Photo By Patricia Dubiel | A perfect example of the enduring spirit of Puerto Rico: This tree, located in a...... read more read more
Light posts that once illuminated ballparks and streets were snapped and toppled over as if they were made of tin rather than steel and cement. Miles of electric lines were tangled and draped over curbs and porches, across roads, atop cars — many still attached to poles and transformers. Any power lines that remained aloft would invariably have at least one tree leaning on it, and every hundred feet or so there would be another. Town after town, mile after countless mile, the images were the same. It’s no surprise the engineers estimate it will take several months, perhaps even years to restore power to everyone.
It’s going to take longest for those living further inland. The coastal cities have larger populations and ports to receive fuel, food and necessities, so they naturally have priority. For the villages in the mountains, the wait will be lengthy.
I also saw the ecological impact of the storms, which was equally startling. Wild green parrots that usually don’t leave their homes in the rain forest were forced to migrate toward the coast in search of food and shelter. Enormous coconut and palm trees jutted from the earth at awkward angles, most with small bristle-brush tops where sprawling flat leaves should have been. Many were uprooted and lying on their sides, some with the weight of a concrete sidewalk or street still attached along the roots.
The landscape was scarred with great swaths of brown and grey in areas that should have been a lush, emerald green. From the highway I could see a banana field with neatly planted rows of banana trees, reduced to mere stubs in the ground.
Puerto Rico measures about 35 miles from north to south and 90 from east to west. The entire island was impacted by the storm. In the first few days and weeks, the damaged airport could not bring in aid. Ships carrying cargo were several days, or weeks, away from landing at the ports. What were the people to do?
Many left to stay with relatives and friends in the continental United States — more than 169,000 as of Nov. 20, and probably more by now. For those who remain, many are still waiting for the power to be restored. Generators are in high demand, and most stores only get them in once per week. They are snapped up within moments of being unloaded from the delivery trucks, so those who want one need to be at the store before the truck arrives.
But there is hope too, and it comes from the Puerto Rican people. Clean up is hard work, debris removal is cumbersome and at times even dangerous, and certain resources are difficult to find. Yet I saw people repairing their roofs then moving on to their neighbor’s house to fix theirs, then to the next and so on. Communities were sharing the work of clearing debris from the streets and out of their yards. Neighbors that barely said hello to each other in all the years they lived side by side were now having daily meals together, and in some cases even living together. They helped care for each other’s pets and looked in on each other’s children and elderly relatives. They shared rides to a store — any store that may have had water or other goods — and waited together in long lines for gasoline.
When people are faced with daily struggle just to meet their basic needs, and forced to see the mangled, mud-soaked, twisted remnants of what was once a beautiful home, park or village, they need an emotional break. So every Sunday morning, the churches were full. Every Sunday afternoon, bars and restaurants were also full. In both cases, they were usually under generator power, with limited or minimal services, but they offered a respite by way of air conditioning, working bathrooms, cold drinks and music. The people rejoiced, appreciative of their survival through the storm and their continued endurance through the tribulations of recovery. Everyone had their moments of despair, and I saw plenty of them, but I also saw spirits lift when someone reached out a hand to help, or when the National Guard showed up to distribute water and MREs, or when a family that was sleeping in their car after the storm finally got into a hotel, or when a couple who had lost everything began dancing to the music from a nearby cafe.
I witnessed much of this during my time at the Disaster Recovery Center, or DRC, in Fajardo, Puerto Rico. This makeshift FEMA office was set up at the Conception Perez Alberto baseball stadium. The first few days at the DRC were the most challenging as we encountered delays and difficulties in getting a diesel generator set up, the water turned on, telephones working and a satellite installed for Internet service. It was an outdoor stadium, so there was no air conditioning — that means lots of fans — and as we were handling paperwork, we had to find ways to keep it from blowing away. I soon learned that granola bars and peanut packs work pretty well, if you can keep the employees from eating them.
The ants and flying bugs were another challenge. Luckily, the ants in Puerto Rico do not bite, but they do get into everything. The copier and fax machine were popular hotspots for these insects, as was the break area (for the crumbs, of course) but it was our worktables and bathrooms that attracted the larger bugs. For security reasons, the lights in the foyer of the stadium (where we set up shop) had to stay on at night, which attracted insects. Once they reached the light, they would either drop onto our rows of tables and chairs or swarm into the bathrooms, using the commodes as their own little swimming pools. By morning most were dead, and the first employees that came in usually wiped them off the tables and chairs. The first few restroom patrons would take care of flushing out the rest.
