the front of the chapel where some children were playing basketball with Chantel. I joined in and one young kid, maybe nine or ten years old, challenged me to play one on one. I played with them and did all sorts of silly and ridiculous dribbling moves and shots and a small crowd formed to watch the antics. I was happy to be there. I looked up to see ZEDRU setting up their medical gear. I walked indoors to see how I could help.

Our mission in Leyte had begun.

Typhoon Haiyan Relief Effort: Travel to the Philippines and ZEDRU

I remember when we got to our gate Chantel threw her things down and sprawled out on the ground in between two aisles of chairs. We started people watching and laughing. She whipped out her phone and started making final arrangements before falling off the grid. My favorite of these was selling tickets to an event she no longer was going to attend on KSL. When the plane doors shut and the plane began to move I could hardly believe that this was actually happening. I was returning to the Philippines with Chantel to help assist a devastated island. It never really registered. It’s been almost a month since I’ve returned home and it still hasn’t. I’m sure Chantel felt similarly. Despite the 26ish hours of flights it took to get to Manila, it was an enjoyable experience filled with great conversation, goofy outbursts of laughing that likely bothered other passengers, and a slew of movies.

On our way into Japan we took as many complimentary blankets we could find on the plane and stuffed them in our bags. We made a nest of probably twenty plus blankets in between vending machines and pay phones to sleep in during our layover. It was awesome. I dozed in and out. I remember hearing the voices of philippinos talking in Tagalog about the flight being delayed. I perked up and listened to their discussion. I stood up and walked over to them. They paid no attention to me until their conversation ended and I engaged the attendant with a fluid sentence in Tagalog. Her surprise delayed her response for about three seconds before answering that the plane would leave later than expected. As I groggily returned to the nest, I laid down and reset my alarm clock. I woke up about an hour later to see an entire relief team geared out five feet away. I stood up again and started conversing with them about their plans. They were surprised to hear what our plans were (or lack thereof) and admired our willingness to help. We wished each other well and they continued on. I realized again how unfitted I felt but was immediately reassured that our work was different and would be meaningful. I trusted my prompting and fell back asleep. We eventually got up, abandoned half of our nest, and boarded the plane.

When we touched down in Manila (the capitol of The Philippines) it was the beginning of the day. It was 1-2am. We had to switch terminals to fly to Cebu. As we walked towards the shuttle station I saw the ramp that I had walked down those four years before to begin my mission in the Philippines. A bit of emotion touched me as I tried to relive that feeling so many years ago. In that instant I reflected on how much I had experienced during those two years I had served here and how much I had grown since that time. As I imagined myself walking down the ramp, I viewed how different the two of us were. I felt like a shadow in a dream, a time traveler unnoticed. I had a companion from the real world with me this time so I knew that it was reality; yet it felt so surreal, so dream-like. Combine this with the idea of over 5,000 dead, cities flattened, and thousands without food or water and we were the ones being sent to help. I tried to vainly wrap my mind around it all and expressed on the plane in writing:

Surreal is the perfect word to describe it because within these seven letters is an almost universally experienced phenomenon that no one can really describe. When we say it is surreal most get the idea. I guess it’s like the word love. A word rich and full of meaning but without true definition.

I believe both these undefinable words are playing a huge part with how we feel, why we are acting, and certainly why life was able to take a multiple-day timeout.

As I look out the plane’s window I see the ocean of white water vapor blanketing the sky in a dream like haze.

Maybe feeling surrealty can be defined as expecting to wake up. 

After passing that ramp, we got onto a small bus that was packed and overflowing with bags and people. A fellow American looked lost and confused as the driver said “20 pesos” which is pretty close to 50 cents in America. This man pulled out a 20 dollar bill and looked ready to hand it to the guy which would have only been a 4,000% markup. I paid for his fare and asked the man if he had any Philippino money. He said he didn’t. We invited him to join our little party once we discovered that we were both flying to Cebu. He introduced himself as Josh, an ex-military gun for hire. He owned a gym with his wife out East but on occasion was hired by an anonymous multi-millionaire to accompany a team of doctors to travel to disasters zones. Josh was not at liberty to say who the man was or what company he represented but did disclose that this guy steps in when the government can’t in order to provide relief to disaster zones. Josh had been hired to protect a team after the massive tsunami hit Indonesia a few years ago. He down played his very dramatic sounding line of work as he explained that he usually just walks around for 12 hours a day holding a gun. He expected to do the same in Tacloban.

