Tsunami: 2 years on

When one thinks of the 2004 Tsunami the image of a demonic wave towering over holiday resorts and crashing down leaving a wake of human debris is probably the most widely accessible. Live video footage filmed by awestruck tourists caught on the edges of the oceanic uprising was transmitted into the living rooms of horrified individuals and facilitated a collective response that was as spontaneous as it was generous. Emergency aid in the form of food, medicine and clothes were dispatched through international organizations and in many cases delivered personally. The severity of the disaster reminded us of our mortal impotence. Even impromptu wars have roots, but natural disasters often strike with such rapidity and magnitude that we have no alternative but to surrender our desire to tame and to control, and bow down to the dominance of nature. The tally of victims rose with such rapidity that approximate estimates were not given in tens or hundreds but in thousands. In many communities across the affected areas, an exact figure of the dead remains unknown. Piles of rotting bodies carried a new health risk and meant that many victims were burned prior to identification. According to P.Pial, the proprietor of a hotel in Phuket, it was more mentally productive for survivors to underestimate the number of victims; as Buddhists it is widely believed that those who die violently or suddenly will be ill prepared for an advantageous rebirth. Alternatively, they will remain trapped between the mortal and the immortal worlds in the harrowing limbo of the spirit realm. P. Pial admitted that there were still occasions when he is forced to stop and turn away until the faces of the dead have passed. Such fears reminds us that two years on the Tsunami is still a daily reality for the survivors. A re-assessment of the destruction caused by the Tsunami shows that political, economic and social repercussions continue to emerge from the rubble of the coastal communities.

Renewal
In contrast to the emergency relief, the extent of longer term rehabilitation has only gradually unfolded, and this is what explains the aura of permanence which surrounds organizations such as the Tsunami Volunteer Centre (TVC). The TVC continue to tackle ongoing challenges, and are doing so with a foresight aimed at minimizing the consequences of past and current projects. Saori is the name of the brand of clothes and accessories which was one of many innovative ventures designed to utilize inappropriate emergency aid which flooded Thailand two years ago. Saori's overheads are minimal as the materials were largely donated from overseas; large aid parcels filled with clothes, unsuitable for conservative communities and which Tsunami survivors feared would attract dengue carrying mosquitoes. Instead they were transformed into a vibrant line of weaved materials stitched with effervescent colours and textured with an assortment of fabrics. Patterned trousers, shirts, wallets, bags, wristbands as well as tie-died sarongs and batiks are now sold throughout the local communities, and have began to appear in funky fashion outlets in Bangkok. Tsunami dolls have a nearly fetishistic appearance to them; the pocket size dolls are sold either as keyrings or as a festive Christmas decoration. The dolls are also hand-made from recycled clothes and are filled with sand taken from the beaches around the Khao Lak area. The dolls represent the victims, the survivors as well as the donors and come brandishing either the word 'Hope', 'Spirit' or 'Renewal' which is the TVC's affirmative and reverberating motto. To date more than 5,000 dolls have been purchased. Ninety percent of the profits go directly to the women. Two years on and the piles of donated clothing have all been utilized and the two projects now use factory seconds and other fabric scraps.

The TVC also supports an equally originative venture, Wave Creations; a range of beautifully carved wooden furniture, so allegoric of its name that it almost seems to be the workmanship of the sea rather than from novice carpenters. The carpenters are not working with driftwood or the traditional Thai teak, but with the wood from donated coffins. After the Tsunami, bodies were either burned before they could be buried or the aspiration of sea water meant that they were too swollen to fit inside the coffins. Whether or not one is able to transcend the morbidity of the venture, it is clearly another example of locating a practical opportunity for survivors from what would otherwise be shortsighted aid. Refurbishment of both public and private property was required on a massive scale and Wave Creations initially offered three pieces of new furniture to families. The condition was that one member of the family would participate in its production. The project provided each family with more than a material object but with a skilled craftsman, which it was hoped may help the family through the soaring unemployment. Ultimately, the carpenters began to design more ornate pieces for the tourist market and to fill the empty resorts gradually re-opening around the area. The furniture was sold in the aptly named Thaikea.

