The inhabitants of the school
After Hurricane Georges ravaged Puerto Rico, this family transformed a closed school into a home, facing numerous challenges, including a lack of access to clean drinking water and electricity for over 20 years.
Photography and text by Yadira Hernández-Picó
That morning, it was hard to resist the pleasant temperature, the deep blue sky, and the delicate golden light typical of the Christmas season. The ideal conditions for an adventure, camera in hand, through the countryside of Maricao, a town nestled in the mountains of western Puerto Rico. To reach Maricao, one has to navigate a winding, serpentine road that crosses the Central Mountain Range.
The trip, without a predetermined route, took me along narrow, curvy roads that twisted between tall foliage that grew denser and more oppressive the higher I climbed. Suddenly, the unmistakable smell of coolant forced me to stop the car immediately. My first option was to call a towing service, but it would likely cost a fortune due to the distance, and it would surely be impossible to pinpoint my location in this remote area.
As I journeyed further, the houses gradually dwindled behind me until all that remained was a dull green skeletal structure, an old, rusted gate, and a dilapidated car. A white dog unexpectedly emerged from the ruins, followed by a man and a woman offering assistance. The man, Ramón Santos Figueroa, introduced himself as a mechanic and approached my smoking vehicle. His mother, Blanca Figueroa, kindly invited me into their home.
What was once the school cafeteria, its walls painted with flowers and butterflies, is now only silhouettes, empty and without a roof.
There, the same dog that preceded the inhabitants of the school rests and sunbathes.
The Santos Figueroa family lost their home and possessions during Hurricane Georges on September 21, 1998. The storm also caused damage to the Noel Molini School in the Indiera Alta neighborhood of Maricao, leading to its closure. Since then, the family has made their home in the school’s classrooms, transforming them with limited resources but a lot of imagination. They added a kitchen and later created a living room to complete their living quarters.
Entering the classroom that has been converted into Blanca's home, one is greeted by a vibrant display of colors, flowers, and shiny ceramic figurines scattered throughout. I noticed domestic appliances such as a refrigerator, microwave, television, and radio, although they have been in that location for about 20 years without access to essential services like electricity and clean drinking water. When they get sick, they must prepare for a journey along winding roads that takes over an hour to reach medical attention.
The immaculate cleanliness, vibrant atmosphere, and visual richness of Blanca Figueroa's home highlight the stark contrast with the surrounding needs.
Blanca Figueroa, 67, became a widow one rainy afternoon when the Jeep her husband was driving fell into a ravine. Every morning at 8 a.m., or “when the car starts,” she drives to the Bartolo sector to buy bread and ice. The trip to Bartolo, where the nearest store offering essential goods is located, takes about 40 minutes by car. The closest gas station is either in Castañer (Lares) or Maricao, which is approximately an hour away.
One of the most common episodes in the daily life of the family matriarch is “moving” into the same house:
I clean and change things around to entertain myself. I move the furniture, disarm and put the shelves back together again, and move the figurines from one place to another… that’s how I entertain myself to pass the time.
“Every day at five o'clock in the afternoon, Blanca lights a candle that serves two purposes as a devotion to the Virgin of Miracles and as a source of illumination, as she still lacks electricity.
Every morning at ten, I cook food for the entire day using a gas stove and heat some water for bathing. I pray and light a candle to the Virgin of Miracles every day at five in the afternoon. This is not only a religious custom, it also serves me as a source of light as the day ends. I am usually in bed by six and go to sleep around seven or eight, as there's not much else to do. Once, the Mayor (of Maricao) sent us an electric generator as an incentive to vote for him, but it was taken back just three or four days after the elections.
“A broken fridge is used to store rice and other food supplies.
Blanca buys ice daily to keep her juice cold and store some meat that she purchases once a month in a small beach cooler.
Neyda Esteba has four children, but she hasn’t heard from them in a long time. She insists on sharing their photos with me in case I run into them. Her two daughters are named Yesenia and Yahaira. If she had a third daughter, she would name her Yadira, “just like you!” Neyda assures.
Thanks to Ramón's temporary mechanic fix, I was able to make the long journey back. Before I left, they kindly offered me a delicious cup of coffee along with fresh fruits and vegetables from their farm. Most importantly, they taught me a valuable lesson about the hospitality, hope, and strength of those who have very little. I am continually amazed by their resilience.
The greetings and farewells in my subsequent visits are always the same: “Do not forget us!” I never will.
Steps from the school, there is the skeleton of a ruined church. According to local lore, this is where the ancient owner of the property was married, and an open mass was held for the community every Sunday.