Opinion

An Earthquake Odyssey
By Farah Imam

In searching and seeking the poignant outcome of the earthquake through the eyes of a person who had not experienced it in its peak moment is difficult to put in words. It is not impossible, but is challenging, in that it requires emotional occurrences to be put down so that the reader may understand wholly what really happened to the people of the north. Speaking to people, two weeks after the upheaval requires a kind of tolerance and sympathy that is only understood when witnessed in reality. Death and disease have that kind of unique impact on the distressed people as they patiently wait and wonder about their future. Will there be better times following this great disaster? Or will problems after problems ensue, only to take a final toll on the mortal man? Here is a daily account of an odyssey that can never be disregarded and forgotten.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005
The bus’s wheels move along the earth shaken areas of Islamabad and anxiously await the climb up the mountainous terrain. There is a single road where cars come in and out on their treacherous trail towards destruction. We are between rows of trees on both sides of this miniscule passageway on a seven-hour drive. Slowly even the trees seem to disappear as we enter Abbotabad and notice people walking up and down the road. It seems as if everything is in order despite the one or two poorly constructed buildings that have fallen down. There are trucks full of blankets, food, tents and other necessities in front of our vehicle. Dozens of schools, hospitals, universities, banks and stores rush past us as we hurry along to Mansehra.
Traffic gets heavy as we enter the small city of Mansehra, but there isn’t a moment to lose. Suddenly, the traffic flow stops. A highway patrol officer announces that there is a fatal accident ahead and it will be thirty minutes before the traffic will move again. Our first destination is the main relief distribution warehouse of the NGO providing the vital logistics for our relief mission. This warehouse is a thirty-minute walk from where our bus has stalled. We decide to disembark and walk to the distribution center. We walk along the cracked ground, and notice tombs and cemeteries lining the road as we are inches away from lifeless bodies. We brood over the fact that these bodies were buried after appropriate rituals in contrast to the un-planned burial of the thousands who died in the sudden and violent gyration of the earth.
Both apprehension and excitement is radiating from each and every person as we resume our journey to the derelict area. The bus moves up a slope and meanders along twisted roads as tiny rocks continue falling and boulders that were once thousands of feet above us, rest on our right hand side. Moving along the labyrinth, we can see the mountain is not made up of any ordinary brown soil. Rather, these unique peaks are composed of scarlet colored clay that enhances the mystique of the location. Bending our way through these red mountains, we suddenly see a magnificent river rapidly coursing its way through the valley below. This river slowly gets tainted as we near Balakot and is now stained a maroon red. Undoubtedly, the first thought, was that perhaps it was blood flowing its way through these rapid rivers. Realizing, however, that the deceased were still under their concrete homes and offices, removed that presumption. The only other possibility was that the crimson mud aided by a sudden rain and hailstorm had literally blemished the river as landslides persisted.
Upon reaching Balakot, it could be seen that each and every building, office, hotel and home was pulverized and brought back to earth. In most cases, the signs of these buildings that were once at level with the edifice are now standing tall above the buildings themselves. It was as if it was a reminder of what was present there merely two weeks ago. Incredibly, clothes that were sent from people and thought to be of help for the victims are strewn along the side of the road or near the river bank. It was astonishing to see that the clothes sent were unsuitable for the frigid weather conditions and were of more benefit as fuel for their fire.
It is dark, murky and misty and looking out the window there is nothing to be seen except a dark abyss and dismal conditions. Driving towards the camp we will be working at, we abruptly see the first lights. Disembarking the vehicle, we felt the chilly air, as we got the first glimpse of the hospital camp we were going to work at for the next few days. The camp was well organized under the circumstances, with about ten large tents that served as temporary clinics, wards and pharmacies for the victims. Just a few feet away, the operation room stood modestly as a box-like, metallic container with state-of-the art machinery and surgical apparatus. There was a red light blinking at all hours of the day on top of the operation theater as Indonesian orthopedic surgeons ran in and out. Alongside with that, another similar container was set up as an area for placing casts on the sufferers with broken bones. It was astounding to see that these make-shift, temporary spaces could save lives.
It was time to get back into the bus and make our way to our temporary lodges that would serve as our home for the next few days. We started our way up more slopes in the blanket of darkness, with the only light being the thunderstorm lightening illuminating the peaks on our side and the headlights of our vehicle in front. The bus stumbled its way up on the bumpy dirt road as everyone held his breath for one unanticipated swerve which could bring us all into the ghostly gorge below. All of a sudden, an enormous padlocked gate came in front of us. The tall bearded guard looked at our bus suspiciously, then suddenly smiled and opened the screechy gate slowly. The bus carefully made its way through the eerie settlement, up another slope to what some of us called our own “Hotel California.” The famous “Hotel California” of the Eagles, vintage 80s, where we could check in any time, but never check out! Our facial expressions were an amalgam of uncertainty, fear, intrigue, excitement and a feeling of impending doom put together.
We finally make our way to the lodges that were merely tents supported by four poles and a canvas roof. As most of us wonder what we are getting into, we are served with warm food and thirst quenching water, helping us break the chill and warm up to the reality of the surreal environment. We get into our sleeping bags and try to sleep. We lay awake for a few hours imagining what our experience will be like in the next few days. Here, in a camp removed from civilization lay a team of highly trained doctors and paramedics from The Aga Khan University Hospital, the premier medical institution of Pakistan. Among them were heart and vascular surgeons, cardiologists, pulmonologists, an anesthesiologist, a pediatrician, general physicians, an orthopedic technician, an ER technician and a medical student staring up in the dark, figuring how they can help in this unprecedented natural disaster. The highly specialized doctors wondered if they could recover the skills they had developed while they were medical students and interns. With this thought, the travel fatigue took over and we slipped into deep sleep.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Prior to the break of dawn, we awaken, as food is being served by our hosts before we commence our fast. Upon eating, we go back to sleep and wake up at seven o’clock and prepare for the day. Walking outside in that fresh morning air that can only be experienced in the mountains, we see a car ready to take us back down to the hospital camp.
Upon reaching the hospital camp, there is an introductory meeting for all the doctors and volunteers. Each person must be updated as to the present conditions and cases that are being supervised. Foreign and local reporters are bustling around taking interviews and pictures for the world to grasp. Although only a little part of the big picture is publicized, sensational stories and approximate death tolls are given continuously.
We begin the day with rounds in and out of the hospital wards, checking each patient that is lying there in a helpless condition. We hear miracle stories and stories that would make us cry, each with a mixture of relief and regret. Once the rounds were completed, new patients had arrived in the OPD outside this camp hospital in a separate tent across the road. Although fractured and broken bones were the most debilitating conditions of the patients, there were many disease-stricken people as a result of this aftermath. The frequent symptoms mostly included aches, fever, diarrhea, vomiting, dehydration, nausea and asthma. Among children, gastroenteritis, pneumonia, impetigo and scabies were recurrent. Antihistamines, analgesics and ORS were continually being distributed as more and more patients leak in an out.
The day slowly moves on and the cold weather has completely disappeared, replaced by a blistering sun that burns our skin and chaps our lips. Towards late afternoon, patients begin to trickle in due to the heat, and we keep ourselves busy with the assortment of medicines. The area is overwhelming with boxes of medicines all over the place in an unorganized fashion. It was most inconvenient to be looking for a particular medicine amongst heaps of other therapies. At last, the sweltering sun began its descent and it automatically began to get cooler. It seemed that a degree dropped in each minute that passed as we waited to open our fast. After the breaking of our fast, we climbed into the trucks, back onto the dangerous road to our lodges. Today, we could witness the splendor of the night as the chilly air breezed passed us and the lights brightened the mountains in the distance. It seemed as if we were in the middle of a valley, surrounded by dazzling stars above us and encircling us on all sides. The landslides continued and a roar was heard in the distance.

