(from my journal. written on April 28 while camping outside)

So many dwellings are damaged and the danger from aftershocks is so great that citizens are being advised to continue to stay outside and not drive. Many of these dwellings will never be inhabitable again. What will so many people do for housing? Tejendra’s house, near where we are camped out, has cracks in many walls, interior and exterior. One pillar looks ready to collapse.

Now and then, one of us dons a motorcycle helmet and dashes inside his house to use the squat toilet, being sure to let someone know they are going and to leave the door open to the bathroom (so it won't get jammed shut in a tremor). If a tremor starts, everyone starts screaming to the person inside and he or she comes flying out the front door.

Tejendra is wondering what he and his family will do when the aftershocks subside and they try to resume their lives. This small house is now unsafe. This morning he said that he was afraid that if they got a strong wind it could collapse. So they cannot stay.

This morning for the first time in almost 48 hours we felt relatively safe enough to walk around his neighborhood a little. I jumped at the chance even though I felt nervous the whole time. It was something to do and to stretch my legs after days of sitting and sleeping on the hard ground.

This neighborhood is below a forested hill and not so densely built up. However, they have been afraid of landslides in the event of a major shake. There are tents everywhere we go with somber people trying to get along, cooking and sleeping outside. There are also many houses that are entirely collapsed; just a pile of rubble, sliding into the street, bedding hanging from a now-exposed second floor filled with bricks. In places we have to carefully climb over brick piles that block the street. It all brings back the ferocity and power of the quake. 

The earthquake felt as if the ground we stood on had become liquid, sloshing back and forth. We were sitting in Sumi's house. A small dark room. We had visited the slum earlier that morning to meet a small girl who we hope to sponsor. Now, at midday, we were celebrating this sponsored girls birthday, having tea and a plate of popcorn and catching up with Sumi and her dear sister Kesang, the new baby and her Mom. Auntie was also squeezed into the room and two small boy cousins, one who had been partially blind since birth.

It all happened so suddenly. There was a faint rumbling that grew in sound and in an instant everyone was screaming and the room started to shake violently. They were out the door in a flash and I was being dragged by my hand, I don't remember by whom. I didn't quite realize what was happening at first but it only took a heartbeat to know. The ground was pitching violently. The little corridor was tipping crazily. I was totally terror stricken. I have been afraid for years that this would happen to me. I prayed I would not be there when a Big One struck. My Being was shouting No!! Then I was in the doorway to the street, in the arms of Auntie. The building was shaking like a dog throwing off water from his coat. Auntie had me in a fierce, tight grip. We clung to one another trying not to fall down. Outside the world was tilting, people were running and falling in the narrow passage- way. My heart was pounding, my mind was shut down and I could hardly breathe. I expected the ceiling to cave in on us at any moment. "No!" Every fiber of my being was in revolt. I don't want this. I don't want to experience this. I want Out. NOW! But of course, there is no way out. Nowhere you can escape. I don't remember her exact words but Auntie was trying to reassure me over and over. Something like " O.K., O.K., O.K.". She held me so tightly. Was it for me or for herself? We were both terrified. I think I asked her over and over if we should stay or run. I had no idea what was safer. (Safer?!?). She just kept saying Yes.

Eventually we ran for the street. We were barefoot. We left everything. Never thought of it. Never cared. Only later would I want my bag. It had my passport in it.

Much later one of the kids dashed back inside to get flip flops and shoes, a blanket and cradle basket for the baby (when we later climbed the hill, Mom carried the baby in the basket on her back, secured by a tump line across her forehead), a couple sweatshirts for the two sister, Sumi and Kesang. The day had gone cool and windy and dark. People were shivering. It would get colder as the day went on. Thankfully I'd worn a light fleece that morning and untypically, my blue jeans. I'd be grateful for them both in the days to come. I would be wearing them 24/7 for the next four days.

Now, for the past few days since the quake, it's been very cold at night, hot in the day. I'm filthy, unwashed, constipated, sick to my stomach, intensely bored, constantly anxious and deeply grateful that I and all our Shanti kids are safe. Tejendra and I have called around whenever we could get cell service. Often though the cell towers were down and even if we got our mobile to work, the calls would not go through. But little by little, with perseverance, we've been gathering information, confirming that the children are all ok. My god, what a miracle. We talk quickly, afraid the line will drop. But jubilant for good news. Both school are damaged. It will take time to assess the extent of those damages, but the kids and staff are ok! 

My phone has gone dead. I have no charger with me and there's no electricity anyway. So, all phones are slowly shutting down. Tejendra’s family has an inverter which charged all the neighbors phones for the first 18 hours but it has run down now.

There are rumors of another big quake to come. So naturally, every person is again in a state of alert anxiety. As Tejendra says, "all people are scaring." My short-lived rising spirits have plummeted. I want it all to just go away. We are again sitting all day long, afraid to move from this little cornfield. When a tremor starts, everyone starts screaming for their family members and get ready to run. Sometimes it peters out right away and things settle. Other times you can feel it escalate. It's the strangest experience. We really feel it, sleeping or sitting on the ground itself. It's like a snake slithering beneath you. It also feels fundamentally Wrong. The earth is something whose stability we rely on, that we build our lives upon. When that goes, we are shaken to our core. Nothing is dependable any longer.

This combination now, of boredom and fear, is a toxic one. It wears everyone down. Hours go by. You sit doing nothing, waiting, waiting. Everyone around me is speaking Nepali. I'm on the hard ground. My bones hurt. It seems stupid and utterly unimportant compared to being safe. But my body still complains.

Nepalis have the admirable ability to chat endlessly about small things in great detail. They pass the time so much better than I. And they laugh. My god! They find humor even now. They are more patient. More accepting. My heart if full of love for them.