New Zealand has 4 million people and it is often said that you can walk down any street in NZ and find someone you know (but a lesser chance of that now than when I was a boy). The degrees of separation are low and in Christchurch only about 2. Yet it has taken two days to contact all our friends a relatives to say that we were ok and to seek their status. As a genealogist compare this with 120 days for a letter by sailing-ship or even airmail. Soon we realised that our family and friends have had the full gamut of experience. A close friend went to school with one of the named dead and he knew of that death (and we by email) several hours before it was released to the media. Our cousin's daughter was in one of those badly damaged buildings but ran out, the bricks and dust falling and billowing about her. She lost her handbag with all her bits and pieces, cell phone, money and bills that had to be paid. Her husband came to look for her but they did not meet for three hours - her cell phone may have been ringing in the rubble. My daughter has taken in two of her friends; they have lost everything in a totally collapsed apartment (they were out driving at the time). Another cousin has had little damage in that suburb flooded by water and silt. Another close friend, living in the badly affected area came away with only the treasured album of her son lost, with all her possessions in a fire several years ago.
We took our "refugees" back to their apartments this morning to collect their personal belongings. Entered Christchurch by the tree-lined road near the airport through a virtually undamaged leafy suburb that many tourists enjoy. It was also lined with the green wheelie-bins all neatly lined up before the garbage trucks empty them and throw them around. Everyone there was going about their daily business, and in our eyes, more normal than normal. Closer to the cordoned CBD the silt had been piled on the roadside the first stage of the cleanup. On a clean area of the golf course in the park which I had left only a three days ago were lines of campervans arranged around portaloos. Further over was the tent city of the displaced. At every, and it is every, corner of the roads leading into and within the cordoned CBD there are police and army personnel. They could not have been more helpful once we had identified ourselves and our mission. It is rather a miserable wet day and all had time to pause and chat after the necessities were done (This may have been a further assessment on their part of our intentions). Our "refugees" are fortunate that their house and apartment are uninhabitable only due to lack of water and sewer - "health reasons" on the notice. Into the mess to collect personal belongings, medicines, clothes, and empty the fridges of food before it rotted too much. Today the mess did not seem such a huge effort to clean, nevertheless it was left as is, bar for the path through it. Met some building assessors outside who were certain that we had not followed the proper procedure for entering - a little bit of bureaucratic power. Too late, we already had our stuff and there had been no aftershocks. Only at home, at 6.30 pm did we learn that the road we took is now closed because of an unstable building. The police showed more compassion under these circumstances and at the exit checkpoint wished us well. Had we been nearer the real damage and danger in the central city we would more likely to have been given a justifiable kick in the pants. All of us far and near have admired the commitment and tenacity of the police, rescue teams and individuals in difficult, often dangerous, conditions. All thanks and praise to them. (see next) MalNZ
