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1:42 pm on June 15, 1991, the second largest volcanic eruption of the 20C took place a mere 90 kilometers (55 miles) northwest of Manila. When Mt Pinatubo blew her top, almost 800 people were killed and over 100,000 became homeless. The surroundings were inundated by pyroclastic flows, ash deposits, and later, lahars caused by rainwater remobilizing earlier volcanic deposits. Many thousand tons of noxious sulphur dioxide gas were also emitted by the volcano, and the effects of that were felt worldwide.

This piece was expressly written for a company newsletter, to be read by people at corporate headquarters in Minnesota who to me seemed rather callously impervious to the effect of this gruesome event on their Filipino colleagues living and working in Manila, focusing their concern almost solely on Ingrid, the one American stranded here for that week. This was my way of personalizing what the Americans were hearing through the news. I was the company’s Philippine country manager at the time.

[Note: If you know whom we can credit for this amazing photo, please let us know.]

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SATURDAY

3 pm. Darkness falls heavy, like an eerie twilight. Karen and I take Ingrid “antiqueing”…the sleepiness is overwhelming, the “hungries” hit early.

Step out of the restaurant and what!? it’s snowing? can’t be! it’s baby powder!!

What? no, it’s an ash blizzard!

Go home and see the calamity…

A blanket of gray dust everywhere, in the nooks ‘n crannies… the plants, the books, oh-no the PC! and oh-my-gosh look at the dog!

To laugh or to cry!? laugh… we are safe.

Clean the bedroom and shut the eyes…

SUNDAY

Open the eyes. Was it a nightmare? Look outside and the world is grayish white. It’s real.

No water in the house. Dress and escape to a hotel to shower.

Call Ingrid. Her world is shaking. Literally.

A mini volcanic quake.

The typhoon turns the urbanscape into gray muck.

We feel gray.

So we elude reality and gorge on sumptuous seafood.

MONDAY

Manila life is topsy-turvy. Public transportation is mayhem.

Those who venture onto the streets or into jeepneys cover their faces with handkerchiefs as the winds swirl up a nasty ash storm.

Bosses wonder, will staff show up? Ours is a super dedicated team; one by one we trickle in… to an office sprinkled with ash.

The copier is the first to “cough”…

And what more do the Fates have in store for Ingrid? her departure to Taiwan is hampered by the airport closure.

All – individuals, families, governments, businesses alike – frenetically try to assess the damages.

Here, communication at the best of times is a luxury. Today the phones refuse to cooperate more than ever… mega-overload on the system.

We scramble to connect with our vendors; they scramble to get news from their suppliers…

Beep, beep beep…

No one panics.

A call from our carrier. Oh jeez, two of our containers stranded in port. The typhoon, wet slippery ash, dangerous conditions, couldn’t load.

They are so sorry; we are sorry.

Delay: one week.

We all go home, again to attack ash dust.

TUESDAY

More of the same. More ash dust.

More apprehension.

Cristy and Lian worry about health hazards. We breathe dust.

Everyone has concern for the thousands of homeless refugees.

Solina collects our contributions for the needy.

We all wonder what havoc Mt Pinatubo plans to wreak next.

Faraway family and friends hear the news. They care ‘n call.

More small eruptions.

More inconvenience.

Beep, beep, beep, beep…

Junie runs out of pressed clothes: has no power for ironing.

Ingrid still gets no answers about airport conditions.

Water dribbles from our shower head.

More evacuation of thousands of Americans from the Bases.

A Filipino joke: where the rebels failed, Mt Pinatubo succeeded.

More news from our vendors.

We’re so relieved. It’s optimistic. No sweeping delays as suppliers speedily sweep up their factories. Our QC team, Junie and Jerry, confirm.

More dusting.

WEDNESDAY

The weather is variable, a little downpour, a glimpse of sun.

Street urchins make a killin’ hawking surgeons’ masks.

Brooms are sold out everywhere.

Operations are back on track.

Main mission: “rescue Ingrid.”

Noel dashes her from airline counter to airline counter, waiting in one lineup after another, accumulating an impressive lot of confirmed seats, but no confirmed flight.

Patience dwindles, frustration mounts. Head office faxes us an idea.

The sea. We laugh… until its brilliance fully sinks in.

“Hello, John… uhh… would you be… well, ah… amenable to saving a damsel in distress?… you would?” If the Captain agrees. The paperwork begins.

The dust dances in the streets.

THURSDAY

Mt Pinatubo is relentless. Sputter, puff, puff.

Only slightly reassuring are the volcanologists (how do you decide to grow up to be one of these?), who predict no further major eruptive (and thus “disruptive”) activity.

We hope someone told Mt Pinatubo.

More than a few Filipinos turn to the Book of Revelations. It gloomily describes Natural Calamities as the harbinger of the Second Coming.

Others feel this “disaster-prone” nation is merely suffering Divine Retribution.

My problem is I can’t get the tune “Another One Bites The Dust” out of my head.

The good news is that planes begin to fly.

The bad news is that Ingrid still can’t get off the ground.

FRIDAY

The Captain gives the green light. If all else fails, Ingrid is set to sail to Taiwan with four containers of our Christmas giftware… and ten Taiwanese businessmen.

Then a glimmer of hope puts us one inch closer to the edge: maybe a late night flight. We wait, wait, wait…

and CHEERS!

10 pm. Ingrid is the overjoyed holder of a boarding pass.

I’m elated: mission accomplished.

A week after Mt Pinatubo comes to life, Manila remains gray and dusty.

As I fade, I change my tune to “All We Are Is Dust In The Wind.”

And I sleep, sleep, sleep… Zzzzzzzzz.