August 25, 2023 The Week after The Blaze.

“My house is gone. My mom’s property burned, and five out of six buildings were burned down. The fire destroyed the whole place.” The man’s words haunted me.

He was surprisingly calm, for someone who’d lost everything to fire. A fire that ripped through parts of West Kelowna and up the Westside until it stopped after burning Okanagan Resort to the ground.

Fire.

It was like nothing I’d ever seen in my lifetime. Something that haunted me inside. I had to do something. I went to the Emergency Social Services Centre the night of the fire. They didn’t want my help then, I didn’t have the training on the computer program. They would be fine they said.

The ESS called me a few days later, could I come in and help with registrations? “Could you start on Monday?” the lady on the phone asked.

“I can be there tomorrow if you want,” I replied. Why wouldn’t they want me to help as soon as possible? There are ten thousand people out of their homes. I figured they would be going around the clock to get everyone some emergency services.

Services many people went without for days. 

My head spun as the man across from me told me his sad tale. He’d just lost his father to cancer and the young family moved onto his mother’s property. He had a six-month-old and a five-year-old. They lived in one of the six structures on his mom’s property in West Kelowna. Fire tore through and destroyed five of the six buildings. He showed me a picture of his place that was taken by a friend who had access to the area. 

It looked like a war zone.

My heart sank, right then I knew my problems were nothing compared to those who’d lost everything.

“Do you have insurance?” I asked, afraid of his response.

“No, my mom does, but we never got any for our contents.” He took a deep breath, “I never thought this could happen and now it’s all gone.”

“Ok well, I can give you vouchers for clothes, food and incidentals. I can also give you a voucher for the people who are putting you up, they’re entitled to some money for billeting. The only thing is I can’t backdate anything.” I sighed, frustration at the system crawled under my skin. “When did you first try to get in here?”

“I registered online on Friday, it took until today for me to get in to see you.” He shook his head. “I’m just grateful you’re here and I got in.”

“Today is Tuesday, you mean it took you five days to get help?” My hands shook as I wrote down his information and filled out the forms.

He nodded, his eyes glistened. “I’ve been here a few times. My wife’s been looking after the kids so I haven’t been able to work. At least I’m here now.”

I couldn’t believe it took so long for him to get in to see someone. And we couldn’t start any of his benefits until the day he got in to see me. Five days, five long days for a family that lost everything. I gave him the maximum benefit I could and suggested he get a form for the people putting him up. 

He shook his head, “They won’t accept any money. They’re not like that, they just want to help.”

“Well then get them to give you the money when they get it. You’ll need every penny.” 

He nodded and took a deep breath, “Ya, I guess you’re right.” He stared above my head his thoughts obviously about his fledgling family and the unknown future he faced. And he was lucky that he had support from family and friends to get him through. 

Others haven’t been so lucky.

The day went on and we slowly made our way through the backlog of evacuees. The space that the ESS was set up in was ridiculously small. A double-wide portable to house as many people as they could to enter the information of thousands of evacuees. Why weren’t we in the hockey arena like we’d been in back in 2008 for the Glenrosa fires? None of it made any sense. Still, I plugged away. It took almost an hour per person to process them. The Premier came in along with the minister of disaster services to see what the situation was. 

They asked me what the biggest problem was.

“The space is too small, we need more room,” I replied.

They turned to my supervisor, “Is that true?”

My supervisor’s eyes opened wide, and he nodded, “Yes, it’s pretty cramped in here.”

Two days later we would move to a much bigger space in the gymnasium of the neighbouring high school – only six days too late.

While I had the attention of the premier I asked him the question that was burning in my mind, “Why did you close the valley to tourists until September fourth? You know you just killed all the tourist businesses in the Okanagan? I understand closing down but why for such a long period?”

Bowinn Ma the disaster minister piped up with a smile, “We’ve rescinded that as of midnight tonight.”

“That’s good, but the damage is done.” I stared up at the premier looking for a reaction. He merely stared back at me, then turned and walked out the door. The damage is done to so many. I feel horrible for those who have lost everything and for those displaced. But unfortunately, the government panicked and overreacted – again.

I went back to my desk and plugged away. It was all I could do.

For the next few days, more tales of woe crossed my path. Some people slept in their cars, slept on the floor of Prospera Place, or slept under the stars in the suffocating smoke. All of these people have been waiting for days to get the help they need.

Help for some that came too late. 

I had a lady at my desk who lived in an area of Kelowna that was just inside the evacuation zone. We knew that most of Kelowna was going to have the order lifted. This lady was obviously not in dire straights and had a place to stay. But she wanted vouchers for food and clothes. She was entitled to the benefits but we knew she’d be home right away. I asked her to do the right thing and only take the minimum. But she wanted more, she wanted it all. I relented and filled out her vouchers, almost seven hundred dollars worth for clothing, incidentals, and food. It seemed like a lot for someone of obvious means who would be home within days.

It would turn out that her evacuation order would be lifted within two hours.

Three and a half hours later a person with a mental health crisis came to me with a young lady who looked as if she’d had very little sleep and was worn and tired. She was there for benefits, and after four attempts to get in, she was finally in front of someone to get some vouchers. Except the evacuation order for her home had just been lifted. She was no longer eligible to receive anything. The mental health lady was concerned and pleaded for her to get something, anything. I was doing the paper forms so wasn’t as limited as the people on the computer. A computer that didn’t care about people, only numbers.

We asked our supervisor and he said to give her food. I filled out the paperwork and gave her the voucher for groceries and incidentals. She didn’t care about clothes, just needed some gas money, money I couldn’t give her. Yet if she’d been there earlier in the day she would have received the same vouchers the rich woman from Wilden got. 

I felt like throwing up.

The system is broken. Thousands of people have suffered from the effects of this disaster and they have waited days to get help. When they finally get help, it isn’t for all the time they’ve spent living in their cars, or on friends’ couches or even paying for their own hotels. It is for the time moving forward. And if they have been told they can go home, They get nothing for those days waiting. 

Nothing.

And so many are left with nothing.

I have done my best to help those I could. And there are so many others who are giving their time to help. Our supervisor is evacuated and yet he is there fourteen hours a day. He says that it gives him something to do. My boats are shut down, so I feel the same. It’s all I can do to help.

Something needs to change before the next disaster strikes. For too many it’s too late. The future needs to be different. The government needs to do better.

What happened here can never happen again.