Aid agency worker Sandra Bulling was part of a team that flew to the Philippines when it was hit by the devastating storm last month. This is what she saw
'My first emergency was Cyclone Sidr, which caused massive destruction in Bangladesh in 2007. I visited Kyrgyzstan during the conflict in 2010 and went to Ethiopia and Kenya during the Horn of Africa food crisis a year later," says Sandra Bulling, emergency communications officer for the aid agency Care International.
On these trips, Bulling accompanies the emergency response teams, who are often the first on the scene. "It's inspiring to see that what you do is helping others," she says. Apart from informing the media about what is happening on the ground, she also assesses what actions her organisation needs to take. When typhoon Haiyan hit the Philippines early last month, she was among the first outsiders to witness the extreme devastation on the island of Leyte, which was directly in the path of the storm. She spent nearly two weeks reporting on the aftermath. We asked her to keep a diary of her experiences.
**Geneva, Friday 8 November*
*
I wake up early wondering how severe the typhoon has been. It was due to make landfall in the Philippines overnight, at about 9.30pm European time. We knew Haiyan was coming – experts predicted it would be the strongest storm ever recorded – and had spent yesterday making preparations, but we didn't know how much damage it would cause. On the way to the Geneva office, I check the news, but there's not much information on damage or casualties. At 10am, our crisis co-ordination team calls Celso Dulce, the Care representative in Manila. He doesn't have a full picture yet – our team on the island of Leyte can't be reached by phone or email – but it seems the destruction is massive.
Our humanitarian director, Barbara Jackson, decides I should go to the Philippines and help with media and communications. I drive home quickly to collect my passport. Actually, I came to the office this morning with a suitcase packed for a weekend in Paris with my friends, so now I throw everything out and repack – I don't need my fancy clubbing dresses anymore. I call my friends and apologise. They are disappointed but they understand: it's not the first time this has happened. A quick call to my parents and then off to the airport.
**Manila, Saturday 9 November*
*
I arrive late at night after 15 hours on a plane. Celso picks me up in his car and gives me the latest. He has not yet been able to reach organisations working in the affected areas as communications are still down. His main source of information is the local media and the UN and it all sounds terrible. In Manila, which has been unaffected by the typhoon, everything seems strangely normal. I go straight to my hotel but I'm too agitated to sleep. I wonder what to expect in the days ahead.
**Manila to Cebu, Sunday 10 November*
*
A text message from a friend wakes me up. Marieta Lupig Alcid, executive director of Accord, our partner organisation in the Philippines, comes to pick me up. Today, we are flying to Cebu, an island next to Leyte, our ultimate destination. We cannot fly direct because the airports on Leyte have been destroyed. Marieta, or Mayet as everyone calls her, briefs me on the goals of our mission: assess the destruction on Leyte, define the needs of affected people and co-ordinate our emergency response accordingly.
The flight to Cebu city takes an hour and 20 minutes. We arrive and I don't see much evidence of destruction here. Most of the night is spent giving one phone interview after the other – outside in the dark alley under a flickering street light, as there is no reception in my hotel room. The world's media are now very interested in the typhoon and I am grateful, as this usually has a big impact on donations.
Stray dogs surround me, sniffing at my feet. A lot of the questions circle around the death toll. I want to scream: "But we can't measure the disaster simply by the number of dead people!" Entire communities have been wiped out. As many as 14 million people could be affected. The casualties are a tragedy but those who survived have found their lives in tatters.
**Cebu to Leyte, Monday 11 November*
*
4am. A quick shower, probably the last for several days. In the dark, we head to the port to take a ferry to Ormoc, a city on the west coast of Leyte. It's a two-hour boat ride . When we arrive we don't know what state the roads will be in. We don't even know if there will be a car to pick us up. Nothing is clear.
Stepping out on to the port in Ormoc, we find ourselves in the middle of a disaster zone. The harbour building and the bus station opposite are destroyed. We drive around and I see tin roofing sheets hanging off trees like wet blankets. All the houses along the coast are completely flattened. Everything is destroyed. What's amazing to me is how people are reacting. Everyone, it seems, is out with hammers and tools trying to repair houses and roofs. People are picking up poles and pieces of wood from the street.
