Hope in the Rain: A Psychosocial Volunteer’s Sixth Day with MERCY Malaysia Initiative

Hope, intention, and joy—the things I saw in the camp as we indulged ourselves on the sixth day with the life of earthquake survivors in the evacuation camp. Despite being given a completely different schedule and time frame for our session starting yesterday, gradually we learned to adapt and produce a flow that is both comprehensive and entertaining for the children. Today was quite different—the sun setting over the orchard, the night quietly rising above, and the wind blowing warmer as we did our activities. Unlike the previous ones, the sun was not present in this afternoon timeframe, and when we went home, the cold breeze of dusk came with us.

What did we do during the sixth day of our Child-Friendly Space with MERCY Malaysia in San Remigio Evacuation Camp? Read below the wonders of my life as a volunteer and facilitator in the children’s space to bring light into their lives in this state of calamity.

Since our schedule was adjusted, we had long hours of vacant time from morning until four in the afternoon. So, some of the facilitators in our camp decided to volunteer during the morning at the Daanbantayan camp to make use of their time instead of just scrolling through our phones all day.

They did colorful activities in the Daanbantayan Camp such as coloring activities, storytelling, drawing sessions, free plays, and reflections. They had quite many kids there despite the very little space they have in the area. MERCY Malaysia wasn’t present there today because they a meeting relevant to the situation of both camps.

The only unpleasant part of the Daanbantayan Camp is their area, which is small and almost has no room for physical activities. The tents are not designed for the increased heat index, which—if you can see in the photos—the color of the tents seeps down to the children and facilitators, giving them the worst humidity.

Back in our San Rem Camp, I started my work by putting the MERCY Malaysia-donated boxes full of toys outside our house so that when my co-facilitators arrived, they could just get the boxes and we could head to the camp area.

I separated the name tags of the kids which they made in yesterday’s session since we would be giving it to them every now and then. Their designs varied according to their liking, and I love how colorful their tags turned out.

There are six boxes in the Daanbantayan Camp compared to our camp, which only has two. But despite the smaller number of boxes, our toys and materials are complete and can be utilized in almost every activity we formulate.

When the clock hit four o’clock, sunlight still lingered, but I could feel how gradually the wind turned cold since heavy rainfall happened later.

At the start of the program, we formed two lines for the kids to have their attendance and health check. Compared to yesterday, there were more of them today, and I am glad to see faces I didn’t see yesterday. The kids said some of them were not allowed to go out yesterday since it was already dark after our session, and their parents were worried. Instead of getting sad, I understood the sentiments of the parents. But I am hopeful they would come tomorrow morning. Yes—tomorrow morning. Our original schedule is back on track after the DSWD approached us and relayed that we have our own tent starting tomorrow, exclusive for the Child-Friendly Space. In that way, no outsiders can distract the children while we do our activities.

Tomorrow is another day, and I believe more of the children and facilitators could come.

We let the children play freely on the ground once they were done with their attendance.

The weather was still fine by that time, but the wind became colder, and I could feel it in my senses.

A little while later, dark, scary clouds visited our place, and I knew for sure it would rain.
And then it rained—expectedly.

Instead of proceeding to our next activity, which was meant to build and promote empathy among the children, we squeezed into our little tent, desperate not to get wet and be swayed by the heavy winds. We made sure to gather as many kids as we could to ensure they wouldn’t get wet since some of them were already sick, and I didn’t want it to get worse because of the stupid rain.

Actually, the rain consumed our time, and we were not able to conduct our prepared activities that required a wide space and endurance. We couldn’t do those inside the tent, and all we could do was hold each other’s arms and share warmth in the frigid weather.

Our head facilitator had an idea to divert the kids’ attention from the rain and thunder. We sang a series of songs the kids were familiar with such as Itsy Bitsy Spider, Rain Rain Go Away, Row Row Row Your Boat, and Body Parts Song. We also sang popular OPM songs like Multo to integrate pop culture into the activity since we also have teens in the group who enjoy that kind of music.

Some kids clung to me since they were all cold. All I could offer was my warmth, despite being cold myself.

For the closing activity—which is very vital—we had a Pass the Ball game. Whoever got caught holding the ball had to answer the question: “Three things I am grateful for today.” This has been a practice of ours ever since the program was established, as part of our October activities for World Mental Health Month. Even without a formal celebration, I still apply this practice to remind myself of the good things lurking around me that I often fail to recognize because of stress and challenges.

Today felt so short, and I still cannot process what happened earlier as I am battling this fever and colds that started last week. I still couldn’t have my long rest because I need to be present every day for the CFS sessions. But as I look back at the laughter, the songs, and the courage of the children despite the storm outside, I realize that healing doesn’t always come from comfort—it sometimes grows in the middle of chaos. And in those small moments of warmth, under a leaking tent and the sound of rain, I found once again the quiet beauty of why I continue to serve.