Christchurch Earthquake

One week after the horrific 6.3 magnitude earthquake ripped through Christchurch, devastating homes, businesses, and streets all across the city and in the Port Hills, I am able to sit here, so thankful that all my family and friends are safe and well.

Others were not so lucky.  At the time of this article already 159 people have been confirmed dead from the earthquake, with many still missing.  Many properties were damaged (like my house), while others were utterly destroyed and left unlivable.  This earthquake has caused so much damage to the city of Christchurch.  Business has been disrupted, and in many cases irrevocably so.  The Earthquake Commission Chief Executive, Ian Simpson has estimated the cost of the earthquake to be in the area of NZD $2billion, 3News reports.

It began as a beautiful day in Christchurch.

I was on the 2nd floor at of the Central Library when the quake occurred.  The rain from earlier that morning had cleared up, and I looked out the window at the lovely view of the Avon River below, where some people were on a punting ride, Oxford Terrace.  The girl across from me looked up from her laptop, and gave me a friendly smile.  I smiled back.  I was sitting in the free wi-fi zone, and had just put my computer away.  I took a moment to check my phone and read my messages.

Suddenly without warning, the whole building shook violently, then stronger.  The whole building roared, shaking in heavy rigid motions.  I went under the table.  Quickly the girl followed, clutching her laptop.  The shaking just kept going.  It was absolutely terrifying.  Then it was over.

The entire scene had radically changed.  Alarms bells were sounding, and a layer of dust and debris from the ceiling was on the floor.  As I slowly rose to my feet I saw only a gray cloud of smoke below.  The girl exclaimed, "Oh my gosh!" Plumes of smoke rose from buildings in the distance.  People could be seen running through the dust below.

Bewildered, and shaking from the sudden shock of it all, I asked the girl if she was okay.  She was fine.  Immediately I sent a text to my parents' and my sister's phones, asking if they were okay, and to let me know.  Two library staff had already directed some of the people toward the fire exit.  I grabbed my bag beside me, and headed toward the door.  Carefully, I walked over mounds of books and fallen shelves.  massive cracks in the walls and ceiling sent me exclaiming to everyone and no one in particular, "oh my gosh, look at that!"

Outside it was bright, then my eyes adjusted to the chaos around me.  The sidewalks were littered with broken glass from the windows and glass awnings of the library and surrounding shops.  My first instinct was to go find my family and see if they were safe.  I would have to through Cathedral Square.

Weary of a strong aftershock and falling glass, I decided I'd rather not risk walking through Chancery Lane, a glass-domed outdoor shopping area in an alleyway.  I walked on through more broken bits, past people warning not to look up, for fear of getting glass in their eyes.  Chrystal Plaza, a closed mini-mall spans across Gloucester St and Cathedral Square.  I decided I'd quickly dash through.  A sudden aftershock as I neared the exit got me outside in a hurry, and then I saw it.

A monument now in ruin.

Christchurch Cathedral, a national landmark, and one of the oldest buildings in the city, lay in ruin.  The tower had collapsed.  I would later learn of the people killed inside.  Everywhere, people stood around.  Some held their faces in disbelief, others covered their injuries.  A man sat on the sidewalk with blood running down his face while two other people sat with him.  I was terror-struck.

Quickly I made my way over to where my dad works.  The building, a well-known local college, had been reduced to a ragged empty shell with glass, plaster, and shattered computer monitors blanketing the street where I stood.  Panic!  My dad's desk sits right next to a large plate glass window.  Looking at all the empty windows above, I feared the worse.

I recognized one of my dad's colleagues and called out his name.  He turned toward me, and knew immediately why I was there.  "They're over there," he said pointing.

There they were, my dad and my sister, Mignon.  I clutched them and we had a group hug.  I was so relieved to see they had gotten out of the building alive.  My sister had a cut on her hand, but didn't notice until I pointed it out.  My dad's colleague walked over to us, and told us that the area was being evacuated due to a gas leak.  The three of us quickly walked to Latimer Square, an open area park nearby.

My sister feared for her husband who was helping a friend to fortify a house damaged in last September's earthquake.  She asked me to try texting him.  Sent.  "Call him," she demanded frantically, "call Michael."  The call went straight to voicemail.  Dad tried to call Mom as well, but couldn't get through either.  The phone lines were overloaded.

