Well, I was pretty excited to share all of the blogs that I’ve been writing over the past few months but have failed to actually post. When I made my official return to social media, I had no idea of the events that would unfold within the next 48 hours.
I had been asleep for maybe thirty minutes. Prior to falling asleep, I had busied myself with reading Harry Potter, answering emails, and taking in the latest from the various US news outlets. Then, there was this dog outside. This. Dog. Would. Not. Stop. Barking. When one of the dogs was barking incessantly back home, Cate and I would joke and say things like, “What’s wrong? Did Timmy fall into the well?!” After about 15 minutes of enduring this, I decided to surrender to the solace of my eye mask and ear plugs. It was nearing 2am, surely I was tired enough to fall asleep by now.
I remember Kimberly (team leader/roommate/bedmate) began nudging my shoulder. I didn’t think much of it and continued to sleep. Then, her nudging turned into shaking. I finally sat up, completely disoriented, and removed my eye mask to see only the glow of a few phone flashlights. Rebecca told me very firmly but calmly, “Alexis, there is a fire. We need to go.” I’m the kind of girl that wakes up rather slowly, so I only realistically absorbed about 18% of what she was saying. Since I was still mostly asleep, the situation at hand still didn’t quite sink in. I noticed Rebecca and Kim throwing things into their packs so I followed suit by grabbing my daypack. I sleepily thought, “Okay. Emergency. What are those things you’re supposed to grab in an emergency, again?” My daypack already contained my medical papers and important documents. I proceeded to hastily grab my med bags, my glasses/contacts, and my purse (which contained my passport, ID’s, credit cards, team money, etc). At that point in time, my mind still equated the presence of a “fire” to the following: systematically grabbing a few things, standing in the street in your pajamas for 30 minutes while the respective fire department makes their rounds, declares it either a drill or false alarm, and then everyone proceeds to go back to bed while grumbling about the inconvenience of their sleep being disturbed.
I finally looked past Rebecca and outside of our bedroom door. It was only then that I noticed the amber-orange glow accompanied by the overwhelming smell of smoke.
Adrenaline is a very, very powerful force. Two weeks prior, I had sprained my left ankle pretty badly. I had still been limping at that point (Hakha is 80% hills and finding an ankle brace was next to impossible), but the adrenaline running through my veins at that moment allowed me to disregard it entirely. So, I ran. Our rooms were in a basement of sorts that was locked to the outside by steel gates at night. When I saw that the gates had not been unlocked, my first instinct was to climb. I began doing so when a gentleman came and, thankfully, unlocked the gate. I didn’t have time to climb back down before he unlocked it, so my jump down left a small cut on my left foot. Again, adrenaline allowed me to disregard it. I proceeded to run across the street to where a few of my team members were standing, faces in awe. When I finally reached them, I turned around to see the true source of their bewilderment. These were really the largest flames I have ever seen in my entire life. They had completely destroyed and leveled two full buildings already, had entirely engulfed the large building next to them, and had taken the roof off of the building attached to our own. It was hot. We were about 60 feet from the flames and could still feel the intense heat upon our skin. I had fallen asleep with my contacts in and, after staring at the flames for less than ten seconds, my contacts began to feel unnaturally dry. After my dumbfounded gaze lessened, I noticed everyone that was standing on the street: our neighbors, local business owners, the gals that ran our guesthouse, folks that we saw in our beloved mountainside neighborhood everyday. There had to have been at least 150 people standing outside. I also heard that familiar barking that I had just been cursing about an hour prior. That dog was running in circles around the firetruck. It was clear that this dog was trying to inform someone of the present danger.
The fire department in Hakha was also drastically different than what you would see in the US. No oxygen masks, no actual gear. All these brave men had were basic helmets, jackets, rain boots, and a single hose that was only about five times as powerful as one you’d find in your typical American backyard.
Then, I noticed the girls that ran (and lived at) our guesthouse again. These two young ladies that could not be older than 23 had each grabbed a pillowcase full of belongings and were standing on the sidewalk in their pajamas. The looks of pure terror on their faces is something that I cannot seem to erase from my mind. There they were, staring at the potential obliteration of both their home and livelihood. They wanted to pray with us so we circled up and began to do so. These two young ladies spoke very minimal English but we were somehow able to communicate so clearly with one another that night. While we were praying, I have never witnessed a prayer cried out so desperately. These two girls prayed with a visceral ferocity that came from nowhere but a place of pure helplessness. I didn’t understand a word of the Chin/Burmese that they were speaking, but feeling the physical weight of their prayer was both astounding and unavoidable. Words truly do fail me when I begin to think about the turmoil they must have endured over the course of that evening.
After we prayed, a friend of our hostel’s owner told us to go stay at their sister property for the night. I then noticed the breeze that was blowing towards us….towards the projected, assumed trajectory of the fire’s path. It is fair to say that I tend to be a fairly logic/science-based thinker. The simple sensation of the breeze on my face flooded my ISFJ brain with whirling thoughts of physics, thermodynamics, and basic common sense. These methods of reasoning all pointed to one conclusion: the fire would be advancing toward us, uphill with countless wooden structures in its path. I also recalled the many large propane tanks that were in our building…the building the fire had already begun to graze by this point. To avoid the impact of a potential explosion, my instinct was to move to higher ground. We proceeded to trek up the hill about four city blocks to the sister property. In retrospect, we were all basically running without the conscious awareness of doing so. When we walked into the room we would be staying in for the night, I knew that I had ZERO intentions of leaving unless it was absolutely necessary. At that point, I just needed to be. One latent reason was the lingering fear. Two, my sprained ankle had reminded me of its presence at that point. Again, adrenaline, you da real MVP.