I talk to a girl who is drying her school books in the sun. Her house was totally destroyed, but she's worried about her books because she wants to go back to school. We meet a shop owner whose shop was destroyed. She has lost her source of income and she doesn't know how she's going to feed her five children. I have to sit down for a moment: this is a lot to take in.
There are long queues at hardware stores and pharmacies. The vice-mayor of Ormoc tells us that many of the surrounding communities are still completely cut off. People have no food, no water. Just hours ago, a woman gave birth at the entrance of the town hall. Doctors are operating with headlamps as there is no fuel for generators. The town hall itself is a mess: the floor is covered in water and debris; the roof has been blown away; all windows are broken. There are at least 60 people outside, waiting to charge their phones at the one generator that's working.
After a quick discussion, we decide to drive the 66 miles to Tacloban, the island's main city, where, we hear, the destruction is even worse. We stock up on food, water and fuel. There is a massive queue at the petrol station, so we break into groups. The driver waits for the fuel while we get water, some canned food and a roast chicken. Once in a while, my satellite phone connects to the network and I give a few interviews. It's quiet in the car: we are all exhausted by what we've seen and heard. The roads are clear but there is a lot of debris on the ground.
We decide to stop for the night in a small town called Jaro. The head of the local disaster committee invites us to stay in a damaged evacuation shelter in a little room upstairs and arranges a pair of hammocks. Others bed down in the car. I get up at 2.45am to give another TV interview. The sun rises over a scene of utter devastation. It starts to rain heavily.
**Tacloban, Tuesday 12 November*
*
If there is a definition of "worse", it's Tacloban. The destruction from the storm surge that came with the typhoon is apocalyptic. Driving along the coast, we smell decayed bodies. There are corpses under the rubble. We start to cry in the car and for a while I can only look straight ahead, not daring to glimpse through the side windows. No matter how experienced you are, seeing dead bodies still shocks you to the core. Looking into the eyes of survivors is not easy either. People are traumatised – almost everyone here has lost family members, friends, loved ones.
We drive towards the airport, where the first aircraft are bringing in relief goods. The lines of people waiting for a flight to leave the island seem endless. A few women tell us they've been queuing here for two days: they want to go to Manila and live with family members because they have no homes any more. They haven't had anything to eat since the weekend and all their remaining belongings fit into two plastic bags. We drive by a hospital with a handwritten cardboard sign on the door that says "Closed". Some people have written "We need help" on the street, a desperate plea to us aid workers.
The satellite phone is our only contact to the outside world. As I have no reception in the car, we often stop so I can give interviews outside. I stand in the rubble of destroyed houses, on the terraces of crumbling churches, in devastated classrooms, and tell the world what has happened in Tacloban.
People who see me talking on the sat phone ask if they can call their families. Even though the battery is running low, I let some of them use it. For others, we note down numbers and names and promise to call as soon as we reach somewhere with network coverage.
Every journalist asks me about the lootings. I haven't seen any looting but I can understand why it might happen: people are becoming desperate. They haven't had food for days and they're trying to feed their families. I can only admire the many Filipinos I've seen helping each other.
The UN has set up its operational base in Tacloban's town hall. The head of the UN operations invites us to stay for the night and I discover a worn-out sofa in one of the offices. In candlelight, we have a silent dinner of canned tuna and salted biscuits.
The windows in our room are destroyed and I can smell decayed bodies. After two short hours of sleep, I am woken by the wind. Is this a second storm coming our way? In the early morning, the wind calms down.
*Tacloban to Ormoc, Wednesday 13 November
*
When I get up, there is more bad news: 150 dead bodies have just been found behind the town hall.
Getting ready to leave Tacloban, we stop at a church where Mayet knows the local pastor. Pastor Edwin introduces me to Lourdes, a young woman who gave birth to a baby girl the day the typhoon hit. Amid the chaos she got separated from her husband and two other children. She made it to the hospital only to find out that it had been destroyed. So she came across the road to this church and gave birth here. She named the girl Yolanda, the local name for typhoon Haiyan. The good news: her husband and other children survived and they were reunited here at the church. It is a relief to hear some good news.
We stay at the town hall for the night and sleep on mattresses that tomorrow will be delivered to a local hospital.
