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Homes 'drift away', soil turns liquid in quake-hit Indonesian suburb By Harry PEARL Petobo, Indonesia (AFP) Oct 1, 2018
Lots of places on the beleaguered Indonesian island of Sulawesi were hit hard by Friday's deadly earthquake-tsunami disaster. But perhaps nowhere quite as badly as Petobo. For four days, rescue workers and government officials have struggled to reach this suburb on the outskirts of the devastated city of Palu. Traversing roads crisscrossed with cracks several metres wide, it is easy to see why access was so difficult. Here the 7.5-magnitude earthquake's power is in full view. It wiped out homes, schools and roads and created massive rifts in the earth that obliterated everything around them. For as far as the eye can see, there is a patchwork of twisted roofing, downed power lines and rubble, endless rubble. There was no tsunami here -- Petobo is too far inland -- but the earth itself liquefied under the power of the jolt. It is a phenomenon called liquefaction, often observed by seismologists. Quakes sometimes hit the soil with such force that its particles come loose and -- saturated with water -- the ground itself starts behaving like a liquid, according to the United States Geological Survey. In places, the ground has risen several metres, swallowing homes and flipping cars onto their roofs. Muzair, 34, salvaged what he could from his home, which had been literally swept away. He then clung to a piece of timber and rode out the quake. "My house shifted many metres from up there to down here," he told AFP, pointing at the collapsed buildings behind him. "My neighbours' houses have been piled on top of each other," he told AFP on the scene. When the first earthquake hit it cracked the ground, he said. And when the second struck, the soil started to spin. There have been more than 170 aftershocks since then. "The soil was churning and then suddenly rose up," he said. "The soil somehow just rose and buried the houses." "One house rose up, while the other houses sunk and became much lower." Five of his family members are still missing. Other places have been inundated with water released from the huge cracks in the ground. "I haven't seen my friend since the earthquake hit three days ago," said another man, wandering through the ruins as he searched for signs of the living.
Day-long waits, frustration mark Indonesians' petrol quest "I've been here since yesterday, about 26 hours," says Pordawati Pakamundi, as she eyes her goal still several metres away. "I think I've got around two or three more hours left." The 56-year-old's aim is to buy five litres (1.3 gallons) of petrol from the Pertamina gas station for her motorbike. "I've got a motorbike but no petrol," she said. "You can't get water (without a vehicle). You can't cook rice without water." Along the forecourt floor, a meandering Domino line of jerrycans, water bottles and random containers -- each linked together by twine -- weaves back-and-forth and then across two adjacent car parks. Each of the 710 vessels is numbered, and at the pump dozens of people had gathered two or three deep to see the conga line of containers filled in turn. But several police armed with semi-automatic rifles and body armour are a pointed reminder of the tensions and growing desperation in this shattered city of 350,000 on Indonesia's Sulawesi island. For Palu residents, petrol is a gateway. Without it the hunt for food or water or whatever other essentials are in scarce supply becomes exponentially more difficult. "This is so I can search for supplies on the motorbike because getting supplies around here is tough," said Bilhan Mow. "I'm buying one litre and one jerry can -- five litres in total. That's the rule here." He's frustrated with waiting, but the options are limited. "There is very little petrol left in my motorbike, it's at an emergency level, even if I go home, I wouldn't make it, the engine will stop on the way and I would have to push," he says. "So better for me to wait here for the gas." Some residents elsewhere in the city have not been so patient, turning to looting in their bid to survive. So precious is fuel that convoys of petrol tankers get an escort -- an armed police officer in the passenger seat of each tanker and a truck bulging with armed officers at both the nose and tail of the motorcade.
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