Tita Cory's Funeral

by Ma. Lourdes S. Bautista

A friend of mine in the Philippines sent me this e-mail about Tita Cory’s funeral. It describes how Filipinos from all walks of life took part in Tita Cory's historic funeral spontaneously. The writer has given Barangay OFW permission to publish her e-mail.

Dear all,

Last Wednesday, August 5, 2009, the Filipino people laid Tita Cory to rest. Ton, Nina, Yumi, Ma and I accepted Gigi's invitation to join her and her family in their place which was near the South Luzon Expressway (SLEX). It offered a good vantage point of Tita Cory's funeral.

Ma and I arrived at Gigi’s place before 9:00 a.m. and so there was no traffic at all. Ton, Nina, and Yumi arrived after a few minutes. We were able to watch the funeral Mass on TV and it was a great experience being able to see it with family.

Iyakin ako, as you know, so there were several times umiyak ako. All of us found Fr. Arevalo's homily beautiful and we were not turned off (as some were, according to the Inquirer) by the celebrities singing songs -- they were all good (especially Dulce and Lea Salonga) and the songs chosen had great meaning in Cory's life.

At 2:30 p.m., when we thought the cortege was approaching Gigi’s place, we went to SLEX. Ay naku, the wait lasted two hours. It was a very mixed group -- peninsulares who lived in posh villages and ordinary Filipinos. There were the usual vendors of bottled water and peanuts and fish crackers.

When the advance party of the cortege came in view, we flashed the L sign and shouted, “Cory, Cory!” several times. We saw Gina Lopez and then Judy and Mar Roxas drive by. We saw Butch Abad, Aurora Pijuan, and Jun Lozada walk by.

Finally! The flatbed truck with Cory's flag-draped coffin surrounded by flowers and the four honor guards standing tall!

Shouting, “Cory, Cory,” we were again teary-eyed. It was an emotional moment. Nina was shocked that Ma, who’s in her 80s, clambered on top of a monobloc chair to get a better view.

The vans and buses carrying the Aquino family followed. But because of the tinted windows, we only glimpsed Jiggy Aquino-Cruz holding a placard with the pentel-pen inked message: "WE LOVE U. SALAMAT."

Then the rain poured and the wind blew -- and even though we were protected by the Skyway overhang -- we got really wet. The rain came in horizontal torrents.

Ma and I took EDSA back to the house and there was no traffic. We passed by Tita Cory's house on Times Street and we saw the orchids that we had left the day before. At home, we caught the tail-end of the funeral on TV.

A memorable day indeed -- thanks to Gigi and family for the idea and for the great hospitality.

Tish

Tita Cory's Wake... Incandescent Smile

by Felix Bautista

A friend of mine in the Philippines forwarded to me another e-mail about Tita Cory’s wake at the La Salle Green Hills Gymnasium. The original writer of the email has given Barangay OFW his permission to publish his email.


From: Felix Bautista ______________________
Date: Wed, Aug 5, 2009 at 6:56 AM
Subject: Tita Cory's Wake
To: tish bautista ___________________________


Folks,


Tato, Joville, Nina and I went to the wake Sunday night. It was raining while we were in the car, but mercifully, the rains stopped when we left Robinson's Galleria parking. We stopped over at the EDSA Shrine and took the elevated walkway to Ortigas.

We got to the line at around 7:30 PM, near the tire shop on Ortigas and the line was just two deep. We settled in for a long wait, observing people, listening to hawkers plying their trade, and hearing Nina talk about her experiences as a high school teacher at La Salle Green Hills in 1986.

It took us several hours to get inside the gym, but we were offered Nestea juice and iced tea, Hersheys kisses, San Mig coffee. The only thing missing were the biscuits, a constant in Philippine wakes.

On the long ramp up to the gym, we saw two of Tita Cory's grandsons, as they worked the line apologizing to the people for the long wait.

Finally, we got inside the gym, and my first impression was that it looked like a giant TV studio, with all the lights and equipment. What struck me next was that even with all the people, the gym was almost quiet.

Soon, we were facing the coffin, and we only had enough time to make the sign of the cross. I only saw the heavily made-up face, not the brown hands and the rosary.

I also saw Ninoy during his wake at the Sto. Domingo Church -- Ninoy in his bloodied clothes. The two images from the two wakes were like night and day.

