“Build the largest building possible within 15 minutes,” a group of participants in a business management seminar is told. The group has been divided into three teams, with each team consisting of five members and each given a set of building materials to work with. 

In the next couple of minutes that follow, the teams start getting to work. One team appoints a leader and spends some time planning before taking up the materials and constructing their building. In the second team, the leader is self-appointed and starts giving out orders which the rest of the team follows. At another corner of the room, the third team spends most of their time discussing who should take the lead and ends up with little time left to do the actual building.

At the end of the allotted time period, a comparative winner among the teams is evident—the team with the largest building of all—but no one team really succeeds in the game. Michael Hodgin, who cited this scenario in The Pastor’s Story File (March 1996), says of the situation: “No team has ever built the largest building possible. The rules of the game never told the teams they cannot work together on one building. But they never come together and work as one team. The teams just never think to cooperate.”

This game has applications and lessons that go beyond business management seminars, and even beyond the entire business world. Given a certain task or a hurdle to get past, we—whether individually or with a team—approach it in ways that often vary from those of others. Often, we believe we’re doing a good job planning our work and maximizing our resources to build the “largest building possible.” Sometimes, we look at the ways other teams are handling the task and recognize errors in their management—too little planning, too much arguing, lack of teamwork.

But all too often, we fail to recognize that there are other paradigms, better ways of accomplishing tasks that we may have excluded from our list of possible solutions early in the game. Extended beyond the confines of a single team, the traditional values of cooperation, teamwork and unity can open even more doors and may just hold the key to the resolution of our most pressing problems.

It is in view of this expanded paradigm of cooperation and unity that HELP for Peace has collaborated with the Order of the Augustinian Recollects (OAR) to accomplish their goal of constructing new fishing boats and modular houses for the communities badly devastated by Supertyphoon Yolanda.

Represented by University of Negros Occidental-Recoletos (UNO-R) President Rev. Fr. Emeterio Buñao, OAR, the Augustinian Recollects have graciously granted HELP for Peace authorized access to and use of their Vocational School facility in Baranggay Handumanan, Bacolod City as the site of construction of these boats and modular houses. The project is set to commence as soon as possible and is proposed to last for around 6-12 months.

In addition to the beneficiaries of the completed fishing boats and modular houses being the residents of Yolanda-hit communities in Panay and Cebu, the contracted workers for the project are boat-makers and construction men from communities that were also affected by Yolanda. This way, the project will provide not only much-needed shelter and means of livelihood for those who lost them in the calamity, but also valuable employment for Yolanda-hit locals as well—in effect, maximizing the benefits delivered by the resources invested in the project.

How many times in the other great challenges of our lives have we truly exhausted all possible resources to build the “largest building possible”? Maybe on one occasion too many, we had missed out on the opportunity to do so. Now, in the great trial posed by the destructive strike of Yolanda, is not the time to miss out on that opportunity.

HELP for Peace, along with its partner teams Peace Agents Foundation, Aktion Deutschland Hilft, and Terra Tech, has made the wise move to harness available community resources to fulfill a great cause. Collaborating with the Augustinian Recollects to make best use of a non-operational facility’s productive potential can be likened to being a team with one set of materials for the construction of a building, pooling resources with another team that has the other set of materials so that the outcome can not only be a large building, but the “largest building possible”—that is, the greatest benefit to the needy. May we never forget that though it often seems like we are on different teams, the rules of life never told us we cannot work together on one building, one goal: to be where we are needed, to give where it is lacking, to help when we can.

It was December 22, 2013. Time, 9:36am. We at HELP for Peace were in a boat

somewhere in the Visayan sea, off to survey a group of island baranggays in Panay

 that was hard-hit by the supertyphoon Haiyan. 

By that time, over a month had passed since Haiyan (local name Yolanda) ravaged the 

mid part of the Philippines, hitting islands in Central Visayas most devastatingly. In the 

immediate aftermath of the calamity, we at HELP for Peace had conducted relief operations 

and medical missions for some of the worst-hit baranggays in Bantayan Island. 

