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For example Tokyo, one of the world’s most advanced metropolitan cities, did not have electricity, mobile and telephone services were down, and the temperature continued to dip below zero.
People waited in queues that spilt into the street, as grocers took longer than usual to do business in the flickering candlelight. It took a minimum of five hours to avail one’s turn at the gas station, which the government had started to ration to 20 litres a car.
The advanced and efficient Japan Railways that ferry millions of people everyday was also shut down. Commuters, including students, spent the night at the train stations. Those, who opted for buses and taxis, also had to wait for long hours. The stores in Tokyo had run out of instant food (especially noodles), tissue paper and candles.
Where everything is timed to perfection, and much pride in taken in allowing personal convenience, it was all very un-Japanese. But the Japanese – young and old alike - were as calm, reserved, and polite as ever. There was no panic or sense of urgency. They may have been a little less cheerful.
By the second day, the death toll had risen to 274, with thousands still missing. There had been over 40 aftershocks already, with some measuring 7.2 on the Richter scale. To top it all, the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant crisis was just beginning.
As the only two occupants of the CNP (café no problemo) or the snack lounge of the International university of Japan in Niigata, 230km northwest of Tokyo, we saluted the nation that was braving, and in such a manner, its worst disaster since WWII.
When the first quake hit the university campus with a magnitude of 6, it lasted close to a minute. We were doing course evaluation before the last class of the international economic systems and order course, when the computer lab swung like it was suspended in the air. Gently, but continuously, the room continued to creak and move.
When I got up to walk out of the room to the open air as the other students, I was giddy and unstable. It felt like I walking across a long suspension bridge that moves with each step, like the ones leading to some villages in Zhemgang district. The aftershocks continued in intervals for the entire three-hour class, and beyond. By then I had a severe headache.
The 6.6 magnitude quake around 4am on the morning of March 13, was entirely different. It was brief, but a very hard jolt. Cupboard doors flew open, things fell on the floor, and it was so violent that I could not get up from the bed. Stunned and shocked, we walked to the gym, as instructed during the orientation.
Some of us were wearing helmets and carrying the flashlight provided to each student. The student support office of the university responded by asking students to keep calm and be safe and in the meantime to stock on instant food, water, and cells for flashlight, and to keep ready passports, documents and warm clothes and in case of earthquake and aftershocks to go to the gym—supposedly the strongest structure on campus. So we went to the gym time and again and, by the third time or so, students looked drained, and very worried.
For me, it was a chilling thought to imagine earthquakes of such magnitude hitting Bhutan. Many students, especially from Asia, agreed that a magnitude of more than 7.5 would flatten their cities.
I wondered whether the ‘duck, cover, hold’ ritual being professed today in schools in Bhutan could actually work.
It works for Japan, because the material used in Japanese structures is entirely different. The foundations of buildings are made of huge steel frames, similar to the ones used in Japan-assisted bridges in Bhutan. Most parts of the buildings have sturdy steel frames filled in with a thin layer of concrete. One can easily punch a hole through the wall that looks like it is made of plaster-of-paris kind of material.
So it is safe to crouch under a table to protect from falling objects in the room, because the steel frames will not cave in on one; and, even if the walls crumble, they will not cause much harm. Japanese structures are so designed that they move with the movement of the earthquake, not against it.
In Bhutan, it is difficult to imagine a table withstanding falling bricks, hollow blocks, or stones. The option would be to run out to an open clearing and pray that the ground below does not cave in.
It would be pragmatic to keep essential items ready at hand like instant food, water, flashlights, ropes, first-aid kit. A rare sight today, fire extinguishers are also very important for every household. Even more important would be knowing how to use it.
It may also be equally important to be concerned about nuclear disasters as we buffer nuclear neighbours. Accidents do happen. When the radiation level in my university, situated 185km away from the damaged Fukushima nuclear power plant and bordered by a range of mountains, including the famous Hakkai san mountain, fluctuated (but not to the level of causing any health concern), it was evident of the looming danger. For the first time, I followed every word of the weather forecast, and carefully noted the wind direction.
It was for this reason the respective embassies started evacuating students from the university and, by the end of the second week since the disaster, most students had either gone home, or to the south of Japan, as directed by their countries. Plus the ‘CNN effect’ was taking its toll that parents, relatives, and even embassy officials were becoming hysterical.
The ugly side of the open market economy revealed itself, when airlines took advantage and more than doubled the airfare, but even then it was difficult to find a seat.
When I reached Narita airport on the afternoon of March 21, two multi-ethnic lines stretched from one end of the airport to the other. Every passenger flying in from Japan had to undergo a radiation test at Bangkok airport. Back home in Paro airport, the posters hanging from the walls made it clear the issue was still about swine flu and avian flu. But I almost missed the stern warning on tobacco.
Source: kuenselonline
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