Having survived the cyclone, the struggle now is for survival.
First there is the scramble for fresh water, with long lines all over Rangoon to buy it by the bucket load - at three times the price before the cyclone.
Then there is the hunt for shelter among the debris in a city where more homes are now without roofs than with them, and the monsoon rains are just days away. People are scavenging for wood to construct something to live in.
And while there is food, prices have shot up since Nargis ripped its way through Rangoon. The price of eggs and cooking oil had doubled. Rice is more expensive, too. Five litres of drinking water has tripled to 1,000 kyat (45p). As the desperation grows, there are reports of looting in some markets.
Huge queues snake from those petrol stations still functioning. Fuel too has doubled in price.
In Shwe Pauk Kan township in Rangoon most of the houses have either been completely or mostly destroyed. People are crammed into the few larger buildings that remain standing, including a school housing 600 children, 450 women and 250 men.
The headmaster, U Maung Maung Aye, has opened the school's doors to anyone who could make it. He shows off a well and the small generator allowing clean water to be pumped. But, he said, without some other assistance he didn't know how long he could feed people.
"I have 1,300 refugees who have lost their homes and have nothing left and needed a place to sleep, gather their small belongings, and a place to dry them. I am providing them with two meals out of the generosity of donors. I have two pregnant ladies and they are soon due," he said.
Among those who took refuge in the school was Shwe Zin, who showed me her stitched hand and bandaged head.
"The roof came down on me. I got off lightly but my 19-year-old son is at the hospital with a serious head trauma. A fireman came to save us but he also got injured," she said.
Few were prepared for what happened, which goes some way to explain a death toll that runs in to the tens of thousands, and maybe even higher. The authorities said the cyclone would hit much further north but, as the rains intensified, the meteorological department warned that the cyclone was changing course, gathering strength and headed toward Rangoon.
Even then, most people went to bed with little idea of what to expect. By midnight on Friday the 120mph winds were whipping the city as the cyclone began its crawl through the city.
It was not only the power of the storm that was so terrifying but just how long it lasted. It felt like it went on forever, ripping at our sturdy house, shattering glass, ripping away part of the roof, dumping huge amounts of water into the exposed rooms.
A large mango tree threatened to crush the children's room so we took shelter in the heart of the house and wondered what it must be like for most of the Burmese who live in homes that would have been swept away in minutes.
By Saturday afternoon, when the wind and rain finally stopped, the city was a wreck. 100-year-old trees were uprooted, lamp posts twisted, electricity poles snapped.
The once green city, and its magnificent banian and teak trees and mangoes, which just a day earlier were splashing red and yellow all over town, were gone for good. The landscape was transformed into an unrecognisable grey mess.
Only on Sunday did the police, fire brigade and military start clearing the main roads. Equipped with machetes and small saws, their task looked almost impossible.
Anyone familiar with Burma will know how resourceful and resilient the population of Burma is. With no help and few tools, the people of Rangoon managed to clear many parts of their townships and roads. The priority was to get some sort of roofing or protection in the case of further rain. By Sunday night people were queuing, and sometimes fighting, for nails in the local shops. Store owners were rationing them as angry customer were told their price had tripled after the cyclone.
"There is going to be blood," said a ferry passenger, pointing toward his village on the other side of the river, as he travelled in to Rangoon in search of food.
"No one cares about us on the outskirts of the city. The army and police are not helping ... I am spending more [to get to Rangoon] than I am earning and I will not be able to buy food next week."
· Max Quincey is the pseudonym for a Rangoon resident.
