Last night I found two small bull calves sleeping in the middle of the busy road close to our office. There have been a few almost accidents. They calves are hard to see in the dark and cars don’t expect animals in this part of town. With the loss of houses, many people have moved into their cow shelters. Perhaps that is the reason why suddenly we find many abandoned calves in the city.
With a bucket of water, a bag of flour and the large cabbage given to me by Rajendra’s family I wooed the calves into a nearby parking area. They drank three buckets of water, the poor things. The calves are still there in the morning. I top up the water and plan to build a simple shelter if the calves decide to stay longer.
I wonder how to spend the Saturday. It is hard to get back into a normal routine but it’s probably the best thing to do. I cook for myself and the dogs, and dig out a movie. The only one I haven’t watched yet is ‘American Sniper’, about a marine who killed many ‘enemies’ in Iraq. He struggled with Post Traumatic Stress syndrome and healed himself by helping other veterans, those less lucky than himself. There is a lot of death in the film, starting with the shooting of an animal. I fast forward all the shooting scenes.
In one scene the sniper sits in front of a TV that is tuned off and hears the sounds of combat. I recognize that. I have been ultra sensitive to sounds. I search the sound that precedes an earthquake. When I am with others I often think I can hear it, only to find that those around me continue their chatter. False alarm.
I shop for vegetables and meet two teachers from the British School. They struggle with how to fill their days in the weekend. Riding out into the countryside is no longer an option. There is a limit to how much destruction one wants to witness. Most restaurants are still closed. Friends are busy with relief efforts. One of them bought a stack of books, and has decided to learn Nepali through self study. I suggest a visit to a village that is largely unscathed. But it does not entirely feel right. Disaster tourism feels wrong, but so does the opposite, disaster avoidance tourism.
Earthquake Diaries 