Pinatubo Memoirs

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That particular day was memorable to me because I just started work on my first job as Project Officer for The Pearl S. Buck Foundation, a non-governmental organization dedicated to the welfare of Amerasians (Filipino children fathered by U.S. military servicemen) in Clark and Subic.

Our satellite office was located in Barrio Barretto in Olongapo City. My job was to manage the implementation of small businesses that were granted a loan by USAID (United States Agency for International Development). We helped poor but deserving families of Amerasians to start their own family business like a sari-sari store, fast food or carinderia, selling fish/vegetable in talipapa, etc.

What we did was conduct feasibility studies for them then train and equip them with the necessary tools to run a successful business. After helping them to start their business and monitor its progress we make sure that they can sustain it and be able to repay back the loan that was granted to them.

This way we were able to help more people by making them accountable to the group comprised of borrowers short of forming a mini-cooperative. This was a very rewarding experience that I was able to serve and help our own people. Even though we encountered many problems along the way I believed we were able to meet our objectives. But I digressed from my story.

That afternoon the ashfall started to rain down. This happened on June 14, 1991. I never experienced anything like it before. At first, it’s just like the alipato that blows in the air whenever there’s burning of leaves or papers in the neighborhood. Afterwards, it was mixed with rain that formed into some kind of muddy droplets. This went on throughout the rest of the night. But the worse was yet to come.

The following day came. It started out somewhat normal although a bit cloudy and overcast. And then the sky began to darken. Ashfall became heavier and soon after the lights suddenly went out. I mean, total blackout. The electrical power was cut off. It was not even noon but outside it was pitch-black. The roosters started crowing all around thinking it was already sundown. It was so dark one can put out his hands in front of his face and see nothing.

We gathered together as a family with just enough supply of candles, batteries to listen to the radio, and our silent prayers that we would spared of this cataclysmic event that at that moment convinced us it’s the end of the world. All this time, what sustained us was listening to the voice of our then mayor, Richard "Dick" Gordon, over the radio giving us directions and encouragement.

He admonished the Olongapeños to get up the roofs of their houses and shovel down the sand that accumulated there or else it might collapse and bring their houses down. So that’s what most of them did. Our house was strong enough to sustain the heavy sand but we were worried because every now and then we would hear a creaking sound. But back to Gordon, that I believe was his most defining moment, that of rallying everyone to calm down and not panic. In the meantime, tremors and aftershocks of a mild earthquake shook the ground every few minutes or so, caused by the on-going volcanic eruption.

That was the longest night of my life. Nobody slept in our family. We were all huddled together in the living room praying that it would finally stop erupting. In the distant north toward the direction of Mt. Pinatubo we can see a bright orange light glowing intermittently in the night. Apo na Mallari, as the Aetas call their deity, had unleashed the worse environmental catastrophe in Philippine history that was even felt globally. A previously unknown and dormant volcano has awakened after more than 600 years of slumber.

Mercifully, it was over the next day. When the morning light appeared again we were able to go outside in order to assess the damage. What we saw was both shocking and unbelievable. It was utter desolation. Have you seen the movie "Pleasantville" where everything is in black and white? Well, this one may as well be called "Grayville" because that’s all the color that you can see – gray.

All plants have died except the trees. The coconut trees were pitiful with their drooped leaves. My parents told me the damage was worse than what they had experienced during the war. What a harrowing experience our family had been through.

And so the clean up began. We didn’t get back electrical power until almost a month. Food supply was limited there was a line up for everything including buying of bread. But the Filipinos’ resiliency prevailed and we survived one of the worse disasters we’ve encountered in our lifetime.

Which brings me to my point. I have seen first hand the worse of what we as a people had gone through and were able to emerge out from. After that I pledged to myself that if ever I make it good in life someday I will do whatever I can to help our less fortunate kababayans. This was after being inculcated in university to "serve the masses." And now that I think of the poor Aetas in Botolan, I remembered my promise.

Edgar Millan
Leamington Ontario, Olongapo City
ZambalesForum (ZF2) co-moderator

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