Two years ago this week, much of Nepal shook, collapsed,
slid, liquefied, and heaved. Thousands
died. The Himalayas – born epochs ago
from seismic upheaval – reminded our modern world that geologic forces do not
respect climbing expedition base camps.
And certainly not tiny villages in remote and beautiful valleys that
disappeared instantly.
Its been two years since the primary quake – and nearly that
long since the after-shock that killed more.
Densely populated Kathmandu sustained damage, but fortunately was not
wrecked. The devastation was in more
rural areas. Still, quake damage is
quite common to see in the capital. Its
not everywhere, but its not hard to find.
I’ve been fortunate to recently be a team member working
with the Nepalis to improve their crisis management capabilities. I’ve been to Kathmandu twice in the last 7
weeks – both times impressed with the open determination of everyone I worked
with to get better. They know that the
next big quake may come tomorrow, or not for a century. But more immediately, they know that the
seasonal monsoon floods, landslides, and – believe it or not – high numbers of
snake bites (rains bring out the snakes), are predictable almost to the
day. And they understand that the things
they learned from the big quake – about coordination, response logistics, core
skill competency requirements, local first aid - can help them a lot in
response to these smaller, localized events.
Here in the US, we commonly use a model called the disaster
(or emergency) management cycle. We have
lovely graphics depicting the phases of the model. We teach that one is always somewhere in the
cycle. The Nepalis are living a reality
that they are actually TWO places on the cycle model today. They are very much in both “recovery” from
the quake and “preparedness” for the next monsoon’s events.
I’ll close with an anecdote and a metaphor: On my last trip, the domestic flight air
terminal in Kathmandu had been shut down for several hours, because a leopard
had been sighted prowling along the fence beside the terminal. The Himalayan
foothills and mountain villages are just off the airport runway, and predatory
wildlife is not uncommon. After a few
hours, the cat moved on, the modern world returned, and air traffic
resumed. So just know that two years
after the quake in Nepal, they grasp the future, living today with serenity and
determination, while keeping an eye out for the leopard slinking along the
fence.