But even after doing such, we knew our mission to help rebuild lives and communities was

 not even half done. 

Thus, late in December, our group set out to conduct an ocular survey of the affected

 islands and coastal baranggays this time in Panay, an area in Central Visayas that was

 also badly devastated by Haiyan but has not received as much media attention as areas

 in Leyte and Samar. Our specific goals for the trip were to assess the condition, situation,

 and needs of the affected Panay areas, as well as to contract workers for the building of

 boats to be donated to those communities.

As our boat peacefully cut across the waters, we might as well have put on heroes’ capes

 as it felt like we were in the position to help, to aid a damsel-in-distress, to do good for others. But before we could even let the wind make our 

imaginary capes dramatically wave behind us, our boat suddenly stopped to a halt. 

For some reason, the boat’s motor died down and wouldn't start up again. We were

 stranded mid-sea. 

Five, ten, thirty minutes passed. The boatmen who were steering us were doing 

everything they can to try to start the boat up again, but to no avail. “We need to

 call someone,” they announced. “He’s the one who’ll know how to fix this.” 

As much as we wanted to know what was wrong with the boat, what needs

 to be done to get us unstuck, and how much more time we’d have to wait under

 the blazing sun before we could get going again, we couldn’t do anything much other

 than wait. Wait for people more able and knowledgeable than us to figure out what was

 wrong, and trust on them to fix it and get us back on track again. At that moment we were 

no longer the would-be heroes soaring the skies, out to help others.

It was the other way around; we were the damsels-in-

distress waiting for the locals to come and rescue us.

We did not choose for the situation to be reversed, but fate had it as such. We were stranded.

Thankfully, eventually a local from the mainland came and did his magic on the boat’s

 motor. A couple more collaborative rope-pulling efforts later,

the boat’s motor started up again and we were back on our way. 

When after several hours of sea travel, we finally got to the islets we set out to visit —Baliguian Island and the baranggay-island of Talotoan— what we saw mirrored the situation we were in as stranded passengers of a broken-down boat. 

The small misfortune we encountered mid-sea was comparable to that endured —to a much greater degree —  by the locals there whose homes have been wrecked, whose communities

 have been ravaged, whose lives have been devastated by Supertyphoon Haiyan. 

They too had been stranded in a sea of near - nothingness. 

And they too did not choose the fate that had befallen them.

And as much as they want to get back up the soonest time possible, they could only do so much. Their homes had been reduced to rubble. Their fishing boats—their primary means of livelihood—had been smashed by the strong winds of Haiyan.

They too had found themselves in a situation where they need other people to “rescue” them--

although not in the sense that they are to depend entirely on others from here on out—but in the sense that they need able people to help them out of the quagmire, to “jumpstart” the broken-down boats they are in, and to empower them to continue their rebuilding efforts they have begun.

And although reconstruction has commenced, owing to the will and resilience of the residents and boosted by the help of so many generous citizens of the world, it's still a long way to go towards full rehabilitation.

The first time I wrote about Haiyan (local name Yolanda), I was writing as an observer, a Filipino who has seen the damage of Haiyan only through pictures and video clips shown on TV or in the internet. Now I write as an involved person. During the last week of November, I was given the opportunity to join in a Relief Operation/Medical Mission for the victims of Haiyan in Bantayan Island, Cebu, Philippines.

The team for the mission consisted of 3 doctors, 3 nurses, 5 nuns, and a support staff all aiming to bring relief supplies and medical aid (and hope!) to Haiyan-hit areas in the island of Bantayan. This is a chronicle of what I have seen in the areas we visited, of my experiences as a first-time volunteer in a relief ops/medical mission, and of the entire spectrum of emotions I felt in my participation in this mission.


