Beyond the statistics: the people affected by the Nepal flash floods and landslide

Written by Diana Shaw, member of staff at the British Red Cross

Last updated 3 September 2026

On 24 August 2026, I was on the trip of a lifetime through Nepal and Xizang/Tibet. After a six-hour drive from Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital, my tour group arrived in the small town of Syabrubesi in the evening.

Everything about the trip had been magical so far. Stunning and ancient temples, enormous, green Himalayan mountains with valleys cut through them like knives, and especially, the people.   

But what I could never have imagined was that the town would be in ruins just 36 hours later, with many of its people washed away by ferocious flood waters caused by a huge landslide, or still alive but grieving those they had lost. 

Meeting Nepal on its own terms

As the car climbed higher, we saw a snapshot of rural life in Nepal. So many things stood out for me, like a little girl running up and down the steep hillsides in flip-flops.

Syabrubesi was lined with three- or four-storey hotels, many with wooden or brick gables and coffee shops on the ground floor, with a main road cutting through the valley next to the Bhote Koshi river. Its water flowed quickly with white waves and a low roar.

Our hotel seemed to be run by a woman who wore traditional Nepali clothes and had a group of young men to help. It was clear that someone had put in a lot of time and effort to make the building welcoming and weatherproof, essential for the harsh Nepali winters and monsoons.

Outside, there were many young men on motorbikes and other travellers on the same route. Later there seemed to be a party with people sounding cheerful and relaxed through our open window.

People from my tour group walked down the road to look at and listen to the river. It was high, since it’s Nepal’s rainy season, but it didn’t yet look like the killer it would become.  

Crossing the border on the way to China

Our group left before dawn the next morning because queues at the border crossing were usually long. We didn’t make it far before we came across a tree blocking the road in both directions. A small landslide had caused this, people said. This is common in the region, where the mountains rise at almost right angles to the road.

One member of our group was an engineer and talked about how much power could be generated from the river to improve local people’s lives. Then we saw them – small hydroelectric turbines recently installed to harness the river’s power. We could see other improvements, too, like a wall being built next to the road to stop cars from slipping into the water. There were metal cages of rocks called gabions, a common flood protection measure. It felt like people and the government were working hard to improve things.

By the time we got to the border, the Chinese officials were taking a lunch break. The engineer and I sat on a wall near the mountain to wait. An attendant quickly asked us not to – these mountains were prone to landslides, he said.

Finally, we were allowed into the Chinese border control facility. It was a sturdy stone building approached via a metal bridge. I took a photo of it, so impressed by how solid it seemed compared to the muddy roads, fallen trees and youth with motorbikes.

I dropped my sunglasses and one of the Chinese staff tapped my shoulder to alert me. A small act of kindness I will always remember, especially given what happened the next day. 

Nobody is just a statistic

The morning after we had crossed the border, as we drove on the smooth and peaceful Tibetan roads, our Nepali guides started getting messages with news of a landslide and flood exactly where we had stood about 14 hours earlier. People had been killed, they said. At that point we didn’t know that the border crossing building and many of the towns along the river, including where we stayed, had been washed away or terribly damaged.

It took hours for the full picture to form, but the sturdy Chinese border crossing had been engulfed in a huge flood caused by a landslide. Water full of rocks and ice surged down the river, destroying everything in its path.

The building was rubble. The metal bridge was broken, as were at least ten others along the same route we had taken. The hydroelectric turbines were washed away. So many years of improvements, destroyed in minutes.

Details of what happened to the people started to emerge later. The hundreds waiting at the border crossing were killed, probably along with most of the Nepali police and army stationed there. Details of what happened to the Chinese staff are still hazy. As the water surged down the already turbulent river, it destroyed towns and villages in its wake.

My first thoughts were of the woman who ran the hotel and her helpers, the man who worked for the Nepal Red Cross, the bikers having a party. Most were probably killed. Those left alive most likely lost many of their relatives and friends, never mind their possessions.

I remembered the little girl running up and down the mountain. Was she hurt or killed? Were her family’s crops destroyed? If so, what and how will they eat?

I will never know the answers to these questions. But one thing I do believe – as the casualty numbers mount, we must remember that each one was a person with their own lives.  

Had my group been scheduled to cross into the Xizang/Tibet area one day later, we would have become statistics as well. But those who love us would remember us as much more than that, and that’s how I want to remember the people who lost their lives and livelihoods to the terrible landslide and flood. Each was an individual doing the best they could in a harsh but beautiful environment. I probably would have remembered the details of what I saw anyway, but now they take on a special meaning.