I stood next to a shovel as the first corpse of the day was found. It was a corpse of a small child. His hair was thin and black, his face expression was of pain, his eyes were sealed shut as if they have never been open before. He looked the same age as my little brother now, three year old who was scared. It was early in the morning. The cool breeze from the mountains made everything seem calm and peaceful as if nothing had happened, but reality was that everything was destroyed and families were crying for their loved ones. All schools in the district of San Salvador, Santa Tecla, and Merliot were closed until further notice. No one knew how long it would take to go back to school, when everything was going to be back to normal. Nobody knew when it was going to end. Most students volunteered to help in the area. I was eleven at the time and what I saw those for days will remain in my mind forever.
Everything started January 13th of 2001. The day looked perfect; clear skies, nice weather, people out having fun in Metro Centro and other malls. I was with my grandmother and step grandfather, they had to do some errands. We stopped at a red traffic light in front of Metro Centro and the flee market in the corner. As we waited, the car started to shake and my step grandfather thought it was that the tire was flat, but that was not it. All the windows for Metro Centro shattered and cracks in the flee market appeared. All the street ads and light poles shook as if they were going to collapse in to the ground. The car couldn’t be driven and all the people from the mall and the market were trying to run but fell while trying. I was scared because I didn’t know what was going on until grandma screamed that it was an earthquake. The ground kept shaking and it seemed endless even though it only lasted maybe a minute or so. As soon as it stopped, we hurried home to see if anyone at home had been hurt. As we drove by, everyone at the mall was screaming and crying all of them in panic. Some were bleeding due to the glass that had been shattered; some were fainting as they couldn’t breathe due to their panic. At home, thankfully, nothing was destroyed and no one had been hurt. Everyone was crying and scared. Then the phone rang. It was my mom and uncle who had heard what had happened on the news. It had been an earthquake of 7.5. They both decided to take a flight by the end of the week. Meanwhile, because all the schools were closed, most students, including me, decided to volunteer at Las Colinas. Las Colinas was the most affected area in the whole district. The hill that was right behind it had cracked and part of it had fallen on top of at leas 500 houses, leaving them completely underground with people inside.
January 14th, 2001. I was picked up by a bus at six in the morning to go to Las Colinas. As soon as we arrived there, we were sent to a tent. The tent was white and big. It had a big red cross on it. As officer was inside and asked for our names, then gave us a uniform, a pair of gloves, a mask, a bucket, and a shovel. There were two different uniforms given: one was yellow and had a green cross on the back and sleeve, which was given to the weaker and the younger ones like me. Then there was an orange uniform which was rather heavy. This uniform was only given to everyone older than 18 and stronger people. After we picked up our uniforms, they sent us to a police tent; they told us what zone to dig on.
Las Colinas was divided into five big zones. Zone 1 and zone 2 were the ones closer to the hill while zone 3 and 4 were closer to the houses that had not been completely damaged. Zone 5 was the very center of all and covered more than the rest. My friend and I were assigned to be at zone 4. As I walked closer to the landslide, the humidity was getting worse. I was scared and didn’t know how to react if I did find something. To watch the news over there at home was difficult enough when they showed a corpse. The dirt was about 30 feet high at zone 4 and it went on higher scale on the other zones. It wasn’t dry dirt due to the rain that had past three or four days before. We started to dig non stop. My hand got sweaty with the gloves on but I knew I would have wounds and bad cuts on my hands if I took them off. After an hour or so I couldn’t feel my arms. They were numb but staring at the people around crying because their houses and families were buried, I ignored the pain that ran from my back all the way to my fingertips. The sunset arrived and it was time for me and all the other students to go. As I walked away from the dirt, I saw the corpses of the people found lined up at the beginning of zone 3 and 4. They were all corpses of adults who now looked swollen. Their hair and bodies were covered in mud, dry dirt and blood. Their eyes were shut as if they had never been opened. Their expressions showed shock, pain and agony. At night dung the news, the officers would show the corpses lined up to see if someone would recognize them.
The next day arrived, and the bus picked me up. My arms were sore from the day before and my hand had bruises as well. I still went though. The cool breeze from the hill made everything seem perfect, yet everything was destroyed and there was no way back to fix things. I was assigned a different zone; I was now on zone 5. I started to dig right away and I noticed that my friend was not there any more. Later on the day, I asked my friend Carlos if he had seen her. He was surprised that I didn’t know what had happened so he told me. One of the corpses from the day before was her uncle and her family was doing a funeral that day. After five or six hours of digging, I noticed something lighter on the mud. Before telling anyone, I decided to continue digging with my hand to see what it was. This thing full of mud felt thick and soft; because I was wearing gloves I couldn’t feel its texture. I continued digging a little more until this thing I found had become a small arm. I was in shock but could not scream. I shook my head as I tried not to cry and I told an officer I had found someone. Five other people arrived as I continued digging. The body started to take shape and form and then another arm appeared. The hand was bigger and we all noticed it wasn’t from the other corpse that was half buried. After an hour or so there were three corpses. It was the corpses of a mother and her two children. The smallest child was a boy. He had thin brown hair and an average body, and he looked around the age of a four or five year old. He looked s cared even though his eyes were shut. The corpse next to him was a small thin girl who looked maybe two years younger than me at the time. Her hair was long just like her mom’s. Her mom looked around mid thirties. She had long brown hair. Unlike her children her face did not show pain or agony, instead she had a pleasant smile. She looked as if she was sleeping and was having a wonderful dream. It was time for me to go home. That night I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t much because of finding corpses, but more because of how I felt. I wasn’t sorry for what had happened, which I think it’s just wrong. I wasn’t sad either; I was more confused and kept asking why I couldn’t feel anything when I saw someone dead. When my great grandmother died, I wasn’t crying and I wasn’t scared even though I was right next to her when she died. Then my great grandfather died, it was the same thing, just like nothing happened, like all memories with that person had been erased. I didn’t sleep that night.
The next day arrived and even though I felt weird about the day before, I went. Mom was coming the day after so it was going to be my last day volunteering. I was assigned zone 5 again. I started digging right away and didn’t look anywhere except from where I was digging. Four hours passed and someone started screaming. I turned around to look. It was a young police officer running and screaming for help. Everyone ran towards him and he yelled “survivors! We found survivors!” We all followed him to zone 3 where the people digging were amazed to hear creaming and knocking from the undergrounds. We all started to dig as fast as we could. The closer we were getting, the louder the knocking. After three hours we saw what it seemed to be a green van. Four people were inside of it. They all looked around their mid twenties, maybe younger. Everyone was surprised to see them alive; they were probably one of the first ones to be buried by the hill. An hour more passed and they were finally out. They all looked pale and couldn’t walk so they were carried by officers to an ambulance. It was time for me to go and was also my last day. I waved goodbye to my friends as I wondered when I was going to see them again.
The next day arrived and mom and uncle had come from the U.S. They told me that they experienced the same type of earthquake in 1986. They were trapped in school and had to find a way to go home. After a while mom decided to tell me that 2001 was going to be the last year i n Central America. This experience happened when i was 10 years old and what i experienced that whole year will remain in my head for the rest of my life. This experience is one that affects me even today. Every time the ground shakes a little I get scared. Most people think I’m awkward or too mature for my age but that’s because I’ve been through lots of things that an average teen has probable never been through and hopefully never will. In 2001, in January, 300 people were buried underground. 1,000 were dead, 1.5 million were wounded and left without homes, and 250,000 houses were destroyed. Now what used to be Colonia Las Colinas is full of flowers that are put by the families remembering the people they lost.
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Subject: a long story. of a bad experience. 
02.07.08 23:57
