A Real Life Disaster Survival Story

Editor: As first published on OffTheGridNews.com, this article is courtesy of Frank, a consultant from Phoenix who was doing mission work in Guatemala when a volcano erupted. Two days later tropical storm Agatha hit, devastating the country.

Real Life Crisis Survival

Guatemala is a beautiful country that has long struggled with poverty, famine, civil war and injustice. That’s what motivated me to visit for two weeks on a church-sponsored mission to feed the hungry and teach people about the benefits of personal hygiene.

Little did I know what awaited me during my visit.

On the 28th of May, 2010, a volcano that has long been active (but rarely dangerous) spewed thousands of tons of rock and ash more than 4,000 feet into the sky.

Although the little town I was in was upwind and therefore not affected, the capital city was showered with up to three inches of black sand.

 

We all know what three inches of snow looks like, but imagine three inches of dense, heavy, gritty sand covering everything!

The country came to a standstill as the four million people in the capital struggled to deal with sand that closed schools, brought transportation to a standstill and collapsed roofs. The airport was closed as well, and nobody could get in or out of the capital.

The resulting traffic chaos routed thousands of trucks, cars and buses through the little town that I was visiting, turning the dirt and gravel streets into muddy, rutted paths that were barely passable. Tens of thousands of people were now passing through this town that normally had just a few thousand residents, and as they passed through (slowly, given the road conditions) they consumed bottled water, food and toilet paper, none of which could be easily replaced since the capital (where locals all buy supplies in big box stores similar to Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club) was closed to traffic.

It occurred to me that, while much of the U.S. is not under threat of volcanic ash, suburban life anywhere in the U.S. would be similarly affected by disaster in a big city. After all, in the aftermath of Katrina, you didn’t have to live in downtown New Orleans to have your life turned upside down, even if your small town in Louisiana didn’t have serious damage.

And then it got worse.

Photo Source: NationalPost.com

As the country struggled to deal with the sand and the impact on traffic and commerce, our worst fears were realized; the low pressure front off the Pacific coast turned into tropical storm “Agatha” and it began raining…hard.

The sand in the streets turned into sludge, and the sand in the gutters began clumping up, forming natural sand dams, causing gutters and sewers to instantly overflow, sending rainwater, trash, mud and sewage into the streets.
highway.

In this country of 14 million, 70% of the people live in cities of less than 250,000 people. None of these have first-world infrastructure, and so within a few hours of the rains starting, there was chaos. Roads instantly became rivers, and life came to a standstill. As the rain continued and even worsened (it would eventually rain up to 3 feet), a minor inconvenience turned into a major catastrophe.

The countryside is crisscrossed by rivers (one of the country’s few abundant natural resources is water), and hundreds of bridges were destroyed as water levels rose with lightning speed and cars, trees and debris accumulated, acting like a weapon of unimaginable force.

My host family of permanent missionaries lives in a nice, safe neighborhood populated by lots of retired folks from Canada, the U.S. and the UK who live in Guatemala for the low cost of living and year round perfect temperatures. We were spared any real damage, but as the day wore on, even these nice homes started to show signs of wear under the power of the wind and rain. The pressure outside was so great that water was being forced through window frames and under caulking, pouring into our home.

Then the power went off.

For hours our mission group was on all fours, using every available towel, dirty laundry and anything still dry to attempt to slow the rate of the water (that didn’t appear to be flooding so much as “leaking”) that had covered the floor in two rooms within a few hours.

By nightfall we were cold, wet and exhausted. Everything in the house was wet (or at least damp) and without electricity, we couldn’t dry anything and couldn’t see much. Sure, the host family missionaries were well stocked with flashlights, candles and matches, but you wouldn’t believe how little light those candles put out when you’re accustomed to electric lights on demand.

Fortunately, the stove was gas powered, so we were able to enjoy a filling, warm meal while the storm raged outside. News reports said the rain might continue for another 24 hours, and we began to wonder aloud about the chaos outside, and all those people who weren’t prepared for this kind of crisis.

