Amid the vast expanse of water covering the northern delta, poor tin roofs still float like lifebuoys. They were swallowed in muddy currents, with people huddled inside, knees to chest, waiting for rescue.

No one could have imagined that in the 21st century, just in a single storm could these flimsy roofs turn into the line between life and death. For the first time in many years, Vietnam issued an urgent call for international aid.

Matmo was not the most powerful storm, but preliminary data shows 15 people dead or missing, seven injured, and more than 16,900 houses flooded (mainly in Cao Bang, Thai Nguyen, Lang Son, and Hanoi).

Economic damage exceeded VND35,000 billion, equivalent to $1.3 billion, shaving 0.2 percent off GDP. But the numbers are only the surface. Beneath lies the tears of the people, their helplessness watching everything they’ve built in life sweeping away.

In Thai Nguyen, about 5,450 houses were damaged. In Bac Ninh, entire small neighborhoods were submerged, only rooftops visible like isolated islands.

A young woman cried as her newly opened spa sank under the floodwaters. A funeral procession had to be carried out by boat. An elderly woman sat on a faded tin roof, clutching her soaked cat. These images are no longer personal tragedies, but reflections of poverty, not just material but a lack of protection against nature.

Many people, especially in remote and rural areas of Vietnam still live in makeshift homes, unable to withstand increasingly abnormal rainy seasons.

Turning to the people

As cries for help rose from rooftops submerged to their peaks, tens of thousands stayed awake through the night. Nearly 30,000 soldiers, 11,500 police officers, and thousands of local militias, youth volunteers, and residents from other provinces rushed to the flooded regions. 

Convoys brought instant noodles, clean water, life jackets, and warm blankets. Six aircraft from the Ministry of National Defense flew nonstop with relief supplies. Police officers carried the elderly on their backs and lifted children in their arms. Young soldiers waded through cold floodwaters to reinforce dikes, build shelters, and cook meals for the people.

Amid the water, the image of soldiers in green uniforms became a symbol of the nation’s resilience: united, determined, and quietly courageous.

Prime Minister Pham Minh Chinh was present in the flood zone while waters still hadn’t receded. He issued orders in the middle of the night: “At all costs, we must not let the people go hungry or sleep without shelter.” 

Deputy prime ministers were dispatched to the disaster sites. Emergency meetings took place around the clock. The national administration operated in crisis mode, managing disaster response while maintaining economic stability.

And in that moment, we clearly saw a united Vietnam, with hands reaching out to help one another.

When Vietnam calls out to the world

On the afternoon of October 9, the Ministry of Agriculture and Environment (MAE) held a meeting with more than 20 international organizations and embassies. Deputy Minister Nguyen Hoang Hiep spoke candidly: “Some problems have gone beyond what our people can endure.”

There was no more diplomatic language, no more emotionless numbers. It was the honest voice of those worn down by relentless storms and disasters, crying out for help.

At the meeting, Pauline Tamesis, the UN Resident Coordinator in Vietnam, called for urgent support for heavily affected areas, saying the needs were immense and immediate. “Many families have lost homes, livelihoods, even loved ones. Our collective action can be a lifeline for those struggling with the aftermath,” she said.

Disasters have become global. Vietnam, Southeast Asia's hardest-hit country by climate change, pays for shifts it did not cause. In this context, calling out to the world is not weakness but courage.

Rising from the raging waters

The storm has passed. Rain has eased. But in Thai Nguyen, Bac Ninh, Lang Son, and Cao Bang, waters linger deep. Gaunt children sit on sun-baked mats, waiting for books to dry before resuming lessons. A teacher stands in a flooded schoolyard, whispering: "As long as the children are alive, we'll start over from the beginning."

That simple statement embodies endurance and defiance. Vietnamese people have overcome war, risen after a pandemic, and now, must learn to rise again from the raging floodwaters.

Lan Anh