**Ormoc, Thursday, 14 November*
*
This is a good morning. I have slept for six hours. I wash my hair in the sink in the town hall and have a sweet coffee and some hot soup at a makeshift restaurant that has just opened down the street.
It rains again and water pours through the roof of the town hall into our office and sleeping area. My colleague Erica heads out in search of a hotel. She finds one that offers us a few rooms. They have no electricity, no running water and everything is damp, but there is at least a proper bed.
**Ormoc, Friday 15 November*
*
On the streets this morning there is a lot of activity – people are searching the rubble for buried possessions and the town is filled with the sound of hammering.
My dad just got through on the satellite phone. He is a doctor and tells me that all the hospital staff have seen me on TV. He is scared because he has seen reports of looting on the news. I start to get annoyed. Why do the media always just show one drastic side of the story? Filipinos encounter disasters every year: typhoons, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes. The people here deserve better – they are strong and they are doing their best to get back on their feet. For dinner, my colleague Erica has arranged fried chicken and hot soup. She is the best logistician ever. We devour our first hot meal in days.
**Ormoc to Manila, Saturday 16 November*
*
I manage to get a ticket for the afternoon ferry back to Cebu. Not easy, as so many people are trying to leave. I am exhausted, but part of me doesn't want to leave the team I've grown so close to over the past few days. From Cebu we take a flight to Manila. Mayet starts calling the numbers she was given in Tacloban by people desperate to use our satellite phone. For all but one of the people she talks to, she is the first to communicate the good news that their loved ones have survived.
**Manila to Geneva, 20 November*
*
After several days of co-ordinating media work from Manila, I hand over to a newly arrived colleague from Canada. The team here has grown: experts from around the world have arrived to scale up our emergency response and ensure that affected families receive food and shelter supplies. There are also plans to offer long-term support; it will take years for people to rebuild their lives.
This has been the most challenging trip I've made since starting this job, but I've already decided I want to go back next May. It would be nice to visit the island in different circumstances and see how people are rebuilding their lives. Before I left Manila, the city was getting ready for Christmas and all the shops were full of decorations. Geneva will be the same when I return. The best I can hope for the families on Leyte, over this festive season, is that they can be with their loved ones. Reported by guardian.co.uk 15 hours ago.
'My first emergency was Cyclone Sidr, which caused massive destruction in Bangladesh in 2007. I visited Kyrgyzstan during the conflict in 2010 and went to Ethiopia and Kenya during the Horn of Africa food crisis a year later," says Sandra Bulling, emergency communications officer for the aid agency Care International.
On these trips, Bulling accompanies the emergency response teams, who are often the first on the scene. "It's inspiring to see that what you do is helping others," she says. Apart from informing the media about what is happening on the ground, she also assesses what actions her organisation needs to take. When typhoon Haiyan hit the Philippines early last month, she was among the first outsiders to witness the extreme devastation on the island of Leyte, which was directly in the path of the storm. She spent nearly two weeks reporting on the aftermath. We asked her to keep a diary of her experiences.
**Geneva, Friday 8 November*
*
I wake up early wondering how severe the typhoon has been. It was due to make landfall in the Philippines overnight, at about 9.30pm European time. We knew Haiyan was coming – experts predicted it would be the strongest storm ever recorded – and had spent yesterday making preparations, but we didn't know how much damage it would cause. On the way to the Geneva office, I check the news, but there's not much information on damage or casualties. At 10am, our crisis co-ordination team calls Celso Dulce, the Care representative in Manila. He doesn't have a full picture yet – our team on the island of Leyte can't be reached by phone or email – but it seems the destruction is massive.
Our humanitarian director, Barbara Jackson, decides I should go to the Philippines and help with media and communications. I drive home quickly to collect my passport. Actually, I came to the office this morning with a suitcase packed for a weekend in Paris with my friends, so now I throw everything out and repack – I don't need my fancy clubbing dresses anymore. I call my friends and apologise. They are disappointed but they understand: it's not the first time this has happened. A quick call to my parents and then off to the airport.
**Manila, Saturday 9 November*
*
I arrive late at night after 15 hours on a plane. Celso picks me up in his car and gives me the latest. He has not yet been able to reach organisations working in the affected areas as communications are still down. His main source of information is the local media and the UN and it all sounds terrible. In Manila, which has been unaffected by the typhoon, everything seems strangely normal. I go straight to my hotel but I'm too agitated to sleep. I wonder what to expect in the days ahead.