When we arrived at the other terminal Walter was waiting for us. I was so happy to see my good friend after all this time. Walter and I had gone through some incredible experiences together, more so perhaps than anyone else in my life. It was good to be with my brother again. We caught up for just a few minutes before passing out on the other half of the blanket nest we had preserved. We were exhausted and got a few more hours sleep before our plane to Cebu.


That plane ride was very brief in contrast to the hours and hours of flying we had done previously. When we landed in Cebu I remember stepping out into that hot sun and the wave of humidity washing over me. It was a therapeutic cleansing from all the motionless encaging we’d experienced in the multiple fuselages that trapped us like chickens in a pen for the last 20+ hours. A giant smile took my face as another wave of reality struck me. I thought in my mind “Here we are. Let’s get to work.”

Chantel patiently waiting at the computer shop

A friend of Walter’s named Apollo met us at the airport with two of his sons. He was an older gentleman and unfortunately did not speak very much Tagalog. He mostly spoke Cebuano so Walter did most of the translating. He was very kind and even offered us a place to stay the night. We walked from the airport a kilometer or so into the outskirts of the city where we found, of all places, a Starbucks. I wanted to access the PayPal account to see if there were more funds ready to be used. The Wi-Fi in Starbucks wasn’t working, so we went to a computer shop close by. We accessed our funds and tried to figure out how to get a hold of Preston Olsen. What we had arranged prior was to contact an elderly couple that lived in Cebu that Olsen was friends with. The number he given me was an American number and it wasn’t working. We had no idea how we were going to find Olsen in this massive city.

Apollo then led us through Cebu to multiple warehouses throughout the inner city trying to find a store that would give us a good deal in bulk goods. I was prioritizing the importance of utilizing our funds in the most effective way possible which cost us some time as we jumped from place to place. We searched for the best goods at the best price. We discovered that a lot of the middle-grade and low-grade rice and canned goods were already bought out and that expensive brands were all that remained. Fortunately we found two warehouses willing to sell us some middle-grade goods at a discounted price. I bartered those shopkeepers to grief. I remember looking over at Chantel who was sitting on a few sacks of rice with a glazed over look staring into nothing. I chuckled as I felt bad that she probably felt so lost not knowing the language. I went over to her a few times in between calculating prices and goods to see how she was handling all of this. It hit me that this all probably seemed so bizarre and foreign to her. This experience had been nothing like America. When I did approach her she always responded with a smile waiving off the effects of jet-lag. She was never bothered by the differences between this third world country and the comforts and safeties of America. I'd say she may have even enjoyed the Philippines a little more. Over a year before, she had gone to India which she described to be even more hectic and diverse. It certainly was a huge help to prepare her for this journey.


We finished purchasing our goods and left to one of the LDS chapels which was just finishing conducting services. The whole ward enthusiastically offered to help us package all of our goods which consisted of rice, sardines, noodles, and water. With everyone’s help we finished in roughly an hour or two. We had enough sacks for 108 families. The church authorities I had hoped to work through originally were still in stasis and unmoving. They were organizing relief but just like everyone else they had yet to send over a team. We returned to a computer shop to see if Olsen had responded yet.  I was grateful to see that Olsen had sent me a message on Facebook explaining he had bought a phone to contact him with. We used Walter’s phone to get a hold of him. We talked about meeting up at the chapel we were close to. He also relayed that a team of EMTs wanted us to join together in going to Leyte. I was surprised and excited by the news. We returned to the church where Olsen arrived shortly after with a few members of the EMT team. He brought with him an incredible story:

Olsen arrived in Cebu Saturday night just after midnight. He got there about 6-8 hours ahead of us. Knowing that he had some time to kill before we arrived, he took a taxi from the airport to the LDS temple located in Cebu City. He spoke to the night guard (because the temple was obviously closed) who directed him to the Cebu Guest House. When Olsen checked in there, he started talking to another night guard. That guard was an investigator being taught by the LDS missionaries and informed Olsen that the owners of that guest house were also members of the church. Through them he was able to get contact information for the local missionaries, the elderly couple aforementioned, and the Cebu Mission President. The next morning Olsen went out bought a cell phone, Facebook messaged me, and returned to the guest house to wait for our call.

