Our Cracked Fate

“The mobile you are calling is switched off,” chirped the recording on the other end of the phone. Sitting in the Kuala Lumpur International Airport outside my gate, waiting to board a flight to Nepal, I sighed and hung up. I had been getting the same message for almost a week now, but it hadn’t yet deterred me from attempting to call Lama a few times a day. Ever since he entered the Langtang Valley with his clients six days earlier, his phone had been unreachable. Mobile reception is not exactly reliable in Nepal, and having been in the Langtang region myself in the past I know that outside of cities you’re pretty much on your own. Must be one of the things tourists love most about it. But I wasn't a tourist, and I didn't love it. I wasn’t worried; just missed hearing his voice.

Across from me two older women were attempting to take an airport selfie, chattering excitedly about their trip plans. Dressed in hiking shoes, quick dry pants and laden with fancy, brand new, back-packs it was clear they were also off to Nepal. I smiled, thinking of my first trip to Nepal, almost two years ago. The photos my friend Taryn and I took at every step along the way, documenting the whole immense pilgrimage – or so it seemed at the time. Today it’s just another long flight. After a nerve wracking trip across the Indian Ocean with Malaysian Airlines from Sydney to Kuala Lumpur, I hadn’t slept much and was just looking forward to (hopefully) surviving the next short flight and getting home to take a nap. But I am still a Canadian, and so I had to offer to help with the photo.

“Would you like me to take it?” I offered.

“Oh, yes. Thank you!” They cheerfully accepted my offer.

“One, two, three.” I counted down before snapping then had them check and approve the photo before returning to my seat. “Off to Nepal are you?”

“Yes! Are you as well?” (In a black leather jacket, fashionable top and black tights, I don’t exactly blend in with either crowd that you would generally find waiting for a flight to Kathmandu – I’m not a Nepali woman wrapped in a brilliantly coloured sari, nor am I a foreigner decked out in the latest trekking gear.)

“Yep,” I smiled at the thought. Looking forward to getting home and beginning the new start in Nepal that stretched before me. On Monday I was about to start a new job, on a three year contract, with an organisation I had been trying to work with for almost a year. We chatted the rest of the time until boarding away. Their names were Louise and Carole, they were going to stay with a friend who had lived in Nepal for many years and do a short, off the beaten path trek near Pokhara. I gave them some advice on things to see and do and eat while in Kathmandu. And more importantly: advice for the dreaded immigration process.

As we filed on board and I got settled in my seat I took a deep breath and silently hoped for the best for this four hour flight. I was almost there, but I had a lingering feeling that I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I’ve made it this far, I thought, if I can just get through the next four hours, everything will be okay. I didn’t want to get on the flight. I hadn’t wanted to get on the last one. Driving to the Sydney airport the night before, I felt like I didn’t want to go. Then again, I had the same bad feeling a week ago on the flight to Australia; this irrational fear that something terrible was going to happen. The strangest part was that my anxiety did not stem from the possibility of dying, it was rooted in the idea that if I died I would never see Lama again. I chalked it up to my growing nervousness of flying.

Three and a half, relatively turbulence free, hours later and we were almost there. Finally this whole flying ordeal is almost over! I peered out the window hopefully, but couldn’t see the massive snow-capped peaks, just a few specks of houses far below. Crouching precariously at the feet of the Himalayas lies my poor, poor Kathmandu. Like living in the shadow of any great giant, it exists under the constant threat that at any moment the giants may squash it with an off-hand motion – rolling over in sleep or swatting a pesky insect. My Kathmandu. When did it become mine? I don’t know. The moment I stepped off the plane? Maybe not so soon, but not so long after either. There’s something about this dilapidated city, worlds different from the “normal” I had always known, that still makes it home.

Two years after landing in Kathmandu for the first time, with no idea about Nepal, or even Asia, here I was: coming back again, and this time to sign myself up for the next three years. Something I never would have expected when I accepted that first, six month contract in what feels like a different life.