And then I remembered what Kris said during the Boy Abunda interview earlier. Kris said that she promised Tita Cory that she will make sure that Tita Cory will look good in her wake, so she was present the whole time, during the transfer of the remains from Makati Medical Center to the Heritage Mortuary, the embalming and preparation. And then in typical showbiz fashion, she thanked people who did Tita Cory's hair, makeup and clothes...

It was Kris's showbiz tribute to her mom.

I prefer to retain an image of Cory when she lit up in her incandescent smile, which I am now indelibly reminded watching all of the tributes to her on television. I will remember her for her transparency, her sincerity, her lack of pretence.

We stayed a while, sitting on the bleachers. Joville and Nina signed our names in the visitor's book. We received yellow pins; I will keep mine as a memento. For some minutes, we watched as people viewed Cory, trying to recognize Important People, drinking in the atmosphere.

Nearing 11 pm, we left the wake. On the way out, we caught a glimpse of Dolphy and Zsa Zsa. Dolphy looked stooped and was heavily made- up. So was Zsa Zsa.

As we walked back to Robinson’s Galleria, the line had grown four- tiers thick. The visit to the wake was, for me, a perfect ending to a truly happy day when I celebrated my birthday.

Ton

Tita Cory's Wake

by Ms. Juliet Guanlao

A friend of mine in the Philippines forwarded to me an e-mail about Tita Cory’s wake at the La Salle Greenhills. The original writer of the email has given Barangay OFW her permission to publish her email.

From: Juliet Guanlao _________________

To: usths80@_______________________

Sent: Sunday, August 2, 2009 10:35:31 PM

Subject: [usths80] Tita Cory's Wake

I was there last night. It took me, a friend, and three nieces more than three hours to get to Tita Cory's coffin, where we were able to spend a few seconds to say thank you.

I could not pass up on this chance to feel "People Power" all over again. I went there with the hope of witnessing and feeling the same fever that gripped all of us 23 years ago. I was at EDSA (it happened three months after I came home from an 8-year stay in NY). I was squeezed at the gates of Malacañang with the passionate mob who rushed there after hearing the news that the Marcoses had fled. I was in Luneta during the rally after the dictator was ousted.

I just felt that this is the last chance to feel Tita Cory's fervent hope to unite us, even up to her death.

I was not disappointed. The unity of our people and the desire to be with Tita Cory for the last time are very much alive. The line started from Gate 5 and extended all the way to the corner of EDSA and Ortigas, and snaked 4 times. Four layers of people peacefully and orderly lined up along Ortigas, in the midst of traffic and the smoke-belching vehicles. But there were no complaints, no rowdiness among the crowd, just the usual noise of people chatting, waiting patiently in line.

There were a lot of smiles, nods and short comments exchanged among strangers, as we passed by or faced each other in our respective spots. As expected, there were a lot of entrepreneurs who were able to produce yellow shirts and yellow ribbons in such a short time.

We arrived at around 8:30 pm and were able to join the 2nd layer of the line. Those who were in the first line had been there since 4 o'clock. There was a mass at 8pm and they stopped letting people in at 7.

We were feeling impatient at around 10:30 pm when, to our surprise, there was activity behind us. Tita Cory's grandsons, Jiggy (the one who looks like Ninoy) and the other one (we didn't get his name but I think he was the other one who was frequently seen with Jiggy, but this time without his Ninoy glasses), were walking through the lines, shaking people's hands, profusely thanking and apologizing to everyone about the long wait.

Of course there were a lot of posing and picture-taking, and these two young lads were game! It was probably a nightmare for the two security personnel who tailed Tita Cory’s grandsons. Their presence gave everyone the much-needed boost, and we were able to keep our spirits up for the next 2 hours. There was even one lady behind us who shouted, "Iho, ano nga bang pangalan mo? Iboboto kita!" It was indeed an unexpected but heartwarming gesture from those two young men.

When we had gone through the gates, we saw young people handing out Kopiko candies and Hershey's Kisses chocolates. Feeling nasa wake talaga! Kulang na lang Boy Bawang, Happy peanuts, butong pakwan and Zest-o. But there were water dispensers and cups in different spots inside the campus.

Flowers lined up the corridors, and Tita Cory's enlarged portraits were placed along the hallway leading to the coffin. Inside the gym, celebrities were everywhere. But despite the fact that there were showbiz stars and politicos everywhere, I didn't think it replaced the feelings of the people that they were there to pay their respects to Tita Cory. The mood was calm and solemn.

