I spend every summer in Turkey. My home is in Ankara, which is the capital of Turkey. Our house is located in Oran, a neighborhood built on a hill overlooking the rest of the city.

This year, I went home to see my parents and spent my summer vacation with them. We spent the month of July in Bodrum, a seaside place on the southwest coast.

In the first week of August, we were in Akcay, where my maternal grandparents spent their summer. Then my brother and I visited my grandmother in Istanbul. The route we took to go to Istanbul passed through Yalova, which is a tourist and seasonal place the people I met had been talking about during the summer.

Istanbul to Ankara is a five-hour drive that passes through Izmit. We came home on Aug. 10, the day before the solar eclipse. Every other day after the eclipse went by as usual, until Aug. 17.

A major earthquake that occurred while people were asleep on Aug. 17 at 3:02 a.m. made that night the night of terror. The earthquake, which measured 7.8 on the Richter scale, hit the following cities, which are all located in north-western Turkey: Bolu, Bursa, Eskisehir, Istanbul, Kocaeli, Sakarya, Yalova, Tekirdag and Zonguldak.

There are a total of 15,000 to 20,000 dead people in those areas. There are tents, water, food supplies, generators and temporary housing for those who became homeless within a day of the earthquake and for those who are banned from their homes in fear of another big earthquake. The cities are damaged; the people are scared and sad. There are about 1.5 million homeless in those areas, at least temporarily.

It is a heart-breaking sight that no one should ever experience. The children — those who survived — became orphans, with nowhere to go and no one to hold. People lost their lives, their siblings and friends, their homes and their hopes.

I was still in Turkey when the earthquake occurred. It was around 3 in the morning, and I was awakened suddenly by my brother. My response was rather silly but quite normal: “This is Ankara; there are no earthquakes.”

Then I looked out the window, and it was the darkest night I have ever seen in Ankara. I was surprised, wondering, “What’s going on?” The electricity was out, and silence had covered the neighborhood.

It was 30 minutes later when we heard the telephone ring. It was my uncle calling to check if we were all right. His house shook for nearly 40 seconds. It was then that I realized the traffic on the avenue 100 yards in front of my house was heavier than usual.

The streets were crowded with people. Everyone was in shock and scared. Besides the voice of a disc jockey from Radio Kral giving out the current news from all over the earthquake area, there was silence.

My mother panicked and rushed my brother and me to the balcony. She put out a carpet and a couple of pillows to lay on. The balcony was only 2 feet above the ground, which allowed us an opportunity to jump over to the garden if we felt a movement. It was rather chilly for an August night. I was standing, almost petrified, dialing both my grandparents’ and my aunts’ numbers. My paternal grandmother’s house is located in Istanbul, and I was worried that something had happened to her.

My fear grew when I kept getting the busy signal. My maternal grandparents’ house is located two hours west of Yalova, where they ended up with one of the highest death tolls. I could not reach them either.

I kept dialing and dialing, always getting the busy signal. I was switching back and forth between four numbers. I even got a busy signal when I dialed my youngest aunt, who lives in Ankara.

The next morning, the electricity was back on. Every channel on the television was talking about the damages. It was then that I realized how big the earthquake had been. The news reporters said the death count was increasing rapidly every hour.

We were watching the mourners crying near their houses, which ended up being their relatives’ and friends’ graves. Death was all around. There were thousands dead and wounded and some still missing.

The following days, as the death toll increased rapidly, our fear grew as they tried to stop the fire at Izmit’s central gas depository. The news reporters were saying that if the fire could not be stopped, an explosion could start another earthquake that could reach the inner parts of Turkey.

On Aug. 20, they finally put out the fire. That day I left home and my parents behind and I came here to continue my studies, but my heart is with the ones who lost their relatives, friends and their homes.

My heart also is with my family, living in fear without me.

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Bengi Tozeren is a senior in hotel, restaurant and institution management from Ankara, Turkey.