When I arrived in June 2013 I was as bright eyed and bushy tailed as they come. I was ready for a new adventure, wherever it might take me. After the previous years in Ottawa, having spent time unemployed, spent time in bad jobs, spent time waiting for someone else, being let down, I wanted to make a major change in my life, get out and try something new, take control of my life and finally steer it in the direction I wanted it to go. Funny now, isn’t it? Because we all know life doesn’t really like to be steered, nor do we often know where it is we want to go.

Through countless ups and downs, hard times at work, and even harder times in my personal life, I had struggled to stay in Nepal. I can’t rationalize why. I had just felt that it was where I was meant to be, that the reason would eventually present itself.

Then, as the plane broke through the turbulent clouds and the city came into view below, I was happy. I was going back to finally have some stability for the next years; to be able to really start my life with the person I wanted to be with. Finally, it seemed, the struggled had paid off, had made sense.

When the wheels touched down and the engines slowed us to a taxi I was gleeful – it was over! I made it! I was back safely now, and soon I would be at home, resting in my comfortable bed, emptying my suitcase back into my closet, taking a refreshing shower in my own bathroom, going for a run and meeting my friends for drinks later. It was all set to be a great weekend.

When we were allowed to turn our phones back on I dialed again, just in case he picked up, just to tell him I was home. No luck. I wasn’t surprised. I had already calculated that, based on my assumptions about how quickly his trekking group would move, when they had entered the valley and where they last had cell phone reception, that he should be coming out of the valley on Sunday – tomorrow – and I should hear from him then. But that didn’t deter me from trying an extra couple of times, just in case I got lucky.

I found Louise and Carole in the immigration hall and pointed them in the right direction. I had to go to a different line to collect my gratis visa, which my new employer would turn into a working visa after I started on Monday. I have so many visas from Nepal in my passport that I am always nervous going through immigration now; irrationally worried that they will think I’m suspicious and won’t let me in. It took some time, but finally I got that beautiful blue stamp of legitimacy in my passport. I tried to call again as I bounced down the stairs to baggage claim. Guess what honey? I’m legal! No such luck.

After locating my flight on the arrivals board to see where my luggage would come out, I patiently went to stand by carousel three. No one else was there, and nothing was moving. It always takes forever to get luggage in Kathmandu. I am convinced they bring it from the plane by hand, one piece at a time. I went to use the washroom. After exiting the rest room I located Louise and Carole in the throng of people crowded around carousel one.

“Hi ladies,” I approached them. “Our luggage is actually coming out on carousel three, over there.” I pointed to the empty baggage carousel across the room.

“Oh, thank you! I don’t know why, we didn’t even check! How did you know that?” I pointed to the small dilapidated screen displaying flights. “Oh silly us, we just went where the crowd was.”

“No worries. It will probably take some time, but it should be coming out over here.” We crossed the small arrivals hall together, taking a place near the belt and continuing to chat on and off about Nepal and the interesting things to do on vacation.

And then, as I stood, impatiently waiting to see my small blue suitcase appear through the black rubber flaps of the luggage carousel, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I felt the ground begin to vibrate through the soles of my feet. 

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I felt the vibrations, like a subway car coming in beneath the airport. I have felt earthquakes before – a couple in Ottawa, one in Nepal – never anything too big. Each and every time I have felt an earthquake I hadn’t recognized what it was until after it was over. Not this time. For some reason, I knew within a split second. My first feeling was that a train was approaching from my left side, but in less time than I could have even thought the words, I knew it was an earthquake. There is no subway in Nepal after all. 

“Come,” I grabbed Louise’s arm, standing beside me, as I turned abruptly, pulling her the several steps across the arrivals hall to the nearest pillar. I do not know, to this day, how it happened that I did that. If I had subconsciously risk mapped the room and stored it away in some disaster activated part of my memory over the many, many occasions I have moved through that room. If I knew that pillar was there. Or if I have been so well conditioned working in disaster risk management that my brain knew what it was looking for, identified it and instantly reacted. Either way, I dragged Louise directly to that pillar without a single moment’s hesitation. Like a choreographed movement. In the two to three seconds that it took us to arrive, everyone else knew what was happening too. The vibrations had turned into an all-out shake.

