First, there is the bulletin board littered with black-and-white photos of the unidentified dead. Mangled bodies with mouths gaping, eyes squeezed shut and arms lifted overhead in apparent surrender.
Then there are the plastic baggies of what they were carrying or wearing. A fish-themed watch. A scrap of denim. A single flip flop obscuring a wad of cash.
Kathmandu's official earthquake morgue, located next to Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital, is a dismal place. For some, though, finding physical evidence of a loved one's abrupt end can provide a measure of relief.
Since the 7.8-magnitude earthquake struck three weeks ago, at least 100 people streamed through this nondescript temporary resting place, seeking some sign to hold out hope or move on.
"It's not a cheerful moment," acknowledged Nepal Police Superintendent Prakash Adhikari, who keeps a meticulous log of the 300 bodies that were brought here after the quake.
Still, "when they find the deceased," Adhikari says, "they feel pleasure."
The morgue is one of several places around the capital city where residents can file a missing person's report. Before they do, they scan the board for the latest entries, identified by a simple tag number, along with approximate age, height and where the body was recovered.
The log listed 45 missing entries Wednesday, one day after a second major earthquake sent this Himalayan nation into tailspin overdrive.
Among the lost, three Indonesian citizens who had disappeared from Langtang, a popular trekking area. An orange cardholder, wrapped in plastic, was waiting to be found.
The News Journal is in Nepal this week reporting on the Delaware Medical Relief Team's efforts to provide medical treatment and supplies to earthquake survivors. The medical team has committed waves of volunteers over the next few months. The newest group of five, including doctors, physician assistants, EMTs and logistics experts, are scheduled to arrive in Nepal Sunday.
Team member Ashish Parikh, a Newark cardiologist, has performed a handful of angioplasties at the cardiac hospital next to the morgue. The operation, which involves widening narrow and obstructed arteries, can cost $25,000 in the United States. Parikh is volunteering his time and expertise.
On Wednesday, the hospital transformed into a courtyard tent community of more than 50 heart patients who were evacuated from the building the day before.
Next door, Spanish police commissioner Ramon Gomez has sat on the same rickety bench for 15 days straight, waiting on a clue about the whereabouts of six Spanish citizens. Like the Indonesians, they were last seen in Langtang.
Immediately after the first quake, nearly 70 members of the Spanish Army and Spanish Military Police assisted with search and rescue efforts and humanitarian relief, Gomez said.
But, as with any natural disaster, international attention is easily distracted by competing priorities. The Spaniards left within 10 days.
Gomez, who is based in New Delhi, was the last man on the ground. Despite his depressing assignment, he insisted that he was content to be among his friends, members of the Nepal Police.
By mid-afternoon Wednesday, the morgue was mostly deserted, apart from spillover hospital visitors who couldn't snag a seat. Twenty-three bodies remained unclaimed.
Fearful of the next aftershock, locals gathered in small groups in open fields and in intimate cafes with obvious escape routes.
For a moment, the dead could wait.
The survivors needed to figure out where they would sleep safely that night – and the many nights ahead.
Saturday 16 May 2015
http://www.delawareonline.com/story/news/world/2015/05/15/bodies-unclaimed-kathmandu-morgue/27389219/
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