Right after Maria, getting by in emaciated Puerto Rico

After Maria, getting by in devastated Puerto Rico

BAYAMÓN, Puerto Rico â€? A few days before leaving for Puerto Rico, Megan Vazquez began having nightmares.

“I just didn’t know what we were walking into,” the girl told me later.

A couple of weeks previously, in the immediate aftermath of Storm Maria,  Megan, who works within the IT department at Yahoo, acquired come by my desk to solve a pc issue and noticed a record titled “P.R.” open on our screen. Next to it was President Trump’s controversial tweet du jour, by which he wrote that the recovery work in Puerto Rico was “doing well,” despite the island-wide electrical outage as well as the lack of running water affecting more than 60 percent of residents.

“Are you writing about Puerto Rico?” the girl asked.

I asked whether the girl had any family or buddies there.

She did. Not only do her father and her 89-year-old grandmother live on the island, together with several other relatives who had been unreachable because the storm, but her older brother plus sister had been visiting Puerto Vasto on vacation with their own kids once the hurricane hit, and now they were trapped without water or electricity.

“I’m trying to go out there next week to bring them a generator,” she told me. I immediately questioned if I could come along.

After rapidly discovering that all the hotels close to Bayamón that were still open had been full, I asked Megan basically could stay with her family.

“Absolutely,” she said. “But I have to warn you, it’s not going to be comfortable.”

One week afterwards, and 12 hours after our own flight was initially scheduled to go away, I was standing in line at Brand new York’s Kennedy Airport behind children with three brand new generators piled on a rolling cart, as I anxiously waited to check my 77 lb travel suitcase full of water bottles, canned items, flashlights and bug spray. Delta had increased its weight restrict for checked bags to San Juan from 50 to 99 lbs, and also agreed to allow people to check generators as long as they were within their original packaging.

Travelers at JFK airport in New York City check recently purchased generators on flights in order to San Juan. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Looking back on it now, the particular especially long and unusually slow-moving lines at JFK that early morning, which made me genuinely worried that I might miss my airline flight, were but a preview from the interminable waits we would encounter virtually everywhere upon arriving in Puerto Rico.

I boarded the plane right before they closed the gate plus took my seat amid the crew of armed New York Condition Troopers who’d been deployed in order to Puerto Rico help with the storm relief effort. Less than four hrs later, our descent into San Juan Louis Muñoz Marín Airport provided an overhead glimpse at the circumstance we were all about to enter.

The airport was predictably packed, yet I was surprised by the bright lighting, functioning televisions, and blast associated with air conditioning that greeted us at the particular gate. Restaurants were serving as well as even the rows of video slots, which had been installed along the airport’s main terminal last year as part of the Puerto Rican government’s effort to boost the particular island’s crippled economy, were working.

The electricity had been restored in order to SJU just days before our own arrival, but this return to normalcy—like many others we would experience in the times to come—was only temporary. By the time We returned to the airport a week afterwards, the power was out again.

Even though I had rented a car along with plenty of room for myself, Megan, and her brother Oscar, who else also works at Yahoo, their particular father Jesse insisted on conference us at the airport to help transportation our things and, more importantly, to steer us home. The island-wide strength outage that was, at that point, entering the third week meant that however, few streetlights that were still undamaged after the storm did not work. Cellular service was limited and intermittent, so I couldn’t rely on Google Maps to get my way around.

Oscar rode in his father’s car, while Megan and I followed behind. I carefully—and, admittedly, quite nervously—navigated the chaotically crowded highway as Megan noticed the scene from the passenger chair.

A downed “no trespassing” sign lies on the grass in front of a creating damaged by Hurricane Maria within Bayamón, Puerto Rico. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

“I started tearing up when we were flying over the island,” she admitted, remarking at the splintered powerlines, collapsed advertisements, and blown out windows that will rolled by like the frames of the disaster reel.   “This is my home.”

Megan, who might be 30, spent the first 15 many years of her life in Bayamón just before joining her mother and older  brother New York City, where they’d relocated one year earlier.

New York is how her parents were both residing when they met. After they married, within the early 1970s, they moved to the house in Bayamón first purchased within 1959 by Jesse’s mother, Mercedes Mercado. There, they raised 5 children, the youngest of who was Megan.

Eventually all of the Vazquez children migrated to the states, leaving behind only their father and grandma, affectionately known as “Nana,” to take up the family house in Bayamón.

