I was at home when the first tremor came — a low, rolling vibration that made the pictures on the wall sway and the dishes in the cabinet rattle. At first we thought it might be a truck passing, the familiar explanation for small shocks, but this felt different: deeper and longer. People stood in doorways, eyes wide, waiting for it to stop.
There was only a short pause before the stronger one hit. It felt like the ground had been kicked from beneath us. The second quake was sharper, more violent. The floor tilted, then shuddered, and a loud cracking sound echoed from nearby buildings. In an instant furniture slid, a bookshelf collapsed, and dust exploded from the corners of rooms. Windows shattered in some places. The power went out — a single long, extinguishing blink that left us in a sudden dimness punctuated by the panicked voices of neighbors.
We spilled into the street with everyone else, barefoot or in slippers, clutching whatever small things we could. Cars stopped at odd angles. People were hugging one another, checking to see who was injured. Some were crying, many were stunned into silence. The air smelled of concrete dust and something like ozone. From a distance I could see columns of smoke rising and a few fires burning where gas lines had been ruptured.
Phones were overloaded; text messages and calls had trouble getting through. Rumors raced faster than official information. People shared what they could see — a collapsed wall, a building with a leaning façade, a hospital filling with the injured. In the squares and on the sidewalks impromptu groups formed to help: carrying the wounded, pulling out children, checking on elderly neighbors. The soundscape was constant — sirens, someone calling for calm, the scrape of debris being shifted.
In the hours after, rescue teams and volunteers methodically began searching damaged buildings. Hospitals reported an influx of patients; some health centers lost power and switched to generators. Local authorities began assessing the damage and coordinating emergency shelters for families who had lost their homes or could not return because of structural risk.
By the next day, official reports were coming in from across the country. Authorities said hundreds were affected, with many injured and at least 164 people killed in the most severe impacts. Entire neighborhoods were left without water or electricity, and roads that were the main arteries for emergency vehicles were congested or blocked by debris.
The mood is a mixture of shock and resolve. People are tired but helping each other, sharing food, water, spare blankets. There is a steady effort to account for the missing and to clear the most dangerous rubble. At the same time, anxiety about aftershocks remains high; every small tremor prompts people to run outside again.
This is a moment of tremendous loss and disruption, but also of community. Across neighborhoods, strangers became first responders. Right now the priorities are search and rescue, medical care for the injured, and rapid delivery of food, water and shelter. As more information comes in and aid arrives, we will begin the hard work of rebuilding. Until then, people are holding on to each other and to the hope that recovery will come.