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Sherry's Diary

The Human Side

Grant stands amid the ruble

 

Sherry Grant

Banda Aceh, Sumatra, Indonesia

16 January 2005

 

I am sitting in the Aceh airport – the plane is five hours late.  The lobby is full of aid workers.  The mood is somber.  It is hard to describe exactly what I feel, not because I am numb or tired, but rather I can’t find the word to describe how I feel - distressed, horrified, humbled, and very very sad.  On the other hand I am amazed at the Indonesians who have survived this terrible catastrophe and are already showing signs of taking the first step to recovery with amazing strength and fortitude.

 

In the wake of Phuket and Sri Lanka, I thought I was prepared for Aceh.  In retrospect I am ever so grateful that I arranged my schedule to visit the other countries first so I could emotionally experience and appreciate the magnitude of each disaster as it got progressively worse.  Had I visited Aceh first I would not have fully appreciated the impact of disasters in the other countries which are equally as horrifying.  However what I saw and experienced in Banda Aceh is a modern day holocaust.

 

There are bodies everywhere - on the side of the road and buried in the ruble - babies, children, men and women - all stripped of their clothing by the force of the wave - most waiting to be found, joining  the hundreds of corpses found each day.  But later I was to learn that most aren’t found for they are buried deep in the ruble.  The cleanup work goes on.  The roads are cleared and debris is removed.  These were once bustling neighborhoods full of playing children, men having coffee in food stalls, and women going to market while busy traffic swerved around them - all pumping the rhythm of another normal day.  It is eerie.

 

It is eerie to walk down the road doing the job I was sent here to do – assess the immediate animal welfare needs and assist the farm and companion animals so that the community can start rebuilding.  But sadly, the people, their animals and their life’s possessions are gone. 

 

Here it is either dead or alive – destroyed or normal.  The contrasts abound and there is nothing in between.  There is no second chance or hope to hang on to.  Entire families are gone, in many cases generations wiped out.  The streets and rubble are littered with what used to be life.  Now is just wet soggy garbage.

 

 

Within the destroyed areas it resembles a land-fill garbage dump - automobiles, furniture, toys, clothes, shoes and appliances all mixed with the putrid stench of human life decaying beneath the two and three meter high debris. Pictures of families proudly posing for weddings, birthdays and new born babies stare out through the rubble and are the only reminder that people once loved and lived here.

  

We come to the district of Kacamata Meuraxa where only a few random homes still stand in what was once a very wealthy community.  Dr. Wahyu points out one of the few remaining buildings, a very large green house. Completely unexpected, he tells us that it is his father-in-law’s home.  Adi, our driver/volunteer, points across the street to a mango tree standing alone in an area that has been flattened as far as the eye can see. He tells us that the tree is the only way he can tell where his house once stood.  The tree used to be in his backyard.  He has lost his entire family; mother, brothers, sisters and other relatives.  He is grateful that he still has his wife and daughter and literally the clothes on his back.  We are stunned and speechless.

 

Dr. Wahyu's house with his mother-in-law's

grave in foreground

 

Wahyu asks if we would like to see where he buried his mother-in-law.  He wants to pay his respects and to confirm that it is really there and not just a nightmare.  We follow him to where a few days before, alone, he found her body in the rubble.  There was no place to bury her and the Muslim religion requires that the dead are buried within 24 hours.  So she is buried in a shallow grave, already late by the religion she so dearly cherished.  Now he is worried that dogs may dig it up.  She rests next to a pool of contaminated water which used to be her backyard.  Her grave is a simple mound of mud with two pieces of scrap wood for markers. 

 

Dr. Listriani and Sherry consoling each other.

 

Wahyu sobs, I cry, Ray has to take a long walk and Garry contains his emotions as he comforts Wahyu.  We delay our work to clear our minds and let Wahyu find the best way to find closure.  He returns to the house – it is no longer surreal, it is now his new reality, a fork in the road of his life.  He comes back with photos of birthdays and weddings and can only say “so many memories I have had here”.