He met the owners who had invited the missionaries over to teach the guard. After the lesson they invited Olsen to join them in attending a church service. When they got to the chapel Olsen met about 30 of the Tacloban missionaries that had been evacuated. He asked them which areas were hit the hardest, where we should go, and what was the best mode of transportation to and within the island. They shared some incredible stories with Olsen about the devastating typhoon. They told miraculous experiences of surviving the storm, walking through the eye, and finding shelter. Remarkably not one of the over 200 missionaries serving in that mission were killed.

Very convenient photo

After the church services Olsen was wandering around talking to a few people when he ran into the EMT team. They called themselves ZEDRU (Zion Emergency Disaster Relief Unit). Olsen explained that he too had EMT training and still had not heard from Chantel and I. They invited Olsen to join their
team. They traveled to a store before returning to an office where they had stored some of their own supplies. While waiting there he finally received my phone call. Interestingly ZEDRU had had some frustrating delays before meeting with Olsen.

They had been sponsored to fly from Manila to Cebu and then to Tacloban but had been put off over and over again. They finally made it to Cebu at the perfect moment to meet up with Olsen. Their relief goods were also delayed in getting to Cebu which meant that their medical missions would have had to be delayed an additional two to three days. That is why our timing was providential. Mom Beth, as their leader was affectionately titled, had ties with the Philippines Coast Guard which allowed her special privileges and access to the ports where we could find a boat to Leyte. With her transportation ties and our relief goods we were
able to merge our resources and leave immediately to Leyte. The urgency was able to be met and addressed due to how God allowed everything to fall perfectly into place. If we had been able to contact Olsen any earlier we would have lost this opportunity. If ZEDRU hadn’t been delayed the few days they had it wouldn’t have happened the way that you will see it was supposed to happen. There were so many variables that wove and interconnected in such a perfect way that when I was told this story I was astounded. I was awed and humbled throughout our journey at the significance of our meeting. I knew once again with an even stronger certainty that we were meant to be here, Olsen was divinely placed and supposed to accompany us, and we were on God’s errand.


We combined our teams, retrieved the relief goods, and headed out to the port to leave to the island of Leyte.

Typhoon Haiyan Relief Effort: Introduction

Introduction 

I feel it important to provide a certain disclaimer to the story I am about to tell. The necessity of this came from a realization that came to me after I returned from this journey. As you can imagine, countless individuals asked about our experiences in the Philippines. Unfortunately none of us were able to provide an answer that was satisfying to us or the conversant. The individual, more than often, was being cordial and didn’t necessarily want all the details--which created a very difficult expectation. How is it even possible to encapsulate all the diverse feelings, thoughts, sights, smells, sounds, and physical experiences that we went through in a summarized sentence? I’d either deflect their question with “It was pretty crazy,” or I would ramble off for fifteen more minutes than they wanted trying to express something incomprehensible by any who had not been through something similar. This is no one’s fault, because there really is no reference point for those whose home is in America. 

The Philippines is an entirely different world in and of itself, rich with culture, diverse in mannerisms, food, traditions, language, and attitudes. It is comparable to walking through a portal into a parallel world where you become a giant, the people are kind, loving, giving, and prioritize family over any temporal necessity. The vegetation is a tropical jungle and the fruits look alien. Transportation is primarily motorcycles with side-carts as well as renovated World War 2 jeeps that have been stretched into buses. Houses are made of concrete and wood with tin sheets covering them. These parallel beings have found a way to steal away into our world’s wardrobe. Despite their language sounding nothing like our Latin based ones, they wear t-shirts broadcasting all sorts of random excerpts from our culture: from movies, sports, and even profane expressions that they likely don’t understand. You certainly would feel like a foreigner there. 