Thursday, October 27, 2005
Reaching the hospital camp at about eight thirty in the morning, we start off by planning out the day and strolling around the locality. Walking along the rocky and muddy sites we observe small insects and other pests loitering around. A small snake slithers its way across the ground lurking in tiny corners as we jump back in terror.
Today, a pediatric OPD is largely needed as infants and children line up at the start of the day. Syrups and suspensions are individually kept for the young ones who are in dire need of medication. Powdered milk and vitamins are given to parents who firmly believe that medication is the only way to solve a problem whether it is considered medical or not. As the heat makes its way again through the afternoon, many parents seem to forget that their children may be feeling uncomfortable with their woolen hats and layers of sweaters. An infant is whining and complaining and the mother is steadfast in her decision that her child is severely sick. As soon as the doctor advises her to remove the toddler’s warm clothing and woolen bonnet, the child is grinning and starts to babble. Nevertheless, there are still many legitimate cases in which the child suffers from pneumonia, diarrhea, and earaches among many other illnesses.
Without any warning, a child who is severely dehydrated has been sent to us from some doctors running an inaccessible camp many kilometers away. The two-year old baby, held by her father in desperation, has lost her mother in the earthquake a fortnight ago. Parched and pallid, the baby is catheterized immediately and ORS is orally given through a syringe. Fortunately, after many hours of ORS dosages, the baby is much better but is still in critical need of nutrients. The baby slowly gains some spirit inside of her and opens her eyes to the world. She fondly looks for her father and perhaps wonders whether she can ever find the people she has lost. The forlorn child does not even have the strength to weep and remains in her distressed father’s arms peacefully. The father keeps inquiring about the child’s condition and what he can do to help her. He listens with open ears and memorizes the instructions carefully. Remarkably, the father keeps his grief inside but that melancholy is visibly etched upon his face
As the third day began to pass and it got darker, we climbed into the buses on our way to the CMH Army Hospital camp. We entered the large and exquisite army ground, and noticed the dilapidated gate and shattered buildings. Each home, office, clinic and building was level with the earth and in smithereens. Not a fragment was saved. The top floor of a three-story building was at equal height with the ground. Two or three tents were put up for the remaining members that survived, as we heard the telephones ring in the green garden. French relief workers make their way to their own tents on the army base and rest after a long day of relief work. We opened our fast and had dinner amongst the crushed buildings that enclosed us. Like captives, we gazed towards the earth and wondered how a minute of trembling could destroy a whole establishment.

