First person: When my flight landed in Christchurch last night, it seemed like everyone leapt to open their phones to get the latest news.
RNZ senior producer Justin Gregory (kneeling, with microphone) talks to victims families in front of the Justice Precinct in Christchurch. Photo: AFP or licensors
As I took off from Auckland, the death toll stood at nine. When I landed, it was 40.
By the time I got to RNZ's Christchurch office, it was 49.
Shock doesn't seem anywhere near an adequate word for what I was experiencing. What the hell could the people of this city be feeling?
I started walking around downtown Christchurch with my recording device, looking for locals to talk to. There weren't many.
One person turned down my request to talk but pointed me towards an Indian restaurant where the owners were giving away free food to anyone who asked.
"It's all we can do," said the owner, before offering me a meal, too.
It's all we can do.
Flowers are laid at the special wall set up beside the Christchurch Botanical gardens. Photo: RNZ / Simon Rogers
I heard this phrase, or similar, all over Christchurch today, one day after the shootings.
Father Christopher Orczy, from St Michael's, an inner-city church next door to the Justice Precinct, said much the same thing.
I met him outside the courthouse as we waited on Saturday morning for the appearance of the man arrested for yesterday's shootings. This was his parish, he said, and he wanted to be around in case anyone needed him.
"I know they're going to."
A police cordon seals off either end of Deans Avenue. At the northern end, on a traffic island in the centre of the road, people have been leaving flowers and messages, standing quietly, often crying.
I fell in with Johnny and Sunita, a Hindu couple originally from India who have been living in New Zealand for more than a decade, as they walked towards the site.
They were carrying flowers.
"I feel this is my duty," said Johnny. "There's no words. I'm a bit dumb, just walking."
Sunita said she just wanted to bring flowers, "to share the condolence, and just say "we are here for you."
Both were very surprised by the shooting. Sunita says she didn't think of Christchurch as a racist, or dangerous city.
"Sometimes you feel like that, sometimes no. Sometimes people don't say upfront but who knows what's cooking inside?"
RNZ senior producer Justin Gregory. Photo: RNZ
Two young women, who didn't give me their names, were moving through the crowd, offering breakfast bowls of Bircher Muesli to anyone who wanted them. They offered a boxful to the police officer standing at the cordon who took it with a big grin.
"It feels wrong to carry on as normal," said one of them as the police raised the tape of the cordon to allow a hearse inside. Both agreed that at times like this, it was better to be busy.
On that first night, the few people I saw were stunned but trying to help.
The next morning everyone seemed subdued, tired but trying to help.
By the afternoon, as acceptance set in, there were lots of tears but practical gestures of support. People are still just trying to help.
Sofia, from Chile, got up early this morning and she and her partner baked some bread. Almost all of her neighbours are from somewhere else; Fiji, Korea, The United States.
"I had never talked to my neighbours. So we went down our driveway and we talked to everyone."
They talked, exchanged numbers, arranged to meet again tomorrow and promised to keep on talking. It was all they could do.
"Fighting fear. With food and with talking."
Residents place flowers at the police cordon near the Linwood Ave Mosque in Christchurch. Photo: AFP