Located about 20 miles inland associated with San Juan, in Puerto Rico’s northern coastal valley, Bayamón appears as American as any part of the Midwest. Three lane highways are flanked by shopping malls and big-box shops like Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Costco—two of these. Chain restaurants like Outback Steakhouse, Chili’s, and the biggest Burger King I’ve ever seen were open intended for business, all powered by huge generators.

People bathe in plus collect water from a stream within Bayamón, Puerto Rico. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

“This all used to be green,” Megan told me, looking out the window in amazement at the exposed hills of the girl hometown, dotted with houses yet bare of the trees that as soon as covered them.  “I never knew Bayamón was so hilly.”

The Vazquez loved ones house on Calle Alameda is really a single-story, reinforced concrete structure encircled by a white, wrought iron door, similar to the ones that adorn another houses on this residential street. Throughout from the house, Megan’s old primary school is dark and heavy, a victim of the debilitating financial debt crisis. Puerto Rico reportedly shuttered 150 schools between 2010 plus 2015 due to the financial disaster plus earlier this year, government officials announced programs to close 184 more.

As we drove around Bayamón that will first day, Jesse pointed to some number of crumbling buildings and dilapidated houses that looked as if that they had been decrepit since long before the particular recent natural disaster. “It’s hard to tell with some of these houses whether the destruction was caused by the hurricane or the financial crisis,” he or she said.

Two women stand on the residential street in Bayamón, Puerto Rico, on Oct. 7, 2017. Nearly three weeks after Storm Maria struck the island, Bayamón residents were still without strength or electricity. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Jesse Vazquez talks like a Brand new Yorker. Having spent a good part of his formative years living upon Manhattan’s Lower East Side, the particular 69-year-old speaks quickly and excitedly, seamlessly switching between English plus Spanish mid-conversation—and even mid-sentence—peppering their requests or directives with the loving “mama” or “papi.”

Without electricity or perhaps a generator to power air conditioning or perhaps a fan, Jesse had spent a lot of restless nights shifting from the front side porch to the front seat associated with his car, where he would pay attention to the radio while blasting the air fitness.   Without running water in the house, he’d been showering in the backyard having a hose that he attached to a rainfall collection barrel on the roof. He taken out the inverter from his vehicle battery to charge his cell phone and even power the television for a few hrs until the inverter overheated and the battery pack died.

It wasn’t until Megan and Oscar arrived, with an electrical generator in tow, that Jesse lastly got his first full night’s sleep since the hurricane.

Like a lot of Puerto Ricans, who have served in each and every war the U. S. continues to be involved in since World War We, Jesse is a military veteran. He or she and his brother were both drew up to the Army during Vietnam, yet Jesse was discharged after bootcamp owing to a heart condition. His sibling, however , fought in Vietnam, plus died about ten years ago through hepatitis C contracted during their military service.

Jesse Vazquez recommendations a tangerine from a tree on the top of his house in Bayamón, Puerto Rico on Oct. nine, 2017. Nearly three weeks previously, Hurricane Maria had struck the particular island, leaving him and his 89-year-old mother, Mercedes, without electricity or even running water. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Jesse wanted us to see the long outlines and limitations that had end up being the new way of life in Puerto Vasto. Though the gas shortages the affected the island immediately after the storm had mostly been remedied, also well-stocked supermarkets were rationing particular food items and all had imposed limitations on how many cases of drinking water each family could purchase at once (usually one). Even then, the majority of stores would run out of drinking water by midday, forcing us to await on the blistering pavement of a number of different parking lots before successfully restocking our own supply. Ice, perhaps the most incredibly elusive commodity on the island, was often long gone by the time we reached front side of any line.

“We’ve gone back to being hunters and gatherers,” Jesse told me. Fortunately, neighbors were assisting make this exhausting new lifestyle somewhat easier on one another.

The lady who lives directly behind Jesse and Mercedes cleans a house within an upscale residential area that was major to have its water restored. The lady brings buckets home from function to share with Jesse, which he or she uses to supplement the rainfall in his rooftop cistern. In return, Jesse picks up extra cases of water in bottles and whatever supplies he can on her. Down the street, longtime neighbor Adolfus Treviño runs extension cords from the generator in the backyard to the house next door plus another across the street.

