WHAT if every household owned a raft? Or maybe a jet ski? Perhaps they avail of jet ski loans, with flexible payment plans? And instead of the usual free calendar or umbrella, banks give out free life jackets? Perhaps a waterproof bag? Goggles?
Humans have always been adept at adapting. Pinoys, even more so, with an added touch of humor. You’ve probably seen the clips making the rounds on social media. Various scenes of hardship and inconvenience, all framed as something lighthearted overlaid with fun music: a kid hanging onto the railing of a moving jeepney, enjoying the simple joy of cool wind and rushing floodwaters; titas conducting the very important business of chitchat on top of a roof enjoying the comforts of community, all while being very aware of their kids playing some meters away; kids jumping to open street water, now blessed with an expansive pool of turbid water.
And so with our celebrated Filipino resilience, our imaginary jet ski world could no doubt be made an enjoyable one, too. In that world, how would we manage traffic flow? Would there be number coding? How do we signal left or right?
Back to the real world, you may also have seen more clips making the rounds on social media: of people spending hours stuck on the road, unable to pass through low-lying streets; one parent sharing that her kid entered NLEx as an 8-year-old and will leave as a niner having spent an ungodly number of hours on an expressway; of a snake showing barangay residents its superior flood mobility and swimming along canals with ease; of office workers edging along the handles of a fence gate with the concentration of children crossing monkey bars to avoid getting themselves wet; of someone working from home physically unable to do so, floodwaters have risen higher than his desk. I even saw one user share that to go to Northern Luzon, he had to book two flights: Manila to Cebu, and Cebu to Clark. Truly, Filipinos find ways.
A few localized suggestions have emerged: Raise the roof, literally. Build a second or third floor. This assumes that the foundation and soil conditions can withstand it. Remember, water can saturate soil and weaken its capacity to support the load of an added floor. Assuming soil is stable, how do we adjust the utilities, sockets and appliances? Surely, they must be moved up, the TV, the ref, everything. How about the sampayan?
In any case, the house is only the beginning. Once sockets, appliances and the sampayan have moved upward, people must still leave home. Elevated sidewalks could connect houses to schools, offices, markets and transport terminals. We could build a whole network of elevated sidewalks, covered of course. There should be a park every few blocks where people can congregate, and where cats can lounge around.
Street life would have no choice but to adjust with it. Taho and mais vendors might make their rounds by bangka. Convenience stores could install waterside counters. Condominiums may advertise jet ski parking beside the usual car slots, with charging stations for electric models. There may be flood-hour commuting rules, docking etiquette and designated lanes for water ambulances and medical vehicles, rescue boats, cargo vessels and everyday commuters.
Greater Manila’s streets would not, of course, disappear evenly. Differences in elevation, proximity to waterways, drainage system capacity and land subsidence would leave some neighborhoods connected by roads, while others drift away from the city. We may eventually need two versions of our maps: one for dry days and another showing which routes, entrances and loading areas remain useful once the water rises.
The buildings would change with our habits. With ground floors treated as spaces that occasionally belong to the floodwaters, electrical sockets would rise and cabinets would be mounted higher. Staircases would become evacuation routes, wide enough to move entire households upward: people, pets and large appliances. Perhaps we would need a new building code, one written for houses that must periodically rearrange themselves around water.
Imagined this way, the arrangement might even look impressive. Greater Manila could become a layered city, with one life at street level during dry days and another several feet above it when the rains arrive. We could become so competent at switching between the two that disruption begins to look like routine.
Not everyone, however, would move as easily between the two cities. Some would retreat to prepared upper floors or leave on their own jet skis. Others would raise their belongings and wait for someone with a boat. Resilience, too, would come at different price points.
People sometimes describe disruption as an opportunity for a fresh start. Perhaps this is the fresh start everyone wants: a chance to plan from the ground up, este, floodwaters up.
How disturbing.