January 24, 2000 The dark clouds that had left the towering peaks of 1,000 _ 2,000 meters covered in a blanket of snow came down rapidly to lower land. Wet, driving snow was pounding leaning buildings, which stood between rubbles of destroyed houses. It was the time for prayer, but the usual sweet sound of the azan (call to ritual prayer) did not waft from the half-destroyed mosque, since its minaret was broken. Scary Travel to Toilet at Night In November 1999, a powerful earthquake rocked northwestern parts of Turkey. One of the hardest-hit towns was Kaynasli, home to 9,000 people. Only 12 buildings in the wheat-growing town survived the quake. Aftershocks continued to strike the ravaged community, arousing fear and anxiety among the survivors. Scared people were abandoning their badly damaged homes. "I have absolutely no idea when I can return to my home," a man spoke out loudly. "You are Japanese, so you must know when and where the next big earthquake will hit. Please tell me." A crowd of curiosity seekers was gathering behind the man. I just shook my head without saying a word. "I see, it is impossible to make an accurate quake prediction even in Japan," he said with a complicated expression that seemed to indicate a kind of understanding and acceptance. "My husband was killed in a car accident about one month before the quake, which killed my father in law," said Fatima Gurel. "My house has been totally destroyed. I have lost everything." The 29-year-old resident of Kaynasli was now living in a canvas tent provided by the government. With floor space of some 40 square meters, the khaki military tent housed eight large beds, in a row of four on each side. It was dark inside, with light coming only from a small window and a naked electric bulb. The temperature in the region can fall below zero in winter. Fatima's mother-in-law would warm milk with a stove to make yoghurt. The houses of all the five families related to Fatima had been destroyed completely, and the 20 members of the families were living in the same tent. "The brothers of my husband have recovered usable things from their destroyed houses. But nobody helps my family do the same although my husband is dead. Before doing so, we have started building our own barrack," Fatima said. She couldn't help pouring out her bitter feelings, in spite of her desire to put faith in the spirit of mutual helpfulness in her clan. Everybody was too preoccupied with rebuilding his own shattered life. "My biggest problem is going to the toilet at night," she went on. The temporary toilet we can use is far from our tent, and I'm afraid to walk down there at night because of poor lighting from only a small number of street lamps. In January and February, snow piles up as high as one meter around here. I want to move to a temporary house with a bath and toilet as soon as possible." As quake survivors recover from the initial shock, they usually start feeling an increasingly stronger wish to move out of their shelter and settle in a more comfortable place to live. One week later, the family of Fatima's uncle moved out of the tent to live in their newly built barrack. Three of the remaining four families in the tent including Fatima's were soon to move to a temporary house built by the government. The last one family decided to go to Germany, where there were some people they could turn to. Touche, Fatima's 4-year-old daughter, suddenly buried her face in her mother's chest and grimaced. Her unchildlike dull eyes and lonely-looking expression were quite troubling. "She tries to attract attention by deliberately opening the distributed boxes of sweets as a way to annoy others. She is restless and unable to concentrate on anything." Her mother's lament reminded me of the fact that 10 to 30 percent of the survivors of the strong earthquake that hit Mexico in 1985 showed symptoms of PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder). Typical early symptoms of PTSD include sleep problems due to extreme stress and repeated recollections and nightmares of the traumatic experience. After the two devastating earthquakes in Turkey in 1999, over 200,000 children in the country were showing signs of PTSD, according to UNICEF. Since I knew UNICEF was operating a clinic at a place that is just a 10-minute walk from Fatima's tent, I advised her to bring her daughter there. But she didn't buy the idea, saying, "It's too far, and my child would become ill from cold." Building Modern City from Rubble Duzce is another Turkish town where the aftereffects of the quake were clearly visible. A growing portion of the 70,000 residents of the town was complaining of fatigue and bad health conditions apparently caused by psychological damage from the disaster. "We have an especially large number of children suffering colds and old people who have seen their old problems get worse. We treat 100 to 200 patients on weekdays and 20 to 30 on weekends," said Neslin Eryoruk, a 29-year-old female doctor working at a clinic tent for children and women located at central Duzce. When I visited her, she was working alone, taking care of the day's 78th patient. Most of the patients were children age five or younger. The devastation caused by the quake made me wonder if Duzce would ever revive. "There are certainly a mountain of work to do," admitted Ahmet Ozturk, the governor of the province. "But we have received enough money from the government to rebuild the town from scratch. I believe Duzce will change into the modernist town in Turkey." The government planned to ban three-story or higher buildings and review the quake-resistance standards. Turkey had finally emerged from the turmoil caused by the two earthquakes in 1999. But the process of reconstruction had barely begun. (Published in AERA, January 31, 2000 issue)