In two's, we were allowed only a few seconds in front of the coffin. Not enough to digest and take in the minute details of this once-in-a-lifetime experience. I was there with a friend and my three nieces, and when we were back in the car, we pieced together all that we were able to store in our memories.

Tita Cory was wearing a simple bright yellow dress with sparkling stones. Brownish hands folded clutching a rosary. Jet black hair combed back, bright red lips, heavily-foundationed face. She looked very different... she looked like a Chinese mestiza but decades younger... The face was different from the Tita Cory we are all familiar with. But her expression was very serene... very peaceful...

The way she looked in the coffin got us distracted. We were hoping to see the sweet, motherly face of Tita Cory. We walked back to the car pensive, and disturbed. We did not want this to be the last memory we will have of her.

My initial feeling was, I wish I did not go.... But now, the morning after, things are clearer in my mind. She must have suffered so much in her ordeal that they had to hide the pain.. The face may have masked the sufferings but the color of her hands exposed them anyway... Now I feel that even up to her death, she wanted us to see her strength, not her sufferings. And for that, I admire her more...

Tita Cory suffered so much in her life....as a wife, as a mother, as a person...We are the ones who benefited from those sufferings. As a nation, we are free. But, as a people, we have a lot more to do. My fervent prayer is for all of us to show the same unity that we showed Tita Cory and do our share in addressing the ills of our country.

Twenty-six years ago, I was marching in the streets of New York City, together with the members of the anti-Marcos movement, because Ninoy had been assassinated. I live now in Manila, but for the 26 years that I have lived here, my sense of obligation has centered around myself and my loved ones. Other than doing my best to be a law-abiding citizen, the occasional bouts of nationalism demonstrated during the People Power and now for Tita Cory, I have not really done much. I hope now, I can start...

I have been a silent reader in our e-group for the past 8 years.. Now I cannot resist na magparamdam because I want to share this experience with all of you.

To those who are overseas and cannot make it to the wake, I hope this gives you a glimpse of what it was like to be there, from my perspective. To those who can make it to the Manila Cathedral, you still have a chance.

Let's pay our respects to Tita Cory. It's the least we can do. And let's hope that the spark that this visit rekindles will stay and ignite us to move.

Yeng

An OFW Daughter’s Perspective

by Rizza Lee
Singapore

She is in her mid 20's, a fashion-plate with designer clothes bought from different corners of the globe. Sweet, witty, and pretty, she is my friend who confides to me not for advice, but to have somebody who can see her in a different perspective.

When she was eight, her parents worked separately in two different European countries. When she was ten, her parents separated and she grew up under the tutelage of her grandmother.

“Who cares? As long as he gives me a good amount of sustento,” was her remark about her father who had re-married and already had his second family abroad.

My friend’s mother came home for a few days once in a couple of years. At age 52, she was still working quite hard out there to spoil my friend with worldly materials.

Spoiled enough, she was! She had four different active cell phones. She used each phone with a different boy friend. This arrangement, according to her, helped avoid confusion of sweet talks and text messages. She also dated several married guys and a few managers in our company.

People either loved her or hated her. She had a ‘bad girl’ reputation which she created herself and heedlessly flaunted. Although most of my female colleagues hated her, I thought of her as a little girl who managed to hide her pains through the attention of an entourage of boy friends who adored her.

One day in the office, she seemed annoyed while talking to her mom on the phone. When she put down the phone, she looked at me and sighed deeply.

“Nakakainis! My mom wants to come home next month--- for good.”

I said, “That would be great!”

But I stopped talking when she continued to say jokingly, “Ayoko nga, noh! I’m not used to having her around. Hay naku, di bale, I will try my best para makisama. She might not give me pasalubong at pera pag inaway ko.”

More than a month had passed and I noticed her coming to work early and working late at night. I was curious how she and her mom were getting along. I asked her about her mom while we were having lunch.

“Naku, gusto ba naman tumabi sa akin sa pagtulog! Tapos sa umaga, she makes me a tuna sandwich kasi healthy daw. Di ba n’ya alam na I don’t eat tuna? Eto pa ha, she prepares my clothes for me kahit di nya rin alam kung ano gusto kong isuot. Hay naku! I hope she stops doing those things, kasi she’s treating me like the kid I was when she left me. That’s why I go home late and come to work early para maiwasan ang encounter.”

I responded to her, “But I don’t think you should be giving her that ill-deserved punishment. Sabi nga nila, the more you hate your parents, the more you become like them, or even worse!”

My laconic comment stunned her to silence. Then she asked, “Uy mare, totoo ba ‘yan?”

