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 A week after the typhoon struck the Philippines, there is immense
need along this coast, much of it untouched by an aid effort that is
struggling against clogged airports, blocked roads and a lack of
manpower.
But amid the desperation, a spirit of resilience was clearly evident
Friday as the residents of Guiuan (GEE-one) and other battered towns
started rebuilding their lives and those of their neighbors with
or without help from their government or a foreign aid groups.
At 6 a.m., Dionesio de la Cruz was hammering together a bed, using
scavenged rusty nails. He has already built a temporary shelter out
of the remains of his house.
"We're on our own, so we have to do this on our own," the
40-year-old said as his wife and mother slept on a nearby table.
"We're not expecting anybody to come and help us."
Authorities estimate some 600,000 people have been displaced by
Typhoon Haiyan, which hit the islands of Samar and Leyte hardest.
Most of those are likely to be homeless. Along with food, water and
medicine, aid groups will prioritize the distribution of tools,
nails and other equipment to allow people like de la Cruz to make
better shelters while more permanent solutions are considered.
The death toll, meanwhile, was raised Friday by disaster authorities
to 3,621, up from the previous figure of 2,360. Some officials have
projected that the eventual toll will top 10,000, after the missing
are declared dead and remote regions are reached.
In signs that relief efforts were picking up, U.S. Navy helicopters
were flying sorties from the aircraft carrier USS George Washington
off the coast, dropping water and food to isolated communities.
The government perhaps inevitably has come under some criticism
for its inability to get supplies out quicker.
"In a situation like this, nothing is fast enough," Interior
Secretary Mar Roxas said in the Leyte capital, Tacloban, most of
which was destroyed by the storm. "The need is massive, the need is
immediate, and you can't reach everyone."
Back in the town of Guiuan, some 155 kilometers (about 100 miles)
east of Tacloban, there were other signs of life emerging from the
debris. One man was selling skewers of meat, a couple of kiosks are
open selling soda and soaps. Everywhere, freshly washed clothes lay
in sun, drying.
While many have left this and other affected towns, some are
choosing to stay and help.
Take Susan Tan, a shop owner. She was all set to fly elsewhere in
the country after hungry townsfolk swarmed her business a few days
after the storm struck, stripping the shelves of everything of
value.
But a friend persuaded her to stay, and she is now running a relief
center from her shop, which has been in the family since the 1940s.
"I can't just go to Cebu and sit in the mall while this place is in
ruins," she said. "Although I've been looted and made bankrupt by
this, I cannot refuse my friends and my town. We need to help each
other."
Tan managed to get her hands on a satellite phone from a friend who
works for a local cellphone provider. Hundreds line up in the sun
to use it to call relatives to let them know they are safe. One
minute per caller is the house rule.
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On Thursday afternoon, she welcomed her first aid shipment. It's a
fraction of what is needed, but it's a start: 20 boxes containing
dried noodles, canned goods, sardines, medicines, some bottled water.
Guiuan was one of the first towns to be hit by the storm. It
suffered massive damage, but casualty figures were lower than in
Tacloban and some other towns because it was largely spared from
storm surges.
In Tacloban, there were also some signs a battered population was
beginning to get back on its feet even as trucks carrying corpses
drove through its streets on the way to a mass grave.
The ornate tiled floor of a still-standing church was covered in mud
as sunlight poured in through holes in the wind-peeled ceilings.
Inside, people prayed while others swept dirt from the pews.
Residents hauled debris into piles in the streets and set them on
fire. Others were at work making frames for temporary homes.
In one neighborhood, dozens of people crowded around a mobile
generator, where countless cords snaked across the dirt and into
power strips. Residents plugged in mobile phones, tablets and
flashlights, hoping for a precious gulp of electricity, even though
cell coverage remained spotty.
John Lajara was already thinking about replacing his old residence,
which once had a pool table and a sea breeze. Now it's a trash heap.
"We can't wait so I am building my house again," he said. "Back to
zero."
John Bumanig and his wife were cleaning out their secondhand
clothes shop, which was swamped by storm surges. They were laying
out ladies bras in the sun, though they weren't hopeful anyone would
buy them. Most of the stock had to be thrown out.
They were determined to stay in Tacloban, but faced an uncertain
future.
"We cannot do anything, but will find a way to overcome this," said
his wife, Luisa, holding back tears. "We have to strive hard because
we still have children to take care of."
 In Guiuan, a team of volunteers from elsewhere in the Philippines
was clearing rubble from the road to the airport so that relief
goods could get in quicker. Its leader, Peter Degrido, was trying to
move an overturned passenger bus with a truck and steel cables.
"It's devastating to see this. But people are slowly recovering," he
said. "They've already moved most of the bodies."
[Associated
Press; TODD PITMAN]
Kristen Gelineau and
Oliver Teves contributed to this report from Tacloban.
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