A silent auction will be held during Wednesday's match and other opportunities will be available to contribute to Thompson's foundation which fans may do so at any time.
By Jenni Nogueras
It was a bit after midnight, the morning of September 20th. I had spent the previous days preparing everything around the apartment for the hurricane that was headed our way in just a few hours. Power was already out before the monster storm even made landfall. My mother and I live in a concrete apartment in a 3rd floor with a penthouse in the 4th floor. I was feeling pretty confident that the structure would hold, my only concern was a door that led to the roof patio in the penthouse. I hadn't been able to secure it and worried that it might fly open, leaving the apartment exposed to the winds and torrential rain. In a last minute decision, I propped the patio table against it as some sort of barricade in hopes that it would be enough to withstand the storm's power.
It was 2:00am. I was in one of the couches in our living room, trying to get some sleep. They said the worst of the storm was supposed to hit around 7:00am. This made my stomach curl, because the winds outside already felt strong and I could hear the cracking of trees splitting in half in the distance. Every so often there was a blue flash of light, meaning more and more power lines were being damaged and destroyed. I tried to sleep, but the clanging of the patio door kept me awake. "Please hang in there..." I silently prayed as I tried to calm myself enough to get some shuteye.
3:00am: I got a few texts from my sister. She was staying about 20 minutes north of us. Cell service was wavering, and we had lost power, so I tried being stingy with my cellphone usage. She asked if we were ok, we replied that the winds were picking up. I had moved to my mom's room at this point. It was hot, since all the windows were closed. We told each other stories, since neither of us could fall asleep.
5:00am: The winds picked up significantly, and we still had two hours before the worst would hit us. I kept worrying that the door might not hold, and decided to take a look. The clattering had been so powerful, it had shifted the table, but the door was still secured. I placed the table back to its original position and headed back downstairs.
6:30am: It was beginning to get light outside. I took a look out the window and immediately got a chill down my spine. What used to be a forest behind our building was now a massive river. There was no vegetation, only strong currents of mud-water carrying logs down the stream.
8:00am: The eye of the hurricane passed through us. It was calm for a short while before the strong winds began hammering from the opposite direction. I went to check on the door once more but stopped mid-track because there was water everywhere in our living room. I yelled over to my mom, "I think the door flew open!" I opened the door that leads to the stairs of the penthouse and found myself in front of what had become an indoor waterfall. I hurried upstairs to assess the damage. To my surprise, the door had not flown open. The drains in the patio had gotten clogged with debris and the winds were pushing all the water inside through the bottom of the door. I had no way of stopping it unless I went outside in the middle of the hurricane to unclog the drains. I decided against it for fear of not being able to close the door again. The water kept rising all the way up to our ankles. The last thing I thought I would have to worry about living in a third floor was flooding, yet there we were, sweeping water out our front door trying to contain the damage as much as possible. We put two giant buckets under the waterfall, which filled up four times before I was able to go outside and unclog the drains. We then spent hours mopping up all the excess water that had crept into out apartment. Slowly but surely, the winds outside began to calm down. Aside from all the carpets, our apartment suffered no major damages. The nightmare was over.
THE AFTERMATH: Or was the nightmare just beginning? I woke up the next morning, checked my phone only to see the words NO SERVICE on the top left corner. It had been close to 24 hours since the last time I was able to contact anyone, including my sister who was weathering the storm up north with her husband. I went down to my car to charge my phone and listen to the radio to get any sort of information on the status of the island. I had been through Hurricane George as a kid and I remember my father tuning in and getting his information that way. With no cell service and no wifi, social media as a news outlet really isn't of much help.
Most radio stations were off the air. I knew something was terribly wrong when the few stations that were working had barely any more information to give. I shuddered slightly when I heard them admit, "we have no information from the west part of the island. We haven't heard from the south. Access to the east is cut off."
They had no information? How was that possible? Our island is only 100 miles from east to west, and 35 miles from north to south.