Another rehabilitation project which has had continuing implications is carried out at Cape Pakarang; a blissfully serene peninsula, surrounded by the ocean in three directions, the equanimity of which penetrates the nearby boat yard. An opportunity to volunteer at Cape Pakarang Boat Yard is certainly no hardship and reminds us that volunteering is not entirely altruistic. It was opened in March 2005 with the urgent mission to replace destroyed longtails in order to provide fishing communities with the means to self sufficiency. Prior to the Tsunami fishing had been the localities primary source of income. During the Tsunami, waves washed over the peninsula in all directions taking with it fishing boats, nets, crates and leaving shoals of fish stranded in newfangled marshes in the middle of swampy towns. Local boat builders have been employed to work alongside the fishermen and TVC volunteers and in the past nineteen months the hundreds of lost longtails have been replaced. The project has not been without challenges, and fraudulent claims have had to be sensitively investigated. Many boats were funded from international donors and as such have been dedicated in memorandum to victims of the sea.

Reclaiming the Tourists
The Tsunami put the coastal village of Khao-Lak and the neighbouring fishing communities firmly on the national map but it also removed it from the holiday brochures of European travel agents. The combined result was an outburst of spontaneous generosity from the rest of Thailand and a disappearing act from the seasonal foreign tourists. While the Kingdom of Thailand refused the majority of the international aid which was flooding the region, it remained heavily dependent upon the tourism industry. The beautiful beaches along the Andaman coast, as well as the world class diving sites surrounding the Similan Islands have in the past been a reliable magnet for seasonal tourists. In Khao Lak, the Tsunami washed away dive shops, restaurants, shops as well as a once abundant stretch of locally owned guest houses and luxury resorts. Two years later the number of independent dive shops has been rebuilt to 12, compared to the 50 or so at the other major diving are, Koh Tao. Unlike the tourist hub of Phuket, which received an immediate (if only superficial) face-lift in order to numb the predicted impact on the tourist industry, the much smaller and provincial town of Khao Lak remained a construction site. Debris continued to be washed up along the beach, once fertile land remained reclaimed by seawater and temporary housing consisting of one room cement blocks and corrugated iron began to take on a permanence. Last year the number of tourists to the region dropped dramatically. This was known as the 'Second Disaster' to hit Khao Lak. This year, people are hopeful, but apprehensive.

The recovery which has already been made is remarkable. Top of the range resorts are opening every week, local women who have reopened their restaurants are helping to teach their new staff English. The beach is beautiful and clean; and for anyone new to the area it would seem a peaceful and tranquil place far removed from the photographs outside the highstreet camera shop, which shows a beach covered in rubbish and to the informed eye – bodies. Some of the larger resorts, such as Le Meridan 'took Khoa Lak' to Germany and Switzerland in a road show designed to convenience once regular agents to come back. And so far it seems to have worked. Old dive shops are reopening. New resorts are slowly filling up, and the common language spoken on the main street seems to be German. However, behind the scenes, new challenges continue to be tackled, many of which are reflected by projects supported by the TVC.

Continuing Ripples
Volunteers have also been engaged in building entire villages. Nam Kham 1 is a new fifty house village, built on reclaimed swamp land. Volunteers built the village with the help of volunteers and alongside its new residents and proud owners, who like those of Nam Kham 2 had fallen through the proverbial net. A major problem after the Tsunami has been land rights. Many people could not prove that they owned the land that their, particularly those in the poorest classes, Burmese refugees and the moken sea gypsies. Paradoxically, much of the beach front which was previously owned by individual Thai families was quickly snatched up by large international hotels, and the once publicly accessible beach is now being filled up with chain resorts, which in turn are being filled by European families, who spend their prepaid holiday in the parameters of the hotel.