Hundreds of people wait around in line for hours at the Walmart within Bayamón, Puerto Rico on Weekend Oct. 8, 2017. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Maria had also pressured Jesse, a lifelong night owl, to become a morning person. However the island-wide curfew had been extended in order to midnight, in the absence of streetlights or perhaps a glow from people’s houses or even shops, most of the island fell below an impenetrable cloak of night by 7 o’clock each night.

By far the best equipped to handle the present lack of accommodations was Jesse’s mom, Mercedes, who only expressed moderate distress over the lack of water which to wash her clothes and meals.

The 89-year-old matriarch of the Vazquez family was part of an era of Puerto Rican women who else moved to the United States in the 1950s, Nyc in particular, to work as seamstresses. Years later, Mercedesâ€? sewing machine continues to be in use. She makes most of her very own clothes and her house is usually decorated with various homemade cushions and pillows. Unlike her Spanglish-speaking son plus grandchildren, Mercedes speaks almost solely in Spanish—though she knows a lot more English than she lets upon.

Jesse Vazquez and his mother, Mercedes Mercado, hike along a dull path to their farm in Hatillo, Puerto Rico on Oct. 10, 2017 to survey the damage through Hurricane Maria. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Always the first to rise at close to 6am each morning, she would enjoy breakfast time alone while reading passages through her bible at the kitchen table before you go out in the backyard to pick fresh new peppers, lemons, and tangerines through her garden.

Over the next couple of days, we ventured out of Bayamón to check on in on various family members plus friends in other parts of the tropical isle.   We went to Arecibo to check out Mercedesâ€? sister, and on the way, ended by Ramona and Santos Lopez Caraballo, the grandparents of Megan’s boyfriend Eddie. The couple have been without cell service or any some other mode of communication for a complete 15 days after the hurricane. Santos, also an army veteran, told all of us that his wife Ramona is affected with Alzheimer’s disease and he was starting to worry about whether they’d be able to achieve her next doctor’s appointment. Depressed about the pace of the hurricane recuperation effort, Santos was eager to keep the island, hoping to get a notice from Ramona’s doctor so the girl could seek treatment in Nyc instead. They told us which they had not seen any federal or even local government aid workers—and had no clue where to find them.

“I thought I’d see more people but haven’t seen nobody,” Santos mentioned. “Even the garbage, no one came for two or three weeks.”

Ramona and Santos Lopez Caraballo stand outside their home in Arecibo, P. R. on Oct. 10, 2017. The couple was totally cut off from communication for 15 days after Hurricane Maria strike Puerto Rico. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

We drove into the mountains plus passed families collecting water plus bathing in streams along the way. All of us swerved to avoid down downed powerlines and uprooted trees that obstructed the steep, treacherous roads in order to Utuado and Ciales, where all of us visited an elderly couple through whom Jesse receives an alternative therapy for his heart condition. Remote and completely cut off from conversation, their house sat in the direct route of a potential mudslide.

We waded through sheets of rain, plus watched water splash above the particular tires of the cars in front of all of us as flash-flood warnings blared within the radio. On the highway near San Juan, we passed a billboard guidance people to visit a website where the Puerto Rican government has been posting up-dates on the progress of the recovery work, and wondered how, without electrical power, internet or decent cell assistance, most Puerto Ricans would be able to entry this important information.

A young woman and her father rinse away from in naturally flowing water in the side of a mountain in Ciales, Puerto Rico on Oct. 11, 2017. (Photo: Caitlin DIckson/Yahoo News)

We celebrated the return of electricity at the Vazquez house only to lament its disappearance 24 hours afterwards. Megan and I stood outside within the rain and rinsed our curly hair in the water that flowed together with the curb.

We discussed Chief executive Trump and whether the speed plus scope of the federal government’s reaction to Puerto Rico had more regarding the island’s lack of the politics clout that comes with statehood, than using the current administration.

“I think that if [Trump] didn’t exist it would be the same,” Jesse mentioned of the federal relief effort. “I really do believe that.”

Megan marveled at how many people in the mainland don’t even realize that Puerto Rico is part of the United States, or even that its more than 3. four million residents are also American citizens.

“There’s still a divide between Puerto Ricans and the United States, and it’s on the U.S.’s part,” she said when I confessed that will, at least in my own 12 many years of public schooling, I could not remember learning anything about the island or even its history, other than the fact that it had been a U. S. territory.