“Ewan, pero marami na akong kakilala na ganun ang nangyayari. Alam mo mare, when we were kids, LOVE was spelled TIME in our eyes. Now that we’ve grown-up, and our parents have aged, they realize that at this point in our lives, we were right all along. Love is time spent together.”

During that time, I was planning to work abroad myself so I could afford to provide for more than just my children’s basic needs. My own advice was reflected back to me. As her mother had done, I was also about to brave separation from my own children and work abroad in the hope of giving them a good life.

Was it really all worth it? Would they ever understand? Would they ever see beyond the desertion that I had only the best intentions for them?

Aware of my friend’s perspective as a daughter, I made a promise to myself that wherever I go, my family would come with me and we would always be together. It would be a lot riskier but it was a risk I was most prepared to take.

Two months ago, my friend sent me an email. An excerpt of it says: “I have learned to accept and not to fight back what is happening. And I felt better. I’m just starting to do it, mare. And we are both struggling to be comfortable with each other. All these years, my mom was a stranger to me.”

I felt both happy and sad for her. Happy – because she seemed to have become a new person who had finally figured out her life. Sad – because she felt that her mother was a stranger to her.
The words might not have been spoken, but her mother must have surely felt it. What else could be more painful to a mother who had sacrificed the best years of her life working as an OFW in a foreign land?

Copyright © 2008 to Barangay OFW. All rights reserved.

One Barangay at a Time

by Carmelita C. Ballesteros

Singapore

Barangay Wawa is a rich fishing village in the town of Nasugbu, Batangas. Nuestra Señora de la Paz y Buenviaje, its patron saint, is famous for protecting fisherfolk and blessing them with plentiful catch.

My son and I left our village in the 1980s. My son went to school at the St. Francis de Sales Minor Seminary (high school equivalent) in Lipa City while I taught at De La Salle University in Manila. We always went back to visit, but we never really belonged any more.

After high school, my son went to San Beda College in Mendiola, Manila for his bachelor’s degree in Philosophy.

While completing my doctoral degree at the University of Santo Tomas, I applied for a housing loan and built a two-bedroom bungalow at Camella Fairfields in Bacoor, Cavite.

My son and I commuted from our new home to Manila every day. Every so often, we’d visit Barangay Wawa, but we never really belonged any more.

Time flew. Soon, the 21st century had begun and my son was already a family man. We renovated our modest bungalow to build additional rooms for his growing family. We asked carpenters and masons from our village to come and help us. Afterwards, we’d go and visit Barangay Wawa every so often, but we never really belonged any more.

Two weeks ago, my son and his family went to our village to help lay to rest a childhood friend of his. While walking with the funeral cortege from the village to the cemetery to help bury his friend, he realized that he’d left a piece of himself in Barangay Wawa. It is the home of his childhood and he has never stopped belonging.

He cried silently, grieved by the untimely death of his childhood friend. But he wept in his heart, grieved by the decay of the home of his innocence.

Whenever we’d visit in the past, we’d stay in my mother’s or brother’s place, have a picnic, then leave. We’d say hello to neighbors in the morning, then we’d say goodbye in the afternoon. Spending time at the wake of his friend, my son had a chance to listen to the stories of his other childhood friends. He had time to observe them up close.

Most of them didn’t finish high school. They married in their teens so they already have teenage children. Their daily life is a struggle for economic survival. They don’t have steady jobs. They work as seasonal fishermen, carpenters, masons, plumbers, drivers, etc. Some of their wives work as fish vendors, laundrywomen, or room attendants in the exclusive beach resorts nearby.

The village has become too crowded, overrun by local migrants from other islands. Village wells have either dried up or have become too polluted. During my son’s childhood, we drew drinking water from the well in our backyard. In fact, everybody drew water from that well.

In fact, every household had a well somewhere near. My mother used to wonder in amazement how in heaven could the numerous wells give fresh potable water while the village sat beside the sea? God must be a real genius!

Unlike the wells, the sea has not dried up. But it has been abused by dynamite fishing and has become depleted of its once abundant supply of fishes of all species. Owners of fishing boats groan that they have to fish farther and farther into the open ocean.

Sometimes, they come back to the shore empty-handed. Sometimes, they come back to the shore with a comrade injured by a dynamite blast. Sometimes, they don’t come back at all, perishing in a typhoon or a dynamite accident.

Worst of all, the village has become a haven of drug runners and addicts!