“Cover your head. Get down.” I instructed calmly, assuming the drop cover and hold position myself; bringing both arms up over my head to shield the most vulnerable, and valuable, part of my body. She did as I did. The ground rocked and bent furiously beneath my feet. This is a good one, I though, believing it would stop in a mere moment.

It continued. Screams multiplied. I saw nothing but the floor. Not daring to raise my head to survey the room. The earth growled and roared up at us as it tore apart and slammed furiously back together, again and again. Like a clashing cymbal of brick and concrete. Pieces of the ceiling began to crack and fall around us. Shit. Other bodies piled up next to the pillar around us. I had no idea where Carole was. Panic and hysteria lay thick around us. Oh my god. Maybe this is it. I heard Louise begin to pray beside me.

“It’s okay,” I tried to reassure her calmly. She reached out and wrapped her right arm around me, continuing to pray. “It’s okay.” I was telling myself as much as I was telling her. I wouldn’t waste that arm around me when it should be protecting your head, I thought. Chunks of plaster and ceiling tile crashed to the ground. I considered and accepted that the entire building might come down around me. On top of me.

I had always known this day would come. I came here to work in risk reduction. I had known the hazard potential since day one. But still, I never truly believed I would be here to see it. I had imagined myself, back in Canada years in the future, turning on the morning news while I drank my coffee, seeing the breaking story that a massive earthquake had struck Kathmandu. I had imagined the panic I would feel at that moment, the grief, the feeling that the world was falling apart around me. I did not see myself here. With the earth actually falling apart around me.

The joints of the earth slammed together, and the shaking continued. I kept waiting for it to stop, and it didn’t. It occurred to me that I might be buried alive, or worse, that I might die in the Tribhuvan Airport, and I wished I had taken a flight a day later. Then I felt a body fling itself onto the pillar, over top of me, shielding me from the falling debris. In that moment I was filled with hope. I didn’t, and still don’t, know who it was, but I was silently and selfishly thankful to them for protecting me – likely unintentionally. Thanks friend, because whatever falls is going to hit you, not me. Suddenly it seemed possible that I might have to be buried beneath a dead body, but that I could possibly survive. I tucked that hope away inside and just held on.

Then, it stopped. It just stopped. I couldn’t believe it. The earth ceased grinding us in its fist and opened its palm for us to escape. I have not yet been able to summon the words to qualify, or describe the enormity of that feeling. The opportunity for survival. It was like seeing a gun pointed at you, hearing it fire and then finding it had somehow missed.

Oh my god. It stopped. We can get free. We’re still alive. I stood, bringing my arms back down to my side. For a second I was frozen in amazement.

“Ugh, I’m covered in plaster dust,” Louise stated beside me. Also standing up straight.

“We have to go!” I realized Carole had made it to the same pillar on Louise's other side and the three of us were together. I turned to my right and noticed two people, standing surveying the scene, obviously paralyzed by shock. “You should leave the building now,” I commanded firmly. “There may be more coming.” They listened. I turned my attention back to Louise and Carole. “We have to get out of the building. Now.” I spread my arms to usher them towards the exit. The three of us strode quickly across the small arrivals hall.

“Really. We should move fast,” and I broke into a trot. Making my way around broken ceiling panels, chunks of plaster and metal bits that lay strewn across the floor. Debris from above. I knew it could start again. That this could have been just a foreshock. That something worse could be moving towards us, and I didn’t know how long we might have if that were the case. I just knew that I was alive, and that if I wanted to be sure to stay that way I had to get to an open space.

Outside hordes of people milled around in various states of shock and devastation. One foreign couple in particular stood directly outside the entrance with their arms wrapped around each other, starring up at the building in terror, crying uncontrollably. I paused for them only a moment.

