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Rescue and recovery workers searched the debris with cadaver dogs Monday as authorities continued to assess the destruction.
Otis stunned forecasters last week when it strengthened from a tropical storm to category 5 in 12 hours, the fastest such leap recorded in the region. It made landfall early Wednesday as the strongest cyclone to hit the country’s Pacific Coast since record-keeping began.
The storm blocked roads and disrupted communications. About 80 percent of the hotel industry suffered damages, with about 600 hotels and condominiums affected, according to Mexico’s civil defense agency. About 120 hospitals and clinics have been damaged.
At least 15,000 security forces have been deployed to the region, and around 2,000 technicians are working to restore power. By Monday, 65 percent of the electric service had been restored, authorities said. President Andrés Manuel López Obrador said Monday he was working with large food distributors to restore the food supply.
But as the government touts its response in López Obrador’s daily news conferences and on social media, people in Acapulco say help has been slow to arrive. Neighbors have been sharing what supplies they have left; supermarkets and department stores have been raided for food and other essentials.
Five days after Otis ground its way inland, the large road tunnel that leads to Acapulco remained pitch black on Monday morning, lit only by the headlights of the cars that ventured through. With many traffic lights still out of order, soldiers directed motorists, some driving with shattered windshields, through the busier intersections.
Elsewhere, people waited in long lines to receive aid or buy bus tickets to leave town.
Iliana Melissa Taboada, a 43-year-old lawyer, waited in line with her brother to travel to the nearby town of Chilpancingo to buy milk, eggs, and medicine, and to charge their phones. Her family had been without electricity or water since Wednesday, when Hurricane Otis ripped the tin roof of their two-story home. That night, water rushed into the first floor of their house, reaching shoulder height.
“It was like a scene from the Titanic,” Taboada said. “The moment I tried to open the door to leave the house, more water would come in.”
In the days since, they have relied on their neighbors’ underground wells for water. They haven’t showered. And as they have walked around town searching for any food or water, five days after the storm, they said they had seen little to no government assistance.
Neighbors have teamed up to clean debris off streets in order for technicians to pass through and fix power lines, Taboada said. “Whatever you see cleaned up, it’s been us,” she said.
Across town, the stench of decomposed food hung over dusty streets littered with trash, debris, fallen palm trees and loose cables. Restaurants and stores on one tourist strip — a Sunglass Hut, a Tommy Hilfiger store, a McDonald’s — were destroyed. Local residents used downed power lines to cordon off certain streets.
Along the Avenida Costera Miguel Alemán, a main coastal avenue in Acapulco, the destruction went on for miles.
An ecological reserve known as Parque Papagayo, home to many species of wildlife, had become a cemetery of fallen trees. It was unclear whether the animals in the park had survived.
Of the 45 people confirmed dead, 16 bodies have been turned over to their families, Salgado said. The dead included three foreigners: One citizen each of the United States, Canada and Britain. The three were residents, Salgado said, not tourists.
With no public transportation and with limited phone service, family members here and abroad have struggled to communicate and check in on one another.
Liseth Rodríguez, a 40-year-old Acapulco resident waiting for medical assistance on Monday, said her friend living in Canada has been unable to speak with her elderly mother in town. On Monday, Rodríguez planned to check on the mother of another friend, who lives just outside of Acapulco but had been unable to reach her. It wasn’t until Monday that the friend was able to charge her phone and get in touch with Rodríguez.
Residents formed long lines at a roundabout and huddled around tents where they knew they could find phone reception.
They carried umbrellas to shield themselves from the scorching sun in temperatures that neared 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
Gladys Nava, 40, woke up at 5:30 a.m. and spent two hours walking and hitchhiking with her 60-year-old father to the coastal area of Acapulco to fill up two 20-liter jugs of water, which she and her three children urgently needed.
She and her family live in the rural outskirts of Acapulco, where neighbors had all pitched in to clear the streets of mud and fallen trees. The mattresses in their home had all been soaked in the floodwaters, so the family members were sleeping on the floor. They desperately needed basic food items such as tortillas and rice, and the price of both staples had skyrocketed since the storm.
“There’s no power, there’s no security,” said Nava, who had heard about neighbors being robbed at night on the dark streets. “I don’t go out at night anymore. I stay inside with my children.”
It was midday and she hadn’t yet had anything to eat. With a t-shirt wrapped around her head to protect her from the relentless sun, Nava filled up her water jugs and prepared for her long trek home.
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