Jun 10, 2015
NEPAL EARTHQUAKE: When International Headlines Disappear
The seismic shifts have subsided, the number of deaths and
casualties have plateaued, and international headlines have all but
disappeared.... Sadly, the aftermath of the earthquake and over 300 aftershocks as
felt by over ¼ of Nepal’s population of 28-million remains a startling reality.
The new challenges are both violent and silent and will ultimately affect most
vulnerable populations including 1.7 million children, newborns and an
estimated 160,000 pregnant women in the affected areas.
Leaving the hustle and bustle of Kathmandu on the 31st
of May I looked out the taxi window and began a long journey of starting to
work my way through a complex set of emotions. Orange and blue tarps still
scattered like patchwork along the streets; mothers crawling out of their tents
with crying hungry children in their wake, men sweeping the dusty streets in
the early morning light. How lucky (?) I was to be able to just ‘leave’ and
return to the UK when so many millions of people have no choice but to face a
harsh reality.
For many people each new tectonic twitch heightens the
instability and uncertainty. Just last week a 4.4-magnitude tremor shook parts
of Kathmandu, sending the birds screeching into the air and the children
screaming into the cover of their tarpaulin camps. It was yet another
unnecessary reminder of what had happened – and what may yet lie ahead.
There's also the ‘invisible’ silent aftermath - the
earthquake’s impact on mental health. Mental health experts say those most
vulnerable to developing prolonged mental health conditions are children, the
disabled, and the elderly. Sadly, many of these people don’t have access to
councillors or professionals to help cope with mental stress and grief. There
are countless stories of men, women and children who become paralysed with fear
at the sound of loud noises, become overwhelmed by crowds, fear enclosed
places, and have a constant ‘earthquake hangover’ – the feeling that the ground
is perpetually moving, a temporary inner-ear reaction to the earthquake and
constant aftershocks.
The monsoon has started with a vengeance with torrential rains,
thunder, lightning and hail. In just four months, between June - September, 85%
of Nepal’s annual precipitation of 1,500-3,000mm will fall. Last week in a
precursor to the monsoon I watched as the sky grew dark and rolled thick with
thunder and lightning. With each almighty crack the building shook from above
whilst the aftershocks rumbled the earth from below. I felt well and truly put
in my place, with an all too familiar ‘earthquake adrenaline’ pulsing through
my veins. The wind began to pick up and across the horizon a flurry of
destroyed orange, yellow and blue tents and tarps could be seen flying through
the sky. And this was just the beginning. I can’t even begin to imagine the
terror of children and families cowering from the elements as their flimsy
shelters were ripped from their frames.
The monsoon rains will trigger devastating landslides.
Whilst the mountains tremble their slopes become increasingly unstable – all
that is needed is water and gravity to complete the vicious cycle. From my
brief visit to the Khumbu in mid-May it was clear that the instability of the
slopes and the crumbling, deteriorating mountain trails would be hard-hit by
the monsoon rains. Even sections of the
well-trodden ‘Everest trail’ such as after Phakding bore visible evidence of
instability and landslides. Many relief efforts to hard-hit and remote
districts such as Ghorka, Sindhupalchok and Langtang have been thwarted by
unstable slopes and devastating landslides. Additionally, the monsoon will also
force the country’s few helicopters to be grounded – slowing down the delivery
of much needed aid to the vulnerable.
In the departures lounge at the airport I saw another
national headline highlighting an issue that stopped me in my tracks – the trafficking
of women and children. Tens of thousands of young women from regions devastated
by the earthquake in Nepal are being targeted by human traffickers supplying a
network of brothels across south Asia. Many children are being picked up and
taken abroad by traffickers posing as relief workers. Many ‘tent cities’ are
now guarded by police offers stopping any children accompanied by an adult.
Over the past few weeks I feel as though I’ve seen humanity at its best –
people stepping in, risking their lives, helping those in need… but then I see
headlines like this. How can some people be so heartless?
I’ve been back home for over a week now. It’s strange –
whilst in Nepal I’d been so immersed in the earthquake relief efforts, the
continuous aftershocks, seeing destroyed buildings and the headlines in the
local papers, that I hadn’t really imagined or considered life ‘outside’ of the
‘earthquake bubble’. I knew that it would be a shock to reintegrate into ‘normal
life’ but I hadn’t really reflected on what aspect would be the most difficult.
I think it’s a feeling of helplessness and trying to balance
between getting back into my original, usual ‘work-life routine’ and
integrating the experiences of the past 2 months whilst ensuring that, like the
international headlines, my efforts don’t taper off and disappear. I guess this
is part of defining my ‘new normal’. All the while my Facebook newsfeed remains
full of stories and images of friends on the ground in Nepal building temporary
shelters like the earthbag homes, distributing tents and tarps, building
schools, distributing food and medical supplies and preparing for the monsoon
rains. It’s hard to be here because I
know how valuable an extra set of hands can be there. Having said that, I also know how many more funds are
required and how much continued awareness is needed to support these efforts to
help the vulnerable prepare for an uncertain future – their ‘new normal’.
Beyond continued fundraising efforts organised from the UK
and Canada, I plan to return to Nepal in the Autumn to continue to help with
the rebuilding efforts. Next Spring I will return and continue my expedition on
Shishapangma and Cho Oyu. They’re small contributions – mere drops in the ocean – to helping solve the wider problems but do make a difference. As the saying goes, I believe it was Mother Theresa who said it, whatever you can
give, no matter how small will be of great benefit. We ourselves feel that what
we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of
that missing drop.
