I’d not been to the Philippines before and I’d never done disaster relief work before. I had no idea what to expect. Stepping off the ferry (where the sound system was playing the most hideous Christmas remixes I’ve ever heard) into Ormoc city was surprised to be greeted not by the post apocalyptic scene I’d expected but by a functioning city.
Maybe not functioning in the same way before Yolanda had struck but functioning all the same, mobile phone charging stations were gathering a roaring trade at the road side, people queues quite orderly for food guarded and distributed by the Filipino army, armed with klashinkovs. (Guns would be a familiar site in the Philippines as most establishments had some form of armed guard). There were legitimate reasons our first briefing contained warnings about looting and an almost comical story about how at the height of the storm the guards in Tacloban prison had released prisoners (for their own safety) asking them to return after the storm. Unsurprisingly many failed to return after Yolanda had struck.
People were smiling welcoming us to Ormoc, a tall fit American guy we met on the ferry was being told repeatedly he was very handsome by the locals. The mood was upbeat and jovial, not what I was expecting, and everywhere there was that word –
Bangon. Scribbled on flags, grafitti’d on walls, emblazoned across t-shirts. Bangon Ormoc.
Bangon means ‘rising from a lying position’ in Filipino and Ormoc had risen and continues to rise after Yolanda.