Flames were everywhere and Ana Carolina Penedo had a decision to make. She could stay in her car and hope that the line of vehicles attempting to flee Lahaina would miraculously start to move, or she and her mother could run.
The fire ravaging the former capital of the Hawaiian Kingdom was consuming everything in sight: shops and historic buildings, a beloved 150-year-old banyan tree. Outside the car, embers landed on people trying to evacuate on foot. It became clear to Penedo, 42, that there was only one safe place in reach – the ocean.
“We have to jump in the water,” she told her mother, who nervously agreed even though she didn’t know how to swim.
They fled toward the water, what seemed to be the best option in an emergency that was unfolding without warning or guidance from officials. Jumping over a rock wall, they splashed themselves with water to put out the embers raining down as dark smoke burned their eyes. Dozens of others joined them on that stretch of water – including infants and burn victims – with help nowhere in sight as flames moving a mile a minute laid waste to Lahaina. Some clung to the rocks while others swam.
Penedo spent the hours shivering and cold, coming in and out of the water, as she imagined how things could get worse – she feared passing out, or her mother going into shock and requiring CPR. Meanwhile, she tried to comfort the 69-year-old woman – ”The worst is behind us,” she told her.
Eleven hours would pass before the US Coast Guard appeared and then firefighters who transported the group seeking refuge on the beach to a shelter.
“I went through hell with my mom,” Penedo said in an interview with the Guardian on Monday. “We had to fight for our lives.”
At least 99 people died in what is America’s deadliest wildfire in a century and officials have warned that number is likely to grow significantly, with the search operation recovering as many as 20 bodies a day for the next week. Penedo and other residents are grappling with immense trauma as they try to navigate the aftermath of the fire and reckon with what went wrong that day.
“We feel like we got trapped. No warnings, nothing, no plan, no evacuation, no authority,” she said.
Penedo had been on edge on Tuesday, the day the disaster unfolded, because of the high winds battering the island, shutting off power and knocking down tree limbs. But when the fire broke out, Maui’s warning sirens never sounded. She only learned of the emergency when she saw a thick black cloud and flames. By then, cars had already crowded on to Front Street where she lived.
By the time she and her mother jumped in the car, along with two evacuees with mobility issues that they picked up, the danger was imminent. “The fire is here,” her mother screamed.
Penedo can still smell the acrid smoke from the flames. It has lingered in her hair for a week, following her from the center of destruction on Maui to an emergency shelter to the small studio she is temporarily sharing with her mother, ex-husband and five-year-old son.
The days since the fire have been a blur of overwhelming bureaucratic tasks, she said, as she tried to replace her ID and cellphone and while reckoning with the staggering loss – her home gone, the community displaced and dozens dead. She feels guilty for not evacuating sooner.
Penedo, like many residents on Maui, has also grown increasingly frustrated with the government response to the fire, both the lack of warnings during the blaze and the distribution of aid in the aftermath.
“It’s day six. We don’t feel like outside help, massive outside help from the government, is coming. It’s just civilians, friends helping each other,” she said. “They should be here. Where is everybody? We need answers. We need an explanation.”
Instead, Penedo has received support from friends and strangers. She doesn’t know what will come next, she said as she sat outside the temporary home provided by a family friend. She doesn’t know where she will live or work in order to provide for her son.
“He’s my everything so I’m trying my best,” she said as the five-year-old played with a plastic dinosaur and admired the donated toys he had received in recent days. “I can’t really think right now about like, what’s next. I don’t know.”
She hopes that her community gets the answers and support they need, both now and in the years-long recovery to come. “We’re all in shock. This [attention], eventually it’s going to fade. But for us it’s gonna take a really long time.”
