In memory of the many lives lost on the March 11th 2011 tsunami in Japan.
We were living in Tokyo at the time, 200kms south of the quake’s epicenter.
Here is my family’s story from that memorable day:

(this post has been revised and edited from a previous post, dated March 2018)

A day to remember
Gaien-Nishi-Dori was its usual hustle and bustle. One of the main arteries weaving its way around down-town Tokyo. Green, yellow and black taxi cabs were stopping and starting, picking up and dropping off at every corner. Two airport limousine buses were parked outside the Roppongi Hilton waiting for passengers to board for the long journey out to the airport. I was in my usual hurry on my bike to get to the kids’ bus on time, weaving in and out of people, speeding on the bumpy pavement, dodging quiet Japanese ladies with home-made bags full of their daily groceries. I remember almost colliding with a sweaty salary man making his way to his next appointment, and barely avoiding a group of young kids walking with their hard leather rucksacks on their backs, some of them wearing little yellow hats, letting the public know their first-grade status that they are big kids now. Six years of age. The age of independence in Japanese society.

To my left, at the corner of my eye, I saw a group of chefs running down an exterior staircase, donned in their white tall hats. It must be a kitchen fire I thought. A split second later I looked to my right and all movement had stopped. Cars, bikes, people. I stopped pedaling and got off my bike. My music was cranked up loud in my ears so I couldn’t hear what was really going on. I yanked them out. An eerie silence greeted me. I saw people scurrying out of their cars, cowering under briefcases, trying to fit under their still cars seeking shelter, pedestrians running to skyscraper entrances, doorways, huddled in groups looking up to the sky. I followed their gazes and was horrified at what I saw. Two skyscrapers rocking back and forth, one almost touching the other.

My heart skipped a beat. Or three. The dreaded was happening. The big one. We had been warned about this so many times, we had stocked our cupboards with gallons of water and non-perishables in preparation for it, had done copious amounts of earthquake drills in our apartment block, the kids at their school. And so, we thought we were ready. But nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of sheer terror and loss of control. I jumped back on my bike. It felt like I was the only one moving. I biked passed a glass-mirrored covered building, and saw its surface rippling. I biked passed a lady with a pillow on her head. I pedaled faster. My need to get home was desperate. To get somewhere familiar. Where were the kids? Were they on the bus? Were they still at school? Surely they must be still at school, I remember thinking.
I got home and saw my fellow neighbors huddled under the gingko tree outside the building. “What are you doing, Sam? It’s still shaking. Get off your bike! Take cover!” one of the neighbors shouted. I got off. I was shaking. Or was it the ground? It seemed like it had been shaking forever. Finally, it stopped. My neighbors and I dispersed and made our way back to our own apartments. I glanced at my watch. It was 3.20pm. On any other day I would have been at the bus stop picking up the kids. Instead, I was picturing them in their helmets, sitting on the rooftop playground feeling scared and waiting to be told what to do next. I hoped that their teachers were able to comfort them.

I had barely gotten into my apartment when the whole place started shaking again. This was a second quake. Or maybe an after-shock? I wasn’t sure. There was a loud rushing noise in my ears. I could hear screaming too. I realized after a few seconds that it was Rowena, the housekeeper. She was under the dining room table clutching her knees to her chest, petrified. My instinct was to get outside. I grabbed her from under the table and pushed her out onto the landing where the elevator was. No. Don’t take the elevator. I pushed open the emergency door to the stairs. The whole building was trembling back and forth. The noise was deafening. I felt nauseous with all the swaying, but pushed myself to continue down the stairs. All the while holding Rowena’s hand.

Once outside the local warning sirens started blaring, first in Japanese, then in English “Tsunami alert, get to high ground”. Rowena and I looked at each other in a panic. I heard someone shout “Arisugawa park!”. I knew that was the highest point in our area. I remember my thoughts being in a jumble. Should I go and pick the kids up now or should I get to high ground? I went with the latter reminding myself that the kids were in capable hands with their teachers. I had to get myself to safety first. As I made my way up through the neighborhood, I recognized a boy who went on the same bus as my kids. He was walking presumably towards his home. I ran towards him shouting, “Sam, Sam, what are doing out of school? Did the buses leave?” I didn’t wait for his reply. I ran blindly towards the bus stop which thankfully was only a few hundred meters away. There, sitting together, holding hands were my two youngest, eyes wide with terror, waiting for me and wondering where I was. I hugged them hard and calmed them down. I kept repeating “Mummy’s here, Mummy’s here, it’s going to be alright” trying to reassure them or was I reassuring myself? I had so many worries crowding my mind. Was this it? Were we going to die? Where were the other two? All the while knowing they were still in school. How was I going to get them quickly? Miraculously, at that moment, a friend of mine appeared. She was rushing towards the park with her two kids in tow. I followed her and asked if she would take my two little ones to safety so that I could go and get the other two. It was killing me that we were all in different places. We still didn’t know about the tsunami. Was it going to hit us? Were we going to be safe in the park? Were the other two safe at the school? The sirens were still blaring “Tsunami alert” making everything even more fraught. She grabbed both of them by the hands and said, “Come on kiddos, Mommy’s going to get the other two and she’ll be right back”. I hugged and thanked her, and with my stoic face turned towards my two and hugged them too. “I’ll be back soon with the other two, darlings. Listen to Cathy and do whatever she says, okay? I love you.”

I legged it back towards the apartment, grabbed my bike and pedaled even harder and faster than I did before. I remember thinking that I was so thankful to my dear friend Michele, a long-time Tokyo resident, who had advised me when we moved to Tokyo 2 years prior, to live within biking distance of the school. I arrived at the school in record time to find the remainder of the kids sitting cross-legged, in helmets, in rows, waiting for their parents to pick them up. The playground, usually a place full of joyful sounds and laughter, was eerily quiet with the odd muffled cries and sniffles. Once I had signed various release forms I was led to my two older ones who were sitting quietly in their designated class groups. We hugged, kissed and sighed many sighs of relief together. The moment we were out of the school gates I challenged both of them; “Who’s ready to run all the way to Arisugawa park?” I asked. Both of them, being athletic and competitive at the same time didn’t hesitate to ask why and just started to run. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop myself thinking of the possibility of a tsunami coming our way.

We sprinted all the way, me pushing my bike, them running alongside me. We arrived at the park in good time and found Cathy with my two little ones relatively easily in the throng of the dark-haired Japanese. It felt good to have all four of them with me. By the time we got to the park, the sirens had stopped. I could feel that the energy in the crowd was less tense and more relaxed. There were sounds of soft laughter and people chatting quietly. It was only then that I allowed my mind to worry about my husband. His office was on Tokyo Bay. 

The tsunami scare was over but where was he? How was he? There was no cell phone service so I couldn’t get hold of him. The kids and I slowly walked along with the mass of people back towards our apartment building. After a while, someone in the crowd shouted, “Facebook works!” The energy surged with everyone getting their phones out and trying to contact loved ones. By that time, we were nearing the entrance to our building. I had decided that I would wait to see if my husband was home before panicking. As we entered the foyer of the building, we heard running footsteps behind us. I turned. It was him! We were safe and all together.