Even in complete darkness, it was visible.

Swirling white clouds, encircling a patch of clear sky over Tinian, glowing by moonlight and lightning.

“We looked up, and we saw it. We saw the eye, going around. It’s a very big eye," Jasmeen Amin said. It was the morning of Oct. 25, and Super Typhoon Yutu had raged for hours. "It was right on top of us.”

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Amin, 43, and her husband had hunkered down in a semi-concrete house, but the structure started to fail. All of a sudden, the pounding wind stopped.

“So, I thought, ‘Oh, the typhoon is over, let’s go out.’”

When they saw that the swirling circle was followed by a thick blanket of clouds, the couple knew the storm wasn't over.

They had to bolt.

They gathered up their belongings and scrambled into their pickup. Fallen power poles, lines, trees, tin, remnants from the storm were everywhere. They drove over and around the debris on their way to Tinian Elementary School, a typhoon shelter. Winds began to pick up en route, and were brutal again by the time they arrived. They hauled one box of belongings inside. When they went back for more, the rest of the boxes were gone. “I couldn’t believe it, so I started crying. We all started crying.”

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“We thought it was the end of the world. For three days, we kept crying here,” she said at the shelter Saturday.

The couple found most of their boxes, days after the storm, hundreds of feet away.

Stuck in an SUV, ‘We just prayed and prayed and prayed’

Father Rey Rosal also thought the typhoon was leaving when winds died down. He and a lay minister had taken shelter in a semi-concrete structure for the storm. When the calm arrived, their minds raced to the island’s sole Catholic church.

They clambered into his SUV to check.

There were “so many poles down,” and the calm lasted just half an hour, he said. The two were within 200 feet of the church when the back of the eye wall arrived. It was impossible to leave.

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“It was so dark. We were stuck there in the midst of the second attack.” Gusts rocked the SUV.

“We just prayed and prayed and prayed to the Lord for almost two hours.”

The SUV’s back window was shattered, and when winds waned for perhaps 20 seconds, they made their move, on foot.

It was around 5 a.m.

If they could make it to the rear of the church, they’d be safe, Rosal recalled thinking. The two ran. It was so dark, they couldn’t see the ground beneath their feet.

“I thought it was already my last (moment),” he said.

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When daylight arrived, the shredded shell of San Jose Catholic Church revealed itself. The tin structure was done for. On Saturday, the pews remained crooked and the pages of trashed Bibles lay scattered. Sunlight and wind poured in from gaping holes and broken glass. Shredded tin swayed and creaked.

There had been talk of replacing the 20-year-old structure prior to the typhoon, it was just a matter of when, the priest said. “This is the time,” he said. The new church will be concrete.

“We may question why (God) allow(ed) this to happen to us, but perhaps he must have a reason. He lets our faith be stronger.”

“Yes, the church is devastated, but we, the body of Christ, will never be devastated.”

A house gone, taking memories with it

In the days after the typhoon, there was friction in the shelter, Amin said. Some people argued, some didn’t want to talk. But as the days wore on, people calmed down and began to help each other, she said.

Midday Saturday, clusters of children played as a few women kept watch. Close to 60 were still living there, but many headed out after lunch to fill out paperwork for aid, clear debris at their homes, or otherwise move on.

Gloria Mahilum, 71, sat alone, seeking answers.

“Lord, what’s our sin? What happened to us, Lord?”

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In the school cafeteria, Mahilum cradled her temples and cast her eyes down to her Bible.

During the typhoon, Mahilum was plucked from her disintegrating house in the middle of the night. Her family hadn’t realized their roof started to peel away until police arrived, urging them to leave.

She didn’t want to go. The house held many memories, and had kept her family safe during past storms. But there was no choice, and no time. An officer carried away Mahilum, who suffers from arthritis.

A soon as they stepped outside, they were drenched. Had they waited 10 more minutes, gusts would have made it impossible for anyone to walk, she said.

Once at the shelter, all they could do was sit. “We cannot sleep. Very, very strong, this wind.” The next day, winds didn’t die down until the afternoon. Her husband was the first to check on the house. She begged him to take her there.

She saw memories crushed.

“I’m crying. So many (past storms), nothing happen.”

‘This is life; we have to accept’

Under the baking sun Saturday, Owen Teope, 40, stood amidst the rubble and chatted with his neighbor.

The neighbor, Jesse Aquiningoc, 40, had just returned home from his job at the mayor's office. He advised Teope to register for aid.

Aquiningoc lives in a full concrete apartment, which survived. When the storm smashed against the front door, he pushed the refrigerator and a shelf against it as a barricade.

“I’m a man, but I was scared,” he said Saturday afternoon.

The typhoon unleashed an all-out assault, he said. “It’s like a hammer, jack hammer, screwdriver, crowbar, backhoe... everything.”

Teope’s home didn’t fare nearly as well as Aquiningoc’s. On Saturday, Teope and his wife spent the day washing, fixing and cleaning. His wife swatted away flies from the fish he caught by spear. Their 10-year-old daughter was off, hanging out with friends.

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Teope was on Saipan when Typhoon Yutu struck. His wife and daughter were sheltered at a friend’s concrete house on Tinian, but of course he worried. When they finally connected via video chat, his daughter was crying.

So the father did the only thing he could: Make her laugh.

“This (storm) is minor,” he joked. “At least you experience survival. Before, you only see it on YouTube.”

They laughed together, but, “inside, I was sad,” he said.

Teope hitched a ride on a cargo boat

After the storm, airport damage forced flight cancellations, but Teope wasn’t about to wait. He asked friends and hitched a ride on a cargo boat. He made sure to grab a thick tarp from his workplace on Saipan, a hardware store.

Approaching from the sea, he was amazed to see the many caves lining the cliffside that were previously hidden by trees.

Teope and his wife met when they both worked at a now-defunct hotel and casino. When the business closed, Teope couldn’t find work on Tinian. Instead, he makes monthly trips to Tinian.

The typhoon demolished their home, but “we have to accept.” Besides, everyone on Tinian is in the same boat. “It’s not only me. This is nature. We cannot do anything.”

Long road to recovery

Saturday afternoon, sounds of life were scarce in San Jose village. A few generators whirred among flattened buildings, 100-foot uprooted trees and twisted road signs. Laundry fluttered near crumpled homes. Mayor’s office pickups zig-zagged, with staffers stopping to ask homeowners to sign consent forms for federal and military assistance.

In a Baptist church that resembled a small house, with a tarp for a roof, a mother and daughter swept the floor.

Their family home was flattened by the typhoon, so they moved into the church with their pastor’s blessing.

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“The house was good, but it was more than 20 years old,” said Rose Lynn Balagtas, 18. “We didn’t expect the typhoon to be that strong.” The family weathered the storm in a friend’s house, all concrete but the kitchen. When the kitchen blew away, windows broke and the storm breached the main building. Nine people from two families crammed into a bathroom.

When the eye arrived, they all went outside to look. Thirty minutes later, they scampered back to the bathroom to endure the rest of the storm.

Balagtas graduated from high school this year, and is planning to head to a Bible college in Connecticut in a few months.

“That’s why she’s sad,” said her mother, Josie Balagtas, 46. “Before she goes, she wants it fixed.”

It will take six to eight months for island power to be restored, Rose Lynn Balagtas had heard.

“But at least the house,” she hopes.