2023 Earthquake: Still Processing
When I think about the February 6 earthquakes that devastated my country of residence, Türkiye, the words "home" and "family" drift to the forefront of my mind. These words define much of what was lost on that day and in the subsequent aftershocks.
Tens of thousands of apartment blocks collapsed in the quakes, crushing or trapping the people inside, many of whom died before rescue efforts could reach them. Those that did make it out were often faced with life-altering injuries or loss of limb. The culture here values proximity to family. It is not uncommon for relatives to own or rent out multiple apartments in the same building for the sake of being close to one another. This meant for some that whole families were wiped out in a moment, leaving behind the precious few who made it out in time or who were rescued from the rubble--a child, a husband, a wife, a cousin, a grandparent--to mourn the rest. One man I know lost 17 people in the same building. Another woman told me with tears in her eyes that while many family members survived the quakes, they had been scattered across the country trying to find places to live and restart their lives. Whereas before they had all lived in the same little city block, visiting back and forth day by day, raising their children and making a life together, now with the loss of home and family, those days would never return.
There is a lot I have learned since the earthquakes about the effects of trauma. And no matter the level of loss, that is what these earthquakes were for those who were caught up in them. One moment people were sleeping in their beds, "safe", the next they were in imminent danger of losing their lives. Trying to decide in a haze how to react to the world moving and shifting beneath them. Trying to protect those they loved while fighting panic. The ensuing hours and days were full of unanswered questions for people here in Adana, what about my parents in Hatay? Have you heard from our aunt in Maraş? Doesn't your cousin have a house in İskenderun? Relief when a message notification pops up from the missing relative or friend. Growing despair and urgency at prolonged silences. Everyone calling everyone they can think of in the affected areas. Not able to call because phone systems are overloaded and down. News slowly coming in of blocked roads, damaged airports, prompting more questions about those still trapped in the rubble. Would they be able to be rescued? The miracle stories of rescue lifting hopes and hearts, the urgent social media claims of another imminent earthquake. No sleep, no peace, little comfort. Thinking is foggy. Emotions are everywhere.
As the dust has settled and people are trying to figure out what to do next, the grief is also settling in. The reality of lives and ways of life gone. There is simultaneous relief to have survived and guilt to have survived. Those two big words, "home" and "family," are now weighty with the feeling of loss for millions of people. Processing what has happened feels like it is just beginning to be possible. It has been incredible to see all of the help that has come, all the way from big-picture efforts of governments and aid organizations down to the couples or individuals traveling in and out to the earthquake affected zones--seeking to bring comfort, relief, to meet needs. But the heart-wounds left by this earthquake will continue for a long time to come. For all who have donated funds, sent thoughts and prayers, even traveled to come alongside those in pain and need, thank you. Please continue to remember Türkiye.
A window in downtown Antakya, Hatay bears the message “We will return Antakya”
To our friends in the West, Pray for the East
Ginny Lou Henley
Ginny Lou is a co-founder of West2East. Originally from Alabama, Ginny Lou has called Turkey home for the past nine years. To read more about her, click here.