Author and photographer: Leah Pattem
On Friday, I visited Paiporta, one of the worst-affected towns in Valencia . From La Rambleta, I walked around 45 minutes to arrive to the focus point of the flood damage. En route, I pass a school where kids are handing out gloves, hand sanitiser and masks and are wishing volunteers all the best.
As the mud thickens, we put bin bags over our boots and seal them with Sellotape. “I saw this technique on TikTok,” says Lara, a friend from Valencia who is accompanying me.
In Paiporta, the ratio of volunteers and farmers to officials is around 10 to 1. Despite unforgivably limited resources, everyone is collaborating magnificently. Volunteers are self-coordinated. Those tackling homes and commercial units have made significant progress. They shovel mud and debris from inside onto the streets. In coordination, they sweep liquid into drains, and solid debris is picked up by tractors and placed in large trucks to be shipped to peripheral dumps near the V-30 motorway.
Tractors haul wrecked cars, firefighters pump water out of basements and carparks, and police manage traffic. I’m unclear on the military’s role, who I mostly saw sitting in their vehicles or walking around.
The mud stinks. It’s a mix of soil, raw sewage, oil and decomposition. There are no toilets for volunteers. Some avoid drinking liquids and only stay a few hours, while others go in the streets. There is limited access to clean water and hand sanitiser is not generally available, even at food and meal donation points.
Eating is unpleasant. There’s plenty food available for volunteers but there’s nowhere to sit and eat. Some perch where they can, or on mud-covered chairs and benches. There’s a race to clear the mud before it becomes even more toxic, but there just aren’t the resources in place. Multiply efforts by 10 and it might take another month.
People work in near silence. Even at lunchtime, many eat without chatting, presumably from exhaustion. There’s some laughter, and a lot of coordination, but the process of mourning is visible, even if it’s being stalled by the daunting tasks ahead.
The sun begins to set so I head to the bus back to the city. As I leave, others arrive for the nightshift. I hand a group of volunteers my Sellotape and wish them all the best. None of this would be possible without them, and that is completely unacceptable.
Gallery of Paiporta on 8 November 2024
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