Eruption of Mt. Pinatubo

Travel Story by David Eric Poarch

Luzon, Philippines

It was a typical summer day; the outpouring sun seemed to fill the surroundings with life and energy as I continued my travel through the Philippine countryside. The tropical heat dissipated as the breeze flowed through the open-sided jeepney, only to be felt during occasional lulls when a passenger stop or pick-up was called for. The chatter inside and the bustle outside, along with the smells of animals and exotic foods strengthened as we approached the town market. The stirring buzz of the market seemed to abate as quickly as it began as the jeepney creaked and rattled along the semi-dirt road towards the rural areas of the region.

The atmosphere had changed. A calm and freshness had taken over; my eyes became entranced by tranquil rice farms and the glistening of tropical trees and plants as they swayed under the glorious sun. I was awakened by the jeepney's halt, and my tita motioned that this was our stop. We strolled down the path to my lola's home, occasionally greeting familiar smiling faces. Soon we had reached a small bamboo hut. All was relatively quiet except for the sound of clothing beating in the breeze. The pleasant smell of laundered clothes and the aroma of traditional Filipino food filled the air. A pet dog welcomed us with licks and wags and a few white ducks scattered away as we made our way up the wooden steps and into the hut. We greeted everyone inside and as my aunt began to converse with her sisters and my grandmother, I joined my cousins in their daily fun, which could have consisted of frolicking with farm animals, venturing through foliage, playing in the rain, capturing odd insects, climbing mango trees, or simply just relaxing in the shade until our spirits were rekindled.

Unfortunately, the evening always had to interrupt our fun. It seemed as if the sun always left our company too early, I thought to myself on the way back home as I watched the reddish sky adjust while the sun mingled with the horizon. By the time I reached our small rental home, my Filipina mother was already back from the naval base where she worked (for low wages) as a teacher's aide for special education children. I usually came up behind her while she cooked dinner and gave her a big welcoming embrace. After spending a few minutes to entertain my mother about my day, I rushed outside. I climbed a cement fence post and sat awaiting my father, an American, who also worked at the naval base but as an electrician. It seemed lonesome outside. There were only the low chirps of a few frogs, the trees whispering in the wind, the occasional bark of a dog, and only the company of the moon and the stars. But my father eventually made it home, and our family enjoyed dinner together while speaking of daily events and whatnot. That concluded my day, leaving me with a satisfied feeling as I went to bed and promising pleasant dreams and a beautiful beginning for the day to come.

*

The next morning came with a gloomy sky unlike those of typical Philippine days. My dog acted strangely as he sensed something wrong. Something unexpected was indeed going to happen. We learned to live with and accept natural disasters in the Philippines. I recall Typhoon Ruby, which killed hundreds of people and caused much destruction and flooding throughout the Philippines. Our house was flooded with mud and silt that took days to remove, our roof was badly damaged, and vegetation did not return to normal for months. There was one particular earthquake that killed more than 1,600 people, during which I remember having to run outside just in case our home was to collapse. However, my most vivid experience came on this ominous day in June.

My dad came home early in the day, around noon, and he alerted us about the volcano warnings. He shortly left to check on some of our relatives who may not know of the danger. Soon the ground began to tremble and the sky grew dark and eerie as Mt. Pinatubo infested the atmosphere. I could see the plumes rising from the mountains as the day was plagued by darkness. The main eruption started just past noon and at the same time a typhoon (Typhoon Yunya) raged overhead. From under an awning outside my house I caught sight of my dad's vehicle. I noticed the car was covered with gray cement-like muddy material. The wipers were broken so my dad was hanging his head out the window for visibility. He placed the car under the carport, ran inside, and frantically gathered us into one room. I always thought my parents knew how to handle any situation, so I was not worried.

The eruption accelerated and the sky was smothered with blackness so opaque that you could not see the person next to you with the exception of the flashes of lightning. The storm was ionizing the volcanic material and the sky occasionally filled with a web of lightning that proliferated in all directions. Thunder constantly pounded my eardrums and the ground trembled beneath my feet. Our living room ceiling was creaking from the weight of the cement-like lahar, which was ten to twelve inches deep everywhere by this time. Instinctively, my dad ran to move the car from underneath the carport. Due to the weight of the lahar, the carport collapsed on the rear of our car but my dad was luckily not injured. He immediately ran back inside and hurried us into a closet space where we waited for the eruption to subside.

Going outside the next day was like stepping out on a foreign planet. Gray ash and lahar covered everything in sight. Half the houses had partially or totally collapsed under the weight. It was as if the life and energy that had once filled the Philippines had been buried. Mt. Pinatubo had killed almost a thousand people, damaged an estimated billion dollars worth of property, and spewed out ten times more the amount of ash than Mt. St. Helens did.

*

It is hard to imagine, but after only a few months, the gray vastness was beginning to transform into the vibrant colors characteristic of Philippine life and culture, and the sun cured the sky of its depressing murkiness. I longed to heal and grow with the Philippines, but unfortunately, this could not be done. The air force base there was demolished and was never to be rebuilt. The naval base spent millions of dollars trying to rebuild, but after a senate vote, the American presence in the Philippines ended. My dad secured a job in the United States, and my family was prompted to move to Florida in 1994.

These experiences will forever be embedded in my memory and to them I partially owe my unique perspective on life. I have learned that regardless of a setback, if a persisting and onward mindset is kept and everyone works together, even the worst of calamities can be overcome. I often reminisce of my youth, remembering the unique and joyful times I spent as a child in the Philippines. And I would like to think that, although I can never return to my early days in the Philippines, the same sun that brought so much life, energy, and triumph during my childhood there continued to shine on me as I journeyed through life in the United States; continues to shine on me today as a young man venturing in the Philippines, and will continue to shine on me in the future wherever the road of life takes me.

Illustration by Bob Veon
(Bob Veon's Website)

Read more about the author of this story:
David Eric Poarch