Last Friday at 5pm I was sitting in some colleagues' office, sipping a glass of wine and thinking about weekend plans. Then a phone rang. Someone calling to ask whether we'd heard anything about a mine explosion.
Over the next 15 minutes more phone calls came in, then web reports, the news getting grimmer with every second. Explosion confirmed. Men missing. The numbers ranged. Police, ambulance and rescuers racing to the scene on the West Coast of the South Island.
During the next few hours more details came out. Two men had made it out, 29 hadn't. Mine rescue workers started planning as family and friends waited.
A day passed, then two. The volitility of the gasses in the mine meant rescuers couldn't go in without risking a secondary explosion. All of New Zealand stayed attached to their TVs, phones and mobile devices. Hoping, praying for a miracle. That the gasses will subside, that the rescuers will be able to get in, that the men will be found alive.
Day Three. Day Four. Progress on getting robots and boring holes into the mine are excruciatingly slow. The terrain is rugged. People are working 24/7. A new path is cut through a national park to get a new drill in. Offers of help pour in from all over the world.
Their faces become etched in our minds. The groom-to-be in three weeks, the father-to-be in a few months, the 17 year old who wasn't supposed to start work on Monday but begged his Boss to let him start on Friday.
The small town of 10,000 is swamped by media. Distraught families have to run a gauntlet of cameras and journalists to get to their briefings. Some stoop to the obscene to get a story - posing as crisis management workers, leaving microphones on after an interview in a hope to get more sensitive information.
As hope becomes to fade people pray, beg, for a miracle. Anger, questions, frustration at why mounting a rescue effort is taking so long.
Day Six. A secondary explosion. Bigger than the first. Not possible for anyone to have survived the experts say.
This time last week the 29 fathers husbands, brothers and sons were home. With family and friends. This morning their families woke up to the reality that they are never coming home again. Now we pray that the mine will be gracious enough to allow rescuers to go in and recover their bodies.
There are no words.
1 comments:
Wow. You're right, there simply are no words. I cannot even fathom the grief. Prayers for NZ families today.
Post a Comment