The Jakarta Post, Yogyakarta, Klaten, Jakarta
Aid has begun trickling into the earthquake disaster area, but it was rain which poured on thousands of refugee tents across Yogyakarta on Sunday night.
These makeshift canvas and plastic shelters have became temporary homes for over 100,000 displaced people in the province.
Some huddled beneath the tents because they had nothing left, many braved the rain and cold because they were too afraid to return to their homes for fear of being trapped in another earthquake.
It was the ""dark ages"" in many parts of the province as small oil lamps became the only source of light in areas cut off from electricity.
The terror of Saturday morning's devastating temblor remained fresh in everyone's minds.
""Most houses around here are damaged and fractured, the slightest quiver could bring them down,"" Sunaryo, 65, a resident of Bokoharjo village in Sleman regency, said as he pointed out the cracks in his house to The Jakarta Post.
Packed under a small plastic covering as water dripped down the sides, Sunaryo, his family and friends gathered together with their cooking utensils, mats and what valuables they had managed to salvage.
Not far away in Prambanan village a group of about 60 people had been seen earlier in the afternoon huddling together in the middle of a rice field. They had a few mattresses, some household materials and nothing to put over their heads. It is difficult to imagine where they went when the rain came down later that evening.
Clean water was scarce. ""It tastes bitter,"" 60-year-old Suwagiyo told the Post. ""Maybe its because of the rubble that collapsed into the well.""
Though pledges of aid poured in from around the country and abroad, these declarations meant little to the thousands of people left with nothing in hamlets and villages dotting the province.
For the second night they were left to fend for themselves with whatever they could salvage from their homes.
President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono may have opened office in Yogyakarta and dozens of relief groups are said to be in the field, but it was clear Sunday afternoon that aid work was haphazard and largely uncoordinated.
Those living nearer to population centers, understandably, were the first to receive assistance. The irony is that the worst hit areas are the small villages far from the Yogyakarta city center, such as those in Bantul regency where two-thirds of the earthquake deaths occurred.
The experience of Juni, a villager from Srigading, Bantul, exemplifies the confusion of the aid operation.
""At dawn I went to the regency aid post but they told me to go to the district office,"" he recalled. ""When I finally arrived at the district office no one knew what to do.""
Along the main road through Bantul people were lined up begging for food and money.
Carrying small pouches and old boxes on which the words ""Quake Donations"" could barely be made out, the old and young, women and children sought handouts from passersby.
They were unaware of the newly formed Special Disaster Task Force for Bantul regency, having seen no evidence of its presence in the area.
In these first hours after the earthquake it was not a task force or aid agencies that offered hope to those displaced by the tragedy, but the kindness of traveling strangers.
""We have not received any (official) assistance at all,"" said Warno, a resident of Gadungan village in Bantul. His remark was a common one in the area.
Some people were taking matters into their own hands, calling relatives and friends in less affected areas to secure food and other emergency needs.
At one such warehouse, owned by the Bantul regency administration, donated goods were beginning to pile up. Officials said the assistance would be distributed through district chiefs.
Though desperate, many people continue to display the traditional Javanese spirit of accepting fate and seeking the positive, no matter how dire the circumstances.
With his sarong tied between tree branches to provide some cover, 75-year-old Paryo remained defiant in spirit.
""We should be ashamed of begging, even to the government. We must bear our fate,"" the old man insisted.
