The Child-Friendly Space

Suddenly your heart starts pounding, the moment the plane comes through the clouds and the landscape becomes visible: Trucks are poking out of the sea bay, debris from the houses is scattered everywhere around, from above here it looks like someone just banged a giant fist on Tacloban. What you see is taking your breath away.

Almost spooky silence among the otherwise quite talkative UNICEF delegation also in the car from the airport. What we see makes any words fail. Only the Philippine colleague tries some cheering up : “Look, over there they are already grilling a ‘Lechon’ again!”

The part of the city that is not made of concrete is razed to the ground. Debris is lying everywhere, meters high at times, cars are leaning backwards on collapsed walls, everything is destroyed. At least the roads are accessible again, traffic can move, every couple of meters there is a truck full of debris rolling, filled by people as part of the “cash for work” programme.

The UNICEF office: improvised in the dining room of a hotel, at peak times almost forty colleagues are crowding around the maybe twenty chairs. At least there is electricity for 20 hours every day by now, only from noon to 4pm the building is dark – and hot and sticky. Several colleagues are sharing the limited rooms, everything is running at capacity or above. Kudos to each and every one who have been working day and night over the last three weeks. And you can see daily progress: since today, there is more or less reliable internet, the first restaurant has opened again, which is consequently  overcrowded at lunch time. Across the city, everywhere small market stands are appearing again, from instant coffee over water bottles to flip-flops. And today the curfew is being lifted. A little sense of normalcy in the incredible chaos.

I do accompany a colleague to the „Child Friendly Space“, which UNICEF has erected in front of one of the evacuation centers. OK, a kindergarten in a tent, is my first thought. But as soon as I see how families of eight are dwelling in a tent for three or in groups of forty in one single classroom, it is dawning on me what a relief it must be for the children to be among their peers, to play, to be counseled, or maybe just to be distracted from the situation. A lot reminds me of my work for refugees in Kenya years ago. I almost forget the dramatic situation, the kids are jumping on me, are laughing their heads off about my pale skin and ginger hair. But another glimpse at the evacuation camp and the ride back quickly bring me back to earth: Until there will be real normalcy again, it may even take years. Too many people have just lost literally everything. But if there is one thing I can assure you, it is endless gratitude for the help and solidarity from all over the world.