Day 1: November 28, 2013

Time: 7:53 AM

Location: At the Visayan Sea

…

We catch a glimpse of the Bantayan shoreline. While several of my companions have already seen it before, it is my first time to ever lay eyes on it.

It is breathtaking in its perfection.

Our seacraft moves closer.

It is then that its scars are revealed.

We recognize it is far from perfect.

Bantayan Island is one of the many islands in Central Visayas, Philippines that was badly hit by Supertyphoon Haiyan when it struck the country on November 8, 2013. Three weeks later, the island is still reeling from the aftermath of the devastating calamity.

“Parang sa sine lang (It was as if in the movies),” a resident of Bantayan related to us shortly after we set foot in the island and settled in what would be our home for the next 3 days. She further shared that the water at the beach rose up 7 meters and you could just see people scrambling for their lives. They didn’t know where to take cover—some moved sideways to the right, others to the left, and still others, directly opposite the oncoming force of nature.

But there was no escaping it. Engulfed by the crippling calamity, the island suffered a major blow. The quaint nipa hut cottages of the resorts that lined Bantayan’s coastline were mostly swept clear, leaving only piles of debris in the supertyphoon’s wake.

Residents report that they were told it would still take 5 months before power in their community is restored. “Bagsak na ang ekonomiya (The economy is down),” a resident wistfully said, probably wondering how else they’re going to make a living for the next 5 months when they could no longer run their resorts and offer good accommodations like they used to be able to. Christmas will be dark for them this year, was all I can think of.

…

On the afternoon of our first day there, our group met with the government leaders of several municipalities in the island and also did an ocular survey of the area.

Close to where we were staying (which was just a few meters away from the coastline), there were a bunch of Bantayanon kids playing at a fallen coconut tree.

They would struggle to climb on the horizontal trunk of the tree, then make it bounce them up and down in synchronized rhythm, and finally jump off altogether after a chorus of “1-2-3!”

I smiled at the sight, and at the distant sound of their laughter. Come hell or high water, kids will be kids. They will play. They will remain to be symbols of carefree joy and hope even amidst desolation.

…

A little while on, the kids started walking towards the sea, which was where we were moving towards as well.

As we went on our way, I chatted a bit with an older child in the group. His name was Peter. He said he was 13 years old, but I had to ask him again and again if he really was 13 already. I thought my ears were only betraying me; he certainly looked too small for his age.

But though thin and gawky, Peter was a jolly kid. In the brief time I spent talking to him, he never lost the smile in his face. I asked him which part of the island he lived, and he pointed towards the midland.

“Anong pinagkakaabalahan nyo ngayon? (What’s keeping you busy nowadays?)” I asked.

“Nagbabantay ng bata (Watching over little children),” he answered, still with a smile in his face.

…

I didn’t get to talk to Peter much more than that, as they gained ground and moved ahead of our group to sit by the seaside. I and my other companions reached the seaside too, after a little while. I stood just a few meters behind where they were gathered and looked around.

So this is Bantayan Island, I thought to myself. It is indeed a gem. The sands beneath my feet were fine and even whiter than that of the world-famous Boracay. Its beauty was raw, but there was something in its winds that told of a sad story, as if whimpering its plight to anyone who cared enough to listen closely.

My gaze got pulled back to Peter and his group sitting by the seaside.

They were quiet, seemingly feeling the breeze that ruffled their clothes. It seemed to me as if they were immersing themselves in some self-prescribed Zen/meditative therapy to help them past the trauma of the calamity.

What were they thinking right at that moment? I couldn’t help but wonder. I wished there was something I could say to them at that moment that will somehow be of help or comfort to them. But words failed me.

…

· ♠ ·

…

Day 2: November 29, 2013

Time: 8:15 AM

Location: Brgy. Obo-ob, Bantayan Island, Philippines

We arrive at Brgy. Obo-ob, the first of the four baranggays we planned to conduct our relief drive and medical mission in. Seeing the condition of the physical environment there for the first time—the fallen trees, roofless houses, destroyed community structures—I feel dismayed.