See? There I go rambling trying to describe something that just can’t be grasped without experiencing it for one’s self. How would you explain what swimming is like to someone who has only seen water in a glass? Try describing the color green to someone who can only see red. Convey love using words. 

The problem is words are symbols used to relate an idea to gain a mutual understanding of something. For example, when I say “dog” what is the first image that comes to mind? Some may imagine a poodle, some a husky, but for me I imagine a beagle. If you had never seen a beagle, I could try and explain what it looks like. “It’s a medium-small sized dog, with brown, black and white over its body.” However, this does not even begin to cause you to understand the nature of this animal, its mannerisms, its behavior, nor the feelings of companionship, loyalty, and friendship accompanied with my image of a dog. 

So it is with what you are about to read, but on a much larger and deeper scale.

If you truly want to connect with the events that transpired, I would encourage you to not read the following entry as if it were a novel. Rather, you should pause often, envision the descriptions that you read in your mind’s eye. Try to feel what was being felt instead of simply digesting information. I assure you that as you engage this story will cause you to feel a portion of what we felt as well as the feelings of those we helped. I also know that as you begin to connect with this story you will understand more fully the lessons we learned that has forever changed our character. You too can be effected to live life more fully, with gratitude, and to live like the Philippino--which is to be happy and willing to give of everything you have without expecting anything in return. 

Our Beginning

My name is Charles Mace. I am 23. I am a full time student in my third year of college. I have a scholarship through the CAL Leadership program at my university which requires my representing the school as an Ambassador. I am an owner of a vehicle detailing business I started with my best friend in April of this year. I am also a teacher at the Missionary Training Center for the LDS church. I teach Tagalog there. I’m not trying to impress you in any way, but it is important to understand that my time is constantly occupied with obligations and responsibilities that need attending. I learned Tagalog over four years ago when I was called to serve a two year sabbatical in

the Philippines San Pablo Mission. I have always wanted to go back and visit those people I grew to love. My life was changed by the Philippinos. They are the most kind, giving, humorous, light-hearted, grateful, family oriented, friendly, and caring people that I have ever met. They are part of a culture that is willing to help one another. There is more

humanity found on those small islands then all the other places I’ve been to combined. They helped me see that nothing material in this world is of value when compared to the treasured feelings that accompany connecting with loved ones or helping others. They unknowingly hold the key to happiness--the same coveted conquest of the wealthy, the famous, the affluent, and the powerful. The Philippino people taught me by example the secret to happiness. They once more taught me that key to happiness as I carried their dead friends and family through the streets of their flattened city to the mass graves hidden behind the city hall.

I want you to pause and think about that for a brief moment. Imagine the Philippino people I just described combined with the description I just gave. Imagine yourself exemplifying the secret to happiness to a stranger as they carry your brother to his burial place. I didn’t understand it either, I still don’t, but I can promise you that their story will help you realize where this happiness can be found.

I remember reading a post on Facebook from David Holland (a friend from my sabbatical) that showed a large hurricane forming outside of the Philippines. I reposted this link on my profile with sentiments and prayers extended towards my friends out there. A few days later I received a call from a family member asking me if I had heard what had happened to the Philippines. I went online to discover that the largest typhoon in the history of this world made landfall on the East islands of the Philippines. 

