Aid worker Mark Snelling is in quake-hit Indonesia with the British Red Cross. He tells of the scramble to get urgent relief to thousands of survivors.

Sunday June 4

There is a proverb in Java - kawru petjo - which translates roughly as "everything is good luck". Given last weekend's earthquake, which is now thought to have killed some 6,000 people, I'm wondering if this still holds.

"In Javanese culture, whatever happens, we say thank you God," says Achmer Albugis, a volunteer with the Indonesian Red Cross, "and people will always help each other."

Achmer himself, who lives and works as a school teacher some 200 km (125 miles) west of here, is no exception. "As soon as I heard about the earthquake, I contacted some friends and we decided to come," he says.

Achmer and I are travelling to Jetis, a village some 14 km (9 miles) south of Buntol, one of the areas most heavily damaged by the earthquake. When we arrive, more volunteers from the Indonesian Red Cross - known as Palang Merah Indonesia (PMI) - are busy handing out tents, food parcels and packs of hygiene and sanitary products to villagers.

We meet Wiiyono, a labourer from the village, his wife Oom, and their two children, all of whom are heading home having just collected their supplies.

We set off from the distribution point towards Wiiyono's house, boxes in hand. The father will come back for the tent later.

Our path takes us across a broad expanse of emerald green paddy, which gives way on our distant left to broad, rolling hills. It is a glimpse of why the Javanese are traditionally so grateful for their lot in life.

This land is lush, fertile and almost heartbreakingly beautiful. From a distance, the village ahead looks like a palm-fringed paradise. As soon as we get beyond the tree-line, the idyll ends.

Of the 122 houses here, only four are even remotely intact. The devastation is almost total. The nature of my job and that of my Red Cross colleagues entails arriving after disaster has struck. I struggle to imagine what it's like to be caught up in it.

"I was in bed when the earthquake started. My wife and I grabbed the children," Wiiyono tells me. "The front door was stuck with all the shaking so I had to pull it off. We just got through when the house collapsed."

Their youngest child, Dwi, is only five months old. I don't have children, but my first niece was born three months ago. Even the passing notion of this kind of danger befalling her makes me shudder.

In the hours after the quake, thousands of volunteers like Achmer converged on the region. At least 500 Indonesian Red Cross volunteers were among the first on the scene.

As the international operation steps up behind the local response, Red Cross officials estimate that some 50,000 families will receive humanitarian assistance over the next six weeks. Shelter is the top priority, given the numbers of homeless. Life may have just collapsed around them, but Wiijono and his family will at least be properly covered tonight.

But these are not helpless beneficiaries. Across the region, villagers are busy salvaging whatever they can from the rubble in preparation for the long process of rebuilding ahead. Undamaged bricks are saved, bags and sheeting are retrieved, any piece of timber and iron that can be used again will be used.

Yet wherever I go, this is action combined with an astounding level of acceptance of this tragedy.

"I am OK," says 85-year-old Isah, who is blind. She sits quietly with her husband, Wiryoyero, under a tarpaulin on the edge of the village next to the ruins of her family home. "It is up to God now."

Although Java is predominantly Muslim, the island's ancient culture has deep roots in Hindu mysticism. Loyalty and bravery are highly prized, materialism is rejected. Above all, fate and destiny are accepted with gracious optimism.

Wiryoyero most likely saved his wife's life by throwing himself over her when the roof caved in. "I am not angry or sad about the house, but we need help," he says.

Yet for all the remarkable resilience, it is evident that horrific memories of last Saturday have left their mark on many here.

"Everyone was screaming and crying for help. There was a lot of dust and the sound of the rooves crumbling was so loud," says Oom, cradling Dwi in her arms.

"I still feel the shaking and I am afraid of another earthquake. I find it hard to sleep at night," she says. The shaking is no mental aberration. Several aftershocks in recent days have caused widespread alarm.

Without descending into the debased jargon of psychological trauma, the process of rehabilitation will involve more than just house construction here. There are mental scars, they are deep, and they will take time to heal.

Saturday, June 3

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