by Tony Lister
14 years ago I was living in a small fishing village on the coast of northern Chile. My one room, second story shack sat just 4 blocks from the Pacific ocean.
Today I read the journal entry I made on July 30, 1995, and I was amused that I had actually enjoyed the first few seconds of the quake, but my bravado was quickly beaten out of me. The shaking just wouldn’t stop.
The quake lasted 3 minutes. It registered 7.3 on the Richter scale (which is 8.0 by the new standard).
I vividly recall the sense of utter helplessness of laying there in the darkness, crying like a baby, clinging to my mattress and just waiting for the house below me to crumble. And the darkness. It was absolute. All power had gone out within the first few seconds. I have rarely experienced suck darkness.
With only the clothes on my back, I ran for the street, simply because I didn’t know where else to run. The noise was so intense. Like a dozen garbage trucks clanging all around. I picked up a small child that was running in front of me, and with him under one arm, I scrambled to the middle of the street.
I thought this gave me the best advantage- if the wall across the street fell, I could run backwards; if the cement power poles snapped, I could dodge the live wires that swung wildly overhead.
And there I stood, or better said, attempted to stand in the middle of the road in the dark of night with somebody’s kid under my arm. It’s a strange thing to not be able to stay standing. Like a weird dance, I had to keep one hand on the ground to keep from falling down.
And within seconds I followed a dozen strangers into the back of someone’s truck, with someone’s kid in tow, and held on for a high speed chase to the desert. The Tsunami we were running from only ended up being about 10 feet high. Otherwise I wouldn’t be telling this story. I spent the rest of the night shivering as I on the sand rumbling with aftershocks.
And surprisingly, the worst part about the experience was the next 2 months. Words can’t explain the anguish that comes with being reminded day after day about the big quake. The aftershocks drove me to the breaking point. Life held no joy. Only anxiety and danger. And it took years to get back to feeling like me.
Earlier this year I backpacked along the Haiti border and got to interact with these great people. My heart goes out to them. And I keep asking WHAT CAN I DO?
I really don’t like how governments spend money, I never have. I wanted to do something that will reach the people. So I contacted my friend John Dessauer (www.JohnDessauer.com). John takes trips to Haiti and helps people create sustainable villages with a group called The Caring House project.
I know they will use the money efficiently and to give people long term help.
This is where my money is going.
You can learn more about The Caring House project here: http://frank-mckinney.com/caring_project.aspx
I invite you to do something to help. Whatever you can do. Any amount will make a difference. It will be used wisely.
Thank you for all you do to make the world a better place.
Tony
