Indonesia Earthquake: 'Over the rumbling sound of shaking masonry came the shouting, crying and praying on all sides'

Normally, I'm first out the door in an earthquake. Not this time.

Normally, I'm first out the door in an earthquake. Not this time.

It began - like nearly all the tremors we've had - as horizontal, with the floor shifting back and forth, the concrete walls bulging. It was 11.15pm and I was in my bedroom in Simeulue's only town. Suddenly though, the side-to-side motion switched to a vertical, and violent, grind. Before I could reach the door the lights failed. I was thrown against the wall.

The water tank had been cracked and water spread over the floor. I scrambled up only to be thrown down again, this time smashing my arm against the shaking wall. The noise was terrifying. Concrete and brick were being ripped apart with a deafening sound like a whipcrack.

Over the bass sounds of shaking masonry came high-pitched screams from outside. They began almost as soon as the quake hit. The sounds of shouting, praying and crying came from all sides.

I found my co-worker Akbar. He had managed to get out of the house too. He told me a tsunami was coming, so we jumped into our pick-up and drove for higher ground.

Simeulue, population of 77,000, was saved from the Boxing Day tsunami by the folk-memory of a killer wave in 1904. The older generation has drummed it into their children that when an earthquake hits and the sea withdraws, you must get to higher ground. That's why only nine people died here in December, when more than 2,000 houses were swamped and destroyed.

On Monday night, the biblical exodus to the hills began all over again. We heard cries and laments in the darkness. Tropical rain beat down as families crammed onto motorcycles and cars. Many were on foot. We picked up as many as we could, maybe 20.

Normally it would take only five minutes to drive to higher ground but the press of people meant it took three times that.

As it reached midnight we got to what seemed a safe spot. Then word spread that the tsunami was really coming now. We got out of the car at the end of the road and scrambled up, into jungle. People were doubly terrified, as the jungle has many poisonous snakes and spiders.

Akbar said: "I don't care about the tsunami, I'd rather die in the tsunami than go into the jungle." So we went back to the car. In driving rain, everyone stayed up there all night.

I first came in February, after an advance team had assessed what needed to be done. After Boxing Day the people had not wanted to live in camps so they built simple shacks. Our job was to replace them with temporary homes until the government could build permanent ones.

We had come up with a design in the traditional way but from coconut palms, with added toilets and water storage. But now it's back to basics again. From bridges, roads and houses, we now need tents, sanitation, food and water.

The quakes are a curse on this lovely island. People here have got so much going for them, but every time they reach a certain level of development, Mother Nature drags them back down again.

Charlie Hickey is an engineer with the Dublin-based charity Concern