On September 26th around 13:59 local time, a 5.7 magnitude earthquake hit İstanbul from the Marmara Sea.
Earlier that morning, my husband went to a job interview which was scheduled quite earlier than we normally operate, and I walked home from an overnight visit with my sister-in-law who is a short walk away. Going about my business of housework, I prepared breakfast while watching Try Guys videos and tidying some things. During this time, the idea of earthquakes was not far from my mind: there had been a 4.9 magnitude earthquake two days prior; I’ve always lived in earthquake-risk areas; and just that morning I was watching English-language TRT World News talking about the predicament that İstanbul in particular is in light of an impending “big one”.
According to AFAD, or the Turkish Disaster and Emergency Management Authority (Afet ve Acil Durum Yönetimi Başkanlığı), “Turkey ranks third in the world in terms of earthquake-related casualties and eighth with regard to the total number of people affected. Every year, the country experiences at least one 5+ magnitude earthquake…”. İstanbul itself has a long list of historically consequential quakes, such as the earthquake in 557 CE that nearly burned the city to the ground and in the following days, caused the dome of Ayasofya to collapse. Or the famed earthquake of 1509 that toppled buildings and sent persons of all walks of life into the streets in fear of their homes falling. In 1894, a 7.0 magnitude earthquake took more than a thousand lives; more recently, the nearby city of Izmit suffered in 1999 from a 7.6 magnitude quake that killed 17,000 people. After all of that, can you believe Ayasofya still stands?
My experience with earthquakes doesn’t begin here, however. I grew up in the equally earthquake prone city of Seattle, and experienced the 2001 Nisqually Earthquake that shook us at a magnitude 6.8 intensity. Nearby, the Cascadia Subduction Zone looms deep and threatening, with the local geology heralding a pattern catastrophically large ruptures. With such dangers imminent, earthquake preparedness was practiced in my elementary, middle, and high schools, and in an effort to ease my discomfort with the fact, I learned as much as I could about earthquakes and the science behind them (special shoutout to my geology professor in college Emanuela Agosta for teaching me a lot of this).
Earthquakes are most commonly caused by nearby fault lines slipping and sliding as the Earth’s crust moves, buckles, and drags at the whim of the magma beneath it. Fault lines are where the plates that make up the Earth’s crust meet, and these plates are what are moving. The major fault line near İstanbul is the North Anatolian Fault (Kuzey Anadolu Fay Hattı) that runs from eastern Turkey along the northern regions, dips into the Marmara Sea, and finally into the Aegean Sea. It is what is called a strike-slip fault, meaning the plates are sliding past each other as opposed to sliding underneath or colliding directly into each other. This is the same kind of fault as the infamous San Andreas Fault in California.
Because of the way this fault moves, the chance of a tsunami is less than that of other fault types, such as subduction zones. For İstanbul – and the other residencies along the fault line – the biggest risk is the architecture. This is the point that I am most aware of, living in this city, this country, that is largely built of stone. It is also what Turks themselves are mostly concerned with, as a quake larger than 7.0 is expected to rattle the most heavily populated metropolis in the country within the century, possibly earlier, but there is no certain way to be completely sure.
I must confess that the first quake of the week (the 4.9 magnitude on the 23rd) I mistook for my husband shaking the bed to wake me up, as it struck in the morning. I checked the ceiling lamp and failed to see it swing when I awakened. But at the same time, I made a point not to disbelieve him; the building we live in has weathered at least five major quakes with no post-quake inspection or subsequent maintenance ascribed to it. This is a common story in this city where earthquake-resistant materials and architecture like wood are rare. Thus, when the 5.7 quake of the 26th began to roar to life, I knew that any more shaking could have meant an end not just for the house, but for those of us inside it as well.
The quake was short. I was eating breakfast, and by this time my husband was home and talking to his father on the phone. As aforementioned, while the threat of a large quake certainly lurks within my mind, I had easily ruled it out for the day and was focusing on my daily to-do list by procrastinating and watching animated TV series from my childhood. Our cats were playing, as were the children outside. Then, at 13:59 local time, a rumble began to shake the house. At first I thought it was the noisy neighbors upstairs moving furniture for the umpteeth time. But my husband shot me a look, and I noticed the table was rattling as well. The clinking of glass and dishes got louder, and sure enough the light fixtures began to swing. My husband promptly (and rather politely) hung up on his father, and the cats sprang into a corner behind the couch. The floor was vibrating and the building groaning as wave upon wave of energy pushed it’s integrity to the limit.
My instant thought after recognizing what was happening was, This is the big one, and this building can’t withstand it. I then remembered what an elderly Japanese lady had told me what to do in an earthquake: get out.
“We need to get out, grab the cats and go!”
We didn’t get out in time, but fortunately we didn’t need to, and unfortunately in hindsight I feel I made the wrong decision and panicked (I’ll get to that in a minute). During the most intense part of the shaking, I found myself underneath a doorway, accepting the fate while still trying to find a way out. My husband rushed over and held me as we and the home weathered out the remaining seconds, all still standing by the end of it to our relief. Afterwards, we swiftly still bundled up both the cats, grabbed our [prepared] important belongings, threw some mis-mashed clothes on, and cautiously tip-toed downstairs through the stairwell that now only echoed with surahs of the Quran.
