Expertise We'd Rather Not Have Had

After last year’s flash flood, I lamented many of our lost items – letters from friends, photographs, teaching materials, books, and clothing – and plotted how I might try to attempt to save them if the occasion happened again. Before we left for the USA a few weeks ago, we put most of our irreplaceable items into large plastic garbage bags, hoisted the bags on top of beds and tables, and hung smaller bags from curtain hooks. When we returned to our town, we unpacked a few of the bags in an attempt to have a more normal-looking household.

Yesterday, everything went back into the bags, and we ourselves went off to spend the night on higher ground in hopes of sleep and safety. As of this writing on Friday afternoon, our house is still dry, but I expect a very interesting weekend! Here is how the last 44 hours have passed:

Wednesday, 5:10pm: I board a songtaew in the city after sending my mother and stepfather to the airport at the end of their visit. I notice dark clouds in the sky, but it’s not raining. By 5:30pm, though, the rain has started to fall.

Wednesday, 6:10pm: Still raining. I check the level of our river as the songtaew enters town. It isn’t too high – still about 8 or 9 steps below the road. (There are intermittent staircases along our side of the river bank – used by fisherman, washerwoman, and young swimmers when they want to enter the water.) Over dinner, Robert and I decide that if the water rises to within 2 steps of the road, we will move to higher ground.

Wednesday night: Rain continues to fall all night, though Robert says he heard it stop once or twice.

Thursday 9:20am: It’s still raining as I ride my bicycle to school. Crossing the bridge, I notice that the river has risen dramatically over the night. It’s now only 3 steps below the road at the point nearest our house, and it is moving very fast. After I arrive at school, I call Robert, who is still at the house, and tell him to pack up the computer and passports in a safe place.

Thursday day: It continues raining throughout the day, sometimes harder, sometimes just drizzling. My co-teacher, Ajaan Warangkana, says that in the event of a flood we can stay with her in a second-story room. I check in with Peace Corps, who says we can stay in a hotel in the city if needed.

Thursday, 3:15pm: As the teachers are gathering for a meeting, one gets a call on her cell phone reporting flooding in the district north of ours, upstream. A few minutes later, Robert calls to say that his school is closing early and sending all of the students home.

Thursday, 3:30pm: Parents begin showing up at school, asking to take their kids home because the town loudspeakers are warning of floods. When 30+ children hear the word "flood," they begin hollering and running around. The teachers dismiss them. I ride my bicycle home along with the students. On my way back over the bridge, I see that the water has risen just a few inches since morning, but is still moving quickly.

Thursday, late afternoon: Robert and I pack our backpacks and the house. I take the computer across the street to a neighbor’s second-story room. Robert listens to frequent announcements from our nearest loudspeaker, reporting more villages upstream that are being flooded. I check the river once and see that it has risen above the second step. Despite our earlier plan, we are reluctant to leave our house.

Thursday, 5:30pm: Robert and I go to look at the level of the river. It has risen above the first step and after a few more inches will be spilling over the brick pathway. (See photos!) Houses across the river, on lower ground, are beginning to get water. As Robert and I go to buy noodles for dinner, we discuss our options. Finally, we decide that leaving the house overnight would be more responsible. We compromise by planning to take care of our showers, toothbrushing, etc, before leaving, so that all we need to do at our safehouse is sleep!

Thursday evening: We eat dinner, finish packing, and get ready for bed. Plans are made for us to sleep at the house of Ajaan Lamduan, a teacher at one of Robert’s schools who lives less than a kilometer away but on significantly higher ground. She lives alone and has lots of space.

Thursday, 8:00pm: We say goodbye to our neighbors, put on our backpacks, and walk to Ajaan Lamduan’s house. We set up in her daughter’s room (she’s away at school). By 10:00 we’ve gone to sleep.

Friday, 2:00am: After a trip to the bathroom, I lie in bed listening to distant roosters and wondering about the state of the river. Suddenly the loudspeakers on the street are blaring. I poke Robert awake. The only words I catch are "water is here," "help each other," "safe already," and the name of our village. We aren’t sure what this means. About 15 minutes later, we hear the speakers again, but the ones nearest us aren’t turned on this time, so we can’t make out anything. Finally, after another half hour, a much more clear announcement comes. "Village 9, pick up your things. Move your refrigerators. Help each other. The water is flowing. If it reaches the road it will enter Village 9." It repeats a few times and then is quiet again. We lie awake until nearly 4:00am, wondering if the water has crossed the road and entered our neighborhood.

Friday, 6:00am: We wake up and get dressed. Ajaan Lamduan has brought us some desserts for breakfast, and she tells us that the water did not reach the road. 45 minutes later we head back to our house. It is indeed dry and the neighborhood has not yet been flooded. We get dressed and go to school.

Friday, 8:30am: On my way to school, I look at the river again. It has spilled over the banks and is covering the red brick pathway and the road alongside it. I can’t tell how high it reached in the night, or whether it is rising or falling.

Friday day: Although the morning was turning sunny and optimistic, rain has been falling on and off and now the sky is definitely cloudy. My teaching for the day is finished and I’ve retrieved the computer for the time being. I think there’s no way of knowing now if the water will rise again or not – it will depend on tonight’s weather! In any case, we’re ready to leave the house in a hurry again if need be. Ajaan Lamduan will welcome us at her house for as many nights as necessary. And that’s where we’re at!

PS: If you try to call us on our cell phones and can’t get through, try adding an "8" before the rest of the number. (after the country code) It might be a new policy thing going into effect today, but it’s not clear yet.