Coastlines and Fishermen After Yolanda

July 2, 2014

The Philippine government dictated after the typhoon that no one is allowed to live within 40 meters of shore, but there are densely populated, and economically depressed, neighborhoods occupying the shoreline. We visited some of these devastated communities around the city of Tacloban. When the typhoon hit, it sent water up to two stories high, flooding and washing away homes and people with incredible force. The winds were nearly 200 miles per hour, and people said the rain and water on their skin felt like hammers.

We visited a community called Anibong which lost around a quarter of it’s population to Yolanda. The woman Nina spoke with was brought to tears talking about it. This coastal settlement has five ships washed up into it, almost onto the road. I have never seen anything like it. The massive beached ships with people living in and around them was a shocking visual of how powerful Yolanda was.

In a nation of islands, the sea is essential. Fishermen know that the ocean can provide for us our whole lives, but in an instant, or a long and tormenting night, everything can be lost. People say that during Yolanda it was “a hell of water.” Fishermen were hit particularly hard. Losing their boats and gear meant losing their livelihood. The donation of salmon is a gift from the fishing towns and people of Alaska to the coastal communities in need here on Leyte Island in the Philippines.

We checked out an Oxfam aid program that is building new boats for fishermen and getting them new gear, in the hopes of getting them back out to sea. At the site of the program, bright blue wooden canoes with yellow trim scattered the beach. The fishermen were waiting for fiberglass boats to be built for them, and to be provided with critical outriggers. One fisherman we chatted with stood by his boat, tattooed, shirtless and gesticulating with his cigarette, easy smile on his weathered face. He reminded me of fishermen I’ve known in Alaska, and of the commonality we share in our dependence on the sea. Though she becomes hell, and may steal everything we have, what other option is there but to keep fishing?

A local fisherman telling us about the boat-rebuilding project.

A man and his boat.

Folks lined up in Anibong for a salmon distribution. The Benedictine sisters help with distributions.

Anibong: a settlement among the beached boats and rubble.

Dance party. 

Barayong: A mountain village in recovery

July 1, 2014

Leyte Island, Philippines

Filipinos are an integral part of the commercial fishing industry and community in Alaska, and a major reason for the donation of salmon to Yolanda victims. When I was a kid I used to follow my parents through the canneries that processed the salmon we caught. There were fish parts everywhere and Filipinos would be racing around on forklifts, expertly processing seafood, and yelling to one another over the roar of the machinery. As a kid I only knew they weren't speaking English, but now I know that they were probably speaking Tagalog (though in this region they speak Cebuano, the language of Cebu). Now I know what the lush islands they come from look like, the smells of lechon (roasted suckling pig), the colors of the fruit stands and mini-buses and unbelievable tropical flowers. What I do not know is how it feels to have one's home devastated by a super-typhoon.

We flew from Cebu to Leyte, the island most ravaged by Yolanda (the local name for Typhoon Haiyan), graciously accompanied by members of Don Bosco’s relief team. We were based in the coastal city of Tacloban, which still has an apocalyptic feeling beneath its recovering city buzz. While a lot has been cleaned up, concrete rubble is still piled along the roadsides. Some large buildings are now shells, their concrete skins crumpled, rebar poking out all over, and massive metal frames and trusses mangled; contorted as though they were broken toys. Almost everyone lost their roof, many lost their houses and all of their belongings. Everyone lost family members or friends. Thousands of the dead were trapped in the ruins for over a month, the government and local people overwhelmed by the casualties. It’s hard to fathom what survivors of Yolanda experienced and are healing from.

Though most media coverage and aid centered on coastal communities, mountain Barangays (villages) were also irrevocably damaged by Yolanda. We visited a small community called Barayong in the impossibly lush mountains just above Tacloban to which Don Bosco has been contributing food aid and reconstruction assistance. We spoke with some people who have been eating the canned salmon, and listened to their post-typhoon experiences.

A young woman named Crystal explained how the environmental damage has deeply affected her community. She told me that the entire mountainside her village is nestled in, now a vibrant green, was bald and brown after the violent winds from Yolanda eight months ago. Most of the coconut trees that had provided food and livelihood died. “We used to get our coconut milk for free, but now we have to buy it,” Crystal told me. Gardens that were an important source of nutritious subsistence foods (squash, pineapple, eggplant, sweet potato and cassava, to name a few) were demolished, only recently starting to produce again. Now people have to buy things they used to harvest for free, as they tend to the healing land. Trees that used to provide shade don’t have leaves now, forcing everyone to work under the hot sun. The environment that used to provide so much sustenance and protection will take years to recover.

A salmon distribution in Barayong. The package included 5 kilos of rice. 

A Barayong resident and salmon recipient. 

The shell of a former home.

Salmon en route from the truck to the village. 

A kitchen in Barayong.

A lot of houses are patched together like this. The flora here is amazing.

