When gravity fails

by natalia Skoczylas (Germany)

A leap into the unknown Nepal

I came to Kathmandu for a job assignment, it was also my first time in Asia, and I was excited, stressed, and ready to make friends. As I came alone first before my colleague could join, I was in my element, walking around, investigating the city, learning how to cross the road, hunting for food, meeting strangers, immersing myself in a new reality. I've always been a wandering fern, growing freely in new places. I immediately knew I wanted to make some roots in Kathmandu. That morning in April, my first full day in Asia, was sunny, warm, blissful, and busy, but not overwhelming. I woke up and went to meet a group of activists teaching children how to build robots. We sat in a small house tucked away in the courtyard, right in the heart of the city, watching kids share their designs, and came out for a short break. Small, sweet cups of masala chai circulated between us, we complimented the skillful designs, told each other little stories about who we are, what we want to be. A Saturday, if I remember correctly, slow and easy. Suddenly, a deep, primal sensation overcomes me, and I realize I am running, just like everyone else around me, into the center of the garden. Until you find yourself in a situation of absolute, unimaginable danger, something as powerful and abstract as the ground beneath your feet shaking so badly the gravity fails you, you can never know how deeply embedded are some of the reactions and responses you have to the outside world. Your survival takes precedence, and your body and mind coordinate to take you out of trouble, without a conscious effort. This goes beyond the adrenaline rush of a foot slipping on a rock while you're climbing or seeing a thunder strike an electric pole a few meters away. It allows you to establish a connection with your primal self, it is a grounding experience of knowing you carry the accumulated wisdom of humanity, deeply, silently embedded into your DNA. Whatever. It does sound new age-ish, there's a stench of paganism in it maybe, or animism, where you'd connect to your ancestors for guidance and protection, and well, now, it also does make much more sense to me. You should have seen that huge, trembling circle of arms and legs that formed in the center of that garden. Someone of us was somehow in charge, someone knew to coordinate us, make us lock our hands around each other, protect ourselves as a sturdy wall. The first tremor took ages, that psychedelic feeling when the normal second or minute loses its currency. When it came to the past, we were all relieved to see each other in good shape, some of us crying and trembling, gasping, yet unscratched. What unfolded around was less reassuring - a wall of a house that stood right behind us was now hanging on an iron rail, like a slice of bread. The second floor of the neighboring home has broken off and was now sitting there awkwardly out of tune, a bit too much to the right, or front maybe. Other houses were cracked - only our tiny space, more of a garage or a tool shed really, was left in a good shape. It was only the very first of hundreds of tremors that followed that day, that minute even, and for months on. I saw the city collapse in front of me right after I came in. I shared the most intimate moment of my life with people I barely knew. With some, we made friends and worked together closely for months to come - one of the girls who was there in the garden became my colleague, with the rest I kept on developing projects and coordinating voluntary work and fundraising money for affected areas. We have been stubborn, reckless, and passionate like never before in that period of time. There was so much love, support and generosity to go around Nepal in these months, I can carry it on with me for the rest of my life. And that has deeply changed the way I relate to the world.