Friday, October 28, 2005
Waking up slightly exhausted and a while later reaching the hospital camp, we were redirected to another location a few kilometers away. The ride to Camsur, where the temporary camp was located, was absolutely enthralling. A sparkling river streaming through the valley could be seen hundreds of feet below us. A wooden bridge connecting two opposite mountains hung suspended on one side. The only link between the two peaks had been broken with an impulsive snap. Great sections of the neighboring mountains were chipped off by God like a carpenter carves his wood. Mounds of dust covers the high peaks as the landslides grind against their foundation. Once we arrived at Camsur, we noticed a long line of people in desperate need of tents, food and other equipment. People in procession wait endless hours for vital supplies anxiously wondering whether their turn will ever come. For the doctors, tents are put up as makeshift clinics and pharmacies. Numerous boxes of miscellaneous medicines are alphabetized and assorted correctly in the temporary pharmacy. Patients constantly arrive after walking for twelve hours or more in the brutal conditions. Old men with walking sticks hiked miles down the Kashmir mountains to inquire about tents. They spoke of people still buried under cement in inaccessible areas shrieking with pain and hollering for help. They also spoke of citizens lost in the depths of confusion and grief as each family member perished. By the end of the day, more than a hundred patients are diagnosed and given medicines for their treatment.
As we leave Camsur, we notice that the ration line has not gotten any smaller, as people continue on their struggle for existence. Each moment that elapses portrays the way time has taken its toll on the survivors of this enormous catastrophe. And yet, despite the enormity of it all, these people are some of the strongest people ever known to us. They appear to take this struggle as a challenge, and look at it as a punishment from God and a final chance for pardoning. They do not pity each other or moan over their losses. Instead, they recognize the mistakes that they may have made and look to find a way to improve their morale.
Once we have opened our fast, we take a visit to a hospital camp set up by another organization. Strolling through their tents, we see foreign doctors watching the news on a television screen. As we tour around, we observe the hospital wards and operation rooms. Cardboard boxes filled with medicines and other equipment are labeled with a sticker that says “From the hearts of Singaporeans.”
We lay our last night in our sleeping bags and close our eyes immediately after a long day. Unfortunately, our night’s sleep is interrupted by a great tremor at about two o’clock in the middle of the night. The earth shakes beneath us with its anger and outrage as we open our eyes with a jolt and childishly hide under our thick blankets. The poles attached to our tents vibrate with intensity and the tent canvas moves to and fro. As sudden as it started, it stops, and the tectonic plates are back in position underneath us.

Saturday, October 29, 2005
On our last morning in the Kashmir mountains, we wake to the sounds of chirping birds and other creatures of the volatile precipice. Local people line up in the hospital camp before the doctors even arrive. Anxiously they wait, with sleepy eyes and frenzied thoughts. Holding their children, they stand in the morning sun hoping against hope that by the end of the day they would have a tent, enough food and medication.
Towards mid-afternoon, an infant with severe pneumonia arrives and is given a nebulizer immediately as her chest heaves and a whistling sound is constantly heard as she wheezes. She is given an injection and sent directly to a hospital ward so that doctors can keep an eye on her progress. A few hours later, we hear that the two-year old dehydrated child that was sent to us on the second day has again gone into retention. She is sent to the operation theater and is catheterized immediately with great difficulty. Nonetheless, she is stable for the time being as we continue pondering over the future of this tormented child.
Gradually, the pediatric OPD is barren as the number of patients decrease and the warmth of the sun begins to have an effect on everyone within the vicinity. We climb into the bus once again and are taken for a short boat ride and mountain climb. We reach the location and examine the slope of the mountain we must climb down in order to get into the rubber dinghy. Going down the steep hill, with its rolling mud and sliding rocks is certainly a difficult feat. Nevertheless, we slowly make our way down and safely arrive in the deep ravine near the clear river. All around us, there are mountains, grey on one side and green on the other. The river is redirected by the heaps of rocks that hinder its usual course and a waterfall splashes into the river refilling it at a constant pace. Coming ashore, we climb out the vessel and make our way back up the hill. Sweating and panting, we reach the top and climb aboard the vehicle on our way back to the lodge for a bite to eat before we set off for Islamabad.
Taking a different road to Islamabad, the bus travels across Murree twisting and turning through the summits. The darkened sky, like a cloth of black velvet enveloped us with every twirl taken. Going into retrospect, thinking about the past few days brought a sense of anguish and sorrow. Experiences like these were very rarely available and scarcely recognized as essential to one’s well being. It is as if life depends on these uncertain journeys, because the mysteries of Earth and its effect on people are seldom understood unless it is experienced first hand. Even with this kept in mind, there is always something more to be learned. People cannot attempt to alter what is inevitable. “Do I dare disturb the universe? In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.” – T.S. Eliot

------------------------------------------------------------------------