Noah Plasse, 15 - "Heart Rate"

    On Thursday evening, Ms. Greenway gathered us all, in the farmhouse dining room, to ask us what would be the lessons we would teach on Friday - the last day we would spend at Sanjiwani Primary School. She spoke about how it would be our last chance to make an impact on the students, our last chance to make them remember us, our last chance to teach them something valuable. 

    Along with two other students, I planned a science lesson on how the heart rate increases when doing physical activity. Our lesson plan was to show the students how to measure their heart rate, then go outside, jump and run around, come back in and measure their heart rate. That way they would see a raise in the heart rate and understand that the heart rate increases after doing physical activity. 

    The next day we did the lesson we had planned and the students seemed to have enjoyed it. Later that day we were walking back to the farmhouse accompanied by some of the students. It was admirable that they followed us, because they lived just next to the school, so they could have just gone back home but instead the wanted to walk with us halfway up the mountain. We were climbing some high steps and it was kind of physically intense. 

    Then Bisal, a nine year-old student who I was walking with and who had been in my heart rate lesson earlier that day, took my hand put it onto his heart and said: “my heart rate is increasing”. His heart was beating so fast. I felt so proud because he had actually learned something from my lesson. It was such a simple thing I had taught him but I still felt full of pride. 

    He continued some of the walk holding my hand and when he had to leave I decided to give him my favourite cap as a gift so that he would remember me. I still had quite some way to do before reaching the farmhouse and it had started to rain. 

    I looked at the immensity of the mountains surrounding me and in that moment I felt so alive. This might sound cliché but I could feel the power of nature around me and it gave me so much positive energy. I lifted my arms against the wind and the rain; it was a real happy moment for me. And now that I think about it, I’d say that on that day I achieved what Ms. Greenway wanted each one of us to achieve. And that achievement was most probably the key to such happiness.  

Noah Plasse, 15

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Thanks to Noah for this excellent short story!

Namaste

Hey everyone,

    For the last few days, I've been considering writing about what happened during and after the earthquake, how to do so, and what to include. I have settled on writing a precise description of the events of the quake itself, and a more general version of the days that followed, up until the point we arrived back in Lille. Enjoy!

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    We were all in the Nagarkot learning center when the earthquake occurred; many of us were dancing with the children there at the time, so for a second everyone thought that the mass of stamping feet was causing the shaking. 

    What happened next is a little hazy for everyone, as there was a good deal of confusion, running, and falling plaster dust. Many of our students picked up the younger children who couldn't run as well and carried them outside. Once we were safely away, the realization of the fact that there had been an earthquake began to set in as we saw the massive cracks running up the sides of the building and the bricks strewn across the ground from a partially collapsed wall section. For the next hour or so we waited in front of the center as both students and guides frantically tried to contact their family members or loved ones. Then the first big aftershock hit. 

    The first thing we heard was the screaming of the villagers in a nearby district of Nagarkot, then a moment after that the cracking of the walls of the learning center. The trembling lasted for about three or four seconds, before subsiding once more. After that we knew with certainty that re-entering the building was not even a possibility. Two hours and a few more small aftershocks later, the teachers and the guides formed a team to run in, grab bags, and toss them out again; some of the students had left passports in them.

    Bags safely recovered, we set off on the walk back to the farmhouse and see what damage had been done there. To get there, however, we had to walk through the village, which (if the screaming had been anything to go by) we assumed would not be in the best condition. We were right.

    The sight which greeted us in the village was one of despair; the children, infirm, and elderly huddled in an open space away from the buildings with the goats and hens, while the men and women wandered near the destroyed huts and sheds of corrugated metal, shellshocked. Piles of brick, torn fabric, and other assorted detritus littered the dirt paths as we trudged slowly past the ruined homes and businesses.

    The farmhouse was in better shape than the village, but the buildings were structurally unsound, so returning to our rooms was out of the question. No one really knew what to do any more than we did, so we settled in and waited.

    About three hours later, two of the cooks dashed into the backdoor leading to the kitchen and then back out again, carrying a propane tank, a pot, a sack of potatoes, and a portable stove. They boiled the potatoes for us, then cooked some pasta and sauce for dinner. By this point, we had looked around the farmhouse some more. The most obvious damages were two of the smaller buildings, which had partially collapsed, and perhaps the most tragically symbolic loss of a four-meter high Buddhist shrine; its top half had completely collapsed, sending piles of hand chiseled bricks and chunks of smooth white facade everywhere. 

