Breathe
By Pamela Cerdeira
"A nightmare scenario is unfolding for southern Mexico this evening with rapidly intensifying Otis approaching the coastline."
"A nightmare scenario is developing for southern Mexico this afternoon with Otis rapidly intensifying and approaching the coast."
- 9 pm Mexico City time, October 24, 2023. National Hurricane Center.
The nightmare is not over yet, Acapulco, Guerrero October 29, 2023.
It is ten o'clock in the morning, the small gas station in Joyas de Brisamar is working, the facade is destroyed, only half of it still has the green front that distinguishes it, the sign announcing the price of gasoline is also broken in half, pieces of metal hang from the roof and fragments of the destroyed part are piled up against the fence.
It is difficult to distinguish who is working and who are customers; the only ones in uniform are the armed Navy personnel who are protecting one of the few places that has fuel. Few vehicles are seen lined up, and they contrast with the dozens of people, jerry cans in hand, who have been lined up for three hours to fill them, like Francisco.
Since the hurricane hit, Francisco sleeps with a machete next to his bed to take care of his mother and his house, since the hurricane passed, he has received no help, no water, no food, no security. Next to him a man shows me a wound caused by a sheet that flew away, he healed it as best he could, there is no medical attention; another one had a fever, rusty material was buried in him, "we solved it as it used to be done", his companion tells me. Not everyone wants to be interviewed, but everyone needs to talk, they want answers. A young woman, in apparent shock, asks, "What do they say about us? What did they say about us all these days? Why did it take so long to arrive? Can you please tell me, when is the storm coming? I want to pick up my phone, look up what she is referring to, give her clear answers about the upcoming weather phenomena, but there is no signal.
We are about to leave the gas station, one of the people I talked to reaches me, asks me if I have bills, and pulls out a bag full of $20 and $10 coins, they only accept bills, I need gas, by the time he arrived at the pump I must have been at least three hours old. Why do they only accept bills? I asked the dispatcher. It's true, I don't know, it's the indication they gave us. And how are you, I ask her. My house is in pieces and then half of her body crumbles, but she holds back, her legs resist, she has to keep working, she swallows the tears.
We are at the Acapulco International Airport, it could be the airport of an abandoned town. From a commercial airplane, the Army on one side, the Navy on the other side, each one fills its own truck. They are boxes of different sizes, all marked with the word "DONATIVOS" (DONATIONS) in black marker. They are ten, 40, 43 tons, they are not clear, thinking about the total destruction we have seen along the route, they could be a hundred, and still seem very few.
Now we are in Colonia Colosio, it is surprising the speed with which people organize themselves to line up behind the truck with supplies, there are no megaphones, no big announcements, it is orderly, some carry umbrellas to protect from the sun. There is Odin, 29 years old, he formed up with Yamile who will be a mother for the first time in a few weeks. I want to know if there is no way they can support us either the Naval base or a private hospital or something, he doesn't know where they will be able to attend his wife if there are no hospitals, I ask our companions, they don't know either. I take out my phone, there is no signal. It is the first time they are going to receive a pantry. They leave with the pantry and the most important question unanswered. All the people in line share pain and hope, along with their particular stories, the teacher who does not know when she will teach again, the school was destroyed; the woman who is grateful that she and her daughters are safe; the young woman who has decided not to accept food and prefers to give it to someone else, she just wants, I repeat, "just" wants water. Not even a quarter of the people who were lined up have passed and the help is over. Someone shouts, it's over, it's over, don't form up anymore. They scatter as they came, without too much noise, like a flock breaking ranks. Yes they were alerted, some refer messages on their cell phones, others the peritoneum but no one believed it was so big. Boni tells me about a man whose glass fell. Three days later they lifted the body. It was impossible to get through, it was flooded, and the roads were blocked, the Navy and the Army went to clean up. And I must dwell on the word clean, because the first thing you notice when you get to Colosio Colony is the smell, it is acidic, penetrating, rotten. In what would have been the sidewalks, garbage accumulates, mattresses, branches, dead birds, spoiled food and new garbage that is being generated. He sees the hills, he sees the hills, this is the second time I hear it, they are bare, dead, he insists.
We arrive at the Costa Azul Church, a small oasis in the midst of so much pain. In the courtyard a couple of children are playing. The church is full and they are not faithful, they are waiting for the miracle that is offered in that space installed by an employee of the Federal Electricity Commission, it is one of the very few places with electricity, so a couple of tables arranged between the pews have plugs and dozens of telephones connected. When you reach 40% battery you will have to leave your place for the next one, if you come after 10 pm you can charge it to the top. But going out at night requires courage, looting and lack of authority have people barricaded in their homes without roofs protecting what they have left. In the park across the street, Marinos fill jugs from a water purification plant. Azucena has just come down from her house, which is more than half an hour's walk away, she didn't bring a container, she won't be able to take water with her. She has not eaten and is looking for the doctor, she is hypertensive, she has no medicine. At the entrance of the church, there is a table full of medicines, people approach to see if they recognize any they might need. What are they looking for? Antibiotics, they tell me, paracetamol, whatever might help. I want to google some of them to identify their uses, I have no signal.
There are coincidences in the stories: if they knew about the hurricane, they never measured its strength, they have not received any help for days, and the rapture (which deserves a whole separate text) hurt them, because they feel that those who stole things, also took them from them. Uncertainty reigns in the face of a State that is present in drips and drabs, and at night they are embraced by fear: nobody is taking care of us, they told me.
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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