 

There is no discrimination between rich and poor, the have and the have-nots.  They all came to rest side by side twisted in a pile which was once a community.

 

I am sitting across from a beautiful little boy in the airport, not much older than seven.  He is licking a lolly swinging his legs back and forth like children do.  Both of his legs have been amputated at the calf and his little stumps are wrapped with bandages stained with blood.  He is with very old grandparents whose pain is etched on their faces. I can only assume that this little boy is their only remaining family and they are taking him back to Jakarta.  My heart breaks.

 

 

Images that I will never forget

 

The Power and the Wave

 

 

 

As I looked at the cleared path snaking it’s way through a destroyed neighborhood, I tried to imagine the force of the 50 foot wave that drove a 12,000 ton electric power plant ship four kilometers inland.  The ship just missed a Mosque as it relentlessly plowed onshore destroying everything in its path.  Now is sits incongruously in the middle of a neighborhood like an elephant in your living room.

 

Connect the Mosques

It is a curious contemplation we all come back to over and over again that amongst all of this death and destruction leveling hundreds of years of Indonesian history, almost all of the Mosques still stand.  Mostly unscathed or sustaining only minimal damage, the Mosques attract refugees seeking safety, shelter, food and temporary comfort.  A Mosque on the beach stands alone undamaged where there once was a pier with boats and a bustling waterfront community.  This is a common sight where ever we look.

 

Education Interrupted

We came to the teaching school which seemed to be a safe haven for the dogs that probably lived there prior to the tsunami.  They are in good condition and I picture them eating scraps from the lunches of students who would one day teach the youth in this community.  While we count the dogs and assess their condition we peak in a classroom door where students were sitting when the wave came in.  Desks are tossed around and the lesson remains on the chalk board. Books, writing tablets, shoes and book bags litter the school yard.  Everything that makes up a school was everywhere it didn’t belong.  I try to imagine what these young adults, with images of their life ahead of them, were feeling the moment the water came rushing in.  I found my answer under a grass mat among the rubble.  The face of a dead young woman, probably a student, stares up at me telling me her story. Her face is twisted in fear and her mouth is wide open as if screaming for help.

 

Clear Line of Demarcation

The devastation covered forty plus square kilometers of what was once a heavily populated area.  The downtown area of Banda Aceh is, for the most part, still standing.  But the buildings are badly damaged from the flood and impact of cars and concrete debris.  The interiors of the buildings are empty as the contents have been washed out.  Many also sustained earthquake damage.  Nothing was spared in these commercial areas - except the Kentucky Fried Chicken.  It stands among the rubble untouched and open for business.

 

There is no transition.  The tsunami damage ends catastrophically but neatly on one street.  Banda Aceh is a wasteland to a certain point with boats parked in the front yard of a house or in front of the Medan Hotel……and then on the next street everything is normal.  Like a line had been drawn.  Normal buildings, food stalls, street markets, traffic and people.  It are these scenes that give us a feeling of the pulse that once was the heartbeat of Banda Aceh.

 

Cars Being Salvaged

I will remember the twisted, smashed and ruined cars being pulled from the devastated areas to the homes of friends and neighbors.  Cars we would call a total loss, are being dismantled and cleaned.  Hundreds and hundreds of cars are being salvaged as we leave.  Living in Indonesia I know that these vehicles are among the most prized possessions of their owners.

 

A Fish Out of Water

In the backyard of a typical home, a single fish that came to rest six kilometers from the sea. 

 

Diary

 

The diary of a man named Raz who was in love with Tia.  In a poem written on June 1st 1991, he talked of love, taking risks in life and being willing to suffer the consequences.

 

Good Night Baby

A stuffed doll holding a little pillow and on it written -- good night.

 

 

 

 

(Coming: pictorial of the animals of Aceh)

 

 

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