I immediately tried to get in touch with my friends from my mission which was just north of where the super storm had hit. Communication was down and no one was responding. Post after post reported wind gusts of up to 235mph winds, 15ft storm surges, and utter destruction among the areas caught in its path. I was deeply affected by the images shown on the news and rather disgusted; though the media was there, no one was being helped. Day after day passed and all the reporters could say is “Where is the Philippines President? Thousands are dead, and hundreds of thousands are homeless without food and water.” Graphic stories of violence, looting, and suffering were broadcasted on local and global news stations. I was filled with strong emotions of worry, sympathy, sadness, grief, and pain, but at the same time I also felt an enablement, a desire to act, and a fire began to burn within me. As the days passed my frustration with humanitarian and government inaction intensified. I wanted to help more than anything else, especially because it appeared as if no one was moving quickly enough. I was not financially in a situation to do so, and even if I was, I wondered if donating the money I would have spent on a plane ticket would have a greater effect than if I went. Another day went by and the situation continued to grow worse. Tacloban, the largest city, had finally received some help from governments and humanitarian groups, but the outlying cities were still being neglected. Thousands of people were left without food and clean water. I felt the urgency increase and I decided to begin to act. I started calling

everyone I could get in contact with. I called my Mission President, my friends in the Philippines who had restored cell phone service, the church humanitarian organization, leaders of other organizations, and it continued. In the following few days I invested about 20 hours gathering information and creating a plan to test the feasibility of actually getting to the devastated island of Leyte. I had discovered through my research that there existed an overwhelming abundance of relief goods, but that there was not enough man power to get the goods to all the people. My mind was made up, I committed myself to doing everything in my power to get there to help. I didn’t really know what I was going to do when I got there. I don’t have medical training, search and rescue skills, I don’t even really know how to tie knots. But what I did know was the common dialect and I knew that I was a strong and capable leader.

As I continued gathering information I formulated a plan to get to Cebu (the neighboring island) with relief goods. I had a friend named Walter who had served his two year sabbatical in Tacloban who was willing to accompany me and speak the other dialects of Waray-Waray and Cebuano. He knew his way around the island. I also got in touch with some of the church authorities in Cebu who were beginning to co-ordinate efforts which could serve as a base for us to work through. I presented this information and plan to multiple friends and family members pleading for assistance to help me get to the Philippines to help. Most were sympathetic to my cause but insisted that it was too dangerous and that it was impotent recklessness to go. I considered their words but knew that I could persuade soldiers or other church members to accompany us to ensure safety. I knew the Philippino people, and I knew that if they saw that we were there to help then they would welcome and assist us. Everything inside of me felt that this was the right thing to do. 

About five days after the storm had passed and all this was going on, I went to Preston Trebas’ home who I had also met on my sabbatical. He and his wife Becky had both served in the Philippines with me, so I was anxious to see their reaction to what I was planning on doing. Chantel Ockerman, a close friend of Becky and I’s, had joined us that evening to hang out. Towards the end of the night, I told the group of my plan. When I had finished sharing the urgency of the situation Chantel, who has no affiliation with the Philippines, asked bluntly, “Can I go?” I was taken aback by her offer.

Millions of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea flashed through my head. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, has she seen the disturbing images? We will be running on hardly any sleep, scarce food, little water, sleeping on dirt or cement floors, it could be dangerous, what about the acclimation and jet lag? Can she handle the culture shock? Will this be too traumatic an experience for her? Will she need constant attention? What if she gets sick? She is probably going to get sick… Why does she want to go? Do I want her to go?” All these and many more thoughts passed through my analytical mind in a moment; but as I looked into her eyes I perceived a much deeper meaning behind all of this. My mind was cleared but an eyebrow of skepticism raised regardless and I asked, “Are you serious about this?” Her eyes widened with a type of excitement. Her chin lifted slightly and she radiated a confident certainty. She responded with a direct “yes” and nodded her head in a way to reassure me that she was willing to act on what she had said. I believed her. 

I knew in that moment that if this were to actually happen that she was going to play a valuable and important part in all of this. I did not need to worry about anything that had passed through my mind. So I didn’t. It’s ironic because she ended up voicing these concerns to me multiple times before and on our trip. She actually sent me an e-mail saying that she didn’t want to hold me back or be a burden during our rescue efforts. I knew what I knew. I then comforted her by expressing that I knew she would be a great benefit and help to me and the Philippino people. She said that she felt much better about going. 

