| Noel Baker, Irish Examiner, 27th December 2005
THE ship on the railway line has now become so much of a tourist
attraction, the owner of an ice cream van has decided to open for
business.
Picture it: a year on from the devastation of the tsunami which
smashed the south and east coasts of Sri Lanka, the dredger 'Weligouwa'
of Colombo is propped up above makeshift rail girders in the southern
area of Kirinda, like a scene from a Werner Herzog movie.
The bow of the vessel points towards the sea, and echoing the slow,
painful process of rebuilding the areas wrecked by the waves, in
the past year the ship has been dragged 30 metres closer to its
final destination. International cooperation was offered and then
withdrawn, and still the locals wait. And wait.
Coordinating the ongoing effort to get the vessel back on the water
is the second in command and assistant captain RR Kithsiri. With
obligatory white hair and beard, he looks every inch the seafarer.
His boat has not been at sea since December 26 last year and in
its absence the local fishing community has had to travel out on
small boats due to build-up of sand in the harbour. The next dredger
is in Galle, too far away to come and help and so the Weligouwa
continues to sit in the sun, incongruous and unused in equal measure.
"It was 30 metres back inland on the left hand side,"
Mr Kithsiri explains of the boat's original position, adding that
it smashed into a house but luckily sustained only minor damage
— which is more than can be said for the building. It took
one month of planning but only three days to move it this far, he
says, and he still doesn't know when it will make the final leg
of what is turning into an epic journey.
"The date has not been decided yet as the Korean company has
decided it will not help to move it," he explains. The company
in question had lent its support to the move to bring the ship back
out to sea, but in exchange for being allowed use of the boat and
the harbour. The deal fell through and the boat has remained where
it is.
"I'm not surprised," he says. "We are getting a
lot of support from everywhere, but it's a shame it's taking so
long."
AND so it goes for many of the areas worst affected by the violent
belt of
water which lashed the coast of Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Thailand and
elsewhere one year ago. In Sri Lanka, at least 31,229 people were
killed, with another 4,093 missing. In all, more than half a million
people were displaced and one year on, many of them are still without
a permanent home of their own. Just this week an Oxfam survey suggested
that 40% were still without work and that four out of five people
affected did not have a permanent home. More than 78,000 houses
were completely destroyed, almost 25,000 fishing vessels lost and
more than 23,000 acres of cultivated land affected. An assessment
in
January put the cost of the damage at 1.3 billion ($1.5bn), and
it was estimated that 1.8bn ($2.15bn) would be needed for long-term
recovery, although the total figure pledged was 2.8bn ($3.32bn).
Such was the level of destruction that many non-government organisations
(NGOs) have estimated that a rebuilding programme could take up
to five years.
The pungent, nose-curdling smell is long gone, not that many who
lived through the tsunami will ever forget it. Nor are they likely
to forget the severe images replicated all across the region; surreal
sights like boats lodged in first-floor windows, or tall telecommunications
towers reduced to wire meshing, or fishing vessels perched on top
of high rocks, as though on a mantelpiece.
A number of Irish NGOs (Non Governmental Agencies) are working
in Sri Lanka, either directly or indirectly through local NGOs and
other groups. There is additional evidence of Irish involvement,
from boats with names like 'Fungi the Dingle Dolphin' bobbing on
the shore and even appearances by Irish musicians on local radio.
Remarkably, Daniel O'Donnell is a regular on some Sri Lankan stations,
while GOAL country director John Wain said that he once heard a
Joe Dolan tune. "I was shocked," the unflappable Corkman
admitted.
The Dublin-based agency has a total budget of 23m for Sri Lanka.
It intends to spend 10.5m of that on school projects, and has already
spent more than 7m on a range of initiatives.
Such was the unprecedented scale of the tsunami that coordination
at national and local level was an exceedingly difficult task. Tensions
between ethnic groups in the east of the country has slowed progress,
but the stickiest problem, according to Mr Wain, is the high level
of bureaucracy in the country.
With the introduction of a 'no build' buffer zone for most buildings
along the coast, which varies in distance from 65 metres to 200m
from the shoreline, permission to construct needs to be sought from
any number of state bodies, particularly the Coastal Conservation
Agency.
Mr Wain cites one school building project that required official
permission at 14 different levels before work could even get underway.
One request for a school which encroached slightly into the buffer
zone led to the ludicrous idea of a school on stilts.
Driving down the main coast road from the capital Colombo through
Galle and into the south, single walls still stand as reminders
of some of the buildings pulled away by the force of the water.
While certain places are clearly returning to a bustling level of
relative prosperity, other areas leave no doubt as to the difficulties
faced by the people left behind after the disaster. For every new
glass shop front, there is a family living in a tent or staying
in the old derelict buildings for fear that the land will be taken
from them or because they have nowhere else to go.
In the historic city of Galle, where the international cricket
ground was just one of the local landmarks decimated by the sea,
the country's president, Mahinda Rajapaksa, is preparing to cut
the ribbon on a new school project. So auspicious is the event that
it has been advertised on national radio and accordingly a heavy
police presence and a clutch of dignitaries are around in advance
of his arrival. Unfortunately, we are told that there is no chance
of grabbing the president and former Prime Minister for a quick
word. It would have been interesting to see how the man who won
the election the year after the tsunami while talking about a long-term
plan for the country carries himself, more particularly given that
he was forced to deny allegations that tsunami funds had been misappropriated
in the 'Helping Hambantota'
scandal, where money destined for the south coast town was diverted
elsewhere.
