United in adversity
City’s vibrant spirit survives quake
Arriving in Mexico City after an absence of a few days is to arrive to a town transformed. It remains a vibrant, dynamic metropolis, but there is an overwhelming sense of urgency and disquiet several days after an earthquake left scores dead and thousands homeless.
Pedestrians wander residential streets once choked with traffic. Yellow tape marks off blocks where buildings have toppled or may be on the verge of tumbling.
‘‘Gas!’’ shouts a police officer on a roped-off street in the hard-hit Condesa district, a hip quarter that has been abruptly transformed into disaster central. ‘‘We have a gas leak! Turn off your phones! No cigarettes!’’
Tree-lined Amsterdam Avenue has a calm-after-the-storm feeling. Rubble-strewn buildings with gaping cracks are roped off. People gawk from behind police cordons. Makeshift volunteer stands offer free water and battery charges for cellphones.
From time to time, a whistle and hands-up sign represents a signal for everyone to be quiet. Rescuers are listening for signs of life inside collapsed structures.
Evacuated residents mingle with volunteers, police and others who have come for a look. Many of the district’s trendy restaurants have closed, at least for now. But others offer free food.
The spirit of solidarity is ubiquitous and infectious.
‘‘Volunteers! We are looking for volunteers to go to Morelos!’’ shouts Adrian Hernandez in sublime Plaza Popocateptl, a treeshaded island with a fountain that is usually a tranquil refuge in the megacity.
The plaza is now a hub of activity. Picks, shovels, baskets of food, bottles of water and other items occupy the fountain. Men and women in hard hats, multicoloured vests and dust masks dart about with purpose. From tents, volunteers distribute free food and clothing. Many who are homeless, or afraid their homes may yet collapse, sleep in tents.
Hernandez is soliciting volunteers to go south to the state of Morelos, where several areas were hit hard by the earthquake, especially the devastated town of Jojutla.
‘‘We are looking for engineers, electricians, anyone who can help in Morelos,’’ he says through a megaphone. ‘‘You need to have boots and helmets!’’
Wandering the streets of Condesa and the adjacent Roma neighbourhood, both of which suffered extensive damage, one encounters a distinctly upbeat, almost small-town air. One rescue worker robotically waves a Mexican flag from atop a bronze statue.
‘‘This is Mexico,’’ says Deyanira Aparicio, 39, who was among those who made the trek to hand out food and drink. ‘‘This is our spirit.’’
Along Alvaro Obregon Avenue, a major artery, a dramatic scene has been unfolding at No 286, the site of a collapsed eight-storey office building. On the street, relatives of up to 20 people possibly trapped or dead under the rubble mingle with soldiers, police and television crews, along with the curious. A military truck is marked with a sign: ‘‘Psychological services.’’
‘‘We won’t give up,’’ says Olinca Gonzalez, 29, who is among those gathered outside. She holds a handwritten cardboard placard with a likeness of her stepmother, Leonor Santiago Gonzalez, who worked as an assistant to an accountant in the building but hasn’t been heard from since the quake.
‘‘We are sure she is alive,’’ Gonzalez says. ‘‘We know she is alive.’’
Rain temporarily suspends rescue operations. Lightning illuminates the sky. Thunder booms from the heavens. Onlookers crowd beneath plastic tarpaulins.
The families waiting seem to take a deep collective breath. The worry, they say, is that authorities may give up, despite official assurances that rescue work will continue.