David Holland, from before, had reacted very quickly to the call for help. He opened his PayPal account and began to gather donations to be sent over to the Philippines. I got in touch with him and told him to wait just a day or two more to send the money, explaining that I would be able to give a direct accounting of donations along with getting the relief goods to Tacloban faster than any other organization could at that time. He was willing to wait. The following hours were spent in school, at work, and every other life obligation. Any spare moment had was spent on creating a plan of action and an anticipated list of expenses. I presented this plan to Chantel who approved it. I wanted her to feel more comfortable with what we were about to do instead of just flying out there without any sort of plan. She was impressed with what I had come up with and in a silly ironic way deemed me the trip’s junior accountant (she has a degree in accounting and was planning on taking her CPA test once getting home). It’s funny, because though we had this plan that I had created, as you will see, it didn’t happen at all like we were expecting. 

Our donations began coming in, our plan was set, and all we needed to do to commit fully was to purchase our plane tickets. It is difficult to describe the anxiety and urgency I felt at this moment. I had everything in place, our plan was set, but this would pull the trigger. I was planning to go for 18 days while Chantel was planning on staying for about a week. Her best friend Leslie was getting married and she was to be the Maid of Honor. They are as close of friends as friends can get. They are family and so it was completely understandable for Chantel to return home sooner than I. Chantel and I talked on the phone, finalized our plans, and purchased our plane tickets a little after midnight. We had under 36 hours to get everything ready for our journey. I announced it on Facebook before trying to catch a few hours of sleep. I had school and work the next day which would take up about 12 hours, leaving only the night before our flight to pack, get donations finalized, and purchase all the survival and medical gear that we would need. I made it known to all of my associations, friends, and family. I messaged David Holland to let him know that I was going. He shared the PayPal account information and announced it on his event page that he had started. I contacted almost everyone I knew and they all responded generously. Fellow students were donating from a couple bucks up to $100 which floored me. I was amazed at the immediate response and willingness people had to donate. It also bred within me a desire to protect these sacred donations and to utilize them strictly for those effected by the typhoon. I worried about how we were going to pay for our own personal travel, food, and other necessities within the country. These worries soon left as my immediate family responded with funds that they vocalized were intended to sustain ourselves. It was a very generous amount. I want to take a moment to salute you, any of you, who have, would have, and are willing to respond to help in any way that you can. Thank you. 

 

     A companion of mine from when I served in the Philippines named Preston Olsen responded to my Facebook posting asking the details of my trip. After I responded, he said he was going to purchase a plane ticket and that he would see me over there. I was amazed at his willingness to go into this even more blindly then we were! He was seriously just throwing himself into the situation with a strong belief that he would be utilized. His faith is remarkable. I told him I would be extremely grateful for his company and assistance in this endeavor. He is an advanced EMT, has a few years experience in construction, and the both of us together had actually served a city devastated by typhoon Undoy a few years prior. I got chills when I realized for the first time that I did have experience with this sort of situation--and with Olsen too! We had spent six weeks together distributing relief goods, building houses, and helping survivors. It was obviously a much less catastrophic situation when compared to Haiyan’s destruction.

I could barely believe that of all the people in the world that would be chosen to accompany us on this journey it would be the man I would want to bring with me the most. God is good that way. I don’t believe in coincidences. 

That next morning at school, I talked to all of my professors asking for their mercy and forgiveness for leaving for 18 days to help with the relief efforts. All of them were willing to accommodate me, make adjustments, move deadlines, extend tests, etc. I was very grateful for their willingness to let me serve. If they hadn’t, they would have had no soul, but I am still grateful nonetheless. Interestingly enough, the question I got asked the absolute most was, “Your professors are ok with you going? How can you do this with school?” I didn’t know what to expect; I thought maybe people would ask me more about how I was going to live on an island that had no clean water or food for a week but instead people were with dire concern about my classes. This also reflects what I mentioned in the introduction. People in general can only relate to what they can refer to. Most people I talked to are in school or have attended school, so I suppose that was the most incomprehensible aspect of me leaving. Upon getting home, apart from, “How was your trip?” that same question was easily the most asked. It was interesting. 