“I would very much recommend that you move away from the building. If it collapses, it could fall on you,” I stated in a calm and direct voice before continuing to walk away from the airport. I did not wait to see if they moved or not, or to encourage them further. That was all the time I was willing to take away from myself to give to them.

It wasn’t until we reached a spot in the parking lot, far enough away from any structure to be completely safe, that I began to take stock of the situation. I looked around and saw that all the buildings around the airport were still standing. That was a surprise to me, as many of those structures were built to shocking standards. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it felt. Maybe it was just a small one. I certainly didn’t have any frame of reference for what big earthquakes felt like. My legs and arms trembled, full to the brim of adrenaline, but I forced myself to remain calm, speak slowly, take control of my body.

I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and noticed I had reception - another reason to think this probably wasn’t a serious quake. Since my first day in Nepal I had always understood that when the ‘big one’ came all communications infrastructure would be knocked out, the airport would be destroyed, 60 percent of the buildings in the Kathmandu Valley would be destroyed, nothing would get in or out and misery would reign supreme. That was what we had been preparing for, and all evidence pointed to this not being it. My phone was working!

Lama wasn’t my first priority to call. I already knew his phone was off. And I was more worried about the city than anything else. After all, that was what we had always considered to be the most vulnerable, and the most likely to be devastated in the case of an earthquake. He’s probably better off outside the city. And for the time being, I was actually relieved that he was not in town. Instead I dialed his brother, Raju.

Despite the fact that things looked like they might not be so bad from where I was standing, I have always been sceptical of the seismic resilience of their family’s house. I wanted to make sure they were okay, because when I did get a hold of him I needed to be able to tell him that his family was safe. And because he would do the same for me.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Raju?”

“Yes, hello.”

“Hi, it’s Bronwyn calling. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“Oh yes, yes miss. We just experienced earthquake here.”

“Yes I know. I am in Kathmandu. I felt it too. Are you okay.”

“Yes, yes. We are safe.”

“And your Mom and Dad? Are they with you?”

“Yes. We are all safe.”

“Oh good. Thank you. I’m so glad to hear that. Please stay outside okay. Please stay safe. There may be more coming. Please be careful.”

“Okay miss.”

“Okay, I will talk to you soon. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Thank god.

After that I flicked on my 3G to send an iMessage to both of my parents. ‘We had an earthquake. I’m fine.’ I quickly fired off to them before switching the 3G off again. I only had 300 rupees of credit left on my phone at the moment, and I assumed I might not have the opportunity to re-charge any time soon.

Malaysian airline stewardesses sobbed in a small group beside us.

“The poor things. They’re probably so on edge already this year, having so many of their colleagues lost in horrible circumstances,” Carole very rightly pointed out. I felt sorry for them. This wasn’t a calculated risk they had taken ahead of time. I hoped they would be able to go home soon. But I assumed the runway was badly damaged, as it has a history of cracking under the heat of a hot summer’s day. Close above us in the sky a low flying jet on its final approach veered sharply to the left, changing course and heading south to India. Above us in the air traffic control tower, the only people who hadn’t evacuated the building scurried around, turning all incoming planes away.

Well, we’re all stuck here now, I couldn’t help but think to myself. It didn’t scare me, it didn’t excite me. It was just a fact. All I saw and all I could think were facts. Not emotions.

I tried to dial Lama one more time before my phone lost signal completely. “The mobile you are calling is switched off.” And then even my reception dropped out. Probably because the networks were completely jammed. Maybe because a couple of towers were compromised. I switched my phone back onto airplane mode, not wanting to waste battery searching for signal because I didn’t know how long I was going to have to rely on this current charge. I just hoped that I was right in my assumption that he was safer, and better off, in the mountains.

The only thing that niggled the back of my conscious was a concern that the shaking could have triggered landslides. I remembered my friend Jwalant telling me, a year ago, when I was preparing to go trekking in Langtang region myself, that the area had always been bad for landslides.

Even from where I stood, in the middle of the city, as I looked up into the hills to my left, I could see a fresh landslide opening up the face of the mountainside above.