This pic was taken less than a week before the storm. I can’t upload more pics right now, my data is being a jerk, but I will when I can.

My coffee sipping sight this morning:  a rooster hightailing it into our portico; a few seconds later it’s a boonie dog zig zagging its scent.  In what used to be the jungle, a few chickens squawk while another boonie dog heads toward them.  There is nowhere to hide.  

A dog’s gotta eat.  But, there are so few of the chickens left.  A friend said maybe they’re in hiding somewhere, but me thinks only the lucky survived — now they just gotta keep surviving.  

It’s kind of where we are right now.  We’re happy to be here, but some of us have an advantage that others do not.  While I’m no boonie dog, I am living in a condo that has water and air (thanks to the building generator).  My friends a few floors higher do not have water (pump can’t push it up that high; something in it is damaged), so they built a tent around the pool shower.  Our pool is now a sludge of bacteria that we don’t even want to use to flush our toilets. I suspect a new species will emerge from it by next week. 

It’s been a week since the typhoon began tormenting our island.  School is now out for the rest of the school year, work is sort of done from home —- it’s kind of hard to do when you’re living off of spotty data (sometimes it works, mostly it doesn’t, but we’re so grateful when it does).

We’re in a heavy rainfall warning now.  Our streets are flooding, which they do when it rains, but now we’re saturated, have bald cliffs and clogged drains, so yay flash flood warnings.

Communication basically is a bitch.  Radio stations are finally back on air, which is so much better than hearing Poltergeist static.  People are working around the clock to restore water and power, but from the latest report I’ve been able to see basically most of us are still without.  It’s hard for any of us to know what we need to know because the posts on social media are slow, and we all have issues actually getting to social media.  At least now we can hear reports on radio. 

The updates I do get to see tell us trash is getting picked up —- we’re still waiting in my area —-and that there are landfills where we can dump our green waste.  It aint the shrubbery we need to get rid of.  Garbage bags are now sandbagging dumpsters, so no one needs to worry about dumpster flooding. 

The National Guard and police are escorting fuel trucks to gas stations; they are also directing traffic and monitoring the long lines at gas stations.  Cash is in high demand.  There are some stores and restaurants open, some even manage to take cards, but most tell you cash only.  I’m down to $6 and have mooched off of my neighbors. Everyone on this island is grateful to others who have helped them with something during this time — we have our uglies to report, but we also have our good.

Apparently some people are breaking into cars and siphoning gas; shit I guess I should check my car for that.  A few of the broken windows we see might be from looting, or people looking for a dry place to sleep.  There’s a bubble tea shop at the bottom of my street; I saw the owners sleeping in it when I took a morning walk.  Many mom and pop shops are doing this.  

The chickens aren’t the only ones who found refuge in the jungle, apparently there are more people living in abandoned structures than I knew.  There are four structures within feet of my place that also have abandoned cars.  People, including children, live there.  I see them now from my balcony.  According to Guam Homeless Coalition (can’t verify sources with this damned slow service) there are almost 800 homeless people on island, 92 households with children, and almost 53% of Chomorro, Mariana island natives (I need a better word because that one feels like it has negative connotations), are homeless.

Before, when I walked and met the few regulars I see on the beach, I just assumed they lived this life because of drugs or alcohol — and I’m sure many do —- but whatever the reason there’s impoverished living in rain and mud while listening to generators churn away the voltage that keeps some of our air conditioning going.  I don’t feel guilty for being where I am, I earned it, but I do feel something is very wrong with this balance. 

In essence the typhoon blew away our fairy tale of paradise.  Behind the plumeria and palms hid some of our inhumane truths.  I can no longer unsee it, so I’ll do my entitled bits of good here and there, but damn.  Mama hugs to all of us; the wet, the dry, the greedy and the giving.  May we find the strength to do better.