Thursday, October 15, 2009
We got a very large donation of food from Starkist Tuna yesterday. It comes at a great time since we have had some trouble getting our supplies shipped from the mainland. We have plenty of stuff but getting it here is difficult. The Starkist man told us that his company originally decided, on the advice of the governor, to make the donation to FEMA. He went over to their office, spent a frustrated half hour over there and left. He came over to see us.
FEMA is alright but trying to make a donation to them is like going down to your local Motor Vehicle Division and trying to make a donation; you just get a lot of blank stares. You might even get arrested if you get pushy about it.
Anyway, FEMA doesn’t look the part of a disaster relief organization. They are too comfortable. Their experience with the Samoan climate is the time that they spend going from their air-conditioned hotel to their air-conditioned car to their air-conditioned office and back. Suffering, for them, is settling for iced coffee at McDonalds instead of Starbucks (there being no Starbucks on the island.)
The secret to getting donations is to look like you are caught in the hellish vortex of the disaster as it swirls around you. I believe I am the expert at this regard. I have perfected the Humphrey Bogart/African Queen haggard, grimey, disheveled look. If you catch me in the heat of the late afternoon, my bloodshot but puppy-dog eyes and sweat-soaked shirt are nearly irresistible to the average donor.
I am jealous of FEMA for their restful nights, their meal allowance, and the healthy bonus they get each day for enduring the rigors of field work. It is also a little annoying as a taxpayer. When you think about it, though, they miss everything about this experience that makes it worth doing. For us at the Red Cross compound, a little ways away some times are miserable and some times are wonderful. But, either way, we are living each sweaty, grimey, beautiful, joyful, visceral moment to its fullest. A soft sunset, the first cool breeze of the day, and the sound of the Samoan workers singing their prayers at the end of the day’s work are always beautiful, but these things are ten times more beautiful and poignant following the blood, sweat and tears of the day.
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| Richard after his first day viewing the disaster results. He had spent the day in the destroyed village of Tula interviewing families and giving out the fairly meager supplies that were available at that point of the operation. Later on Richard says he had plenty to give out, but at the time things looked bleak. |
Best wishes and my thanks to all of you.
Richard
Richard Rieckenberg is a volunteer for the American Red Cross, specializing in Mass Care Administration.