But then I see the people—their faces, wide-eyed and eager to get their share of the help we were about to deliver—and goosebumps overwhelm me; I feel almost inadequate to fill the gaping hole I see before me. You cannot save everyone, a voice in my head reminds me. Just do what you can.

But will what I, and this small group of people with me, be able to do for this people today be enough? Bags of goods that’ll probably last these residents less than a week, and medicines that are limited both in quantity and kind. What difference will it make, really? I struggled to stay hopeful for these people.

This, I believe, is one of the greatest challenges any volunteer to such relief missions always has to contend with. I read once before that one of the major reasons why people are less charitable than they could be is the “futility mindset” that grips them whenever they see a condition that needs to be changed or helped. Especially when the situation is presented in such a general way that everyone is called to help but no one in particular is named to stand up and help out in specific ways, the futility mindset is prevalent. People who could’ve done something to help don’t end up actually helping because they think that what they do won’t make any much of a difference anyway.

The futility mindset might’ve also defeated me into inaction had I not been already there at that moment. But I was already there. The triage table was set up, and I and two other nurses manned it as we did the initial assessment of the people who were seeking consult with the doctors in our team. Beside us, the nuns who were with us in the mission were facilitating the giving out of relief goods for the residents of the baranggay. The medical mission and provision of relief supplies were thus held smoothly and simultaneously that morning.

In the afternoon, we moved to another baranggay in the municipality of Madridejos still in Bantayan Island.

As usual, we nurses took charge of the initial assessment of the patients that sought consult with our team’s doctors. We would take their vital signs and ask them the symptoms they were having and the main health concerns they wanted checked. The afternoon proceeded mostly smoothly.

But after conversing with a good number of people who fell in line for the medical mission, my co-nurses and I began noticing that many of these people were seeking medical attention not mainly because of physical problems, but of concerns that were, in our opinion, psychological in nature. Many complained that they’ve been having sleeping problems (mainly not being able to sleep) since the calamity occurred over three weeks ago. Several also talked of being more jumpy and having palpitations in the wake of the incident.

Knowing that I was taking up my masters in Psychology, my co-volunteer nurse beside me would periodically turn to me as if asking for hints on how to deal with the situation every time such concerns popped up in our triage table.

And every time she did that, a part of me inside would be like,


Because honestly, though I am done with 9 units of psychology courses at the graduate level, I felt that I had neither the confidence nor the competence to go all psychotherapeutic on the people sitting before me. Frankly, I was—and still am— both disappointed and ashamed at my incapacity to handle those situations better.

But all along, I kept in mind this rule of not attempting to do any sort of psychological intervention on anyone who has just been through a traumatic incident when you have not been trained to institute such interventions. Before I went for the mission, I did read up on a few things about Psychological First Aid (PFA) and also the IASC Guidelines on Mental Health and Psychosocial Support (MHPSS) in Emergency Settings, but nonetheless, I had to remember that I was allowed to join in that medical mission as a registered nurse, and not a psychologist. I was careful not to overstep my boundaries in terms of the responsibilities I was tasked to fulfill.

But faced with such verbalizations and cues of psychological concerns from the patients seeking our help, of course we nurses and also the doctors in our team couldn’t turn a deaf ear just because we weren’t trained in PFA or the MHPSS Guidelines. I, and I believe also my co-volunteers, tried our best to lend patiently listening ears, address immediate needs, encourage positive coping strategies, exhibit compassion, and empower a sense of self-efficacy in the Haiyan survivors we interacted with during that mission.

That we were there to help in what little way we can, I believe, served to at least brighten up that day for them even when we cannot do much to pull them totally off the quagmire at the time.

…

· ♠ ·

Day 3: November 30, 2013

Time: 8:35 AM

Location: Brgy. Sulangan, Bantayan Island, Philippines

Day 3 of the mission and we were in the second-to-the-last baranggay on our list: Brgy. Sulangan of the municipality of Bantayan. What stood out for me in this baranggay was the particularly long line of people who sought medical consult.