    Our teachers had found a covered tomato field for us to sleep in, so we all set about gathering cots, comforters, blankets, pillows, and tarps to improve upon our makeshift shelter. There were two fields, so as a habit more than anything, we separated the sleeping quarters into male and female divisions; it would wind up that during the afternoon, people would nap on whichever side they wanted. The guides helped us to transport all the sleeping material to the fields, and by the time we were finished it was quite dark out, so we settled in for an uneasy rest.

    The next day, we all woke early with the sun, and walked up to the farmhouse around six thirty. The chefs had set up a small cooking area outside near one of the semi destroyed buildings, and were busy cooking up breakfast. The camp was nothing like the refugee center it was soon to become, but it was certainly better equipped than before. It was overcast, lending the scene a grim feeling as we sat down to eat breakfast.

    The meal was fantastic, consisting of scrambled eggs, a fried potato/masala concoction, and porridge, as well as fresh toast with honey. That day was the first when we realized that we would have to get used to doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. We played cards, talked, and sang, but couldn't really leave the three hundred meter square area of grass and rock we were stationed on, use the Internet, or play on our phones and computers, as we needed to save battery. Lunch and dinner were as great as the previous meal, and we all made sure to thank the chefs and guides for their hard work.

    The next morning, we arrived at the farmhouse to discover that a large, green tent (big enough for the twenty of us to sit in comfortably) had been erected in one corner, and the kitchen had been improved substantially. There were several more cooking apparatus (portable gas stoves), and more large bags of raw ingredients sitting out. Two tables were set up, one carrying a series of tea thermoses and the other holding three covered silver serving trays for the meals. Breakfast was, surprisingly, pancakes and fresh fruit! The quality of the meals had not changed a bit since before the earthquake, and so it was delicious as always. 

    Around two thirty in the afternoon, we were startled by a loud chugging, rattling sound. We peered over into the kitchen, and saw that a large red generator had been set up! Some power lines were laid down and socket hubs were set out, allowing us all to recharge our phones and other assorted devices. The rest of the day passed normally, aside from one especially large tremor which further damaged the main building, and soon enough we were headed back to sleep. 

    By the third day, the camp had completely undergone its transformation from outdoor sitting area to full-blown disaster shelter. There were an additional three orange tents pitched, and an awning over the serving area had been created from some two-by-fours and a large blue tarp. Around lunchtime, we were briefed on the plan for Wednesday. We would be waking up at about one forty a.m., getting on a bus, and driving to Kathmandu. We were warned to anticipate the devastation and turmoil the city had respectively undergone and was going through, and that we would see destroyed buildings and stranded citizens.

    Early the following morning, we boarded the buses to the airport. We had been told that we had a two-hour layover in New Delhi, but it was uncertain if we would make it, so if not we would be staying the night there. We all hoped to be home by the end of the day.

    The drive through the city was sobering, to say the least; it looked like it had been heavily bombed. Several small fires dotted the rubble-covered streets, and we could see the warmth of the flames attracting survivors like moths as we picked our way across the highway. Once we arrived at the airport, we had to wait on the bus for an hour or two, because the building was locked down by the Nepali military, who weren't letting anyone in who wasn't on a flight, and ours wasn't checking in yet.

    The airport had free wifi, allowing me to make the previous blog post and other students to contact various friends and relations. We eventually checked in and boarded our flight nearly forty five minutes late, then took off an hour after that; making the connection was looking improbable. 

    When we touched down in Delhi, however, we discovered that they were holding the plane (and by extension the other three hundred passengers) for us. We raced through the airport, delighted to be able to make it home on time, even though our bags almost certainly wouldn't.

    The flight to Paris was long and tiring, but infinitely more satisfying than waiting around the farmhouse for another day. We were all elated, tired, and relieved when we touched down safely in Charles de Gaulle. Much to our surprise, we found the bags had indeed made it! We waited about an hour for the train to arrive, and snoozed on the journey back. We arrived in Lille to a teary, emotional welcome. It was good to be home.

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    I did say I would try to get students to write about their own experiences, a promise upon which I am very happy to deliver. I have already received several submissions, which I will edit and review before posting, but at least one should be on here today!

Thanks for you continued love, concern, and support for us and, more importantly, the people of Nepal. They need our help more than ever, and after the kindness they showed us in caring for us, they deserve it more than anyone else.

Namaste