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TVNZ reporter Max Bania reports to CNN on the day of the quake. - Source: ONE News
Max Bania is a ONE News reporter and tvnz.co.nz writer,
and has been covering the story continuously since the morning of
the quake.
It is human nature to recall, often with a certain rose-tinted nostalgia, where we were and what we were doing the moment a life-changing event unfolded.
Old mates and total strangers alike can happily spend an evening recounting their memories of, say, the Kennedy assassination or 9/11 - perhaps as some form of common cathartic release.
I won't recount to my grandchildren with any pride, however, that when the 2010 Canterbury earthquake hit, I was stumbling down the hallway in the dark on my way to the bathroom.
Suddenly I was being thrown against one wall then the other, reaching out for something to hold onto as the whole house shook like the inside of a tumble dryer.
It felt like the end of the world. I'd experienced earthquakes before but nothing remotely like this. I was immediately on the phone to the Auckland newsroom.
"This is bad", was all I could tell them. "This is bad."
I'd imagine that in the minutes following the quake there wasn't a single person in the region who wasn't thinking of their loved ones. I certainly was, which is why I ran out into the middle of a main road and frantically waved down the next car that drove past.
"I'm really sorry guys", I told them, "but you need to drive me to where my parents are staying".
They did so without a moment's hesitation. It was the first of one of many acts of kindness I've observed this week and though our paths will likely never cross again, if the young occupants of that car are reading this; thank you.
My parents' room looked like a bomb site. Their refrigerator had been toppled, its contents strewn across the entire lounge. Anything not nailed to a surface or a wall had been knocked over. I escorted my frightened mother down four flights of stairs in the darkness to the lobby and left her in the company of many other traumatised residents; returning upstairs to continue the clean up.
It wasn't until I reached the roof and looked out across a dark, powerless city and took in the cacophony of sirens and car alarms that the scale of the disaster began to sink in. No one had died - and in my opinion this is as close to a miracle as can be - but that did little to detract from the sense of tragedy.
Incomparable event
I mean no disrespect to the families of people who lost their lives the day the World Trade Centres came down, but this felt like our 9/11 - a day of mayhem and destruction on an unthinkable scale. Although in context the Christchurch quake is merely a tremor - excuse the phrase - in comparison, to me this was an event incomparable to anything else I had experienced before
Wandering the streets of the CBD that morning, I felt like Bruno Lawrence in that great Kiwi film, The Quiet Earth. It was as if I was the last man alive, a mere speck against the apocalyptic mess of rubble and collapsed facades around me. Not a single street corner had been spared the remains of fallen chimneys and awnings. Aside from a smattering of police officers keeping vigil, I was entirely alone.
As the day wore on, the Prime Minister arrived just in time to witness a blaze engulf an entire building on Worcester Street to further add to the drama. Our live coverage went on throughout the day, culminating in a 90-minute bulletin anchored by Simon at "ground zero". The image of our entire newsroom staff gazing transfixed at the television screen as the scenes of devastation were beamed live to the nation is one that will remain with me for some time.
After delivering a series of lives for our international clients, I left work at around 9pm and again roamed the streets, gazing in dismay at Christchurch's many proud stone buildings that had held steadfast for more than a century but found the force of the 7.1-magnitude quake too much to bear.
The only civilian car I saw on the road was a Salvation Army truck, dropping off hot meals to weary police and security guards. The occasional screech of a fire engine was the only other noise.
The enormous chunks of brick and masonry lying on footpaths would've meant certain death to anyone unlucky enough to be caught underneath them - indeed, had the quake occurred even an hour earlier, when people were still making their way home from bars and clubs, fatalities would have been inevitable.
I'll freely admit that I was afraid to return to where I was staying, unsure of just how big the clean-up job would be there and still traumatised by memories of the morning. Eventually I found a bar that was open, but even inside the atmosphere was subdued and morose, and there was little comfort there. Eventually I returned home and was immediately asleep - my fatigue had overtaken my fear.
Terrifying aftershock
In the days after the quake we were able to dull our memories of Saturday morning by burying ourselves in work, which in some ways was a relief. Attention turned to rebuilding, and the heartbreaking sight of each aftershock setting the recovery process back further. On Monday night my room rattled for a good 15 minutes as a succession of shocks rocked the town; on Wednesday morning as we sat down for breakfast the most terrifying aftershock so far saw co-workers diving under tables and grown men and women in tears once again.
They say you learn a lot about yourself in times of crisis, and the same can be said for a city. Christchurch was dealt a cruel and unexpected blow but it's still standing - thanks in as much part to the character of the people as fortitude of their buildings.
Christchurch is a wonderfully resilient place. Cities with a lesser sense of community and camaraderie would likely have slipped further into chaos in the aftermath of such a devastating quake.
Yes, we all cringed at a media briefing when mayor Bob Parker urged his denizens to summon the spirit of the Crusaders - not least those among us who have seen our teams suffer regularly at the hands of the red-and-black machine - but there was no escaping the fact that their hugely successful rugby side does embody the never-say-die attitude of their supporter base.
Everyone has played a role in the recovery operation - including the media, who I believe by-and-large have fulfilled their duty of informing the public whilst steering clear of creating unnecessary alarm.
Long after the camera kits are packed up and the notebooks tucked away, the rebuilding process will continue and Cantabrians will go about it in the same quietly determined, unassuming manner that has served them so well this week.
As for what I've learned about myself in the past few days - I may go and have a couple of beers and ponder just that.
UPDATE: 11.15pm Thursday. The driver who picked Max up on the morning of the earthquake emailed TVNZ to say: "I was the driver who picked you up and you're very welcome. Thanks for giving us a mention." Regards, James Lowden, and his passengers Danni and Josh.
