San Jose, Rodriguez, Rizal — On the afternoon of July 21, Maribel Bernardo stood at the doorway of her home, watching as the river crept up the street. The rain had been falling for days, but by 2 p.m., the floodwaters had reached her knees. That was when she knew it was time to leave.

“There was no warning from the barangay,” said Maribel, 49, a mother of six. “We just looked outside and realized we didn’t have any more time.”

She and her children left on foot, barefoot and soaked, carrying what little they could. Her husband stayed behind to try and protect their home, as many men in the community did.

After being turned away from one shelter, Maribel’s family found space at San Jose Elementary School, where hundreds of other displaced families had gathered. Every classroom was full, and her family ended up in a room with six others, laying out thin mats on the floor of their cramped new living space.

Among those sharing the room is Claudine Miranda, 30, Maribel’s neighbor and close friend. She also fled with her three children as the water rose around their home. Her husband, a construction worker, has been out of a job since the typhoon shut down work sites.

Conditions at the evacuation center have become increasingly difficult. With so many families in one room, there is little space to move, much less find privacy or rest. The lack of security is a constant worry.

“There are men we don’t know walking around the hallways,” Maribel said. “Our daughters are afraid, and honestly, so are we.”

This fear is a common reality in emergencies. In crises, women and girls face greater risks to their safety. Overcrowded evacuation centers that lack privacy, functioning locks, or separate, well-lit toilets can heighten their exposure to harassment and violence against women and girls. Addressing these protection needs is not an option, but a critical part of any effective humanitarian response.

The support that came was also inconsistent. Initial relief included porridge and a small pack with two kilos of rice, a few cans of sardines, and instant noodles. Since that first day, however, assistance has been unreliable.

“Rice is what we need most,” said Claudine. “Even when we have nothing else, we can make rice last.”

But relying on uncooked rations is not enough. The lack of cooking space and a shortage of fresh food creates an immediate need for warm, complete meals to prevent malnutrition, especially for children and the elderly. To fill this gap and provide for her own family, Maribel started selling boiled bananas, fishballs, and coffee around the evacuation center.

Their husbands, both without income, try to make repairs to their damaged homes with salvaged materials. Still, returning feels like a risk neither family can afford, not with the river just steps away and the rainy season far from over.

“If we had a small push, even a little support to restart our work, a small grant or some tools, we wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for assistance,” said Claudine, highlighting the desire to rebuild.

Maribel nodded in agreement. “We’re not asking for much,” she said. “We just want to go home, feed our children, and know they’re safe.”

For families like theirs, the disaster did not end when the rain stopped. Recovery remains out of reach, and as the days in the evacuation center stretch on, so does their uncertainty.

To better understand the situation in the community and guide a more effective response, CARE Philippines and the ACCESS Consortium are assessing the damage and speaking with affected families in Rodriguez, Rizal, to identify their most urgent needs after the flooding brought by Severe Tropical Storm Wipha and the southwest monsoon.