Megan Vazquez photographs the destruction close to an abandoned van and sizzling dog stand near her home town of Bayamón, Puerto Rico 3 weeks after Hurricane Maria emaciated the island. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

With all of their family members accounted for, Mercedes was determined to check on her the majority of prized possession: approximately 20 miles of land in Hatillo, in the northern coast of Puerto Vasto. Mercedes purchased the property in 1976 and, over the years, converted it to some beloved family farm� a place for camping out trips and cookouts, where avocados, bananas and a variety of other vegetables and fruit could be picked from the trees plus brought home to eat or share with neighbours.

Megan knew her grandmother has been eager to visit the farm and measure the damage from the hurricane, but the girl worried about the stability of the street that leads to the property, which was currently in bad shape before the thunderstorm. Sure enough, not long after we found its way to Bayamón Mercedes asked, “cuando vamos a la finca?” “When are we going to the farm?”

To Megan’s consternation, her grandmother’s determination paid off and we all piled to the car for the journey to Hatillo. Along the highway, we spotted groupings of cars pulled over on the make every few miles, a sign that individuals were passing through a patch associated with decent cell service. Our mobile phones buzzed with belated text messages.

Cars whizzed past an empty tollbooth. All of us passed the entrance to an shop mall in Barceloneta and ogled at the giant IHOP sign installing flat on the ground, the metal vote having buckled under the pressure associated with Maria’s 155 mile-per-hour winds.

A large, wooden utility pole obstructed the entrance to the road in order to Hatillo, forcing us to detour. The closer we got to the particular farm, the narrower and more durable the road became until finally all of us reached what appeared to be a lifeless end. Really, it was just the start of the path to the farm.

Everista Alicea Gonzalez lives alone in Hatillo, Puerto Rico. Weeks after storm Maria, she was still with no water, electricity, and communication. The lady said she had not seen anybody from FEMA, the National Safeguard or any other relief effort. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Careful not to stepped on the chickens casually crossing the particular pavement, we parked in front of a little, orange house with white content and at least four cats milling around outside. A frail lady with orange hair and a deceptive scowl on her face emerged on to the porch and Mercedes announced, “Callita!”

Everista Alicea Gonzalez, nicknamed “Callita,” has lived in this house in the edge of the Vazquez family plantation her entire life. She has endured hurricanes before but , she said, this particular latest â€? **************************************************************************************************************)tormenta, â€? an acutely accurate Spanish word intended for “storm,” was by far the most severe.

“They say the name was ‘Maria,’ but it was not from Maria,” she said, referring to the particular Virgin Mary.

Alicea lives only with her cats and a canine, who sat silently in a cage on the porch. In the distance, we’re able to make out the blue walls of the home where her parents lived just before they passed away. The roof had been embroiled by the storm and the inside has been likely now soaked by rainfall.

“No one has come here,” Alicea said, when questioned whether she’d seen anyone through FEMA, the National Guard, or some kind of other type of relief. “Just a neighbor, he brought me a bit of water the first day. But anyone from outside? No, no one has come.”

Instead, Alicea has descended the hill next to her house a few times by foot to attempt to replenish her food supply herself, plus she’s encountered a few obstacles. The lady receives food stamps but , with no power, most supermarkets didn’t possess the system to process them. She went to the bank to withdraw money but could only get $200.

In addition to running water and electrical power, Maria’s torment has left Alicea totally without communication. She spoke with her son, who lives on an additional part of the island, once before the thunderstorm but has not been able to talk to your pet since. We offered to let the girl use our satellite phone in order to call him but she didn’t know the number. It’s saved within her cellphone, which is dead.

Everista Alicea Gonzalez lives alone within Hatillo, Puerto Rico. Weeks right after Hurricane Maria, she was nevertheless without water, electricity, and conversation. She said she had not noticed anyone from FEMA, the Nationwide Guard or any other relief work. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

Without tv, phone, or radio, Alicea’s lifestyle in this remote, rural corner associated with Puerto Rico has become even more one. During the day, she said she washes the house and goes to collect drinking water to drink from a well down the slope.

“To bath, I wash with rainwater under the sky,” she said.

She believes it might be a year before things are usually back to normal. And yet, asked regardless of whether she felt angry or disappointed, Alicea replied, “no, no. I feel sad.”

Though her cement house survived without any real harm, “the nature outside” was not so lucky.

“It blew away the whole thing,” she said.

We left Alicea with a couple of extra flashlights, containers of food, and bottles associated with water and continued toward our own destination—now, by foot.

