Inside the Francisco Kino Elementary School a miniature city has emerged at the site of a shelter for people who lost their homes in last week㽶Ƶֱs deadly earthquake.
On the school㽶Ƶֱs open-air courtyard, doctors test blood pressure and glucose levels at a makeshift triage centre set up on a plastic table. Nearby, children get haircuts while stressed-out parents receive massages.
But frustration is growing inside the gym, where families camp out on mattresses alongside piles of new, donated belongings. Days without easy access to a shower and the loss of simple liberties like deciding when to turn out a light to go to asleep have become aggravating.
They want to know: How long will they be stuck here?
㽶ƵֱThis is like a horror story,㽶Ƶֱ said Ana Maria Castaneda, 49, who is living at the shelter with five relatives.
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More than 12,000 people whose homes were destroyed or damaged by the magnitude 7.1 quake have spent at least one night in a shelter since the quake, the Mexican government says.
Officials pledged Tuesday to give families chased from their homes a monthly payment of 3,000 pesos 㽶Ƶֱ the equivalent of about $170 㽶Ƶֱ to find a new place to live for a total of three months. But an average one-bedroom apartment outside Mexico City㽶Ƶֱs centre can easily run twice as much.
㽶ƵֱWe will directly support families with resources and materials to repair damages or build a new home,㽶Ƶֱ President Enrique Pena Nieto said in a televised address Tuesday night.
Government employees fanned out Tuesday urging the 25 families living at the Francisco Kino school to visit a nearby park where officials have set up areas for victims to sign up for benefits, but the suggestion was met with skepticism and resistance. If they went to the plaza, some people worried, they might lose their coveted spots at the shelter. Some 500 families were forced from nearby apartment buildings after one collapsed and the school had space only for two dozen.
㽶ƵֱSorry to interrupt you,㽶Ƶֱ one elderly woman sitting on a donated mattress said at a meeting with a visiting representative from Mexico City㽶Ƶֱs Women㽶Ƶֱs Institute. 㽶ƵֱThey tell us if we leave here, we㽶Ƶֱll lose our shelter. But if we don㽶Ƶֱt go there, we might miss out on government benefits.㽶Ƶֱ
㽶ƵֱAfter the fright of the quake, why are they scaring us with these threats?㽶Ƶֱ she asked.
The residents were urged to go one-by-one to sign up for government assistance, leaving family members to watch over their belongings.
According to Mexico City Mayor Miguel Angel Mancera, inspectors have examined damage at 10,903 properties so far and 83 per cent of the structures are safe to live in. That means about 1,800 have been marked uninhabitable.
In all, some 43 shelters across the capital have tended to 24,000 people since the Sept. 19 quake, though many came just for a plate of food before finding a place to stay with friends or family.
It㽶Ƶֱs unclear how long the shelters will be operating. Volunteers and government employees stationed at the Francisco Kino school 㽶Ƶֱ a shelter run largely by neighbourhood residents 㽶Ƶֱ said it would stay open for the foreseeable future.
㽶ƵֱAs long as is necessary,㽶Ƶֱ said Elizabeth Garcia, a government worker inspecting the site Tuesday.
The mountain-like piles of donated water bottles and medical supplies along with the growing level of organized services give the impression of a population that is starting to settle in. Rows of toothbrushes and toothpaste rest on sinks outside a children㽶Ƶֱs bathroom. A room that once held school materials has been fashioned into a space for medical donations. A cardboard box holds mounds of antibiotics. On a desk are Styrofoam cups holding injectable medicines like anti-inflammatories that are labeled with a black marker.
Dr. Misael Dominguez, an attending physician, said doctors have 㽶Ƶֱpractically everything we require.㽶Ƶֱ
㽶ƵֱWe have seen a lot of high blood pressure and sugar levels from the stress,㽶Ƶֱ he added.
At that moment, a doctor was poking one of Roberto Ramirez㽶Ƶֱs fingers with a needle to draw blood and test his glucose levels. Ramirez, a 33-year-old musician and computer programmer, is a diabetic and lives in an apartment that has been deemed too dangerous to inhabit. He was away from home when the quake struck and wasn㽶Ƶֱt able to retrieve his glucose testing kit.
He said he has been trying to take better care of his health since the quake, saying, 㽶ƵֱI value things more.㽶Ƶֱ
The result came back high: 259.
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To the left of the entrance are signs offering psychological services. Many of those sheltering at the school have arrived with the quake㽶Ƶֱs trauma still weighing heavily on their minds.
Florencia Cortes, 37, was pulled from the rubble of her apartment building along with her 20-month-old son, Jonatan. In order to get her son out, she had to swing him toward the building㽶Ƶֱs plumber, who happened to be outside. He caught hold of the boy by his foot.
Jonatan used to follow his mother around everywhere. Now she says he stick by his father, who wasn㽶Ƶֱt home during the quake.
㽶ƵֱHe㽶Ƶֱs not the same,㽶Ƶֱ Cortes said. 㽶ƵֱMaybe he thinks I threw him and don㽶Ƶֱt love him.㽶Ƶֱ
Many of the shelter residents harbour a deep mistrust of their government to set things right. While government workers occasionally come in, for the most part officials have been absent, they say. Some are vowing to stay until they㽶Ƶֱre given a new place to call home.
㽶ƵֱThe government has the last word and no one knows anything about the government here,㽶Ƶֱ said Angelina Usuna, 81.
Night can bring the hardest hours. A lucky few have donated mattresses, but most are sleeping on uncomfortable foam mats. They get a few hours of sleep at best. Wary of sharing a collective space, no one feels entitled to tell someone else to be quiet or turn out a light.
In fact, it㽶Ƶֱs impossible to make the gym completely dark. As part of the shelter㽶Ƶֱs safety protocol, one light must be kept on in case another tremor strikes.
Christine Armario And Natacha Pisarenko, The Associated Press