Indirectly the TVC has also been a network of support for survivors. Many of the initial volunteers included those directly involved in the Tsunami or who had lost friends or family. The TVC provided a basic network of support and a channel to direct energy into a practical outcome.
Two years on the needs of the local community are changing and the TVC is changing accordingly. It is still receiving a steady stream of volunteers and is looking at a way to involve them in a more socially sustainable way, minimiing the impact on the local cultures, but still taking advantage of this new interest in the area. Plans for more long term home stays in exchange for language classes or Thai cooking courses are being explored. Other new initiatives are also flourishing, such as Fun for Kids which is a new charity aimed at providing public play areas and activities for local children. Meanwhile, survivors are also continuing with their lives. Many of the dive instructors continue to share their love for the ocean while the local people are slowly beginning to return to the beach for picnics and socialising.

More information on the above projects can be found at the following websites:

http://fun4kidsinthailand.org/index.html

http://www.tsunamivolunteer.net/

Running Rain

Khao Lak, Thailand

The rain falls into my mouth but I don't notice it at first. Drop by drop it is slowly warmed to body temperature, until I swallow and then I taste it and feel energised. The beach is gradually fading from view. It becomes indistinct from the dark clouds, the grey sea, which only minutes before was a deep deep turquoise. Instantly it is brought back to life. Three flashes of sheet lightening separated by what seems to be only nano seconds pours colour back into the skies; it is as if someone has momentarily turned the lights back on. I keep running steadily. I don't tire. Rather I become energised as the rain pours down my hair, across my cheeks and onto my tongue. I open my mouth wider and fell drops hit my teeth. It makes me smile. I pass another runner. Running away from the rain rather than into it. His brow is knotted deep into his forehead. My smile widens and he looks confused. The water is warm. Warmed by the heat of the air and from the kinetic energy of my body. The beach is almost deserted and offers a unique wilderness. Escapism within emptiness. My T-shirt was removed long ago, and sits wrapped around my wrist, occasionally brought up to my forehead to remove the excess water. Rain hits my lower back and begins to chill my spin. It drips down my shorts and begins to sting my legs with its power. The rivulets running into the ocean have become flooded with sandy water. It is pointless to try and negotiate them, and almost i leap into the middle, fully saturating my trainers, feeling the cool water soak into my soaks and wash around my toes. I feel truly energised as the atmospheric ensemble literally soaks into me.

Chicken Pizza

Mark offered me a slice of chicken pizza. The crusts looked delicious. “I'm veggie” I replied. Jay sitting by his side, pointed “Mark is too”. Ha ha. Mark looks up, mouth wrapped round a chunk of meaty flesh. “I was” he replied. 'Was'. The operative word in Khao Lak. A small coastal resort, north of Phuket, Thailand. The province witnessed the highest number of deaths and destruction during the 2004 Tsunami. Two years on and it remains not only a daily challenge in terms of reconstruction and rehabilitation but remains firmly ingrained in peoples lives, dictating their actions, words and occasionally, eating habits.

I arrived in Khoa Lak at the end of October. Before the start of the 2006 'high season'. As the local bus shuttled along the wide concrete road, I looked for signs of the devastation I had only seen on the televisions screens. New houses flashed by. Row upon row of small concrete blocks with white washed walls. A counseling center, half a house. The odd patch of rubble. A police boat. I looked for the ocean. We were still two kilometers away.

My first dusk run was eerily peaceful. A beautiful golden beach. Empty. I ran along. I passed a naked child playing in the sand. I felt a sinking darkness juxtaposed against the rising serenity of the sun. Five weeks later running is easier. It is scattered with tourists who help me forget the secrets of the sand. I watch as the waves gently roll up the beach. I lightly jump over rivulets and occasionally my trainers are splashed with surf. Within seconds the tide retracts taking with it the days foot prints and leaving smooth glistening grains of golden sand. Tiny crabs the size of my big toe nail escort the water back to the sea, before lunging onto the surface, surfing and then sinking down. I ponder if they are unable to resist the pull of its surge of whether they are using the momentum for an easy ride.

In some of the kodak shops in the area photographs of the Tsunami are pasted to the windows. Crinkling in the sun, they draw you in with tunnel vision, as you try not to catch the eye of a passer by, for fear that your focus may unwittingly remind them of what they try to forget. A beach covered in rubbish. A closer look, and dark swollen limbs protrude. Hanging in trees, caught under rubble. Then there are the action shots. The photographs you wonder if the photographer survived. Waves towering above, faces frozen in horror.

