Telling ‘people’ stories

Live from Isabela, Day 3

CAUAYAN CITY, ISABELA–Two army helicopters descended on the local airport. Those waiting ran to meet the aircraft and their cargo.

One was a thin 7-year-old named John Paul who arrived with his parents. He sat on the arms of a soldier, hooked to an IV. The boy complained of stomach pains.

A couple of pregnant women also walked out. Cameras and microphones followed. The boy’s mother lamented all they lost in the storm, but said at least her son would now get help.

These were the first human faces we saw of Palanan since it was cut off without electricity and communication due to typhoon Juan / Megi.

Ground shots, top shots

Live from Isabela, Day 2

CAUAYAN CITY, ISABELA–A call from Manila woke us up to a clear sky and a cool breeze. A relief from the darkness.

The provincial capitol was surrounded by open fields, baring a panorama of the devastation we came to the night before.

We had dozed off at our car seats. For the long haul of that night, five hours of shuteye wasn’t enough. But it was probably the sleep of the dead.

Instant cup noodles was only what my teammates could buy for dinner at 10 p.m. I rarely ate them, yet the hot La Paz Batchoy soup gladly filled a stomach that hadn’t eaten a meal since 9 in the morning.

No, Jeff Canoy and I did not take one grain of the lugaw Sagip Kapamilya fed the locals.

Jeff and his team “forced” a Jollibee store in Cauayan to serve Chickenjoy just when they were about to close. They had driven 30 minutes to the city, where a hotel and electricity awaited. The manager saw them and insisted letting them in.

The Manila news desk wanted Jeff back in Ilagan by morning and reporting live for Umagang Kay Ganda‘s 6 a.m. newscast.

Common for election and out-of-town disaster coverages: you and your material will likely go on the air for breakfast, lunch, merienda, dinner, and the midnight snack.

Hurdling through Juan and Murphy

Live from Isabela, Day 1

ILAGAN CITY, ISABELA (UPDATED)–Our crew cab raced through the deserted countryside. All around, electric posts hung like torn picket fences. Uprooted leafless trees choked the road. The sky grew darker by the minute.

It was no horror movie, but our adrenaline was amped up.

The wind beat at our ears. Our heads throbbed and our stomachs growled. We already ran on empty, yet we had to finish the stretch.

Our main equipment broke down on us, and our plan B was 30 kilometers away.

In front, reporter Jeff Canoy and his driver asked around for directions to an obscure barangay we could not even spell.

At the back, my MacBook converted Jeff’s voiceover package. I asked his cameraman to set my bags on the other end of our seat. My thumb kept switching on a cellphone that kept switching off.

The time, 5:30 p.m. Our likely arrival, 6:00 p.m., 30 minutes before TV Patrol. Time to send our 71 MB package, God knows how long.

Welcome to typhoon-ravaged Isabela, and another case of the so-called Murphy’s Law–”Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

On the field, it tends to be true. And if you take it from Jeff, it’s always happened to him in Isabela.

It was something that went wrong. A storm named Juan (a.k.a. Megi) tossed and toppled Northern Luzon. But it lashed its strongest fury here. The best preparation stood little chance against our first “super” typhoon in a while.