The Morning
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| The Earthquake is what finally drove the nail and the wall apart |
It's the morning after the disaster. A group of the women up here and Mr S - who, although he lives downtown, didn't know which disaster centre to go to, made his merry way up here (thankfully, otherwise it would've been a much lonelier and snuggle-less night) - camped out in my kitchen.
The shelter was a squash of families with babies wailing and the eldery desparately trying to creak their way into positions fit for sleep. It was warmer than my apartment - hundreds of people breathing in a confined space and they had these nifty camping heaters that I was very tempted to steal - but there was no place to attempt the aquisition of zzzs.
I had cleared my kitchen while there was still some daylight yesterday afternoon, so we laid out all the futons and blankets I have and had a slumber party of tweenie proportions (minus the Justin Bieber posters and pilfered liquor). It was actually kinda fun. At least it was a respite from the desparation of so many people crowded together, no electricity and the aftershocks that kept crashing like waves at high tide.
The sirens seem to have stopped. Last night, they were a constant chorus.
I was at school when it happened, feeling sorry for myself and wanted affection. Weepy - just like on Wednesday when the earthquakes started. I had gone to the toilet for a silent little cry. I'm starting to suspect that I might be like an animal that goes nuts before an earthquake. And there was that feeling when I got back from South Africa that I needed to put together an emergency kit that consisted of more than a bottle of water. Aaaand all that shopping I forced myself to do this week for tinned food.
I had just gotten back to my desk when the first tremors started and I thought it would be like the others earlier this week - a little heart pounding, but over in a minute. I kept looking at one of my other teachers, who sits opposite me, whether I should duck and dive. He kept saying it was ok. We all kept saying it was ok. Then Instinct grabbed me by the collar and I dove under my desk, just as a tower of books crashed down around the spot where I had been sitting. All I could see were the metal underbellies of desks sliding across the floor. Heart was crawling out of my mouth, clawing for the release of crying.
When it finally eased up (I don't know how long it went on for - seconds turning to hours) we snatched our bags and coats and hop scotched across the toybox staffroom. The snow started picking up. Most of the children had already gone home, only the last stragglers who were still playing sports. Outside, the windows were quivering. The ground was still heaving, but it was less terrifying than being surrounded by desks and drawers and books tumbling over themselves to get to the floor first.
The minutes become an hour. The realization - so many of the other people you love and care for and even hate (but in hating, they enrich your life) are also bobbing up and down and maybe their buildings were more eager to crumble and, further more,that you may no longer have a home to go to - swims up for air.
What needs to be done today:
1. Clean yourself as much as possible without using any water.
2. Dress super warm.
3. Consolidate supplies around the house - batteries, water, food, candles
4. Clean up the other rooms.
5. Try to recharge phone.
The Afternoon
My first year here, earthquakes were this entertaining diversion.
Perhaps this is sick and twisted, but I'm almost glad I was here when this happened. To be in the thick of it. To experience something on the ground. The aftershocks that won't stop. The soundtrack of sirens. Having to put your life back together again. Living wthout water or electricity. No possibility of distraction but cleaning up and hunting down food. A test.
Most of the house is cleaned now, at least to a livable state. We've come up with a solution to the Number 2 Problem - taking dumps in plastic bags and store it on the balcony, but have yet to test it. Originally, Mr S wanted to dispose of it in my neighbour's veggie patch.
The biggest concern is water and keeping warm tonight. Walking to the shelter last night - after it grew dark and realising that I couldn't stay in my apartment - it felt like walking through an apocalyptic wasteland (possibly a little over the top, but I'm going with it). With no street lights, you remember how dark the night is. People camped in their cars for warmth. The group of ALTs that gathered were a merry band - losing and then finding Mr S - marching through the streets, past the shrine and cemetary next to my apartment, both littered with crumbled statues and gravestones that had given up.
After sunset
Gas! We have gas! Our first hot meal and a cup of tea! After a day of unsuccessful searching for water (just missing the water tank filling bottles at the shelter and only a cup of green tea to drink all day), the final dregs in the pipes has sputtered out! Six litres!
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