Breathe
By Soledad Durazo
Everything in life is a matter of expectation, I was once told.
The expression is fortunate. At least in my case, when I am faced with the difficulty of understanding some event or attitude, I pass it through that sieve and the mystery is cleared a little.
We, the governed, have a tradition, rather than a reality, of expecting that those who make decisions do so with intelligence, timeliness and efficiency.
I must also assume that this hope has been fading in the face of the disillusionment caused by the performance of the authority.
One year after Otis' visit to Acapulco, a series of sensations and experiences come to my mind.
Many of us who experienced it from the scene, the winds, the rain, the fear, the danger, felt abandoned.
Improvisation, lack of prevention and absence of authority were evident.
The void was filled by solidarity, empathy, sharing, learning and also creativity in the face of difficulty.
Seen from a distance, it is incredible how the inauguration of the mining convention, which had thousands of people gathered there while the threat was getting closer and closer, was not suspended.
How we continue with wrong information about the time that the hurricane with a power never recorded before, would make landfall.
How the messages from the authorities were lukewarm and imprecise.
How life went on dismissing the threat.
While the authorities were still absent, the alert messages began to reach us while we still had a telephone signal and electricity.
How can we forget the sense of urgency with which Azucena and Mike alerted us while we were oblivious to the risk, thinking that there were still five hours before the eye of the hurricane made landfall?
No, it was not five hours, "the eye of the hurricane is upon you" said Azucena and we lost communication. Indeed, at that moment the improvised shelter where we were (an event hall of the hotel, at beach level) was enveloped by the wind with an impressive force that in its center caused a deafening silence that if it were a caricature, and good thing it was not reality, it would have lifted the building as a flying saucer with all of us inside.
The wind broke the glass of the shelter and the curtains began their mad dance. The human barrier that prevented the doors from opening became wider and wider as the fury of the phenomenon increased its threat, objects flew out regardless of their size and weight, whether it was a chair or a mattress, they were toys of the wind that left no tree standing and no matter what the posts collapsed on.
I don't know how much time passed before calm finally returned...with the light of day, we began to size up the impact of the destruction and above all to tell each other and locate the members of the group that we were there to take a course on journalism and mining and to cover the convention. Another story then stole the space and demanded our attention.
We were isolated in the center of the news. With much to report but without the channel to disseminate.
We went out to report. Our surprise was steadily increasing, each scene was surpassed by the next. Roads disappeared. The streets were covered with fallen trees and poles, and cars were in the way. We walked with the water up to our waists, leaning on a stick to touch the ground before taking a step; we were warned of the lagoon that had overflowed and especially of the need to maintain 360-degree visual coverage to avoid being surprised by crocodiles.
Two or three hours to travel a distance of perhaps 4 kilometers, leave the hotel zone towards the city and begin to witness even more destruction and danger.
Absent authority. The sensation of total loss, empty cupboards, uncertain future and also, why not, the looting and its eloquent images.
In this environment, expectation has very close borders, they are located in the immediate.
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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