The first we knew of it was the noise. The loud noise. On April 25th, at 11.56am, I was at a farmers’ market, drinking coffee with friends at the 1905 restaurant in the Thamel district of Kathmandu. I stood up as the 7.8-magnitude earthquake struck, but I was thrown back on to my chair.
Having worked on an earthquake-preparedness plan for the Irish charity Umbrella Foundation in Kathmandu in 2013, I theoretically knew what to do. The phrase “duck, cover, hold” was burned into my brain. I knew that it’s not usually earthquakes that kill people but buildings – and we weren’t near any.
Most earthquakes last less than 30 seconds, but this seemed to go on for two or three minutes. As the ground shook we stayed put and hoped that the feeling of being on a surfboard would stop. In an earthquake this size it is impossible to move around without falling over.
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When the ground stopped moving so violently we gathered ourselves together, checked that all were okay, and moved towards the market’s exit and more open ground.
The ground swayed more gently now. Still dizzy, I was unsure whether it was me that was moving or everything else. My chair had broken and cut my arm. Distant palm trees were bent as if in a hurricane, but there was no wind.
I started to think how many people had just died or been injured; then the adrenaline kicked in. I had to get home. My friend Maya Tamang and I wanted to get back to Swoyambhu to check that the Umbrella Foundation children and staff were okay – and that my apartment was still standing.
We walked through narrow streets with high buildings, worried about aftershocks and stopping in open spaces now and then, having seen some collapsed buildings. When we arrived we got some good news: the Umbrella children were all safe. The apartment had several cracks but was standing.
In an open field nearby more than 100 people sat discussing the quake. With the help of a local doctor, Manav Basnet, we decided on a plan of action – and we had four hours until it got dark.
We made shelter from plastic sheeting and asked people to get blankets, drinking water and other items from houses in good condition. These tasks kept people busy as they adjusted to what had just happened.
A teenager asked me to help, as people were buried under a house. When we arrived one man was removed with some injuries; we made a stretcher and got him to hospital. Another man and woman were buried deep in the rubble; sadly, there was no chance of removing them alive. Family and locals dug long into the evening to get them out. May they rest in peace.
I helped Umbrella Foundation staff to get all the children to one location and to get blankets, water and food, as arranged in the earthquake-preparedness plan. Although we were in shock ourselves, we kept busy to ensure the children’s safety.
The canvas tents up, I went back to the apartment to retrieve some personal items. This is not advised, but if a house is still in good condition, and you stay in it only briefly, the risk is low. The next day we dug a make-do toilet and spoke to all families with Dr Basnet about the importance of hygiene.
In the following days we felt many aftershocks. On the second night we had so much rain that we had to hold the canvas up, to stop it collapsing under the weight of the water. And the rain was so loud that we had to scream at each other to be heard.
People watching television in Ireland probably saw more of the earthquake than we did. Our experience was local, because of power cuts, network problems and, more essentially, being busy with day-to-day survival. But it was more harrowing than anything on TV.
That morning I walked around the area to photograph some of the collapsed houses. Rescue attempts were under way. Homes had been crushed, and family members lay dead. It was a terribly sad scene.
I had trouble contacting my family, including my grown-up children, Aoife and Ronan, in Vancouver, and my brothers and sisters in Ireland. For two or three days I was listed as missing. I got one Facebook message out, but, even after that, lack of contact was stressful for my family.
My brother Eoghan, in Dublin, eventually got through to me by phone, and he contacted my children in Canada and other family.
After six days or so we felt confident enough to go back into our homes and try to settle back into normal life. The aftershocks continued, some strong enough to wake us at night.
Last week we travelled into the hills, to see how the village people were. We found most stone houses in rubble and three adults and one child dead. One family had lost a father and small daughter. An older couple could do little more than sit in the rubble. We helped by moving tons of stone and buying blankets and tools. Without a JCB it was a huge task.
We cleared areas of stones, recovered timber and removed a tin roof to store for later use. I helped give out medicine to help ease the discomfort. The Nepali army arrived and set up camp to help, and locals got busy making tin sheds for shelter – the priority before the monsoon starts, in June.
Then, just as we took a breath – and as I was painting a table at home – on May 12th, at 12.50pm, the noise started again. What you do in those 30 seconds is very often the difference between living and dying. The brain said “duck, cover, hold”, but my legs just started moving. If it’s not bad enough to stop me walking I have time to get out carefully.
Surviving takes practice and clear thinking. Nepal will rise up again for these beautiful, kind people.
May all who have died rest in peace and may all who were injured make speedy recoveries.
In the past two years in Nepal, Niall Kavanagh has volunteered for or supported the Irish charities Umbrella Foundation and Nagarhope, as well as Burn Victim Survivors and Action Child Rights International Nepal
