‘I Don’t Know If I’m Dreaming’: Life After the Rasuwa Flash Floods

Thirty kilometres from the Nepal‑China border, a modest school perched on a steep hillside has been thrust into a role nobody imagined – a temporary home for roughly two hundred people whose village was swallowed by mud and water last week.

The flash flood, one of the deadliest in recent memory, ripped through Rasuwa district, dragging whole houses, livestock and, tragically, lives into a torrent that now lies under a thick layer of sediment. The survivors, many of them still in shock, huddle inside classrooms that echo with the rustle of tarps and the soft murmurs of grief.

Getting aid to this remote corner is no small feat. A winding, nine‑hour journey over a dusty, uneven road is required for every convoy of supplies. “Food is scarce, so I’m bringing rice, lentils and oil,” explains Madhav Neupane, a staff member with the Human Development and Community Services agency. “There is no electricity, so we’re also delivering solar power banks. And because people are homeless, we’ve packed tents as well.”

For many, the school‑turned‑shelter is more than a roof – it’s the only place where they can wait for word about missing relatives. “I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if it’s real. I’ve lost eleven members of my family,” says Ranjina Tamang, eyes glazed with tears. “Some are missing, others may be dead – I don’t know.”

The hunt for survivors continues beyond the school’s walls. Rescue teams have pulled a Chinese national out of a flooded hydropower tunnel on Saturday, and two Nepali workers were saved from another mud‑blocked passage on Friday. Yet, official tallies still list more than 5,600 people as missing, a number that haunts every villager who gathers at the makeshift camp.

Living conditions in the overcrowded shelters are harsh. Families share thin blankets, children sleep on the cold concrete floor, and the scent of cooking fuel mingles with the ever‑present smell of damp earth. Yet, moments of solidarity surface: a neighbor offers a spare blanket, a volunteer hands out hot tea, and a child’s laughter briefly cuts through the gloom.

Experts point to changing weather patterns as a backdrop to this disaster. While the region has long been prone to monsoonal rains, intensified storms and rapid glacier melt linked to climate change are making floods more frequent and more ferocious.

As the sun sets behind the jagged peaks, the school lights flicker on—some powered by the solar banks that volunteers delivered earlier in the day. Inside, the community clings to hope, rebuilding piece by piece, even as they wonder whether tomorrow will bring relief or another wave of hardship.