Kumamoto Earthquakes
Longer version of an article by Sean Michael Wilson that appeared in THE JAPAN TIMES newspaper, May 2016
Living in Japan, we accept that a serious earthquake can come at any time, any place. We know that, but we don’t really believe it. It’s a vague hypothetical possibility, something as likely as winning the lottery — something you read about having happened in the 1880s or the 1920s, and which might happen again at some impossible-to-define point in the future.
And then, with no warning, the sudden physical force happens to YOU, in your street, to your house — now! History and fate and geology are combining to toss and throw you and all your most treasured possessions — paintings, photos, books, music, your favorite cup — to the ground in a pathetic, shocked, wet, chaotic mess. And that’s if you are lucky. And around 300,000 people in Kumamoto were that “lucky,” but at least 44 were not. Forty-four people that were alive at 9:25 p.m. on Thursday, April 14, are now dead.
I’m mentally exhausted. At 9:20 p.m. on Thursday night I was chatting online with a friend from Britain, planning to go out for a relaxing time on Saturday night — an idea that now seems a ludicrous fantasy, as no trains or buses are running, there is nowhere to go for a meal, and no bars are open. (You are lucky if you even have water). Ten minutes later I was out in the street, quivering with shock at the physical power of nature, the quake of the earth.
From the second floor of the apartment block I live in, a Chinese man ran out and past me, naked apart from his underpants, screeching something in Mandarin. He was over from China visiting his son, a student at Kumamoto University. Bad timing, Dad. And he doesn’t speak Japanese; I saw him again today in the university’s hinansho shelter, looking mystified as a young Japanese student volunteer guide told his son that they will soon be giving out curry rice. When you don’t understand the words, something as simple as curry rice might as well be quantum mechanics.
The son lives right above me and is a bit of a noisy late-night stay-up. I’ve often had to tell him to keep it down. But all that is silly nothings now: We are all out in the street, cold, shocked — Japanese, Chinese, and me, a lone Scot, united by a force than makes us all just people.
After the Tohoku disaster of 2011, I had packed a bag of stuff in case it ever happened here, and left it by the door. It stood there to the side of the doorway for five years and one month. But in the physical shock of the dreaded IT actually happening, I just ran out of the apartment and forgot to pick up the bag. Yes, Sean — clever.
Another strong quake hit us about 30 minutes later, but our building held. So Chinese Dad nipped back in to get some clothes on and I went to grab the emergency bag. We all then went off to that shelter area, which is just a few minutes away, as I live right behind Kumamoto University. Soon there were about 300 people there in the open-air sports area, mostly young Japanese and international students.
And here the famed Japanese calm and orderliness in a crisis kicked in. And it's catching, as all the several nationalities present behaved like that too. Blue tarp covers, chairs and blankets appeared from the university’s prepared store nearby. The standalone fences were pushed down and some of us lay on them, me included. They are surprisingly comfortable! Sleep comes … and in the morning, just to be ironic, we get a bright blue day, sunny, lovely spring feeling — while we walk among debris and past collapsed buildings. Like the weather is a comedian.
But on Friday we get 150 aftershocks, in just ONE day! Astonishing. And psychologically interesting: just like we get used to the hum of the air conditioner and don’t even notice it anymore, after the 52nd level-3 shock that day hits, you realize you are not particularly scared anymore; it’s become “normal.” You might not even pause in the middle of typing the “Hi, how are you now?” line to your friend on your mobile.
But in the early hours of Saturday morning, just as we here in Kumamoto were beginning to relax, thinking the worst was over, it hit us again, and much worse.
Longer version of an article by Sean Michael Wilson that appeared in THE JAPAN TIMES newspaper, May 2016
Living in Japan, we accept that a serious earthquake can come at any time, any place. We know that, but we don’t really believe it. It’s a vague hypothetical possibility, something as likely as winning the lottery — something you read about having happened in the 1880s or the 1920s, and which might happen again at some impossible-to-define point in the future.
And then, with no warning, the sudden physical force happens to YOU, in your street, to your house — now! History and fate and geology are combining to toss and throw you and all your most treasured possessions — paintings, photos, books, music, your favorite cup — to the ground in a pathetic, shocked, wet, chaotic mess. And that’s if you are lucky. And around 300,000 people in Kumamoto were that “lucky,” but at least 44 were not. Forty-four people that were alive at 9:25 p.m. on Thursday, April 14, are now dead.
I’m mentally exhausted. At 9:20 p.m. on Thursday night I was chatting online with a friend from Britain, planning to go out for a relaxing time on Saturday night — an idea that now seems a ludicrous fantasy, as no trains or buses are running, there is nowhere to go for a meal, and no bars are open. (You are lucky if you even have water). Ten minutes later I was out in the street, quivering with shock at the physical power of nature, the quake of the earth.
From the second floor of the apartment block I live in, a Chinese man ran out and past me, naked apart from his underpants, screeching something in Mandarin. He was over from China visiting his son, a student at Kumamoto University. Bad timing, Dad. And he doesn’t speak Japanese; I saw him again today in the university’s hinansho shelter, looking mystified as a young Japanese student volunteer guide told his son that they will soon be giving out curry rice. When you don’t understand the words, something as simple as curry rice might as well be quantum mechanics.
The son lives right above me and is a bit of a noisy late-night stay-up. I’ve often had to tell him to keep it down. But all that is silly nothings now: We are all out in the street, cold, shocked — Japanese, Chinese, and me, a lone Scot, united by a force than makes us all just people.
After the Tohoku disaster of 2011, I had packed a bag of stuff in case it ever happened here, and left it by the door. It stood there to the side of the doorway for five years and one month. But in the physical shock of the dreaded IT actually happening, I just ran out of the apartment and forgot to pick up the bag. Yes, Sean — clever.
Another strong quake hit us about 30 minutes later, but our building held. So Chinese Dad nipped back in to get some clothes on and I went to grab the emergency bag. We all then went off to that shelter area, which is just a few minutes away, as I live right behind Kumamoto University. Soon there were about 300 people there in the open-air sports area, mostly young Japanese and international students.
And here the famed Japanese calm and orderliness in a crisis kicked in. And it's catching, as all the several nationalities present behaved like that too. Blue tarp covers, chairs and blankets appeared from the university’s prepared store nearby. The standalone fences were pushed down and some of us lay on them, me included. They are surprisingly comfortable! Sleep comes … and in the morning, just to be ironic, we get a bright blue day, sunny, lovely spring feeling — while we walk among debris and past collapsed buildings. Like the weather is a comedian.
But on Friday we get 150 aftershocks, in just ONE day! Astonishing. And psychologically interesting: just like we get used to the hum of the air conditioner and don’t even notice it anymore, after the 52nd level-3 shock that day hits, you realize you are not particularly scared anymore; it’s become “normal.” You might not even pause in the middle of typing the “Hi, how are you now?” line to your friend on your mobile.
But in the early hours of Saturday morning, just as we here in Kumamoto were beginning to relax, thinking the worst was over, it hit us again, and much worse.