The magnificent supportive beauty so overtly apparent a year ago is still with us. But the general feeling now is one of deep sadness, or of waiting.
But step outside the city proper or look deeper than physical reconstruction, and things can be very different. Last year, of course, there were seas and mountains of rubble, thousands of people in shelters, and rescue work in full swing. Now much, but not all, of the immediate debris has been cleared away, leaving huge tracts of empty space with only frames of houses left to show where thriving neighborhoods once stood. Evacuation centers have reverted to their original purposes – schools, hospitals, and community centers. And now temporary houses have sprung up along the entire coast and within cities. Some are in small groups with a few families, others almost like villages. But the clearing up of the debris continues almost non-stop, and the remains of bodies are still being uncovered.
Happily, ever so slowly people are being allowed to open temporary shops, housed in structures similar to the new homes. These small establishments are in clusters, making small restaurant alleys or teeny arcades of shops for fish, vegetables, or tea.
“We are so thankful for this opportunity to work again,” one man told me. “It gives us hope. But we can be here only two years. Then we have to stand more on our own. Can we do it? I don’t know. The entire backbone of our economy, fishing, has been broken. It will take a long time, say 10 years or more, before we are back to where we were. That is, if we ever get there. Our future is so uncertain. We have today. Only that. I have this shop. I hope it does well. I hope we all do well. We are supporting each other. But we need other people’s support, too. Thank you for coming to my shop today.”