**Manila to Cebu, Sunday 10 November*
*
A text message from a friend wakes me up. Marieta Lupig Alcid, executive director of Accord, our partner organisation in the Philippines, comes to pick me up. Today, we are flying to Cebu, an island next to Leyte, our ultimate destination. We cannot fly direct because the airports on Leyte have been destroyed. Marieta, or Mayet as everyone calls her, briefs me on the goals of our mission: assess the destruction on Leyte, define the needs of affected people and co-ordinate our emergency response accordingly.
The flight to Cebu city takes an hour and 20 minutes. We arrive and I don't see much evidence of destruction here. Most of the night is spent giving one phone interview after the other – outside in the dark alley under a flickering street light, as there is no reception in my hotel room. The world's media are now very interested in the typhoon and I am grateful, as this usually has a big impact on donations.
Stray dogs surround me, sniffing at my feet. A lot of the questions circle around the death toll. I want to scream: "But we can't measure the disaster simply by the number of dead people!" Entire communities have been wiped out. As many as 14 million people could be affected. The casualties are a tragedy but those who survived have found their lives in tatters.
**Cebu to Leyte, Monday 11 November*
*
4am. A quick shower, probably the last for several days. In the dark, we head to the port to take a ferry to Ormoc, a city on the west coast of Leyte. It's a two-hour boat ride . When we arrive we don't know what state the roads will be in. We don't even know if there will be a car to pick us up. Nothing is clear.
Stepping out on to the port in Ormoc, we find ourselves in the middle of a disaster zone. The harbour building and the bus station opposite are destroyed. We drive around and I see tin roofing sheets hanging off trees like wet blankets. All the houses along the coast are completely flattened. Everything is destroyed. What's amazing to me is how people are reacting. Everyone, it seems, is out with hammers and tools trying to repair houses and roofs. People are picking up poles and pieces of wood from the street.
I talk to a girl who is drying her school books in the sun. Her house was totally destroyed, but she's worried about her books because she wants to go back to school. We meet a shop owner whose shop was destroyed. She has lost her source of income and she doesn't know how she's going to feed her five children. I have to sit down for a moment: this is a lot to take in.
There are long queues at hardware stores and pharmacies. The vice-mayor of Ormoc tells us that many of the surrounding communities are still completely cut off. People have no food, no water. Just hours ago, a woman gave birth at the entrance of the town hall. Doctors are operating with headlamps as there is no fuel for generators. The town hall itself is a mess: the floor is covered in water and debris; the roof has been blown away; all windows are broken. There are at least 60 people outside, waiting to charge their phones at the one generator that's working.
After a quick discussion, we decide to drive the 66 miles to Tacloban, the island's main city, where, we hear, the destruction is even worse. We stock up on food, water and fuel. There is a massive queue at the petrol station, so we break into groups. The driver waits for the fuel while we get water, some canned food and a roast chicken. Once in a while, my satellite phone connects to the network and I give a few interviews. It's quiet in the car: we are all exhausted by what we've seen and heard. The roads are clear but there is a lot of debris on the ground.
We decide to stop for the night in a small town called Jaro. The head of the local disaster committee invites us to stay in a damaged evacuation shelter in a little room upstairs and arranges a pair of hammocks. Others bed down in the car. I get up at 2.45am to give another TV interview. The sun rises over a scene of utter devastation. It starts to rain heavily.
**Tacloban, Tuesday 12 November*
*
If there is a definition of "worse", it's Tacloban. The destruction from the storm surge that came with the typhoon is apocalyptic. Driving along the coast, we smell decayed bodies. There are corpses under the rubble. We start to cry in the car and for a while I can only look straight ahead, not daring to glimpse through the side windows. No matter how experienced you are, seeing dead bodies still shocks you to the core. Looking into the eyes of survivors is not easy either. People are traumatised – almost everyone here has lost family members, friends, loved ones.