Last week I was diving on a liveaboard. The guests wanted to watch some live footage, taken by the companies videographer accompanying a day trip on 26 December 2004. The film began in silence. No funky leg trapping tunes which usually introduce a diving dvd, but broad smiles all the same. Customers ready for a day under the ocean – the beautiful serene and picturesque Similan National Marine Park. Eight islands covered in white coral sand which facilitate the most divine fish filled reefs. But on the morning of the Tsunami, the divers never entered the water. Instead the footage flicks to a shot of the water. The crystal clarity of the Andaman sea has disappeared, replaced by a swilling murkiness. The ocean retracts pulling away from the shore. Divers on other boats report similar experiences. A 'weirdness'. Apprehension as they traveled back. What would they find beyond dark water? Missing friends. Missing girlfriends. Missing homes, shops, cars, bikes, jobs. People wandering around. Searching. Lost. And this is when Ric started eating meat. 'The Tsunami made me' he confides between chews, “people who already had nothing flooded to Khoa Lak to help. And when people who have nothing start cooking you meals with meat in you can't hand it back.” A friend from Phuket was one of these people; ... described how prior to the Tsunami Khao Lak was an inconsequential place. A provincial beach resort. The Tsunami changed that, and put the town firmly on the national map and as the tourists were escorted to Phuket airport, residents from Phukhet were given a police escort to come help. Then they came by themselves. Handing out money, food and clothes, not only to their fellow countrymen, but also to 'farang' such as Mark.

As tourists left aid workers arrived, and when the aid workers left, volunteers continued to flood in. Two years later the Tsunami Volunteer Centre is still in full swing. I wonder if there was the same response in Indonesia. For the volunteers who arrive two years later it really is 'luxury' relief work. A real community of young and old. Social events, fun and games, restaurants and bars. At times it seems almost odd, inappropriate even, that volunteering should be so enjoyable. “Oh its addictive. Especially the young ones, they find it hard to leave” says Sheila, the program manager. Shelia is in her forties, and has been here herself for nearly two years. She's busy arranging the Christmas party at the moment. Asking friends and families to donate festive treats. She is already receiving box upon box of filled with party crackers and streamers. Many of the volunteers were backpackers in their previous lives – not so many weeks ago.

Cape Pakarang Boat Yard features a signpost covered in hand painted town and country names, Belfast, Sydney, Belgium, Scotland, New Zealand. The boat yard is situated on a peninsula, surrounded by the ocean in three directions. It stands in a peaceful serenity, which is so sublime it is addictive. Voluntary positions at the yard are in high demand, and reaffirm that such work is rarely entirely altruistic. The project is an example of pro-active aid; helping survivors help themselves. Prior to the Tsunami, fishing was the main industry of the area. After the tsunami boats, nets and even fish disappeared. Unemployment soared. The boat yard employs boat builders to work along side fishermen and volunteers. I watch as Eraz, a South African, carefully paints a memorandum to an Irish charity. Many boats were funded from international donors and as such have been dedicated to those whose lives were taken by the sea.

But the work is good work. The usual doubts of taking jobs from the jobless is impossible to answer. But who would employ people to make furniture to give to families for free? To paint children's classrooms with waves and fish? Teach the jobless English to facilitate a occupation transfer? To mix cement and lay foundations in order to build a village in one year rather than two? They also act as a reminder that work still needs to be down. Time may have passed but houses still need to be replaced. Jobs still need to be found. The long term consequence of the huge influx of emergency relief need to be minimised and to be done so in a way which is sensitive to the local community, and not demanded by the donors is a typical development challenge. They pride themselves on being 'community led'. They are at least aware if not actively engaged in controlling the impact of the massive numbers of farang volunteers entering local communities; 'hot and sweaty builders' is the print of the 'swamp team' who work on the construction site. Building homes alongside who have fallen through the safety net. The forgotten. Blonde girls in fisherman's trousers covered in dust and oil stand alongside Thai women, covered with shawls and hats, working the 'morning shift' while their husbands are fishing.

A wild peninsula. Surrounded by the sea. An incredulous beauty.