Slowly they began to give updates. I sat in my car in plain disbelief hearing the reports. A river by the name 'La Plata' broke its record and went over 80ft, changing its course dramatically and flooding a town in the northern part of the island. To survive, families had to take refuge on their roofs where they weathered the hurricane winds. They had to be airlifted out by helicopters. A few cities on the west coast had to be evacuated due to the impending failure of a dam. Multiple bridges throughout the island had collapsed, leaving towns completely inaccessible. Oh, and remember, cell service was down in the entire island, so anyone who found themselves in danger had no way of calling for aid.
Maria was no Hurricane. Maria was a beast.
Two days after the storm, I heard the front door open. A wave of relief swept through my body as my sister, her husband and her dog appeared through the door. "Mom! They're ok! They're here!" My mom hurried over and gave everyone a hug.
The days that followed were emotionally and morally draining. My mother and I traveled up north to stay with my sister, since we had no way of communicating. We witnessed the extent of the storm's damage. Trees were down, the ones that stayed up were completely stripped of leaves. Concrete electrical posts had been split in half at times or had broken at the base, blocking access to roads. Roofs had been completely torn off of houses and gas stations. The amount of debris on the side of the roads was overwhelming.
No power. No water. No service.
The one thing we had were lines. Hundreds of cars stormed the few gas stations that were open creating mile-long lines that lasted 8-16 hours under the sun in a tropical island. ATM service was also down, so massive lines were formed at the banks as well. Lines formed for the few grocery stores that were open, though most of their aisles were empty. It was like living in a post-apocalyptic world.
Day after day, we sat outside our homes, chatting with the neighbors, trying to pass the time. Every day we would hear jaw-dropping stories about what was going on around the island. We heard stories about families having to bury their loved ones in their yards because no one had come to pick up the bodies. We heard stories about gas trucks being hijacked by civilians. We heard reports about the critical situation in hospitals around the island. With no power, and no access to diesel to power their generators, many hospitals struggled to help patients who were connected to oxygen. Days would go by and we would see little to no improvement.
The heat was dreadful, but as water service started to get restored, we would battle the heat by taking cold showers. Having a glass of cold water became a luxury. During the humid nights, leaving the window open in order to get some ventilation meant you had to tolerate the sound and smell of your neighbor's generator.
Crime and mosquitoes were both at an all time high, so the joke around the island was that at night you sleep with the electrical mosquito racquet on one hand and a machete for your protection on the other.
It has been two months since the hurricane hit. Progress has been slow. Debris is still cluttering roads, leaving areas susceptible to severe flooding with just normal amount of rain. Diseases due to rodents have also been an issue. Water has been mostly restored, but the quality of it is questionable. Power restoration has been the biggest issue. The electrical grid got completely devastated, and getting it back up has been quite the task. Every improvement made has been met with a setback. Some places have gotten their power restored, but almost every day there is a power outage that lasts for hours, leaving the island in darkness once again.
Close to 100,000 Puerto Ricans have fled the island. Many of the residents who have stayed have been left unemployed, including myself. After playing volleyball for five years as a Dawg, I went down to Puerto Rico to continue my volleyball career in the professional league in the island, a league that was founded in 1968 and has been going strong until the passage of Hurricane Maria. The men's and women's leagues have been cancelled due to the damage to the courts and the uncertainty of power in the coming months.
As athletes, and proud Puerto Ricans, we refuse to give up on our island. We have been going on missions to the most affected towns around the island to hand out supplies and give people some hope.
Our mission does not end there. We are determined to bring back the sport stronger than before, to give the people the distraction and mental relief they need to get through these hard times. We are convinced that sports bring people together. We are convinced that athletes are the role models that children need. We refuse to let Hurricane Maria be the obstacle that stops us.
I am reaching out to the Husky Nation to give us a hand as we continue to rebuild. Puerto Rico took a hard hit, but we keep standing. With your help, we can get through one of the biggest challenges our island has been put through.