Nina and I with the Don Bosco relief team. Taichi, Shina, Nina, Natalia (me), and Victor. 

Rebuilding in action.

Nina and Shina chat with a resident of Barayong about her salmon recipes. 

Nina and Shina with a community leader of Barayong. 

Getting feedback from the people of Barayong about the salmon. 

Barayong. 

Local transport. 

Going to check out the village's garden plots. 

An area cleared for a potential cut-flower business.

Victor has been working in Barayong to provide on-the-ground relief efforts.

Salmon in Cebu

June 30, 2014

Cebu, Philippines

My life seems to revolve around fish. Today I am in the Philippines, because of salmon. Let me explain. Last summer’s pink salmon season in Alaska was record-breaking. Commercial fishermen went into the fall with smiles on our faces and cash in our pockets. As we were enjoying the fruits of our salty, sweaty, sleep-deprived labor, in November 2013 a typhoon halfway across the world tore through the Philippines, leaving unimaginable devastation in its wake. The death toll is estimated by locals to be in the tens of thousands. Typhoon Yolanda was the deadliest in Philippine history. Its repercussions are deeply and widely felt here, and will be for many years.

With the surplus of canned pink salmon available after our record year, the state of Alaska in connection with the Alaska Seafood Marketing Institute (ASMI), was able to donate four shipping containers of salmon to the typhoon victims. The salmon is being distributed by Salesian Missions and their partner organization, Don Bosco, a catholic NGO here in Cebu, Philippines, where I am writing today.

I am with Nina Schlossman, president of Global Food and Nutrition who is ASMI's Food Aid and Nutrition Consultant. We are visiting the people who received the salmon, and witnessing the donation first-hand. Today we drove to the northern end of the island of Cebu, and talked with some communities hit by Yolanda who have received the fish. Families in these communities are large, many with over six children. Work has also been scarce since Yolanda, increasing already-present poverty. If feeding their kids was tough pre-typhoon, it is even harder now.

People seem genuinely grateful for the canned salmon, especially since many NGOs have withdrawn their emergency aid to focus on reconstruction - of shelters, hospitals, schools, and infrastructure. Yolanda was 8 months ago, but times are still rough and any contribution is appreciated. I am utterly impressed at how, despite everything, Filipinos are smiling, laughing, and carrying forward.

People in Medellin line up to receive their salmon. 

Full hands at a Medellin distribution. 

People with their goods leaving the church in Medellin. 

Many men here are tapaseros- sugar-cane cutters. They make about $1.50 per day. 

This woman is participating in a food-for-work program through the Department of Social Work and Development, receiving salmon in return for her labor. Municipality of Bogo, northern Cebu.  

A woman in Medellin receives her food.

Last Day!

2-7-13

Our last visit was to the THINK home. This is a pretty amazing place. It is a home and school for young mothers and their kids. Some of them are as young as 13. Many of them have been sexually abused and come from very vulnerable and difficult backgrounds. Here, though, there is a tangible sense of female community, safety, and support for these young mothers and their children. Aside from school, they are also trained to be seamstresses, bakers, or hairstylists so they can go back out into the world with marketable skills.

The girls went about their business as usual, caring for their children and doing chores in between classes and schoolwork. Cooks prepared the herring for lunch as we did observations and interviews, tried to stay out of the way, and riled up some cute kids. 

The outdoor classroom.

Mama and her baby.

 om nom nom

precocious as ever. 

So that concludes our work here for this trip. Last night I was chatting with a Liberian banker named Cromwell who asked me, "Will you ever come back to Liberia?" I said, "No, I can't really afford it unless I'm working here, so I doubt it." He said, "You can afford it. It's a question of whether you want to or not." Touche! Until next time, Liberia, its been incredible and unforgettable. 

Herring People

2-7-13

This morning we stopped in for a visit to the THINK home and JTC. This is a place for vulnerable youth who need a supportive and safe place to stay. Some of them are young girls who have been abused. Some kids as young as 5 have been basically forced into slave labor into roadside shops, and are brought here by the police. Rarely will they be reunited with their parents. These youth are a vulnerable group, and have been eating the herring for the past nine months.

Vivian Badu is the matriarch of this center. She is small and raspy-voiced and dynamic, and utterly in charge. She greeted us with a hug and then marched around the outdoor kitchen cooking a herring lunch for 26 people in 95-degree heat and 4-inch wedge heels. She wrenched open like 20 cans of herring with a knife, arm muscles bulging. 

We hung out in the courtyard and ate some rice with spicy Liberian herring gravy on top. When we left, a grinning 13 year old girl started singing, “Goodbye herring people….goodbye herring people!” It made us all laugh and I still have the tune stuck in my head. 

 This is how you mash up peppers. Peppers are a non-negotiable ingredient in Liberian food.

Vivian cookin' up a storm.

                                                     This was on the wall inside.

                                                   Dining on herring gravy with rice.

                                          Nicole loves kids and they love her!