The people living near the Suhurlui stream learned from experience, and every time they rebuilt their houses, they elevated them. They took into account the previous floods, whose height did not exceed 60-70 cm. No one could have imagined that the waters would rise in some places up to 1.70 meters. Even if they had imagined it, the only viable construction solution for such severe floods (as seen in other areas) are houses on stilts.

Rumor had it that insuring homes was impossible due to their location in a high-risk area. Mrs. Avramiuc Ionica and her husband Sorin, both chefs in Italy, have been paying for insurance for over ten years. This year, due to financial difficulties, they almost gave it up. A good thought made them continue paying, and now they hope to cover the damages. However, insurance in the disaster-stricken area is not a solution. While it alleviates the suffering of the flood victims to some extent, insurance does not remove the core problem. On the other hand, the area seems to be turning into a lake. We can ask ourselves why authorities still issue building permits in the area after the 2013 events.

If we assume that after 2013 there were people who continued to build houses in the flood zone without construction permits, you can’t help but wonder if they are not trying to exploit the victim status.

Since ancient times, healers, shamans, and later priests were associated with divinity due to the wisdom they shared, often under the guise of advice coming from the gods. Let me give you an example. A community settled by a river. In the summer, things were fine. If they were lucky, they might even get through autumn. But come spring, with the thaw, the river would rise and sweep away their tents or huts. Naturally, the people went to the shaman to ask what they should do to appease the god of the waters. The shaman would mutter something only he understood, then take a deep puff from his pipe, and through the smoke that slowly escaped his pursed lips, he pointed towards a hill and, this time, spoke clearly and decisively: “The gods have said we should move our tents higher up, away from the water.”

Of course, they didn’t like the idea of moving, but they had no choice. That’s what the gods decided. Naturally, someone said he knew better and chose to stay near the water. The following spring, they didn’t find him anymore.

There’s also talk that, besides the rains, deteriorated dams, and uncleaned rivers, the hypothesis of planned water discharges should be considered. This hypothesis might be worth investigating, given that natural disasters don’t usually hit on the same day and at the same time.

From September 13, 2013, to September 13, 2024, the authorities had all the time necessary to propose a special action plan for this high-risk flood area. They could have started by discussing a special status for the region. I am absolutely convinced that there are European practices in this regard. At the same time, they could have prepared a project (for dikes, redirection, canalization, etc.) and applied for funding from various European infrastructure or development funds. Their laziness and incompetence translate into hundreds of millions of euros in damages and loss of human lives.

In those areas, it’s no longer a matter of how many thousands of kilograms of mud you’ll need to remove from the house but how to escape the floodwaters, how to get to the attic quickly, or how to hang onto a window all night because no one is coming to save you. Sandu Marcu died at the gate in front of the house where his son, Marcu Ghiță, found refuge in the attic of a neighbor, Roua Domnica. Ghiță, after saving his wife and two children, returned for his father, but it was too late. The water, already too strong, had taken him.

Mrs. Vasilica, from Băii Street no. 3, also spent the night straddled across the window. All night, cries for help could be heard from everywhere.

The rescue plan is activated after the floodwaters pass. Overnight, people save themselves, and then ISSU (the emergency services) comes and sets up a tent camp, which, of course, remains empty. The tents stay empty because those who survived are busy the next day removing mud from their homes. They don’t have time to go camping. The ISSU tents in the disaster-stricken area are living proof of how little the authorities understand the Romanian people. The tent action is, however, reimbursed, and a few tons of water and food seem to disappear beneath the floodwaters.

Monday morning, at 7:45 AM, when I arrived in Slobozia Conachi, the army had not yet left their headquarters. The only thing a soldier named Vintiloiu could do was ask me if I had his permission to photograph him. By 8:40 AM, they were still standing with their arms crossed in Pechea. At that moment, I decided to stay on their backs all day, hoping that at least out of shame from the cameras, they would start helping. Gradually, they got into the rhythm. The two trucks with soldiers I was following were not enough given the number of flood victims. The soldiers from Focșani, who worked on Monday, September 16, were scheduled to rest the next day and be replaced by their colleagues from the same unit in Focșani. However, no one replaces the flood victims. They have to work without a break for several weeks from now on to return to a minimal form of normality.

On the other hand, for 11 years, the tens of thousands of Romanians in the disaster-stricken areas, although they have repeatedly gone through the same drama, haven’t lifted a finger to hold the authorities accountable. In Pechea, the mayor is serving his third term. No one has mobilized, no one has tried to explore their options, no one has tried to form an organization, seek legal representation, or even file a memorandum or written complaint at the town hall.

The criminal incompetence of the authorities fits perfectly with the indifference of the Romanians.