Escape from Bukit Antrabangsa

 Sleeping, on Bukit Antarabangsa, I was unable to hear the rumble and crashing as whetted sand felled trees to crash through homes, killing and injuring many, obliterating a large section of the asphalt road leading from the bottom to the apex, early this morning. The air-con went off. I woke to the heat. I saw the electricity was off, and thought little more about it until my wife, at 5am, had a call from her son, on her hand phone. The road was blocked by a landslide, he said. People are unable to get in, or out, of our section of Bukit Antarabangsa. I imagined a small landslide blocking the road, which would, no doubt, be cleared in an hour or so, but had no idea of the enormity of the situation. Later, when neighbours reiterated that we were, effectively, trapped, we began to worry. The indelicate thought of being trapped there, sans electricity, hand phone battery and food low, with no access to the outside world, was daunting. Outside the condominium, and in the streets, the atmosphere was one of curiosity that is before the mammoth realisation of our predicament dawned. Old and young travelled to the tragic scene, drawn like nightly moths to candles, gawping and gaping at smashed homes and speculating how long it would take to clear the debris. Many homes of the rich and famous were on the other side of the debris and rubble, and we heard, were largely untouched by this catastrophe - one famous singer’s house, being but a few hundred meters from the actual disaster sight, and escaped the calamity. Like the famous wartime Dunkirk Spirit, or Spirit of the Blitz, camaraderie amidst chaos was forming at our condominium. It was equally true that many people sought their own ways to deal with private tragedy and public grief. In our block the emergency generator, giving a total of 24 hours of vital electricity to the lift, also fuelled one or two wall sockets where some farsighted individuals were recharging their hand phone batteries. One mother was cooking rice for her family, in rice cooker. A small colour television, set up in the lobby, run off the same emergency electricity, gave us news from the outside world. It was from there that we learned of the true magnitude of the situation – the loss of life and the desperate attempts to find victims of the disaster. Red and yellow helicopters swarmed like gigantic mosquitoes in the balmy morning while the sun appeared unable to break though thickening clouds. We learned of the only provision shop this side of the tragedy, one condominium further up the hill. When we reached the shop it was darkened by lack of electric light, and rapidly selling out of stock. Water, naturally, was the first to go, quickly followed by wax candles as the hill’s residents realised that we may be secluded for more than one day, and quite possibly had to spend at least one night there in the dark. Residents became uneasy. We were later informed, by our condo manager, that the army had formed a bridge to ferry pedestrians - only, no vehicles. Residents were encouraged to leave as soon as possible due to the worsening conditions, and the increasing prospect of this situation lasting for a further five days. This sparked many family debates concerning staying or leaving. It was a difficult decision to make, especially as we had no information from official sources. And that, fundamentally was the problem that we all were faced with – the lack of communication from officialdom. Rumours abounded regarding how safe or how dangerous it was to stay, or go, and, ultimately, we made the decision to leave our apartment, register that with the guard house – in case of burglars or looters, and leave. We packed what belongings we felt we could carry – a small suitcase, laptop and a couple of other bags, and dragged ourselves up the hill. Towards the top there was a concrete water culvert running from the top of the hill down to the side of the road. Youths had constructed a precarious, makeshift, rope so that they could ferry provisions from a shop at the Athenaeum condominium, not directly accessible from our side of the hill, down to trapped residents. Nearer the top of the hill was a crowd of people. Anxious residents, seeking exit, mingled with blue jungle fatigue uniformed police officers and people engaged in more ferrying of food, and provisions. Mixed message came to us. First, we were too late. The soldiers were no longer ferrying people across the wet jungle pathway, as it was too dangerous. Then, yes, we could go. This information came to us from our condo manager, who was engaged in getting supplies across, not from any official source. In no particular order, and no one seemingly in charge of the operation, we stumbled over the first few yards of mud and water on a plywood plank, then onto a trodden track which could barely be called a path. My wife and I just followed the people in front, hoping that they knew where they were going. As we trod on we met with army personnel who helped us over rough patches and up inclines. When we got nearer our destination – the Athenaeum condominium, military personnel assisted us up steep, muddy, concrete steps. Women with babies, children, people carrying containers of cats and older people all had to climb, pulling themselves up with the aid of a rope and soldiers offering kind, helpful hands. Younger people offered assistance to those less able by carrying suitcases, or bags for them. At the journey’s end volunteers helped us up the final incline, by, literally, giving a helping hand. After a few moments rest, we were informed that a truck would escort us down to the Giant supermarket, and safety. The very same helpfulness and comradeship demonstrated itself when fellow evacuees reached down from the high back of the army truck, and assisted in heaving baggage and the occasional person too, into the truck. The spirit of antarabangsa was alive and well in those hours of concern and anxiety. Race helped race, religion helped religion, rich, poor - all were equal in being victims or potential victims of that disaster. Later, I sat in a mamak shop, opposite the rear of Giant, gratefully drinking teh tarik and taking my first sustenance of the day - roti cannai. It was 4pm and roughly twelve hours since we first became aware of what had transpired at the Bukit Antarabangsa. We were, and still are, grateful to be alive, especially when so many have perished. I praise all those who have offered and carried through their offers of  help, mostly, and especially, the army and volunteers.