Mar 18
13
The ECONO – AM (After Maria)
ECONO – (our local grocery store in Aguadilla) – asphalt crumbling in the parking lot, carts that lock up on you at least half the time – but there are things you wouldn’t expect to find in this little store — artisan goat cheese, organic deli meat, seaweed, and multiple brands of melatonin. This store gives you a good feel for our part of the island. But in our life After Maria (AM) I will never enter that grocery store again without recalling today.
6 Days post-hurricane
Power had been out for days. We had limited food and water at home. Our phones and computers didn’t connect to anything and we didn’t have power or flushing toilets. No escape from the oppressive heat or humidity, we sweated and waited. But surely things were going to happen any day now and our family just needed to stay safe and out of the way as people clear the roads of trees and power lines.
After a hurricane there’s really only one thing to do — pick a scarce resource, find people waiting in line for it, and join them hoping that they know something you don’t. Of all the lines to wait in, the one at Econo seemed worth it. For one thing, they actually seemed to be open. So I waited in the heat with my reusable grocery bags.
Once I got in, the cool conditioned air didn’t disappoint. I was immediately lured in and quickly distracted by a few oranges and apples – fruit! Long gone were the days of fresh produce at our kitchen table. We hadn’t been able to find or have fruit that wasn’t strewn across our front yard in days — lots of little bananas and jobos. I was distracted and giddy on a brief moment of normalcy. And then I got to the back of the store.
The stench stopped you in your tracks. An odor that pulls at the walls of your throat. Begging you to either stop breathing or vomit. Everything in your body screamed for you to run from this very spot. The odor of rotting meat was brain numbing. Salivating over fresh cool produce while your body starts to gag. “Breathe through your mouth, Jackie” – “Just keep moving through this space into the next one.” These were mantras of survival.
But it was soooooo horrible. People were covered in plastic body suits trying to scoop out the rotting carcasses from the bottom of the coolers. While I was feeling compassion for these people – stuck doing their jobs; I was unable to do mine. Grocery Shop! Stay focused Jackie.
How? – How can you think about what dinner items one can make that requires no refrigeration? Thinking about what food items I have at home and what pieces I need. Keeping it all to under $150.
Cash.
Everything is in cash. We only have $350 left. We have to make that last for who knows how long. All the time so distracted by the smell of death, rot, waste, desire to run from here. But run to where? The oppressive heat outside only to get back into the line to try again?
Aisles empty of water, milk, bread, eggs. Signs posted everywhere about how many bags of beans, rice, flour a person is allowed to purchase. Real food is rationed. Lights flicker as the generator fumbles to supply enough electricity. I grab Helena’s hand to keep her close to my side, just in case…. In case this fragile sense of normalcy of air conditioning, lighting, people cleaning the acrid stench, plastic wrapped produce – all disappears and I panic in the dark.
My heart skips a beat and the generator kicks in again.
I walk up to get in line. I count out the cost of everything in my basket and make sure we have enough.
I look down at my partner through all of this – little Helena, with her missing baby teeth and big hazel eyes, who moved to this island only one month ago — started a new school, new kids, new language — and although this disaster causes me to lose a grip on our daily lives, she takes it all in as just another day in Puerto Rico. Why would it be any different? Just another weird day as far as she was concerned. Smiling and holding my shaky hand she confidently chats away about how excited she is to have an orange to share with her sisters when we get home.