In the square we experienced more aftershocks.  We huddled together, until it passed.  Some people with a first-aid kid helped to clean and bandage Mignon's hand.  We kept trying the phones.  We got word from Mom that she was okay.  Everything at her work is in shambles too.  One lady from the college was trying to organise everyone and write down the names of people present and their contact information.  I gave her the binder and notebook paper I had in my messenger bag.

Aftershocks continued strong.  All around people were walking and being carried into Latimer Square.  My sister was in tears, at the thought of her husband being hurt in the earthquake.  I was growing more worried by the minute as well.  Mignon and I wanted to go find Michael, but Dad felt we should all stay together.  After having a brief word with some of his colleagues there in the square, he decided we would go, and that we would all three go together.  So we did.

After verifying that we were all immediately alive and well, my dad was concerned for his truck, a 2004 double-cabin Dodge Ram Hemi.  On our way to Peterborough Street, where Michael was, we would pass the truck.  We crossed the bridge on Oxford Terrace.  The damage was colossal.   The entire PGC (Pyne Gould Corporation) building had collapsed with people inside, and crashed down on the truck.  The New Zealand Herald covered the rescue of the 30 people trapped inside, and 1 reported death.  Those poor people, and dad was absolutely gutted.

My dad's truck crushed by the PGC building.

We carried on to Peterborough Street.  A police officer warned of a gas leak and turned us back, so we decided to head to my mom's work over in Richmond.  Liquefaction, a muddy sand and silt substance came up from under the ground through the cracks of the earthquake, sewage drains, and even right through the concrete, and covered the streets.  People walked carefully to avoid it, as it wasn't always clear where it had mixed with sewage.  My phone rang.  It was Michael.  He was all right!  I quickly gave the phone to Mignon so she could talk to Michael.  We arranged to meet him at my Mom's work.
Finally in Richmond, Mom and Dad were overjoyed to see each other.  With Michael on the way, my sister decided to wait.  My mom works in healthcare, and felt she could better aid in helping the people there, than come home with Dad and me.  The truck was gone.  Everything in the city had broken down, which meant no busses and no taxis.  So, once again, we hit the streets.  This time it was just Dad and me.  We would walk from the city all the way to our house in Mt Pleasant.

Somewhere on Linwood Avenue, there was a small dairy café that was serving customers one at a time. Dad bought some chips and cola, and we carried on until a friendly stranger in a Pajero stopped.  He introduced himself as Andrew McCarthy.  He offered to take us home, as he lived nearby.  So we hitched a ride.

Liquefaction exacerbated the situation.

The Pajero rolled through pools of liquefaction and over the cracks and potholes now dotting the roads.  Andrew also stopped to pick up a woman and her one year-old daughter who were tramping through the mud.  The bridge was cordoned off due to earthquake damage.  Andrew dropped the woman and her child off at their home, then drove around via Bridle Path, and proceeded to go up the hill.

Rockfall, damaged roads, and crumbling houses made our stomachs turn at the thought of what we would find at our house.  Would there even be a house?  Yes!  There's our house!

Finally, we were home.  We thanked Andrew and wished him luck.  Just like the crumbling city around us, everything inside was in pieces.

I live on Mt Pleasant, one of the Port Hill communities just on the other side of Lyttleton Harbour, where the quake originated.  Nearly everything made of glass has cracked or shattered.  Cabinets seemed to have exploded, sending dishes crashing to the floor in a great mess of food and drink.  It was impossible to walk into the kitchen, because it looked as if the refrigerator had rejected all the food, and the oven and microwave decided they'd had enough and leapt from their cubbies as well.

The world watched helplessly as news and media from around the globe reported on the damage to the city, rising death tolls, and difficult situations Cantabrians must face post-disaster.  Friends and family members, and even friends of friends, I didn't know have been sending compassionate messages.  Today when there is a disaster it is felt by the whole world.

It has been truly amazing how people have helped one another.  My family and I are so thankful for the friends, family, neighbors, and random strangers who helped us and many others during this difficult time.  To the city of Christchurch, I commend your efforts.  New Zealand is a remarkable nation, filled with remarkable people both from here and overseas.  We still have many days of hardship ahead of us here in Christchurch, but every day gets a little better.


Story and pictures by Derrick Olivier.
Derrick is a graphic designer living in Christchurch

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