Episode #343: On The Waterfront
“I literally thought the world was crumbling!”
Chloe, a young woman born and raised in Myanmar’s picturesque Inle Lake region, speaks viscerally about surviving and responding to the devastating, 7.7-magnitude earthquake that struck Myanmar on March 28. The earthquake, the strongest the country had experienced in nearly a century, caused widespread destruction, with more than 5,300 deaths and over 10,000 injuries. Chloe, who works full-time at a social enterprise but has been volunteering on the ground in her home region since the disaster, shares both the trauma and determination that have defined the response efforts in her community.
Inle Lake, known for its floating gardens and villages built on stilts, is one of Myanmar’s most iconic cultural landmarks. Its local economy is built around the lake, with many villagers working as fishermen, and before the 2021 military coup, it was a thriving area for tourism. But the peaceful life of Inle lake was violently shattered by the quake.
Chloe recounts how she was washing dishes at home with her family when the ground began to shake. Because of the country’s violent recent history, she said, “I thought it was a bomb! But my mom was like, ‘I don’t think it’s a bomb, I think it’s an earthquake!’ Then we just ran out of the house.” Since the first hours after the quake, the only images she saw of the damage were of collapsed buildings in Sagaing and Mandalay, so she initially believed the Inle region had largely been spared. However, that illusion was quickly shattered as reports of family, friends and others began to trickle in; tragically, many of those stilt villages built upon the water had been destroyed.
Chloe went to assess the situation firsthand, and the scenes that met her eyes were beyond anything she had seen before. “Roofs floating in the lake and houses turned upside down like they had been literally picked up and then dropped!” The structural damage was severe, but what struck her more was the human toll. “I saw people crying for losing their family members…some people were just sitting silently in disbelief, in their temporary tents, staring at what used to be the homes.”
So far, outside help has been minimal, and Chloe is also quite blunt in her assessment of the junta’s level of help. “There’s been no real support or assistance from the military government,” she says angrily, adding that It would be “naïve" for anyone to believe that aid going through the military will ever reach the people who need it. Continuing her scathing critique, she explains, “We have no immediate response to this kind of disaster. We have no accurate plan. We have no rescue plan or anything like that!” The burden has fallen on untrained locals with no equipment. “It was very heartbreaking to see our local rescue teams suffering so much and they couldn’t fulfill their duties.” She stresses that both the authorities along with the people need training on emergency protocols, though she does not believe the current regime will take any such responsibility, even if offered.
In the face of all this, Chloe felt she had to do something, and so on March 30, just two days after the quake, she and some friends launched a grassroots fundraising campaign. They started by distributing small cash donations of 50,000 kyat per family. However, she quickly realized that there was an overwhelming need for reliable shelter. During previous disasters, like the 2024 floods, monasteries had served as temporary sanctuaries; this time, however, even those sacred places lay in ruins. She says, “There was nowhere safe to run… people completely exposed, physically and emotionally.” She describes the emergency shelters that were hastily established as far from sufficient, as they represented just makeshift tents, some shared by more than one family. Chloe realized they would likely be unable to withstand heavy rains, an urgent concern with the monsoon season fast approaching. And what is more, even the minimal outside aid that was coming in was being used to address immediate, emergency needs. So she and her friends pivoted to the goal of helping families rebuild their homes.
And building on Inle Lake is not easy! Besides being expensive, it is uniquely challenging as the houses—literally—sit atop water. Chloe describes the labor-intensive, highly skilled and technical nature of the process. For example, the vertical bamboo or teak stilts on which the houses are constructed have to be driven deep into the lakebed; to accomplish this, the old poles are first pulled out with chains and pulleys, and then the builders drive in the new ones by rhythmically jumping on them. A collaborative process, the construction workers almost appear to be walking on water: some do their work standing on planks laid into the water, while others maneuver around in small boats.
Small, local initiatives like Chloe’s are driving the recovery efforts. In her view, it is this very decentralized and community-led model that has proven both unfortunately necessary, and yet inspiring. She talks about how a village will help a family with the most urgent housing needs in rebuilding, then move onto the next, and the next, until every household is taken care of. This kind of collective action has lifted spirits. “It is very heartwarming to see that they care for each other,” Chloe says.
But the psychological effects of the earthquake remain acute. The trauma lingers even in small moments; just feeling the vibration of a passing boat in a stilt house can cause a panic reaction; any motion is now triggering. These lingering anxieties are, in Chloe’s words, signs of “emotional insecurity” and PTSD, with uncertain long-term consequences. Many survivors, in fact, are afraid to return to the water, and are choosing instead to rebuild on land. Chloe fears this could lead to the erosion of a distinct, cultural heritage that has long defined the people and the region.
Another challenge that Chloe highlights is the dire state of Myanmar’s electrical grid. Even before the earthquake, her township had just about four hours of electricity per day. After the quake, they had none for nearly a week. There’s no schedule, no warning—it’s just “one of the survival skills” one learns living in Myanmar.
At the same time, resilience in the face of these many difficulties has been defined by a single phrase that communities are now rallying themselves around: “we only have ourselves to rely on” ("ငါတို့မှာ ငါတို့ပဲရှိတယ်။" or "Ngar To Mhar Ngar To Pal Shi Deh"). Chloe embraces the notion of resilience wholeheartedly: “No other country can do this like us! I don’t mind being called resilient. I like it.” Still, she acknowledges the exhaustion that comes with enduring one crisis after another, like the COVID pandemic, political repression, floods, and now this devastating earthquake.
Chloe ends with a call to action for the global community. “It’s important to keep sharing these kind of stories… to help people understand that Inle isn’t just a tourist attraction, it is a community full of life, culture, resilience and love and historical places.” She urges listeners not only to donate but to amplify the voices of those on the ground. “The more people know what’s happening in Inle, the more likely it is that more support and assistance will come from inside the country and beyond.”