It was then that I contemplated all I had left behind, abandoned for the sake of physical safety. My clothing, shoes, electronics, toiletries, camping gear etc. Essentially, I abandoned the vast majority of my years’ worth of supplies. I stared at my 28-liter daypack and felt sobered by the thought of that being all I had. It only took a few seconds for that specific shock to wear off and I remembered precisely what I left behind: stuff.
Nothing more than stuff; material items that I, thankfully, have the ability and resources to replace. I cannot say that those 150 bystanders had that same luxury.
What really did hit me hard, though? The email I sent to both of my parents making them aware of the situation, reassuring them of my safety, and letting them know that I had lost pretty much everything I owned. I had left my phone behind, so my teammate very graciously offered the use of her own. We were all still clearly in shock. The weight and reality of this experience did not begin to feel concrete in nature until I was forced to put it into writing what had happened up until that point. That level of awareness felt like a physical force, a weight upon the shoulders for a lack of better terms. I sent the email and was lying on the bed with my teammate, Rebecca. The mental cocktail of shock, adrenaline, fatigue, and lingering fear led me to feel especially delirious…to the point that we found ourselves laughing hysterically. [I should mention that one source of this laughter was due to the fact that the pants I was wearing, my only pants at that point, had developed a massive hole in the butt]
I then figured that I may as well go through my daypack to see what I did have. The first thing that caught my eye was my cherished green bandana that I have kept tied to my daypack since it was given to me in January. Prior to Christmas, my amazing squadmate, Christa, had asked all of us to send her a photo that brought us peace/joy. When our squad reunited at launch in January, Christa had printed/sewn these photos onto a bandana for each of us. The photo I submitted was one of me with one of my campers during my last summer at camp. It really does transport me back to one of my very favorite camp memories and brings my heart more joy than you can imagine. I can honestly say that it is one of my most treasured possessions. Just the mere thought of knowing I had my beloved bandana filled me with immense gratitude (and an unexplainable amount of warm-fuzz). I then noticed that my camp hat was still held onto my pack by a carabiner (this is the only physical piece of camp that I had packed for the World Race). After digging through my pack, past my meds and documents, I saw my favorite Love Your Melon beanie, my camera (that I had completely forgotten was still in there from our last travel day), the notes written to me by my friends and mama to open throughout this year, and my cherished journal that I had started in February of 2015 and finished this past April. It wasn’t much physically, but these few items left me feeling so emotionally grateful that I honestly forgot about all of the other things that I had left behind.
A couple of hours later, a few of my teammates that had wanted to see the current status of the fire had returned. The news they delivered left me beyond confused. The fire had been stopped approximately five feet from where our rooms were. Our building was left with only smoke damage in addition to fairly minor roof damage. We were even going to be able to return the next day to retrieve the remainder of our belongings.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I truly am almost embarrassed by the extended amount of time that it took me to process what I was being told.
NONE OF IT MADE SENSE.
What I was being told had defied all logic, sense, and scientific reasoning. In short, the events that had unfolded that night, from our perspective, were nothing short of miraculous. The fact that we had even evacuated successfully was a miracle. Me being a safety freak (no shame in my game), my roommates and I always ensured that our door was locked during the night. After nearly a month of living there, the night of the fire was the first night that we had forgotten to lock it. The miracle here was all three of us slept with ear plugs every night. The only reason our other teammates were able to inform us of the fire was because it was the first time we had forgotten to lock our door. Without this factor, we would have not been able to hear them knocking. Our room also had no windows or alternative methods of exiting. It served as a reminder that, sometimes, a simple oversight can save your life.
I’ve grown to accept that it may take time to move past this fully. The mere sight of flames sends chills down my spine, the smell of smoke churns my stomach, and many of us still find ourselves jumping at loud/sudden noises. We take the panicked barking of dogs a bit more seriously and we often find ourselves sleepless on the same nights. The cut on my foot has diminished to the faintest scar and my clothing continues to lose its smoky scent as the days move forward (and as I shamelessly douse them with Febreeze).
I’ll admit that it really has taken me a few weeks to process, absorb, and accept the many nonsensical facets of that night. The bottom line is that God is the only reason that my team was able to walk away unharmed. We are so thankful but remain heartbroken for the two fatalities and multiple injuries that did occur because of the fire. Looking at the devastation that the fire left behind the next day was gut-wrenching. There were still people everywhere. The local military officials were brought in to assist the fire department as many portions of the site were still smoldering. We don’t know what will become of the remnants of those building sites. What we do know is that the beautiful people of Hakha will support one another. We parted ways with this amazing town only about 30 hours after the fire but, knowing the integrity of the citizens there, we left with no concerns about whether those impacted by the fire would be supported by the people around them. It is a monetarily poor area, but an area that is so rich in love and genuine community.
Thank you all for your love and support as my team and I continue to work through this. It shook us up big time, but left us feeling incredibly grateful for God, one another, and all of you that are loving us from afar.
With love from Hakha,
Alexis
P.S. I know I promised back in January that I would not be blowing up your inbox…I apologize for the multiple emails you may receive over the next few days as I try to catch up on posting those previously mentioned past blogs!
