The Aftermath of Maria - Day 7

It’s Wednesday, September 27th. We have running water. There’s no power and no cell signal. The ocean has gone from ugly brown to mostly blue. The fields surrounding our condo complex are flooded with a mix of seawater and raw sewage. There is no such thing as fresh air. You get an ever changing mix and match of diesel fumes, sewer gas, mildew, rotting food, and decaying debris.

The generator ran from 4:30am to 5am this morning, and we have no idea why. It was back on at 7:30am, and still running at 10:30am. We have no clue as to why we are getting so much time, but we enjoyed hot oatmeal for breakfast and watched DVDs next to the fan.

Pierre got a car this morning! Luis and some of the other guys went for gas this morning at 5am. Pierre drove to the airport in Aguadilla and did not find a cell signal. WIC cards are being distributed to parents to exchange for food since all stores are cash only and ATMs are down. Banco Popular opened Monday for account holders, but we aren’t sure if they’ve been able to open since then.

WHAT THE SERIOUS FUCK. WHERE IS ALL THE HELP!? We are fine, but people are hungry and need water! We need access to cash or the ability to use a credit card. We need gas to reach us and diesel for generators and a GOD DAMNED CELL SIGNAL. We are so grateful we’ve had water all this time. We are incredibly thankful our generator was fixed and we get a few hours of power each day. That’s doing well in the aftermath of the storm, but now it’s time to see some resources coming back to us. I’m doing everything I can to contain my rage until we are back in the states and I can do something constructive with it. I will be a #Maria fire storm.

The generator ran from 4:30pm to 5:30pm so Maria could cook dinner. I should note that Maria feeds the guards who control the generator. Maria fed Jason, too. By the way, every time the generator kicks on it causes the fire alarms to sound. Lucy HATES this. I was talking with Yadira in the stairwell when the alarms screeched to life and we just plugged our ears and continued our conversation. We didn’t skip a beat. We really are storm people now. Pierre and Yadira have been struggling with food, but then they remembered the kids each received $100 in cash as gifts recently so they were able to buy groceries today. Yadira asks me how I’m doing laundry. I tell her I wash in the sink and rinse in the tub. She has a family of five. UGH. I can’t imagine doing that much laundry by hand. We really need some power to come back on soon. Yadira and I discuss visits into town. We agree it’s like entering a war zone. Here in our condo complex we are surviving together and helping each other and the vibe is generally anxious, but positive. Once you leave our gates any sense of security you have tricked yourself into having vanishes and you find yourself in hell. Yadira tells me Gustavo and Iris are working for free in the streets at make shift medical clinics. They don’t know how they’ll pay their own bills. They’ll be volunteering for months. Puerto Rico is so fucked up right now.

There is no circle tonight. The guys finally return and they’ve all managed to get gas. They stood in line with the bees and the bugs and the heat FOR 13 HOURS. Of course they also return with information. The airport in San Juan is awful. It is overflowing with people trying to get out. Those people also know they can get water and food there. I’m so glad we didn’t move to the airport. The guys also report that in Mayaguez some folks are using screwdrivers to punch holes in gas tanks and then holding a pot underneath to steal the gas. Dicks. This bit of news results in all of us moving our cars next to the guard shack at night. Frank’s Verizon phone works near the airport in Aguadilla! Pierre is confident this means his phone will work there as well. I write a note with my Dad’s phone number and our personal information so Pierre or Frank can call my Dad tomorrow and get us booked on a flight. As far as we know flights will resume out of Aguadilla tomorrow night.

We head upstairs in the dark, hopeful we will have plane tickets in the very near future. A giant bat flies through our living room. I hope we have plane tickets fucking yesterday.