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Thank you for your continued contributions and donations to the Paldorje Education Foundation - Nepal Earthquake Relief Fund. Whilst the Nepal earthquake headlines may no longer dominate the front pages of international media, the impacts here remain real and omni present. Please continue to donate, to spread the word and give what you can.
Jun 1, 2015
The Nepali Times Article: When The Mountain Moved
Lhakpa Wongchu Sherpa and I set out
from Shishapangma Advanced Base Camp on 25 April in heavy snow, limited
visibility, and a gentle breeze that left the long string of prayer flags
blowing gently in the wind. Despite the weather, we felt warm and safe in the
mountains as we began to make our way up to Depot Camp at 5800m.
It was a long, slow plod over a maze of rock, mud and snow
with limited opportunity to appreciate the mighty mountain vistas hidden in the
mist. We’d only been teased with fleeting views of this 8025m summit, the 14th
highest in the world.
I had been planning this ‘Himalayan Double Header’
expedition for six months: climb Shishapangma from early April to mid-May and
then travel overland to climb the 6th highest mountain in the world, Cho Oyu
for a mid-late May summit. If successful I would be the first woman in 23 years
to have done so and the 2nd woman ever.
When we reached the Depot Camp, I sat reflecting on my
passion for mountaineering. Mountains provide context, they are humbling and
make you realise there are forces in nature that will never be harnessed, that
won't bend to our schedules. Rather, we bend to theirs. Coming from a
consulting job that demands structure and planning, I find this lack of
‘control’ in mountaineering an opportunity for reckless mental and physical
creativity liberating.
I was tired but content. I took a sip of water and looked
down at my watch. 11.55am. My ears picked up a faint, deep rumbling sound that
broke the silence and sparked an almost animal-like instinct. Something wasn't
right. The rumbling continued, louder and louder.
My initial instinct was that this was an avalanche, but
where was it coming from? We were literally surrounded by mountains on all
sides and had zero visibility. The ground then began to shift back and forth in
a slow rhythmic movement. Earthquake.
Lhakpa shouted over the roaring sound of falling rock and
ice. Through the mist we tried desperately to establish the direction from
which the avalanche would come. We huddled next to a rock, our eyes darting in
all directions, hugging each other, terrified, praying that the rumbling and
shaking would stop.
In what felt like an eternity, the seismic shifts beneath
our feet finally subsided. As we fearfully made our way back to Advanced Base
Camp, we noticed the impact of the quake and the avalanches of snow and rock it
had released. There were fresh cracks in the ground, loose boulders dislodged,
cracked ice in the lakes. Almost eerily, the snow stopped and the cloud lifted,
and rather than a scene of destruction and devastation, the mountain vista stretched
out before us seemed almost beautiful, natural and strangely rebalanced.
Back in Advanced Base Camp we learned that the earthquake
had been widespread but were limited to the details by an almost complete lack
of communications. It wasn’t until our evacuation from the mountain and arrival
back in Kathmandu on 5 May that I began to realise the full scale of the
disaster. I’d only heard about the tragedy on Everest but hadn’t prepared
myself for the bigger picture. It was overwhelming, at a scale unprecedented to
my senses and any previous frames of reference.
My first day back in Kathmandu was an emotional roller
coaster walking through the rubble and dust of the once familiar streets and
past ancient monuments. Concerned for my wellbeing, family and friends demanded
I return home. But going home would mean turning my back on a country that had
been so incredibly generous to me since my first visit 15 years ago. I knew I
had skills that would be helpful in mobilising the aid required to provide
relief and support the rebuilding of the country. I decided to stay and help my
friend Tashi Sherpa of Sherpa Adventure Gear and his team raise funds for
earthquake relief through the Sherpa Adventure Gear Paldorje Education
Foundation and provide assistance with the distribution of aid to those most in
need.
On 12 May I was in Kathmandu assisting with this relief work
when the second earthquake struck with a magnitude 7.3. Being on a mountain for
the first earthquake and in a city for the second was equally terrifying. This
time the danger wasn’t avalanches coming down, it was the buildings.
On the ground relief work has opened my eyes to the scale of
the disaster: many villages still look like a war zone. Buildings tilt at
vertiginous angles, a door or window visible through a twisted mess of
corrugated iron. Brown dust drifts over the disintegrated remains of once proud
homes.
I’ve since travelled and distributed relief to areas that I
didn’t even know existed, unpronounceable place names on a map are now
personified by images of rubble and the outstretched arms of the vulnerable.
This week, we distributed relief to a community in Dolakha. Last week I
travelled to the Khumbu to deliver financial aid to 234 families in Thame, and
delivered aid to survivors of the Langtang tragedy now living at the Yellow
Gompa in Kathmandu. Over the past month we’ve distributed over a thousand tents
and tarps, thousands of kg of food, and provided extensive financial support.
I’ve seen more of the country and met more incredibly inspiring, resilient
people than I’ve ever thought possible.
Amid the long, deep cracks and between the rubble, I’ve also
found something to be positive about for the longer-term future of the country.
This is the initiative and energy of Nepal’s youth which is rapidly gaining
momentum: a groundswell which will bring greater and longer-lasting change than
the devastating earthquakes.
Sometimes I forget that I originally came to Nepal in early
April to climb mountains. Little did I know that when I arrived that these
mountains would be more proverbial than real. The people that I've met, the
things I've seen and the lessons learned have been more impactful than any
summit I've ever attempted, stood on or dreamed about.