"I don't know if I'm dreaming": Rebuilding lives after Nepal's devastating floods

Thirty kilometres from the towering Nepal‑China frontier, a modest school perched in the Rasuwa hills has been pressed into service as a temporary refuge. Roughly 200 men, women and children – all driven from their homes by a sudden, catastrophic flash flood last week – now huddle inside its classrooms, clutching whatever belongings they could salvage.

The road to Rasuwa is a winding, nine‑hour slog on a dust‑covered track that snakes through steep valleys. Yet aid workers make the trek daily, hauling bags of rice, lentils, cooking oil and solar power banks, and unloading tents that become makeshift bedrooms for the homeless.

"Food is scarce, so I'm bringing rice, lentils and oil," says Madhav Neupane, a Human Development and Community Services staff member, pausing to check his supplies before the next drop‑off. "There is no electricity, so we're also bringing solar power banks. Since people are homeless, we've also got tents with us."

Among the refugees, the mood swings between weary resignation and raw disbelief. One survivor, Ranjina Tamang, clutches a photograph of family members lost in the deluge. "I don't know if I'm dreaming or if it's real. I've lost 11 members of my family. Some are missing, others may be dead – I don't know," she whispers, eyes glazed over by tears.

Search and rescue efforts continue in a frantic, almost desperate rhythm. A Chinese engineer was pulled alive from a water‑logged hydropower tunnel on Saturday, while two Nepali workers were rescued from another mud‑choked shaft just a day earlier. Yet the grim tally rises: more than 5,600 people remain unaccounted for.

Life in the improvised camp is far from comfortable. Overcrowded rooms, the smell of damp clothing, and the constant hum of worry make each night feel endless. Still, there are moments of unexpected solidarity – a shared bowl of soup, a child’s laugh echoing off the walls, a volunteer’s hand‑written note promising that help is on the way.

The flood, driven by unusually intense monsoon rains and accelerating glacial melt, has reignited discussions about climate change and its deadly fingerprints on Himalayan communities. As the water recedes, the mud‑filled ruins of once‑thriving villages emerge, a stark reminder that rebuilding will be a long, arduous process.

For now, the school-turned-shelter stands as a beacon of resilience, a place where strangers become neighbours, and where hope flickers, however faintly, amid the lingering gloom.