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| Lorri and our daughter Reagan on break from the University of Iowa |
January is supposed to be a "safe" month in Puerto Rico. The potential dangers of hurricane season loom in the rearview mirror of the recent past, and a collective sigh of relief is exhaled on the island as the post Christmas tourists and snow birds arrive en mass from the States to enjoy the warm weather and relax on the beaches.
We had heard there had been mild rumblings around the island, but hearing about seismic activity when you can't feel it is like having drinks at an ocean bar and not being able to taste the rum. It is almost meaningless until you get one with some kick that you can taste for yourself.
In the days leading up to the big one, we heard about more and more quakes. The day before, there was a large one that was assumed to be the peak of all the activity. We read there had been over a thousand quakes detected by seismologists in recent days. But, not having felt anything, and never having experienced anything of the sort, we went to bed same as always without really giving it much thought.
At shortly after 4:20am, I awoke to the bed shaking violently. Not simply moving back and forth, but as if several strong men had hold of the corners and were shoving it back and forth as hard and fast as they possibly could. It actually took me a second lying there to realize what was happening. It was the loud, low rumbling of the entire earth that alerted my half awakened mind to what it was.
The noise is difficult to describe. Not because it is so loud. Or because it is so unique. It is neither of those things in and of itself. It is low, as if you were sitting very near a passing train, or the heavy sort of low rumbling sound you might get from the roar of a passing tornado when you're huddled in a basement in Iowa, except not nearly as loud. But... the difference is... this low rumbling was everywhere all at once. It were as if the entire earth were submerged in water screaming at the top of her lungs, overpoweringly loud, and yet strangely quiet above ground, all at the same moment, as only the echoes of the rumbles betrayed the silence of the perfect night sky.
Overwhelmed by the sound of it, I nearly forgot that the earth was moving beneath my feet. It was really only when we met up with Reagan and ran outside and I had turned back to see the chandelier that I "remembered" it. It looked as if we were upon a ship in heavy seas, and another wave might knock it up into the ceiling and bust a light.
As curiously and unceremoniously as it had arrived, it stopped, and the rumbling sound simply faded until the night was completely silent. Unsure quite what to expect next, we sat outside and watched as the line of cars drove by our house up from the coast in the next few minutes. They were fleeing the potential tsunami wave that might follow such earthly rumblings, up into the hills beyond our house. Even as it was just ceasing to rumble, the headlights were rounding the bend. It took us a few minutes and a few dozen cars to figure out what they were all doing, but we are on high ground, so eventually we went back inside.
Believe it or not, we felt nothing else, and surprisingly (or foolishly), managed to get back to sleep. That's the thing about earthquakes. You simply cannot know what to do. You can get one in five minutes, or five hundred years. No one really knows. We were awoken again after 7am by the larger one. We were out of bed and out the door much faster that time.
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| Pictures stolen from the internet. We have no damage and won't be looky loos. |
After that the island lost power. Much of the island lost water as well. We ventured out that morning to find lines at the gas stations and ATMs. Grocery stores were either closed while they put everything back on their shelves, or had lines outside of them and only allowing a few customers in at a time to avoid runs and/or riots we guessed.
Here in Rincon we had electricity back on in about 24 hours (probably because there are a lot of tourists and snow bunnies here and people from the states don't spend money when the power is out). Talking to friends in other places, no one else we know has electricity yet.
Additionally, our rental house has solar power and a Tesla battery, that our spoiled, stupid American asses still managed to run dry before morning during our one night without power by running every conceivable device, even including intermittent air conditioning, while our neighbors an hour to the south slept outside on mattresses beneath the stars because they were too afraid to back inside their homes while the earth was still rumbling.
Before you judge us too harshly, we had checked with all of our friends and neighbors and offered shelter and assistance and everyone is fine. We had offered the same to our friends who were sleeping outside or in their car to the south. I share it not out of self loathing, but to make the point that we really are just tourists here on what so many American from the States would assume to be an island cursed by God.
If you had never been here it would certainly seem to be just that too. Even before the hurricane, there was poverty. Opportunity of almost any kind is such a scarcity here that is traded by power brokers like a commodity or precious metal. Old wooden houses were destroyed or deemed useless by the hurricane, and old concrete houses have been destroyed or deemed useless by the earthquake.
Most of the island remains without electricity and running water, and no one can say within a day or a month when it will be restored or for how long. Hundreds still sleep outside on the ground or in their cars. Any one of these things could be seen as a curse from God by Americans in the States to our daily lives. Any single one. And no real relief is in sight for these people.
But here is the thing about Puerto Ricans. Amidst it all, they do not despair. Outside beneath the stars neighbors talk to one another and care for each other. They never stop smiling or laughing.
There will be want and hunger to be certain as there always is. But there will also be pots with extra beans and rice for sharing, and neighbors who cook too much pork. The poorest churches will be crowded with families adorned in their finest clothes.
A hundred times over today and tonight, and every day and night, whenever and wherever any two men pass each other carrying instruments, they will stop, and begin to play, and people will start to gather and more musicians will hear the music and come from their houses to join them. The old people with the moonshine stills hidden in the backyards will come with their jars and bottles, and grandparents will dance beneath the stars like they were teenagers again, dancing together for their very first time. They will know no strangers.
Though their roof may blow away, and their house may flood, and the entire thing collapse atop their car in an earthquake, they will emerge from the rubble, and even before they lament and feel sorry for themselves, they will go to check on their neighbors and see how they are. With nothing but the clothes upon their backs, they count every sunset and sunrise on the ocean, and every night beneath the stars as a blessing. No day is too grim to forego music, art and dance, and there is always cause to celebrate something.
God has not cursed these people. He is in them, and we are only tourists here for a little while.
