But some help is finally starting to trickle in, usually in the form of food and water brought by Japan’s military, after many shelters were cut off from the rest of the world in the first days after the disaster. At the gym in Ofunato, four portable toilets arrived a day ago to supplement the two over-used restrooms. A cheer went up in the early afternoon when electricity was partly restored, giving the refugees their first electric light since the waves hit.  Those living there say they still face severe shortages. They say they have not bathed or changed their clothes in five days — and for Japanese, who look forward to a nightly ritual of immersion in a hot bath, that is particularly distressing. For many, their clothing was all they brought with them as they fled, leaving them essentially marooned in the shelters because they had no money to hire a taxi or shop.  The waves swept away everything else they owned, and in many cases their savings as well, because many older Japanese keep their savings in their dressers, not a bank. Those who have bank accounts could not withdraw money because power problems froze A.T.M. networks.  “I would leave tomorrow if I could,” said Emi Sasaki, 64, a homemaker living at the gym with her daughter and granddaughter. “Access to phones and money would let me at least try to find a place to live.”  Those in the shelters try to maintain the orderly routines of normal Japanese life, seen in the tidy rows of shoes and muddy boots at the doorway to the shelters, where everyone is in socks. But there are also stressful differences: the lack of privacy, the growing odors of hundreds of unwashed bodies and the cries of fear every night during the countless aftershocks.  They also feel cut off from their families and the outside world, with no phones or newspapers or Internet access. Meanwhile, the closure of highways and lack of goods have slowed government efforts to deliver more supplies.  “We have no idea what will happen to us next,” said Ms. Kikuchi, 71, whose home and cigarette stand were destroyed by the waves. “I cannot call relatives or friends to ask for help.”  Even those whose homes were spared have found themselves living in a state of privation that this modern and wealthy nation has not known since World War II. Entire areas of northern Japan remain without electricity, water or cellphone service.  Chronic shortages of everything from rice to gasoline have led to empty or closed stores, and lines at filling stations that extend a mile or more. Maki Niinuma, a 30-year-old homemaker, said her biggest anxiety was providing for her children, particularly her seven-month-old son. While the waves spared her home, fuel shortages have made it hard for her to shop because she wants to keep enough gas in her car to drive the baby to an inland hospital if he gets sick.  As a result, she has had to ration baby formula and try to fill the gap with less nutritious substitutes like rice porridge. She also said she had tried to make his disposable diapers last longer by waiting till they filled up before throwing them away.  Martin Fackler reports on the crowds of displaced Japanese people living in refugee centers.  “If I don’t have enough to eat, I can endure it,” she said. “But I’m worried about my children’s nutrition.”  Many Japanese have endured the privations with a similar mood of quiet stoicism, and the strong sense of community that still prevails in these northern rural areas. Even the hardest-hit areas have remained orderly and friendly, and crimes like looting are largely unheard of.  This communal spirit is apparent at many shelters, some of which are run by community volunteer groups who donate and cook the food, and even clean the overused toilets. In Ofunato, about a third of the shelters are run by volunteers with the rest administered by the city.  Mamoru Mikami, a city official who oversees the refugee centers, said the government was beginning to take over the volunteer-run shelters as it now appears that it will take weeks or months to build temporary housing for those left homeless.  He said doctors had volunteered to check shelter residents for disease or stress, though the city had a chronic shortage of medicines for common ailments like cold and flu, or medicines like insulin for those with preexisting diseases like diabetes. In the longer term, he said, the bigger challenges would be depression and stress, both from living in the shelters, where people have no privacy as well as no water and electricity, and also from the shock of the destruction that they have witnessed.  Mr. Mikami said some symptoms were already appearing, such as denial, or emotional swings between giddiness and tears. “It is happening to me, too; I still feel like I’m in a dream,” said Mr. Mikami, who barely survived the tsunami by running uphill. “So many of my co-workers at city hall died.”  Those who do leave the shelters have little choice but to live amid the debris of their homes. Osamu Niinuma, 68, was ejected from one shelter because he insisted on bringing his dog. With many of his friends lost, he said he could not part with the best friend, a beagle named Pan.  Now, he lives with Pan in the shattered shell of his home, wearing four layers of clothes to stay warm at night.  “I didn’t want to stay in the refugee shelter forever anyway,” said Mr. Niinuma, a former teacher. “People need to get out and rebuild their lives.”  A version of this article appears in print on March 17, 2011, on page A12 of the New York edition with the headline: Misery and Uncertainty Fill Up Shelters. Order Reprints| Today's Paper|Subscribe
In stricken communities across Japan, tsunami refugees have gathered in hundreds of schools, hospitals and public gyms that have been converted into makeshift shelters.