Once the bugs were cleared away, the team could set up their laptops and turn on the fans. As we sat at our tables, the morning sun shone directly in our faces, a blinding problem that we took care of using what we had on hand: Cardboard boxes, zip ties and string. These were used to fashion sun blocks onto the chain link-covered openings of the cement structure surrounding us. The restrooms were literally at our backs and vented toward us, so there were odiferous challenges to endure as well. When it rained, we lost the satellite. When it rained hard, the parking lot flooded (up to a foot of water), trapping us at the stadium until the water receded enough to venture forth. At night, on-site security guards were kept busy deterring the criminal element from trying to pick the locks to steal the equipment and water we kept in the DRC.
The team had every right to complain about the working conditions, but they did not. There were plenty of reasons to decry the austere environment, but no one griped. We were there to help people that were dealing with situations that were much worse than the conditions at the stadium. Volunteers like me worked shoulder to shoulder with FEMA employees and native translators (who were themselves dealing with damaged homes and power outages) to accomplish a mission, and our comfort was not important. Besides, we had plenty of coffee (strong, potent coffee) that paired nicely with our granola bars and peanuts. We sprang into action daily when the food and water truck arrived, forming a human chain to quickly and efficiently unload the goods. Some team members didn’t feel compelled to assist in these more physically demanding operations, but it didn’t matter — there were enough willing patriots on hand to get the job done, and everyone has to live with their own truth.
For the most part, the team was solid. We helped one another, looked after each other’s health, hydration and general wellbeing and, most importantly, we helped a lot of survivors get the assistance they needed.
Our translators were especially important to the mission. They did more than interpret between Spanish-speaking survivors and English-speaking FEMA associates. They explained local customs and culture, knew alternate routes to get around and answered many questions about the area. They were eager to understand the FEMA application and benefits process, which made it easier for them to explain it to the applicants. They always brought plenty of breakfast foods (doughnuts or sandwiches) to share with everyone, paying out of their own pockets, and gladly made lunch runs so FEMA associates could continue with the computer work. They drove us to local stores and even the post office when we needed something. They were invaluable and generous, and always happy to help do anything, anytime.
Our team worked 12-hour days and the DRC was open seven days a week. Our boss, an outstanding DRC manager, held daily morning briefings to provide mission updates, conduct training, and to remind us of the reason we were all there: To help the survivors. Some survivors had small children, others had severe health issues; some were illiterate, others were suffering from dementia or Alzheimer’s; still others were coping with storm-related deaths or injuries, and everyone’s power was still out — 60+ days after the storm. No running water, no roof, no food — but these survivors were gracious and patient and appreciated our help. Every “gracias” was from the heart.
Because of the 12-hour work days, I left and returned to my billeting during hours of darkness and never saw the building or the view surrounding it until my first day off, about four days after establishing the DRC. There was a quaint little village at the base of the mountain that I could see from my room. At night I could only see the headlights from cars illuminating a road that surrounded a beachside park. By day I could see not only the beach, but also the Atlantic Ocean lapping against it. There were small fishing and recreational boats anchored in the bay, and people went there to relax on the weekends. During the day there were families and friends and music playing, which was lovely, but at night it was dark.
On Thanksgiving, I looked down toward the village as the sun was setting and saw something new in the approaching darkness: A street light, then another, then another. I saw porch lights on houses and illuminated windows. To celebrate, many of the residents got into their cars and drove around the beachfront park, honking their horns and waving to one another. Salsa music radiated up the mountain and gently rested in my ears. The village, like the rest of the island, was coming back to life, bit by bit.
During my last hours in Puerto Rico, I went into Old San Juan for a last look around. Some stores were still running on household generators that were stationed on sidewalks or in alleyways, creating a low hum that reverberated throughout the town. But the tourists were returning, cruise ships were docking nearby, many restaurants (those without structural damage) were open and helado (a kind of ice cream) vendors were positioned under colorful umbrellas at many street corners.
As my plane left San Juan, I took a final look over the place I called home for six weeks. I could see a lot of blue tarps still covering many roofs, and large areas of downed trees that still need to be cleared but there was also progress. There was more traffic on the roads, more businesses reopened and the gas stations and banks were all open now and serving customers. When I arrived, only 15 percent of the power grid was operating — it was hovering around 50 percent the day I left. I bore witness to the new catchphrase, “Puerto Rico, se levanta!” (Puerto Rico rises!)
I had mixed emotions as the aircraft climbed, glad to be heading home and into the Christmas season but sad about leaving my new friends, my team, and wondering if I had done enough to help. The truth is I didn’t do enough … but I did all I could.
| Date Taken: | 12.15.2017 |
| Date Posted: | 12.21.2017 11:59 |
| Story ID: | 259844 |
| Location: | FORT POLK, LOUISIANA, US |
| Hometown: | FAJARDO, PR |
| Hometown: | SAN JUAN, PR |
| Web Views: | 157 |
| Downloads: | 0 |
This work, IIncredible mission: Destruction, resiliency, teamwork and leaving Puerto Rico, by Patricia Dubiel, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
No keywords found.
