VHMM Day 3, Part 2 - Sad Pasko (Costa Brava, Ship Graveyard)

Vietnamese Houston Medical Mission
Day 3, Part 2

2:00 PM – We arrive at Costa Brava. It’s a rather large town that has been completely demolished because of its proximity to the water. Everyone is living in tents provided by the UN. The need in this place is very apparent within the first couple of minutes.

Our stations are going to be a bit separated from each other, but the upside is that the lines will be much more controlled and manageable because we have all the place to let the lines go long.

The dentist station is absolutely crazy. We have one small table that one dentist will use to see adults. Directly next to that table is a chair that will take care of children. In front of both is broken motorcycle-carriage combo that one of the dentists decided to use as her own dental chair to see patients. She’s actually going to be pulling teeth from patients who are sitting sideways off the motorcycle seat. She’s that awesome.

The pharmacy team has set up their station in a hollowed out shack of some sorts. Their set-up actually works really well for them. There’s even a table at the front of the shack for them to place their meds and hand them out.

The medical station is housed under another small shack, only slightly larger than the pharmacy team’s. There are four substations in the medical station. It’s a tight space, so you have to weave your way through each substation to see your doctor.

The pediatrics station is located a short walk away. This is really helpful primarily because the pediatrics line is usually the longest. Having the space to have this long of a line is helpful for everyone else.

Patients have already been waiting for us. We’re already in the grove from the last couple of days, so we quickly disembark the van and get set up within 10-15 minutes.

2:30 PM – As expected, we’re all running at full steam. I’m running back and forth from each station, helping out wherever I can and whenever someone calls my name to come over and take care of a situation. Some stations need extra blank paper bags the medical team needs Band-Aids from pediatrics, and the dental line needs screening and line order. In between taking care of everyone’s requests, I’m snapping photos and videos.

It’s so hot out. The sun is beating right down on us. I’ve already got sunburn on my head. I’m trying to stay hydrated. Everyone’s trying to stay hydrated.

The volunteers of this town have been very helpful. They’ve been translating for us, as a lack of being able to communicate can definitely slow down our operations.

3:00 PM – Tinh, one of the co-managers of this entire operation, wants to give a speech to those waiting around. He wants to explain why we’re all here.

After his speech, a woman in the crowd speaks up and laments that nothing has been done for her fellow citizens. She knows aid has arrived, but her town hasn’t seen it. Everyone is still living in tents. She said that president Acquino stopped by one time, but he only came to take pictures and hand out candy to the children.

She was visibly upset that her town has been ignored. She kept asking us why more hasn’t been done to get the aid to the places that have been ignored. We were in no position to answer that question, but we knew what she was getting at. It’s the same story we’ve been hearing throughout this trip. It’s the same thing we heard at Sitio Kataisan earlier this morning. If you were on the opposing side of the current political party, your chances of receiving aid are low. Aside from that, there’s probably also general corruption that may filter foreign aid to places where it shouldn’t go.

3:20 PM – I just watched Dr. Tam start to stitch up a patient who cut himself stepping on the shards of broken glass that litter parts of the neighborhood and coastline. My tolerance for seeing these kinds of things has increased dramatically since the start of this trip.

3:30 PM – I talk a short walk with Dr. Salazar to the coastline and water. He mourns the loss of this town, even more so because this was a place he and his family used to visit every Sunday after church. He has many fond memories of time spent with his family. To see it in the condition that it’s in now is heartbreaking for him.

3:35 PM – We make our way back to the various stations, and we come across some of the non-medical support staff facing a very large group of kids. The staff is ready to start handing out gifts to the kids and adults in a few minutes.

A local volunteer who is clearly good with entertaining kids has them lined up. One-by-one, each kid receives a new backpack filled with various school supplies.

3:50 PM – The same volunteer that lined up the kids did a great job of lining up the adults. To keep people from gaming the system, we’ve implemented the same system we’ve used before. When people get their gifts, they’re not to move. Once all of the gifts have been distributed, then everyone can head home. This will keep people from putting their bags aside and asking for more

4:00 PM – The dental team is finishing their line. They have about nine patients left. I’ve marked each of their hands with a blue marker. Once they are done seeing the dentist, I’m to give them their own gift since they weren’t able to get theirs with the rest of the group.

4:20 PM – We’re on the bus and heading out. We’re not heading home just yet. We’re going to Tacloban, Barangay 70, which lies along another coast in the area.

5:00 PM – Immediately upon arrival, we know why we’re here: Cargo ships and other similar large sea vessels were throw upon the coast, crushing houses and taking tens if not hundreds of lives in a split second.

We leave the bus and head to the first ship that sits at the head of the road that leads through the rest of the town.

At this ship we meet a priest who had just finished meeting with the townsfolk of this area. He gave us his account, heard from the voice of his parishioners, of the damage that Yolanda caused in this area. It was pretty horrific. The entire town was leveled. People are starting from scratch. From what I understand, he doesn’t live in the area, he only comes to offer fellowship and to give the people hope that better days are ahead.

Spray-painted on the side of the nearby boat read: “We need foods. Rice & Water.” This was a stark reminder of how much help this area needed and still needs to this day.

People on the team are posing for photos. A group photo is taken. I shy away from the photos this time. Call me a party-pooper, but it’s a bit uncomfortable to watch the team smile and post together in an area that’s still visibility hurt, and in front of boats that killed families instantaneously. I would feel like I was being disrespectful if I were posing and smiling for photos in this area.

Speaking of the which, there are still dead bodies trapped underneath the boats. People haven’t been able to unearth them yet.

5:10 PM – We start to make our way down the road that trails through the town. On the right are hillside houses that are gutted. On the left are make-shift houses where people have take up refuge. These temporary houses are technically illegal as there is a ban on building 40ft from the coast. This warning has been completely ignored at the risk of the inhabitants.

Children are playing on the road that’s shared by pedestrians and motorists alike. They seem to be familiar and comfortable with foreigners, as they certainly don’t shy away from us. In fact, many run up to us yelling “Hello!” and “What’s your name?” We smile, wave, and greet them back.

A few of them want to have their picture taken. We’re happy to oblige and they’re even happier to pose.

The word “HELP!” is spray-painted on one of the retaining stone walls of a house on the left.

5:20 PM – We reach what looks to be the end of the road, mainly because there’s a massive container ship parked almost perpendicular across it. The sight is something to behold. Somehow the townsfolk were able to create a path beneath the ship to cross to the other side.

Fr. Tam points out that this ship destroyed eight houses. Some of the families killed were unearthed and buried. Others are still trapped below. I take pictures of the rubble below, and across the way to my left side I see a figure relaxing on a torn up single-person sofa. I see someone go underneath the ship to say hello.

I crouch down to make my way underneath the ship. I make my way to the young fellow hanging out underneath the ship. He looks to be in his mid-teens. He turns to me and asks where I’m from and what I’m doing here. I respond in kind, knowing that he’s seen his fare share of foreign visitors but that nothing has changed for his life or condition.

Nevertheless, this young man and a one of his kid friends are happy to oblige my request to take a photo.


Thuy calls out to me; it’s time to head back to the van.

5:30 PM – I’m almost back at the van. A single structure lies at the entrance gate of this town. There’s a man practicing his basketball layups, but there’s no hoop for him to shoot into.

Dr. Salazar directs my attention to a phrase spray-painted on the structure. In black ink it reads “Sad Pasko.”

It means “Sad Christmas.”