It is a screaming irony that the original inhabitants of the village have become destitute and despondent while local migrants from other places now own exclusive beach resorts.

Being involved in CFC and Gawad Kalinga, my son and his wife have promised themselves that they will to go back to Barangay Wawa and focus on education for all – the children, the teen-agers, and the adults.

There is an elementary school in the village and there are several secondary schools in the town proper. But only a few students from our village finish high school, and hardly anyone seems able to go to college.

So the village is hostage to poverty and misery. Perhaps, some boys and girls do dream of a better life. But they don’t know how to make their dreams come true. Perhaps, their dreams die in their childhood.

This scenario is multiplied a thousand times all over the Philippines. As a third-world country, we used to compete with Malaysia and Thailand. But Malaysia and Thailand have overtaken us.
Lately, we have stopped competing with Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. They have also overtaken us. Now, we are competing with Myanmar for notoriety and corruption.

Many of us despair and give up. Many of us are ashamed to own a Philippine passport. Many of us hate having been born a Filipino.

The good news is that there are many more of us who refuse to give up. There are many more of us who carry themselves with dignity and show their Philippine passports with pride. There are many more of us whose childhood home is a village somewhere in the Philippines. And we never stop belonging to the home of our childhood.

Soon, I hope to join my son and his wife as they go back to our village, our town. We hope to show the children, the teenagers, and the adults that abundance is everywhere, that there is hope.

Perhaps, they can learn to dream again. Perhaps, this is the way to bring about social transformation in the Philippines. One barangay at a time…

(Originally published in FilamMegaScene, Chicago, Illinois, USA, June 20, 2008)

Copyright © 2008 to Barangay OFW. All rights reserved.

Typhoon in Iloilo!

Finally, I have reached Ms. Bing, the original writer of the email on the devastation wrought by Typhoon Frank in Iloilo on June 21. She has given Barangay OFW her permission to publish her email forwarded to me by Sister Fidelisa Portillo, SPC.

Sister Fidelisa is a Paulinian nun whom I have known since the 1990s when she was the Directress of Claret College in Basilan, an island province near Zamboanga. The email account below is in mixed English, Tagalog, and Ilongo.

from Sister Fidelisa Portillo <fidelisaportillo@yahoo.com>
to barangay.ofw@gmail.com
date Jun 25, 2008 7:43 AM
subject Typhoon in Iloilo!

Dear Carmel,

I would like to share with other OFW's the writer's first-hand experience.

In Christ,

Sister Fidelisa


Hi, guys,


The sun is shining now though it's still cloudy. Only a few reported to the office. Some of them were able to take alternative routes to reach the city. They will have to leave early this afternoon though. The rest who have not shown up are typhoon victims, around 15 of them. That's in our department lang.


Some of them don't know what to do, their clothes are gone, even their uniforms. Their houses are in shambles... furniture, fixtures, appliances damaged or swept away. Some don't even have their cellphones with them. Their vehicles are either totally submerged or can't be found. It must be in fields, or ditches or heaven knows where.


After lunch, I got a call from our group head for Visayas. She wanted me to use the facilities of the province to reach our Kalibo and Boracay branches. It seems that our Kalibo branch's computers were all destroyed. She's quite desperate, but she can't reach anybody there. I had to remind her that cellphones are powered by electricity, and with no power for the last 3 days, the phones won't work.


I told her the water came in so fast, in seconds.. minutes... there was no time to prepare. And on Saturday (June 21) , everybody was already under water. Ferdy, of our Jaro branch, was called to take care of the Jaro branch because it was leaking. When he got back to his house only the rooftop can be seen. It was a good thing a neighbor was able to pull his mom to the roof.


I was indirectlly telling her nga unahon pa ina ang bangko when they also have to attend to their families.


Our group head told me to check the alternate routes to Kalibo. I told her hundreds of vehicles are stranded. I told her I was already in touch with the national defense, two radio stations, and the provincial capitol and they're all saying the same thing. Don't attempt to go because the roads are still not passable.


Si Manny tinak-an siguro, ato naglakat gid..nag-alsahanay boses na sila nga duha. I told our staff that before we take care of others, we have to take care of our own. So this morning, we sent out our vehicle and 4 staffers to try to reach ang mga upod namon diri with dry t-shirts, water, and food.


