My children raised their arms into the air desperately asking me to take their clothes off, which became encrusted to their bodies.
CORRIENTES, Argentina ꟷ On a mostly clear day on March 3, 2024, only a few clouds dotted the sky amidst an intense, light blue backdrop. However, when evening came, a dull gray color washed out the blue as clouds spurred a light drizzle of rain. I went to bed.
The next morning, my four children and I slept soundly at home when suddenly, the rain began to pour non-stop. It looked like nothing I ever saw before. Before I knew it, the water burst into my house. I had no time to lift any of our belongings from the floor. My children began to scream and cry in fear. “Please, do not get out of your bed,” I told them. The flood was more than rainwater. It contained waste like sewage, insects, vermin, sharp objects, and tree branches.
As the water rose, everything began to float around us. Food from the kitchen floated alongside clothes, toys, notebooks, and pencils. Since the kids were about to start school, all their supplies had been out. “Don’t get down from there,” I shouted again, the water already reaching my knees. Crying, I took what I could as my tears fell into the infinite water. If I tried to say anything else, I knew my voice would simply crack.
The uncontrollable water continued to flood in and reached the mattresses. It drew stains on their surface which grew bigger and bigger. “What do I do,” I wondered. I noticed the appliances, like the refrigerator and television, plugged in and I began to panic. Suddenly, the power went out everywhere, burying us in absolute darkness.
The water rose more and more until I felt utterly terrified. Fear paralyzed me for a moment as I listened to the sound of the rain falling and winds of more than 140 kilometers whipping around us. This unstoppable storm would surely take everything it could. Outside, I heard items flying and crashing while my neighbors screamed and cried in despair.
The floods swept through streets and houses while the winds blew down roofs, poles, walls, trees, and signs. Some areas were practically completely underwater. I lifted my children one by one and placed them on the table. The water reached my waist by then and the sheer terror shone on their faces. “Stand there,” I told them as I prayed for the water not to reach them. A foul smell filled the air, and it felt like we were in a horror movie.
After several hours living this hellish nightmare, the water began to recede. I shook like a leaf as what felt like an unstoppable electricity flowed through my body preventing me from being still. The light of the sun began to shine and I could see all that was lost. Exhaustion set in.
Rotten mud stuck to our skin and all of our belongings. We lost everything except the clothes on our backs. My children raised their arms into the air desperately asking me to take their clothes off, which became encrusted to their bodies.
Even now, the sounds and images from that day play like a loop in my mind. When the flooding stopped, a wave of pressure hit my chest and I tried to hold back tears, but I could not. Outside, I saw the devastation; my neighbors lost everything like me. Some climbed to the roof for shelter during the floods. Others had to be evacuated, including a pregnant woman who went into labor.
Cars floated in the murky waters and people began moving about in boats through the streets. I heard stories of children swept away and drowned as their mothers tried to carry them. In some places the water reached their shoulders.
My neighbor and I sprung into action, organizing a soup kitchen through donations. Everyone felt hungry and dinner that day took place in complete silence. All of us felt our strength drain away as the rain continued to fall lightly. We saw lightening in the distance and from time to time, the clap of thunder interrupted the silence. Sirens from the civil defense and cries still rang out. With each noise, we shuddered together.
That same night, someone brought us mattresses but there were only enough for the children. We spent the first night at home, making our way through the dank mud. I slept on my wet mattress while the children slept on the donated ones.
Exhaustion overcame me and I fainted into sleep despite the fear I still felt. My body ached and every now and then, I awoke startled. “How am I still here,” I wondered. Then I would curl up in a ball, crying or screaming with my face buried in the mattress. I made sure the screams absorbed into the wet cushion, so I did not wake my children. A very deep sadness settled in.
Even now, several weeks later, we need so much help. The people lack everything. Reconstruction began but the process is moving very slowly. The physical and mental toll remains visible on all of us. The natural catastrophe that started on March 4 caused a collapse of the drainage systems and in a very short period, the region became an underwater deluge.
Nothing could stop the great storm. That day it rained 300 millimeters in four hours. That’s like unloading a 500-liter tank into a kitchen sink all at once. Everything collapsed. Nearly 1,000 people from Corrientes spent those early nights in evacuation centers and schools. I feel fortunate to, at least, still have my house.