12/24/2004
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“How ridiculous to think that 14 seconds changed our lives. Try to imagine sleeping
one night and waking up the next morning with 80 percent of your family dead,”
Maliheh described to me as we walked over the dirt, bricks, stones, tiles, and
memories that once sheltered the house that now lay open and violated. The sharp
melody of her Bami accent filled the empty space where homes and stores existed.
“In Bam we always said that our date trees will protect us. Each of these palm
trees has strong roots and we believed they weaved a protective layer underneath
the earth’s surface—protecting us from earthquakes. How wrong we were.” The
tears in her eyes betrayed her soft and confident voice. Her dark skin, kissed
by the sun, is common in this region of the country, but it lacks the brilliance
and light it probably once held. Maliheh, 22 years old, ran a cultural center
with a friend before the earthquake. She now works with a NGO, SIB (Bam Assistant
Relief), teaching handicrafts, such as carpet weaving, to women, men, and children.
As we spent more time together, I learned of her strong spirit that refuses to
be kept underneath the rubble of her beloved city: “It’s hard to live here and
walk these streets now, knowing what it was like before. It’s hard to see the
rubble that has replaced the life we led. But, we have no choice but to rebuild
again. I either have to sit at home depressed, or I have to continue--and I choose
to continue.”
Maliheh and her family of eight live in one of the temporary homes the government
built for the survivors of the earthquake. These temporary homes are a failure
and a waste of money, according to every person I talked with in Bam. The “homes,”
a one room concrete structure per family, are built in rows in extensive fields.
Very few families from Bam actually live in these buildings; some are empty while
others are inhabited by people who came to Bam from the country side, taking advantage
of the free housing. Most of the people of Bam who owned homes prefer to live
in the tin houses and tents, provided by the government and NGOs, next to the
ruin of their homes. Though clean running water and electricity were reinstated
shortly after the earthquake, the government works in slow motion to actually
rebuild the city.
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One year after the heartquake, amongst people who try to rebuild their lives
Written for PeaceReporter by
One year after the horrendous earthquake which ruined the city in 14 seconds,
swallowing 40,000 of its inhabitants in the trembling fault lines, and leaving
its surviving population--hurting and tattered--with the difficult task of rebuilding,
Bam resembles the ghost-town of your worst nightmares. As soon as I disembarked
the airplane, destruction, rubble, and ruin welcomed me with such fervor, as if
the earthquake happened last week. Driving through the dirt city, I caught glimpses
of people rebuilding their homes and trying in vain to recreate their once-bustling
city. Every few meters, people moved the heavy bricks of their broken homes attempting
to build a haven over the pile of salvaged possessions they dug out from the shattered
earth. Every street, without fail, is decorated with skeletal buildings; most
lay in pieces on the ground, while a few seem as if Mother Nature pushed the “pause”
bottom on them, freezing them in their collapse. Paused on their way to destruction
and death, reminding the survivors of the exact steps each building took to fold
on itself, violently crushing their loved ones and changing the reality of this
city in 14 seconds.
Narghes Bajoghli
One year after the horrendous earthquake which ruined the city in 14 seconds,
swallowing 40,000 of its inhabitants in the trembling fault lines, and leaving
its surviving population--hurting and tattered--with the difficult task of rebuilding,
Bam resembles the ghost-town of your worst nightmares. As soon as I disembarked
the airplane, destruction, rubble, and ruin welcomed me with such fervor, as if
the earthquake happened last week. Driving through the dirt city, I caught glimpses
of people rebuilding their homes and trying in vain to recreate their once-bustling
city. Every few meters, people moved the heavy bricks of their broken homes attempting
to build a haven over the pile of salvaged possessions they dug out from the shattered
earth. Every street, without fail, is decorated with skeletal buildings; most
lay in pieces on the ground, while a few seem as if Mother Nature pushed the “pause”
bottom on them, freezing them in their collapse. Paused on their way to destruction
and death, reminding the survivors of the exact steps each building took to fold
on itself, violently crushing their loved ones and changing the reality of this
city in 14 seconds. “How ridiculous to think that 14 seconds changed our lives. Try to imagine sleeping
one night and waking up the next morning with 80 percent of your family dead,”
Maliheh described to me as we walked over the dirt, bricks, stones, tiles, and
memories that once sheltered the house that now lay open and violated. The sharp
melody of her Bami accent filled the empty space where homes and stores existed.
“In Bam we always said that our date trees will protect us. Each of these palm
trees has strong roots and we believed they weaved a protective layer underneath
the earth’s surface—protecting us from earthquakes. How wrong we were.” The
tears in her eyes betrayed her soft and confident voice. Her dark skin, kissed
by the sun, is common in this region of the country, but it lacks the brilliance
and light it probably once held. Maliheh, 22 years old, ran a cultural center
with a friend before the earthquake. She now works with a NGO, SIB (Bam Assistant
Relief), teaching handicrafts, such as carpet weaving, to women, men, and children.
As we spent more time together, I learned of her strong spirit that refuses to
be kept underneath the rubble of her beloved city: “It’s hard to live here and
walk these streets now, knowing what it was like before. It’s hard to see the
rubble that has replaced the life we led. But, we have no choice but to rebuild
again. I either have to sit at home depressed, or I have to continue--and I choose
to continue.” Maliheh and her family of eight live in one of the temporary homes the government
built for the survivors of the earthquake. These temporary homes are a failure
and a waste of money, according to every person I talked with in Bam. The “homes,”
a one room concrete structure per family, are built in rows in extensive fields.
Very few families from Bam actually live in these buildings; some are empty while
others are inhabited by people who came to Bam from the country side, taking advantage
of the free housing. Most of the people of Bam who owned homes prefer to live
in the tin houses and tents, provided by the government and NGOs, next to the
ruin of their homes. Though clean running water and electricity were reinstated
shortly after the earthquake, the government works in slow motion to actually
rebuild the city. In my three days in Bam, traveling the city and its surrounding towns extensively,
I did not see one bulldozer—no machinery to at least remove the rubble. Talking
to a government employee in the airport, my co-worker and I asked him about their
rebuilding effort. He told us not to worry, that the government is rebuilding.
We asked for the location of the reconstructed buildings so that we could take
pictures, but he replied that the government is rebuilding the villages first
before they reconstruct Bam. He hurriedly walked away from us, knowing that he
may be able to fool the state-run television which boasts of the reconstruction
effort, but he cannot fool two concerned citizens who have come to see with their
own eyes the reconstruction, or lack thereof, of this city 10 months later. Though
the villages were damaged during the earthquake, it is nothing in comparison to
the near extinction of the city of Bam. Thus, most Bamis conclude that the government
will not help them sufficiently, and they instead choose to rebuild their homes
on their own. Some succeed, but for many, the incredible rate of drug use and
addiction in this city hampers effective reconstruction endeavors. The Kerman
province, where Bam is located, has always been the site of extreme drug use because
of its location on the drug smuggling route—though drug addiction grew exponentially
after the earthquake, especially due to cheap prices and ready availability.
second part will be published tomorrow
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