Merly, our secretary, called me last Saturday. She was perched on her bed (her house is elevated), looking out of the window with water creeping up until it reached her chest. She was asking for help from the governor to rescue her and her neighbors. I didn't have the governor's number but i had that of his son, Jun-Jun, the congressman. I also tried to reach their mayor and his staff, and also the landbankers in Pavia. I couldn't get through so i called the radio stations.


Wilma, another staff member, had been calling for help since 10 a.m. Their house has a second floor though. Wec tried to go out of his house to help Wilma and her family. But he said what happened to him was just like something he watched in the movies. He had to outrun a wall of water higher than his vehicle.


Gali, Providence Subdivision had to tear down its wall because water kept on rising and the houses inside the subdivision were getting submerged.


Ric was on top of his roof with his family. The Janiuay Hospital in front of his house was submerged in water. The hospital staff were able to pull out the patients, one of whom died because she got disengaged from the oxygen tank. All the hospital equipment were damaged.


Our two Bongs' houses were also inundated with water. They only had time to save themselves and their family. Keith of our Plaza Libertad branch got down from the rooftop just early this morning. She thought her grandparents were goners. They were not able to climb to the rooftop. She found them inside the house, cold and hungry but alive. Their wooden beds floated around the house during the flood.


Erp's vehicle was crushed by a mango tree. Another officemate had to destroy his roof in order for his family to climb up.


Always, when daw maguba na ang kalibutan sang warning nila sang bagyo, wala man bagyo. This time, Capiz was signal no. 1 only. Iloilo, no signal at all 'coz the typhoon was supposed to graze only parts of Samar.


I was up till 1 a.m. on Friday night (June 20) and it was not even raining. When i went to bed, it had started to rain, but then I was dead to the world after that. When I woke up, it was raining and there were gusty winds. I thought of my seedlings of oregano and thyme and I thought I'd shelter them.


I was horrified when i looked out of the window and saw that the water on the ground was already high. I asked if it rained hard the night before. George remarked, daw maguba na kalibutan, wala ka imo kahibalo.


But as far as storms go, this is nothing. The wind was not that strong. Iloilo has experienced typhoons far, far worse than this. Which is why it was an utter shock for me when I turned on the radio at 1 pm nga grabe na gali ang situation in the city and Pavia. By 3-4 pm, a lot of calls were coming in asking to be rescued. We were caught flat-footed and we were really not prepared for this. It was each to his own.


Even the radio reporters felt bad. There really was no way to get to those who needed to be rescued. Just listening made you also feel bad. Each town knew they're on their own. Roads were under water, bridges had collapsed. The city was able to borrow 10 jet skis, some rubber boats and two pump boats. 7 pm pa lang, naguba na ang pump boats.


The family of Mayor Treñas was rescued out of their house at past 10:30 pm. Big boys are not supposed to cry, but several mayors were crying, their voices breaking! Out of helplessness at the overwhelming cries for help nga wala man sila mahimo.


Vivian called the Disaster Coordinating Center to help her sister in Alta Tierra but she was told that there's nothing more they can do at the moment.


The sugar central in San Enrique had 10 feet high of water, tunaw ang sugar. The NFA warehouse, flooded ang sacks of rice nga bag-o lang na deliver. For the first time ever, would you believe, the road from SM City up to the Marina had waist-high water?

A lot of people, among them, one of George's med reps spent the night at SM City. It became an evacuation site of sorts sang mga surrounding baranggays.

SM opened their food court area and the canopy and stairs to accommodate people. And they had to close the malls yesterday and today.

School will resume on Wednesday. Now, there's cleaning up. Nagakaubos pala diri. The mud can't be rid of by just hosing it down. Sobra 1 foot ang thickness sang mud.


Worse, some areas will take 4 to 5 days for power to be back. Ang area Jaro up wala pa water coz the water pipes from Maasin are broken. Wala ni rich or poor subong sa areas affected. All of them are buried in muck. Delia, my sis -in law, had water reaching her 2nd level. All appliances went under water.


Carla, another officemate, thought, anaw na. The cameras of GMA-7 are still in her house. The GMA-7 people were caught by the flood and their service vehicle parked outside her house was soon under water. She and her children were eating in their garage when a neighbor passed by. Nagpacomplacer siya mag-imbitar, ay nagka-on gid with her family. It turned out her neighbor had not eaten since the day before.


When you go around, you will see vehicles in the fields, sa mga canal sa higad dalan, may gasang-at sa kahoy, dead livestock (cows, pigs, etc) and mud everywhere...


But Iloilo will bounce back.


Bing

Copyright © 2008 to Barangay OFW. All rights reserved.