The line was so long that we had to cut it short without getting to cater to at least 20 people who had fallen in line to see the doctors as well. As we could not tend to all of them (we still had to get to the next baranggay for our mission in the afternoon), we had to prioritize only the senior citizens and apologize to the rest. I felt lucky just to be at the part of the table where everyone lining up were senior citizens, and not having to be the one to tell the rest that we could no longer accommodate them.

To cut the line was a painful thing to do, but as it was, we had to move on to the next and final baranggay on our list: Brgy. Marikaban at the municipality of Sta. Fe, Bantayan Island.

Out of all the baranggays we visited, for me Brgy. Marikaban was the most challenging. Maybe it was because it was especially hot that time of the day, or because the medical mission kicked off with all the people pushing on our triage table, or because of all the noise that made hearing the tap-tap sounds I was listening for as I took blood pressure readings all the harder to hear. Or maybe it was because it was the last baranggay and I was at the end of my rope, sopping up what little remained of the energy I had packed in for the mission I joined.

The line seemed endless that afternoon, but I told myself it was the final stretch and I kept my head down working, checking on and interviewing one person, after another, after another, after another. I remember looking up from my table to check on the line of people we still had to see, and every time the line grew shorter, more people would line up and make the line longer again. I had to make a conscious decision to keep going amidst the heat of the unforgiving sun and the noise and the dry air I was breathing.

And then a woman with a baby came forward and sat down on the chair before me. At first, I wondered whether I would need to summon up extra patience in case the baby decided to throw a tantrum and cry uncontrollably while I struggled to check on its temperature or heart rate.

Then I began talking to the mother and learned that she was seeking consult for herself (she had a mild cough) and not the baby. I started taking down notes and checking on her, then shot a glance at the baby just to see whether it was a bomb bound to explode if provoked, or just a harmless bundle of well-fed peace cuddled in its mother’s arms.

It was neither.

What met my eyes was a bright little being that absolutely glowed with positivity and joy. I literally stopped in my tracks and had to marvel at it for probably a few seconds too many. The baby was smiling so brightly I thought it was the personification of joy itself, and it was not just smiling, it was smiling particularly at me. It was attempting to stand on its plump legs, bending its knees and flailing its hands in an attempt to balance and carry its weight, which of course it still could not do at that age and so had to be supported with its mother.

I automatically smiled at the sight, although my smile could not have surpassed the one that baby radiated. I felt all my exhaustion evaporate from me, and it was replaced by the lightness, joy, and good vibes that baby emanated. My energy meter shot back up to fully charged, and I could’ve continued working ‘til nightfall owing to that baby’s impact at me. Although it still couldn’t speak, it seemed to me as if it was gesturing to greet me, maybe even amuse me somehow.

Oh, it was such a joy. I wish I had more sense that time and captured the moment with a camera, but nonetheless, the image of that smiling bundle of joy is still very clear in my mind even now, and probably for the rest of my life.

To cap off the last day of our mission, we spent time walking along the shoreline of Bantayan Island.

These group of Bantayan kids were at the beach loudly and heartily laughing together. Although we had no idea what they were laughing about, I no longer bothered myself wondering what they were so happy about. It was such a wonderful sight to see, a heartwarming sound to hear, and a hope-inspiring image to remember.

…

This was the first time I ever joined a Relief Ops-Medical Mission for a disaster area, and I know now that this certainly won’t be the last. Joining this mission was for me moving, heart-wrenching, and inspiring all at the same time…truly, truly, one of the most worthwhile things I’ve done, and one of the best experiences of my life. ♥

…

· • ·

This Relief Operation/Medical Mission was made possible by HELP (Health Professionals) for Peace in partnership with Peace Agents Foundation, Aktion Deutschland Hilft, Terra Tech Forderprojekte e.V., and Servants of Mary (Bacolod Convent).