Katmandu Notebook

After the first earthquake we were told that the chance of another one was 200 to 1. A fortnight later, when we were just beginning to recover, the second one hit. Perhaps I’m getting better at this, because this time I was able to control my body enough to run outside and join the crowd in the street. Standing with my family, looking back towards our home, I could see dust billowing from the foundations of the houses. They seemed to be dancing back and forth. The chances of a third strike, we’re told, are minuscule. Should we believe this? No one feels ready to relax.

Nearly all of us here in Kathmandu are now sleeping outside. There are tents and simple shelters everywhere. Tundikhel, a huge military parade ground in the centre of the city, has become home to thousands sleeping in shelters provided by foreign governments and the Nepali army. There aren’t many proper tents in my neighbourhood. People have done the best they can with plastic sheets, bamboo poles and bed linen. Families are sleeping wherever there’s open space: in parks, on the edge of the road, along river banks and between ruined houses.

The weird and sometimes distasteful politics of foreign aid are now being played out in front of us. It’s said that India and China are using the disaster relief effort to compete for influence in Nepal. If true, I’d say the Chinese are definitely winning; the tents with Chinese stickers on are the ones everyone wants to be in. The food sent by the Indians is out of date: people are complaining about mouldy bread and fermented orange juice. Singapore, the richest country in the east, has sent packs of out-of-date instant noodles. Word is that the Nepali government is going to destroy the next shipload before it reaches the relief camps.