Typhoon II

One Aug. 2 snuck in middle of the night, unleashing its first fury at about 11pm and again, in the very early morning. The day after, families were discovered cowering in the corner of their former dwellings, just happy to stay dry as their tin roofs were blown off the rafters and the wide-eyed 2-year-old shivered through the morning hours wondering what happened.

What was thought to be just a depression turned into a storm, upgraded on record to a severe category as the atmospheric authority reviewed wind speed. Of course, it didn’t make any difference to the numerous folks who sought public shelter after the storm. They counted damaged belongings, some losing all they accumulated in the island economy they came to earn for from other regions. FEMA picked up cost of lost belongings of some but definitely not the housing, even when occupants proved they owned the place.

The hardest hit were the CWs; one petitioned wife, three kids and the grannies, to come live in island paradise sheltered by the Stars and Stripes over the western Pacific skies, a rosy picture. No picnic in the park but their future felt tweak-able more than the one they left behind.

Mid-October, we were alerted to a replay. My apartment complex took no chance; it put up the storm boards. This time, we watched Champi the champ cast her wind and rain before our eyes. Rain poured down 9pm Thursday night. I watched the silhouette of coco trees sway and the fronds dance like martial artists on aerobic practice. 

Gusts of wind sputtered through the night, not strong enough to bend the coco or snap branches off the instant forest trees around our compound. Even the previous gray vines that quickly scampered up trees a few days after Soudelor covered everything with their green leaves.

I woke up early, customary at my age to making two or three trips to the loo (I am being conservative here) after being extra generous with the tea—jasmine, the pekoe grange, Darjeeling high lands—i.e., when electricity to boil the brew was on rather than just soaking the Lipton in tepid water.

After Typhoon I, the island went without power and water in days that followed. I was thankful to have chosen an apartment that had its own water well and power generator, so I managed to take a daily shower when the rest of the island liberally dabbed themselves with toilette du cologne.

With Typhoon II, Gov. Eloy advised all to stay home and the island took no chances. The hardware stores had folks getting materials to secure dwellings so it would not fly out easy, and the groceries did brisk business on pantry supplies. Fresh produce sold out two days before the typhoon for those with deep freezers and generators. To the hoi polloi and moi, things that spoiled were a luxury. Canned goods displayed on the store aisles were from where I picked cholesterol and toxic preservatives. Island paradise prepared for fierce wind and rain, stocking beverage and food. I am a big tummy da duzi but hardly a dummy!

School was out Friday so all the young voices shrieked all the over the complex where the acoustics delights any cathedral novice unaccustomed to modulating voice. By 1pm Friday, the place went still as Mama Nature took over. The typhoon was predicted to be at its strongest from there on, though the typhoon center was north toward Anatahan. It was no mean wind and rain that came for the Saipan visit; it kept the vines undulating like a human wave at a bleacher’s display, for a good five hours. The rain did clean the car’s exterior sans car wash’s salty water!

One Tribune reporter went home, leaving a bare spot in the lineup. I told the editor that I will sub in the meantime and chase the news starting Friday. Nyet! Not if Maria under the babushka had her way. I was kept indoors for a day!

Typhoon I and II held back Chinese clientele off their Saipan English immersion tours; 25-year-old business partner in Shenyang, China will come for a month to strategize how to get our group humming to island winds earlier than May 2016 when China students are free to take summer vacation. 

The typhoons provided respite even as we are behind schedule setting office. Timelines are human creation, no big deal when broken. It is water seepage under the front door and around the walkway windows during the storm that I did not anticipate, but what are typhoons if they do not force us to learn to survive?

I went out early Saturday morning with a camera expecting to document damage. It showed very little save the pictures (see the day after) tell a tale of damage still from Soudelor exacerbated by Champi with a deft touch. The lagoon pathway had debris cleared before the day was over; the battered roof of a Bangla home repaired quickly on community effort. A lone tourist took her selfie with the wild surf as background at Saipan lagoon.

Sunrays peeked Sunday. I brace for a Typhoon III. I understand it is brewing in the horizon.