Eldar Kambarov
The hum of the equipment fills the room, a comforting sound that reminds me everything is running smoothly. I glance at the seismograph, its needle tracing steady lines on the paper. There’s always a quiet tension here, a readiness for the slightest tremor. Working at the earthquake station near Almaty, Kazakhstan, keeps me alert in ways I never imagined when I first started this job years ago. I’m 38 now, with a wife and a newborn son at home, and the weight of my responsibility feels heavier than ever.
Living in a region with such a volatile seismic history means we can never truly relax. Almaty has been flattened more than once in the past 250 years, and the thought of it happening again is always in the back of our minds. We have a state-of-the-art early warning system now, which is a relief. When the first wave hits, we usually have about 20 seconds before the stronger tremors arrive. It’s not much time, but it's enough to shut down electricity and gas lines, stop trains, and warn people to evacuate their buildings. Still, it’s not foolproof. Sometimes, there’s no warning at all.
Since becoming a father recently, I find myself more anxious than I used to be. I always knew the risks that come with living in this area, but I never thought too much about them. The odds of dying in an earthquake seemed so small—until I had someone to lose. Now, while I’m here at the station, my mind often drifts back to my wife and our son. I think about the walls of our apartment and whether they’re as sturdy as I’ve always believed. The building is supposed to be earthquake-proof, but as we know too well, there are never guarantees.
I try not to let my fears show. It’s amazing how we’ve all learned to live with this constant threat, how we’ve adapted to a life on the edge of disaster. It’s become normal to us, almost mundane. We just hope that if the earth decides to move, it happens when we’re awake, not when we’re asleep in the darkness, unaware and unprepared. And we pray that the epicenter is far away, where it can do less harm. All we can do is watch, wait, and hope that today isn’t the day we hear that alarm.