Helping Hands

It

takes so little time for a quiet, carefully constructed life to be destroyed. The earthquake that struck Central Java in Indonesia on May 27 lasted just 57 seconds, yet it killed at least 6,200 people, left tens of thousands injured or homeless, and ravaged an area of some 500 sq km in and around the city of Yogyakarta. So much devastation, all in less than a minute.

The task of rebuilding and recovering will take years. By the end of last week, food, water, medicines, tents, blankets and emergency teams were flowing into the disaster zone. But for every life saved, every child fed, every family housed, countless others continue to suffer and go without. In the village of Pundong in Bantul district, the hardest-hit area with 60% of the fatalities, 60-year-old farmer Sumiardi has been camping out beside his home with his wife and two children, even though it has been smashed to rubble. "We have been waiting for days for some kind of help," says Sumiardi. "Luckily our neighbors have given us clean water and rice to hold us over."

Like Sumiardi, many survivors refuse to go to government shelters for fear that their few remaining possessions will be looted. And though it rained for much of last week, many prefer to sleep outdoors under tarpaulins in paddy fields or on soggy mattresses along the side of the road in case another quake strikes. Indeed, in the days following the temblor, nearly 500 aftershocks were recorded.

The earth doesn't need to move, however, for people to keep dying. Indonesian authorities say the vast majority of the wounded are in serious condition, and last week up to 20 were still perishing every day. Despite the addition of four field hospitals, existing facilities are badly overstretched. Bantul's hospital does not have enough beds for all the injured, and some are parked in cots in the hallways or on bamboo mats on the floor. Even the healthy are taking shelter in hospitals. "For every patient you have three to four family members," says Harsaran Pandey, the World Health Organization's spokesperson for Southeast Asia. "A lot of the inpatients [stay] because they and their families have no place to go. As no hospital is geared to deal with such a large human populace on its premises, this is putting a heavy strain on water and sanitation facilities." So far, though, cholera and dysentery have been kept at bay.

Rebuilding won't begin until heavy machinery can be brought in to clear tons of rubble; that might take weeks. In the meantime, the authorities are pledging grants of 30 million rupiah (about $3,200) to owners of badly damaged homes so they can quickly get back on their feet, without waiting months for a grand—and cumbersome—reconstruction plan of the sort devised for Aceh after the 2004 tsunami. In some areas life is already returning to normal. Malioboro, Yogyakarta's main tourist drag, is open for business again. "Visitors are slowly returning, but they are mostly local," says Suhartono, a batik vendor. "We hope it won't be like Bali [after the bombings], with foreigners afraid to come."

For many, it's hard to imagine that life will ever return to normal. Samyono, a 65-year-old grandmother discharged from the hospital after getting stitches for a head wound, has resorted to begging. After seven hours walking around her village of Wedi in the hot sun, she has managed to collect 400 rupiah, or 40 cents, in handouts. "I don't know what else to do," says Samyono, "since my home is gone and I have nowhere to go." For her and so many others, the disaster seems to be just beginning.