People were obviously nervous as the street was full. Memories of the 1999 quake were fresh; nearby Avcılar suffered quite heavily during that quake and given the anticipation of a catastrophic one lurking in the future, many were just as concerned as I was. Some, however, seemed rather nonchalant; the neighbors upstairs were slamming their heavy door, welcoming guests, to my immense disdain – only coming outside when they saw the rest of the residents were out too. Service from TurkTelekom, Vodafone, and Turkcell were overloaded with people connecting with one another which lead to a clog in their system, while landlines and internet were stable. My husband called his family in Bursa who felt nothing, while my nearby sister-in-law was also as jolted as I was over Whatsapp. We waited, not really knowing what we were waiting for, other than any immediate aftershocks that could knock down any already-compromised building.
After about an hour we went back in. It was decided we go back to my sister-in-law’s, who lived in a newer building on the top floor. And while I didn’t feel it, a 4.6 magnitude aftershock shook the city once again as we were gathering our things from inside; my husband urged me to hurry as I couldn’t think very straight. Upon arriving at the SIL’s home, we then found ourselves at a nearby relative’s for wifi and community; even the new apartment that my SIL resides in had shallow but visible cracks in the stairwell, while teyze’s apartment is seemingly untouched.
Facebook groups based in İstanbul were buzzing with activity. In this situation, everyone was saying “Geçmiş Olsun” (gech-meesh ole-suhn), which is also used for those who are sick (think, “get well”). Indeed, the fear stricken into many foreigners who had never experienced an earthquake was alive and sweating, with many asking for advice and comfort through a sleepless night. As of now, everyone is still at least mentioning it, and survival backpacks are hot market items. Many are unaware of what to do in a quake, and while I had an idea of what I should do, what I didn’t know is what I should do if I was quaking in İstanbul.
Back home in America, I was taught to dive under a sturdy table or a door threshold to break the fall of anything from above or rely on the sturdiness of the door frame. In Japan, another extremely seismic area, most have told me to simply get out of the building if you’re near an exit, or to get under something if that isn’t possible. Both of these suggestions, I was reading, are predicated on the building you’re in not collapsing; in Turkey, the building is far more likely to collapse thus making these suggestions rather futile and dangerous.
Instead, the Triangle of Life approach is recommended: huddle up next to a sturdy piece of furniture or appliance, cover your neck and head, and ride it out. This is best done if something is standing across from whatever you’re up against that can fall and thus form a triangle around you, protecting you from falling debris and providing a small pocket where you can be found by rescue. I had heard of this theory before, but only in practice; it was the first time hearing it by name.
Amidst all of this information being circulated, an equal amount of misinformation was rapidly gaining traction. Some were spouting hearsay, such as a predicted 7.0+ magnitude hitting the following day (sike: earthquakes can’t be predicted). Schools were technically open the following day, but many students didn’t show up, as some were blaming the Evil Eye for the earthquake and thus remaining out of sight of others. At the end of the day, the spread of such fallacies is not only frustrating for those seeking real answers, but dangerous, as it can lead to in-the-moment decisions from individuals that can cost them their lives when the big one does happen.
An interesting anecdote provided by my husband was his experience of the 1999 Izmit quake. While the epicenter was outside of İstanbul, it was near enough to level buildings here. His family spent two weeks in a tent after that quake, even though their building was still standing unscathed, just compromised. Similar actions were taken the night of the 26th with many sleeping in tents in parks in case of aftershocks. Scenes like this beg the question: is İstanbul prepared for “the big one”? The short answer, no. The long answer, still no, as little has been done on a structural scale to address the many, many, many buildings (44,800 buildings estimated by AFAD) at risk due to being built illegally, not to code, to age, or some combination of those. An overhaul that is needed will cost millions – if not billions – of Turkish Lira, something this struggling economy doesn’t have. So like in many seismically risky cities around the world, earthquake preparation is postponed or largely forgotten until the immediate aftermath.
So far, our building has yet to be inspected, and likely won’t be. We have gone back a couple times to grab things, including supplies for the cats, and for the most part the city has returned to its normal pace of life. People are still on edge as aftershocks and small quakes continue to roll from the same epicenter, and some are still prevented from going home, having been evacuated from their compromised buildings. As of tomorrow, we cautiously go back in ours, with plans to evaluate our space for survival, pack an emergency kit, and then carry on with our lives, being ever cognizant of the impending convulsion of this mighty Earth.
Notes: all images, aside from the one of the stairwell, are not created or owned by me, and belong to their rightful owners. Links to the pages where images can be found when available. If an image has been used inappropriately here, I will honor any request to remove said image from this page.
Furthemore, for pre-/during/post- earthquake preparation and survival, please refer to your local authority for the best information; I am by no means an expert and only present the information provided here as context to this particular event, not as an expert giving advice.
The Travelling Sajjadah 