It was Sunday evening, about 6:30pm. I was sitting in the study room working on my assignment when, bang, everything went dark. The power went out. As I was shutting down my computer I heard the scramble of feet and urgent voices come from upstairs. I knew there was an emergency. Quickly I ran though the door into the living room and then was swept with the rush of girls out the front door and onto the street. FIRE!!
Across the street about 3 houses and a few little shacks down, flames licked the night sky. The girls from our house were the first people running onto the scene. Joy ran over and alerted the clinic and, because the fire was spreading fast, they transported all of the labors and post partums to Jenn Germain's house, (a married midwife with seven kids.) I have never seen a fire so big. As Serena and I ran towards the flames I prayed, loud and urgent. The whole corner where you turn off Dacudao to Mercy was up in flames. About a dozen families were scrambling to save what they could from the lower floors. A woman was sitting by the ditch wailing, "my balay, my balay" (house) as she watched it get devoured by the flames. Seeing the need, a few of us began grabbing the piles of clothes, blankets and shoes from the street and throwing them into the grass on the other side of the street. Four or five young Filipino guys kept running into their house and throwing armloads of anything they could salvage onto the road for us to throw away from the fire. My perfuse effort and the heat from the fire made my head feel like it was going to explode.
We worked for about 8-10 minutes before the first fire truck showed up. Quickly I ran onto the sidewalk beside the fire truck just before it started spraying. Serena got blasted a bit from the water. By this time there were hundreds of people gathered in the streets. Another fire truck came, then another, soon the street was crowded with 8 or 9 fire trucks.
The darkness of the night was sliced open by the ominous flame engulfing charr-broiled frames of what used to be homes, and by the urgent flashing of a what seemed to be a million red lights. The silence of the night was sliced open by the yells of the firemen, the crackling of the flames and the shriek of the sirens. But, what sliced the darkness and the silence the most was the dark, silent look of hopelessness on the faces of those who had just lost everything.
Within a few minutes, the spray of the water overpowered the flames and they were drenched into submission. Slowly the crowds sauntered away to their homes, and slowly the fir trucks packed up and left the scene. Slowly I leaned my tired shoulders against the telephone pole on the corner just below the Mercy Maternity Sign and looked with a heaviness at what was before me. Mangled heaps of ancient washer machines, baskets, pots and piles of clothes were on the street opposite each place were a door had once stood. On each heap sat the victims, shoulders slouched, eyes fixed on the devastation, clothes reeking of smoke. There was nothing more for me to do than pray. My bare feet sloshed through the flooded street to my home three doors down, the pavement still hot from the flames, my face still burning from the heat. I estimate about 12 families lost their homes tonight. The whole corner was burnt and there were shacks stacked upon shacks that went up in flames.
Please, please, please pray
Marchell Magapundag
At quarter to three he started to cry so we tiptoed across the hall to the kitchen for some milk. As I stood there with a brand new baby sucking happily I was overcome with the Love of God. Everything was perfectly silent. A warm breeze crept from the darkness, through the screen door, and into the light of the kitchen bringing with it an orchestra of night-time scents. This is why I am here, for such a time as this. 
“Junior” and I had just lied back down when the screech of a taxi interrupted the silence; I heard the slamming of the doors, the creak of the gate and urgent footsteps scuffle down the hall. Sure enough, a moment later, the guard poked his head in and snapped+-+Copy.JPG)
