What do I say to a man I meet who tells me he has lost everything? He was away from his home in Banda Aceh, Indonesia at 8AM on Sunday, 26th December, 2004. The day when at a few minutes past 8 AM an earthquake measuring 9 on the richter scale occurred in the seabed off the western coast of the island of Sumatra, triggering a tsunami. Waves reaching 30 metres in height and traveling at 600 kilometres an hour washed over his home 5 kilometres away from the beach.
When he arrived home he was horrified to find a ship the size of a football field sitting not only in the middle of his suburb, but on his home and also the homes of his neighbours. All around him was a scene of total destruction – mud, water, debris, car wreckages and bodies of neighbours and friends who perished. But worse for him yet was that not only could he not see his house, he could not find his family. 3 months after the day of devastation, he assumes that his wife and children remain underneath the huge tonnage of ship that is impossible to shift off his home. He cries as he tells his story. What can I say to give him comfort?
What do I say to an 8 year old child who has lost her mother and father, 3 siblings and her home and belongings in a beach side village near Banda Aceh? She is brought to me by a teacher for medicine for her skin infections she has had since the tsunami. She doesn’t smile now. What can I do to ease her grief?
What can I say to leaders in the community where I am working? I am there providing medical relief for people affected by the loss. The loss of loved ones, housing, and basic needs of shelter, water, clothing and nutrition. The community lost 1200 neighbours, family and friends. All the children in the school I am working in have at least one parent dead. 25% of them are completely orphaned. I know how I feel when one person I know dies at one time. I can’t comprehend their experience. How do I tell them I am sorry for their loss?
What do I say to the woman who has come to see me with her daughter, who cries with tears of grief and gratitude, thanking me for coming from so far away to help in the despair?
As I take in the images of Banda Aceh and surrounding villages I am dumbstruck. There are no words it seems, to describe the complete devastation surrounding me. Any I can think of are far too trite to describe the loss caused by the worst natural disaster in the world. Even though I stand and look at the destruction of homes and villages, the pain and loss the scenes portray remain unimaginable to me.
I try to imagine the thousands of bodies that lined the streets on the day of the tsunami. It is easy to do when you look at the remains of a house and see a child’s toy near where a bedroom may have been, or a woman’s shoe near the front door. Was the child clutching the toy as they were swept away by a torrent of water? Was the woman wearing that shoe and it fell off as she tried to escape? Was there someone in that car that is wrecked so badly I can only recognise the steering wheel?
I ask God “why?” Why did all the children in a primary school at 8AM on a Sunday morning die as they were swallowed by a giant wave? Why did all the patients in one hospital perish as mud engulfed them as they lay in their sick beds? Why are 170 000 men, women or children dead or missing, presumed dead in Aceh alone, because of this disaster? I still don’t know the answer.
What I do know, is that God sent me to be with the people of Aceh. Even though I don’t know what to say and have no words of comfort I can give them, the fact that I am there with the people helps them know God’s love and care for them. The fact that I am with them shows them they are not alone as they rebuild their lives and communities. We struggle together, to find meaning and hope amid the sadness. As we do this in partnership I learn so much about God’s heart for His people.
A translator I worked with wrote this poem:
“Tell your people there, your husband, your family, your neighbours, your relatives, that the Achenese thank you so much using their grief, their sadness and their hopes.
Sometimes we don’t need tears to express our grief
Sometimes we do not need laughter or smiles to describe our happiness
Because we do not have tears and smiles anymore to express everything we feel while our lovely people passed away in front of our eyes
Don’t teach us how to cry
But let’s learn together how to smile in grief…………
Thanks so much for your sacrifice for our people”
As I leave the province of Aceh, I will take with me many memories. Many of them will be sad memories, but the memories that will stay the longest are the sounds of Aceh. The sounds of saws and hammers as people rebuild, and the sound of children’s laughter as they learn to play and be children again. These are the sounds of resilience.
I feel very privileged to have been involved in the lives of these people who have taught me so much. I am grateful to be even a small part of their story.
What do I say when I am back in New Zealand and my family, friends and work colleagues ask how my time was there? One work contact asks if I enjoyed my holiday. How do I tell them about the friends I made, the lives I’ve been touched by, the extreme devastation and trauma suffered, the work I did. I find again – I have no words.
[Ruth Cooke from Petone, New Zealand is a community nurse with experience in New Zealand and Canada who has just spent a month in Aceh province of Sumatra doing tsunami relief with Servants, developing a community health curriculum for schools and training teachers to deliver it. For more information about joining the Servants team in Banda Aceh email us on [email protected]]