I went to work at the MTC and talked to my training coordinator about my decision to leave. By this point I was willing to do whatever it took to go. Obviously, we had plane tickets. However, my worries about taking work off were misplaced. Jenny Webre was more than willing to allow me the time off. She also served her sabbatical in the Philippines and she expressed sentiments wishing that she could go serve as well. I am grateful for her support. 

I said goodbye to my missionaries (who were quite upset that I was going to the Philippines before them) and headed home to begin packing. Chantel had been dutifully purchasing and gathering the required equipment and necessities for our trip. She met up at my apartment with Preston Trebas. In my faith we practice a specific prayer called a blessing where the authority of God is exercised in order to heal the sick, provide counsel, or (in our case) for protection and guidance. Chantel received her blessing first. These blessings are sacred in nature so specifics will be avoided. Her blessing spoke of being able to connect with and heal the hearts of the Philippino people while experiencing a healing of her own that would deepen her understanding of Jesus

Christ’s love. I also received a blessing which spoke of my love for these people, my path that had prepared me for this journey, and about how I will help and serve in the Philippines now and in the future. We all reflected for a moment and felt a great significance emerge in our hearts and minds. Trebas and Chantel left soon after. Our pause in preparation was short as we still had much to do.

I began to tackle all the tasks ahead. I finished packing first then dove into all the homework I had to complete and submit before my departure. This included about seven assignments. Five of those were for my scholarship. I had to finish those that night so I dove in and started cranking them out. I remember six am rolling around and thinking that this was insane. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I finally finished and made some more phone calls to Walter and others. 

I remember receiving an e-mail from my loving and wonderful mother. She had expressed strongly her opposition to me leaving as a good mother would. She was concerned for my safety and felt that my decision was hasty and that it would be ignorant to deny the prevalent dangers I was subjecting myself and Chantel to. She strongly voiced her opposition towards our decision to go. In addition to this, my older sister Jessica called me. She was holding back tears as she plead with me not to go. As her emotion carried through the phone I started to hurt at the idea that I was causing my sister this kind of pain. She began to cry and repeated a few times, “Charles, please, don’t go to Tacloban. I’m pleading with you. Don’t go to Tacloban.” I tried to reassure my sister that Tacloban was not where we were going, rather, we were headed to outlying villages that hadn’t received help yet. She was hardly comforted. She expressed love and worry for me, about my mental and emotional welfare, and coping with the potentially gruesome and haunting things we would see. When I got off the phone I sat back and self-evaluated reflecting on whether this really was the right thing to do. I would not be so proud to prevent calling off an expedition such as this if our reasonable safety or welfare would be compromised. I pondered deeply, meditated, and asked myself if this trip was right. I asked myself why I was going. I checked my motivations. I am definitely an adventurer by nature, I get stir-crazy easily, and the idea of taking flight in order to help and assist others is a heroic and romantic notion that I would likely engage in. Was I doing this for me? To escape the monotony of the day-to-day? I answered myself reasoning that though this is something I do enjoy participating in, this is not an escape trip for me like previous escapades to Vegas, California, and the like. I was filled again with that anxiousness immediately accompanied with that gut feeling of urgency. I knew in that moment that everything had worked so well to make this trip even possible that it had to be the will of God. I wanted to help and God needed hands to help. So, because we were willing to sacrifice what we had and we were in the right circumstances He would send us. I resolved then with complete confidence that we were going to Leyte and that everything was going to happen in its proper order. 

As I was finishing up my papers and packing Chantel and her friend Julie arrived to take us to the airport. We arranged our things and set out to SLC International. We were on our way with what appeared to be an uncertain leap of faith. We were not sanctioned by any organization. We were discouraged by the vast majority of people we knew to not go. Our plan was to travel to an island of an uncertain status, buy relief goods, find a boat, and get to a separate devastated island that had no phones, no electricity, and hundreds of thousands of hungry people. Despite the uncertainty of our expedition, I did not doubt for a moment that we were not supposed to go nor that we were not going to be able to help. As this story continues you will see for yourself what I discovered; if God wants something done He will get it done. He will sustain those He works through. 

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We arrived at the Airport