“Natural disasters wait for no one” – an ancient warning that sadly proved true once again in the wake of Typhoon Bualoi.

The unusual typhoon, coupled with torrential rains, lightning storms, and landslides, killed 19 people and injured 82. Several others remain missing. Tens of thousands of homes were left looking like they’d been hit by carpet bombing. Over ten thousand hectares of rice fields and aquaculture farms were wiped out. Floodwaters breached dikes, submerged entire areas, cut off roads, and isolated villages. Why was the damage so severe?

Meteorologist and climate change expert Huy Nguyen highlighted three unprecedented records set by this storm. First, Bualoi moved across the East Sea at a record pace, reaching speeds of up to 40 km/h. Second, it spent an unparalleled 11 hours ravaging a single inland province - Ha Tinh. Third, in just one day, the storm’s circulation and outer bands generated eight tornadoes.

Tornadoes, once rare, are no longer unfamiliar. But video clips recorded by locals in former provinces like Nam Dinh, Ninh Binh, Hai Phong, Hai Duong, Thanh Hoa, Thai Binh, Quang Ninh, and even Hanoi, showed each tornado was large and terrifying. Thick, black clouds spun violently under darkened skies, forming towering vortexes.

In some areas, tornadoes tore through entire villages, demolishing both concrete and humble tile-roof homes indiscriminately. With its record-breaking speed, record-long landfall, and eight near-apocalyptic tornadoes in a single day, Bualoi rewrote Vietnam’s meteorological history with painful new records.

If there had been a scenario for this typhoon, Bualoi would have shattered it. Because no forecast could have fully captured its bizarre behavior.

One day of storm, years of poverty

But the destruction wasn’t just in the winds, rain, or tornadoes.

It struck at the heart of central Vietnam – Nghe An, Ha Tinh, and Thanh Hoa – areas already weakened by nine previous storms in just over two months.

Even before Bualoi made landfall, central residents scrambled to harvest whatever they could. People like Mrs. Loan, Mr. Hang, and Mrs. Nhu gathered their remaining crops with resignation, lamenting that even though the rice was green, black, or hollow, it had to be reaped to avoid total loss.

After enduring nine storms, each field yielded barely 100 kilograms of mixed grain per plot. Selling at 700,000 VND (around 29 USD), farmers still lost over 900,000 VND (about 37 USD) per plot. And that’s assuming good grain. With the bad batches, even the chickens wouldn’t eat it. At least rice can be harvested before a storm; chickens, pigs, and fish cannot be evacuated.

Twenty tons of caged fish in Ky Hoa (Ha Tinh) died en masse. In Thanh Hoa, thousands of chickens lay dead in heaps. In Ninh Binh, the aftermath resembled a battlefield - destroyed homes, uprooted trees, toppled utility poles.

The cruel irony is clear: the stronger the disaster, the harder it hits the poor. A roof, a fishpond – their entire livelihoods gone in an instant.

Behind the statistics are countless days of rebuilding roofs, replanting rice, and restocking ponds. Behind it all is a new cycle of sweat, sorrow, and hardship. One day of storm can mean years of poverty.

Taking storms lightly

At 11:45 PM on September 28, border guards received an emergency call: two fishing boats with 13 crew members anchored in Bac Gianh (Quang Tri) had broken loose and were drifting. Despite warnings and precautions, when the winds seemed to calm, the fishermen returned to prepare supplies and restart their engines.

When the storm struck again, the boats broke free. Only four crewmen swam to safety. Nine remain missing.

Bualoi struck quickly, following close behind Ragasa – a storm that brushed past with far less impact than predicted. Were we victims of nature, or also of complacency?

Forecasts had repeatedly warned of the storm’s path and impact. Authorities mobilized evacuations, vessels were called to shore early, emergency teams were deployed, and the 112 hotline remained on 24/7 alert.

Yet even seasoned storm veterans misjudged the situation, and dozens perished outside the typhoon’s eye – victims of tornadoes.

One meteorologist confirmed: unlike rain, wind, or temperature, tornadoes form rapidly and in narrow zones, making it nearly impossible to predict their exact location or timing. At best, we can warn people 2-3 hours in advance. With “tornado-level” twisters, even that becomes unfeasible.

We often hear weather bulletins say: “thunderstorms may produce tornadoes” or “beware of dangerous windstorms.” But eight tornadoes, some occurring 300-400 kilometers from the typhoon’s center in places like Hung Yen and Thai Binh, proved those warnings were true – just ineffective.

These routine phrases failed to move people to action. They didn’t create urgency or inspire evacuation. From a media perspective, this is a serious challenge: warn too much and it’s ignored; warn too little and it’s too late.

People heard the warnings – but didn’t run.

This is a costly lesson in an age of climate extremes, where nature no longer respects forecasts or response plans.

The issue may not lie in forecasting ability, but in how information is communicated and how society – from authorities to citizens – prepares for worst-case scenarios, whether annual floods or freak tornadoes.

Storms that “break the script” leave behind poverty storms that never fade – storms that linger long after winds calm.

One destroys in a day. The other remains, turning destruction into long-term suffering.

Warnings of heavy rain, flooding, flash floods, and landslides are still being issued. Just yesterday, a new tropical disturbance formed offshore, potentially developing into yet another depression – or another storm.

Dao Tuan