Published
When a 7.7 magnitude earthquake struck central Myanmar in March, it jolted the country from its already precarious state. Communities already grappling with conflict and economic hardship were left reeling as homes cracked open, daily routines were upended, and lives were shaken – quite literally – to the core.
Among the worst-affected areas was Pyinmana Township, where many older people found themselves particularly at-risk in the aftermath. One of them is 87-year-old Daw Khin Myaing.
Speaking softly but firmly, Daw Khin Myaing recounted the moments when the earth roared beneath her feet.
The first earthquake struck during breakfast. She had just told her niece what she wanted for lunch – fish curry and tamarind leaf soup – when the shaking began.
“My niece was screaming, holding onto the table. The whole village was noisy. Bricks fell. Our house was damaged. Twelve of us now sleep on the living room floor on waterproof fabric. We don’t dare sleep alone.”
She was attending a local charity event that coincided with Armed Forces Day when the quake struck. “I had only packed two or three sets of clothes,” she explained. “After the event, I couldn’t go back to my home, the children said it wasn’t safe for me to sleep there. So I stayed in the village. Then another earthquake happened. They keep coming.”
For Daw Khin Myaing, the earthquakes were not just geological shocks – they were deeply personal. “Over my 80 years, I’ve never experienced anything like this. With political unrest, we used to flee with our mosquito nets and milk tins. But this? This is different. You can’t run from the ground.”
Her home – like many others – was damaged. Brick walls collapsed, possessions were smashed, and the building began to lean dangerously. For safety, she now sleeps on the floor in a crowded room with a dozen others. They haven’t slept soundly in days. “We’re afraid the brick wall will fall again. I’ll fix it at the end of the month – if I’m still alive then.”
But safety comes at the cost of independence. Before the earthquake, she walked unaided. Now, her knees give way unexpectedly.
I was confident walking alone. Now, I can’t even go to the toilet without my walker and my granddaughter. I don’t dare. In the mornings, I wake up dizzy. I need help just to sit up. If I want to eat, I have to ask someone to get it for me.
Food, she says, is the most important thing to her. “I can’t eat like I used to. Just a little rice, some soup. I had a mini-stroke last year after eating fermented fish – since then, I have to be careful. My daughter and granddaughters know what I can eat, and they look after me.”
Despite it all, Daw Khin Myaing’s greatest wish is to stay with her family. “I want to be with my daughter and my two granddaughters, even if it means going hungry. We don’t dare sleep upstairs anymore. But I want to be home.”
Her story is a stark reminder that disasters don’t affect everyone equally. Older people like Daw Khin Myaing face the crisis not only with the challenges of age, but often with limited mobility, reduced access to healthcare, and heightened isolation. Yet their voices are often overlooked in emergency response and recovery efforts.
As Myanmar begins the slow process of rebuilding, it is critical that older people are included – not just as recipients of aid, but as people with rights, dignity, and the need to be heard. Daw Khin Myaing’s story is not only one of loss and fear. It is also one of resilience, and a call to ensure no one is left behind in times of crisis.