We drive towards the airport, where the first aircraft are bringing in relief goods. The lines of people waiting for a flight to leave the island seem endless. A few women tell us they've been queuing here for two days: they want to go to Manila and live with family members because they have no homes any more. They haven't had anything to eat since the weekend and all their remaining belongings fit into two plastic bags. We drive by a hospital with a handwritten cardboard sign on the door that says "Closed". Some people have written "We need help" on the street, a desperate plea to us aid workers.
The satellite phone is our only contact to the outside world. As I have no reception in the car, we often stop so I can give interviews outside. I stand in the rubble of destroyed houses, on the terraces of crumbling churches, in devastated classrooms, and tell the world what has happened in Tacloban.
People who see me talking on the sat phone ask if they can call their families. Even though the battery is running low, I let some of them use it. For others, we note down numbers and names and promise to call as soon as we reach somewhere with network coverage.
Every journalist asks me about the lootings. I haven't seen any looting but I can understand why it might happen: people are becoming desperate. They haven't had food for days and they're trying to feed their families. I can only admire the many Filipinos I've seen helping each other.
The UN has set up its operational base in Tacloban's town hall. The head of the UN operations invites us to stay for the night and I discover a worn-out sofa in one of the offices. In candlelight, we have a silent dinner of canned tuna and salted biscuits.
The windows in our room are destroyed and I can smell decayed bodies. After two short hours of sleep, I am woken by the wind. Is this a second storm coming our way? In the early morning, the wind calms down.
*Tacloban to Ormoc, Wednesday 13 November
*
When I get up, there is more bad news: 150 dead bodies have just been found behind the town hall.
Getting ready to leave Tacloban, we stop at a church where Mayet knows the local pastor. Pastor Edwin introduces me to Lourdes, a young woman who gave birth to a baby girl the day the typhoon hit. Amid the chaos she got separated from her husband and two other children. She made it to the hospital only to find out that it had been destroyed. So she came across the road to this church and gave birth here. She named the girl Yolanda, the local name for typhoon Haiyan. The good news: her husband and other children survived and they were reunited here at the church. It is a relief to hear some good news.
We stay at the town hall for the night and sleep on mattresses that tomorrow will be delivered to a local hospital.
**Ormoc, Thursday, 14 November*
*
This is a good morning. I have slept for six hours. I wash my hair in the sink in the town hall and have a sweet coffee and some hot soup at a makeshift restaurant that has just opened down the street.
It rains again and water pours through the roof of the town hall into our office and sleeping area. My colleague Erica heads out in search of a hotel. She finds one that offers us a few rooms. They have no electricity, no running water and everything is damp, but there is at least a proper bed.
**Ormoc, Friday 15 November*
*
On the streets this morning there is a lot of activity – people are searching the rubble for buried possessions and the town is filled with the sound of hammering.
My dad just got through on the satellite phone. He is a doctor and tells me that all the hospital staff have seen me on TV. He is scared because he has seen reports of looting on the news. I start to get annoyed. Why do the media always just show one drastic side of the story? Filipinos encounter disasters every year: typhoons, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes. The people here deserve better – they are strong and they are doing their best to get back on their feet. For dinner, my colleague Erica has arranged fried chicken and hot soup. She is the best logistician ever. We devour our first hot meal in days.
**Ormoc to Manila, Saturday 16 November*
*
I manage to get a ticket for the afternoon ferry back to Cebu. Not easy, as so many people are trying to leave. I am exhausted, but part of me doesn't want to leave the team I've grown so close to over the past few days. From Cebu we take a flight to Manila. Mayet starts calling the numbers she was given in Tacloban by people desperate to use our satellite phone. For all but one of the people she talks to, she is the first to communicate the good news that their loved ones have survived.
**Manila to Geneva, 20 November*
*
After several days of co-ordinating media work from Manila, I hand over to a newly arrived colleague from Canada. The team here has grown: experts from around the world have arrived to scale up our emergency response and ensure that affected families receive food and shelter supplies. There are also plans to offer long-term support; it will take years for people to rebuild their lives.
This has been the most challenging trip I've made since starting this job, but I've already decided I want to go back next May. It would be nice to visit the island in different circumstances and see how people are rebuilding their lives. Before I left Manila, the city was getting ready for Christmas and all the shops were full of decorations. Geneva will be the same when I return. The best I can hope for the families on Leyte, over this festive season, is that they can be with their loved ones. Reported by guardian.co.uk 15 hours ago.