Dark storm atmosphere loomed overhead as Jesse plus Oscar led the way, each choose a machete to hack aside at the limbs of fallen trees and shrubs that blocked our path. “Oh man,” I heard Jesse say from the few feet ahead. “It’s not only that tree but that other tree and that other tree and that other tree.”

Oscar Vazquez uses a machete to cut fallen limbs from trees knocked over simply by Hurricane Maria at his family’s farm in Hatillo, Puerto Vasto. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

What Megan had described as a formerly rich hillside now looked like the picture of an arboreal massacre. The skeletal trunks of avocado trees put up upside down by their roots, tangled along with giant stalks of bamboo curved in half like broken straws. Under our feet lay the compressed corpses of banana trees, their particular wing-like palms brown and muddied.

Most of these trees had been living and well before Maria tore via here, taking them before their particular time, and their thick limbs weren’t yet easy to break. The particular hurricane’s forceful winds stripped most of them, but leaves still clung in order to others, creating web of limbs through which we had to pass in order to achieve the farm.

“We should’ve brought the chainsaw,” said Jesse. After a few whacks at 1 particularly resilient branch, the wood handle of Oscar’s machete started to separate from the blade.

Megan ended for a drink of water plus asked her grandmother, in The spanish language, “what do you think about this? What are we going to do?”

“We have to clean,” Mercedes replied, leaning towards a walking stick in one hands while swinging a machete associated with her own with the other. “That is going to be done by hand, mami. â€? *****)

For Mercedes, the farm is almost holy ground, a place where she may “communicate with nature.” Even in this unrecognizable condition, from the moment we step onto the girl precious property she is brimming with pleasure. She takes her time, allowing everyone else continue ahead of her because she take everything in, the particular white handkerchief tied around the girl head always visible against the dark brown and green backdrop of this dismembered forest.

Mercedes Mercado surveys destruction from Hurricane Maria to her plantation in Hatillo, Puerto Rico. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

She laughs because she assessed the damage, and demands that while “Maria has made a disaster,” she knows that “in nature, everything will come back again.”

“Look!” she says, with childlike exhilaration. “Maria left me a little flower.”

Using both the walking stick plus machete for balance, Mercedes climbs toward a delicate white bloom peeking out from between a stack of lifeless leaves, held this to her nose and inhaled significantly. A serene smile washes more than her tanned, lined face.

“Lirios,” she says. Lily. “Take it.”

Commonly utilized at funerals, white lilies are believed by some to signify passing away and rebirth. They are also known as Pop-queen Lilies, a symbol of purity utilized by many Christian denominations to symbolize the Virgin Mary or, within Spanish, Maria.

We all lastly make our way under the wooden paneled roof of the concrete gazebo just in time for the menacing atmosphere to release a brief but heavy rainfall. Jesse has wiped off the plastic-type chairs that were flung into the clean during the hurricane and everyone requires a seat except for Mercedes, who is tugging a small plant out of a brownish shopping bag that she introduced with her from Bayamón.

It’s a caimito plant, an exotic fruit that shares its title with a barrio in San Juan where Mercedesâ€? family had a plantation when she was a young woman.

“I have a lot of memories from Caimito. My father died there,” she says, brushing the particular remnants of dead plants apart to make room for new life. “I brought this caimito fruit to grow here, to remember Caimito.”

Mercedes Mercado surveys the damage from Storm Maria to her farm in Hatillo, Puerto Rico. (Photo: Caitlin Dickson/Yahoo News)

There is more work to be accomplished here than we can accomplish in a single day, but Mercedes is barely discouraged. On the way hike back down towards the car she tells me, “I know that after the storm, comes the calm.”

Outside the particular airport a few days later, I bet farewell to Vazquezes as other people around me say more dramatic goodbyes to their own families. Within, the bright, heavily air-conditioned fatal we’d arrived at one week earlier has turned into a dimly-lit, chaotic sauna. A single enthusiast provides little relief to the numerous parents, grandparents, little kids, and many dogs who fill the extreme airport, desperately leaving the tropical isle in search of refuge in the states. Two youthful boys decked out in Chi town bulls paraphernalia shuffle ahead of me personally in line for security. To my correct a middle-aged man wears the t-shirt with the image of a novelty helmet beneath the words, “Freedom isn’t free.”

I finally achieve the security checkpoint after at least an hour or so and notice a piece of computer papers posted to one of the inoperable automated doors. It is printed with strong red letters that read, within English, “Please Be Patient Currently Running on Generator Power.”

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