Little did we know how our own situation was about to change.

About 8:30 pm I heard a knock on the front door. It was odd, not just because it was raining cats and dogs, but because the neighborhood was somewhat isolated.

I cautiously answered it and was surprised to find the young man who normally delivers fruits and vegetables from the local market standing in the rain. He explained that the road to his home had been destroyed by a mudslide, and wondered if he could take shelter with me. I thought about it for a moment and then decided the only thing I could do was let him in.

Of course I didn’t realize that what he was really asking was whether his entire family could take shelter. As I opened the door and peered out into the storm, I saw a tiny little pickup truck with a dozen people packed into it. There must have been three generations of his family in that pickup truck, and one by one they filed through the front door, each of them completed drenched.

While I was contemplating the scene, my mind was racing. How could I host 12 strangers when my own house was flooded and I had no electricity? We were struggling to make dinner for our own kids. I also worried about security; other than delivering high quality vegetables whenever I wanted them, I didn’t know this guy, let alone his grandmother, mother, sisters, brother and a few other people I never figured out.

But…they were already inside, and outside it looked like God had sent me a message to build an ark and it had gotten lost in my spam filter. In the light provided by 15 cell phones (you got that, 15 cell phones for 12 people?), I surveyed the crowd. They didn’t look all that dangerous. I decided to give them the grand entryway and the garage, along with access to a bathroom. The women were thrilled at this announcement and within seconds there was a line forming.

We sized up everyone and got them warm clothes while my wife began working on soup. Twenty minutes later she was serving up “Survival Soup”, a concoction of rice, chicken broth and a bunch of vegetables. We pulled a few sheets off beds, stripped all the couches and chairs of cushions, and set them up the best we could.

My own family and the other missionaries had gone to bed early. They were sleeping in beds that were islands in their own rooms, with the water standing throughout the house. I was having a hard time getting to sleep and beginning to worry about just how long the visitors might remain. To be honest, we weren’t really very well prepared to take care of ourselves.

I felt I had done the right thing by giving them shelter, but in my mind I was wondering how long simple things like toilet paper would last. I also began to wonder just how long we would have fresh water. The property had its own well, but it occurred to me the pump ran on electricity. Even if it was solar powered, there wasn’t going to be much sun for the next few days or so.

As I laid there in bed, my mind was racing. I was thinking how ill prepared I really was and wondering how much worse it really could be. I determined when I returned home to Phoenix that I would revisit all of my emergency preparedness plans, including plans to take on friends, family or acquaintances who would inevitably show up in the event of a crisis.

The electricity eventually came on after about 72 hours, and life quickly got back to normal (for us anyway, although many thousands of people were homeless and hundreds dead).

I’m now back in Phoenix living my “normal” life, commuting to the office and worrying about things like the battery going out on my garage door opener and the filter on the pool not working quite as well as I’d like.

I haven’t forgotten about my experience in Guatemala, and how quickly things here in America might descend into chaos when a nation that has largely never experienced real suffering is faced with catastrophe—be it natural, economic or terrorist in origin.

One of the greatest lessons I learned from the event was that it is vital to test your preparedness, and the only real way to do this is to go to the main power box in your home and turn it off. You might as well turn off the cell phones as well and live as though the batteries have run down—just as they would after a few days in a real crisis.

You’ll learn all sorts of things, not the least of which is that it is more psychologically and emotionally taxing to live through a minor crisis than you would anticipate. All the little things—the uncertainty, the lights being off, the cold from the leaking water—they all contribute to an emotional weariness. I can’t tell you how many times I looked at the clock on the electric stove (of course it was blank) or tried to turn on the lights when I walked into a dark room. I can only imagine how much more trying it would be if someone was injured, missing, or there was serious damage to our shelter.

I hope my little story is helpful in some way. As Mr. Heid is always saying, “As Christian Patriots we should hope for the best…but plan for the worst.”

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