The cafe Sahana, where six people lost there lives in the disaster,
is one building in Galle that has been completely transformed since
it was blasted by the water. The owners say that on the anniversary
they will have a quiet ceremony and donate alms, a practice that
seems widespread in a country where people are not known for openly
exhibiting their grief.
Many people went looking for psychological help during the year
as the magnitude of the disaster hit home. In many cases that help
was not available and people have still maintained a dignified but
reflective air. A faraway look, an exhalation of breath or a weak
smile is the most that many people offer when asked about their
family members who died. There are only so many times you can retell
the story, so many tend to try and forget.
Many of those affected by the tsunami are still living in temporary
housing, such as the shelter settlement in Hunidinya near the coastal
town of Dikwella. The site, originally designated for a railway
extension and therefore elevated, was donated by the government
and is operated by GOAL. Surrounded by
paddy fields, the site is home to 50 shelters where the beneficiaries
have been living for a few months after most spent time with host
families.
In all, there are about 250 people living on the site, part of
the GOAL Shelter programme which cost 4.3m in total, 3.2m of which
was paid by USAID. Young children run around as adults prepare fishing
nets; many have said that they require bicycles so as to make it
back to their old area for work.
According to GOAL worker Asha Maheshika, a bright and helpful 20-year-old
from the village of Suduwella where a third of the 300-strong population
died, in most cases the families here saw their homes completely
destroyed.
Husband and wife Vgjayalath and Waththuheewage Vijelatha have opened
a local store in their shelter, selling fruit and soft drinks, among
others items. Before the tsunami, they had run a bakery in the area
and are now waiting to be moved into permanent housing, something
which is set to happen within the next six months.
"The tsunami was a very big disaster — we lost everything,"
Ms Vijelatha Waththuheewage, a mother of four, says. "On that
day I was getting the breakfast ready and my husband went out and
saw the water was coming. It came three times. We were so frightened
we didn't stop running." Afterwards they stayed in the remains
of their home for nine very difficult months, before moving to the
GOAL shelter. "Those months were so hard," she says. "We
had no food or clothes. I think it was better to die than to live
there."
Nearby, 15 members of three inter-related families live in one
shelter. The elderly patriarch of the family, GW Siriseena, who
was a fishing labourer before the tsunami, says that there is no
income in the area and that the families are waiting for a permanent
house. He lost his wife and daughter on December 26 last year and
his house and that of his son was completely destroyed.
His niece, GW Iresha, had the double tragedy of her husband dying
before the tsunami and her five-year-old daughter Rashmi, or 'baby'
as she describes her, being swept away by the waves. Without shedding
a tear, she brings out a family photograph and points out her lost
child.
"I don't like to go back to the village because I will remember
my baby. I am afraid of that. I have tried to forget everything,
to get a new face," she says.
Further along in the last shelter in the row is a Tamil family of
five who before this used to live mostly under the bridge in Dikwella.
The eldest man, dirty white hair tucked behind his ear, gestures
moodily that all their stories should be heard, in a manner that
suggests that he has been ignored all too often during his life.
One of the women, Welaiya Bushbarani, lost a five-year-old daughter
in the tsunami. She was cooking a meal in a temporary house when
the waters came. She managed to escape by climbing a mango tree
and clinging on desperately.
Now the government has said that because they did not have a home
before the tsunami, they are not entitled to one, or a grant for
same, now. In all, six members of the family died and now she says
they will stay where they are until they get permanent housing.
According to Ms Maheshika: "People trust the NGOs more than
the government because they do more for them — the government
didn't care about these people. But there are also a lot of problems
with job security. Without a job it is very difficult to start all
over again."
One place where some families will attempt to begin again is the
new housing project at Arakena. The only government site where GOAL
has an interest, it has seen Colombo-based contractors gouge out
a chunk of the jungle close to the coast in what is an undeniably
impressive feat of engineering. GOAL is funding the construction
of up to 12 of the 45 houses here and a government minister was
on hand to cut the ribbon on the project last Tuesday, although
the first families will not move in until January 16.
Many of the houses are close to completion under the guidance of
the on-site architect and urban designer Lalith Mutukumasana, a
wiry, energetic man with specs and a dense goatee chin-only beard.
He echoes the criticisms of many NGO workers when asked about the
obstacles to building replacement houses for those displaced by
the tsunami.
"There were a lot of difficulties with land acquisitions —
there was a shortage," he says. "The government has been
a bit slow on that. There was a legal provision to acquire land
and they could have got a lot of land overnight. But they were facing
an election and they weren't keen." The possibility of facing
lengthy legal battles over compulsory purchase orders — and
the dread of losing voters — meant that many possible sites
for new houses were not secured. There where also other problems.
"It might be another year before all these problems are solved,"
Lalith explains. "The masterplanning was not done in a lot
of these [Government] departments. There was a lot of procedures
and red tape. Proper orders have not come down the line so lower
level people had to make the decisions, so it's not a long-term,
favourable decision some times."
Money and timing is integral to the rebuilding of houses. Under
the Government's grant system, if a house was completely destroyed
the family received $2,500. If it was badly damaged, the figure
dropped to $1,000. In many cases NGOs such as GOAL have topped up
the remaining money required so that people can move into their
homes, but all the while they must wait for the building projects
to be completed. The scale of the disaster has been exacerbated
since by the lengthy planning process, a situation often complicated
by the Government's imposition of a 'buffer zone' along the coast.
In many areas this decrees that no new buildings can be situated
within 65 metres of the sea. In other areas it has been extended
to 200 metres from the shore. This squeeze on land has left many
people in limbo. For fishing communities, the idea of living a few
miles inland and having to travel to work every day is far from
satisfactory. Meanwhile, the 'buffer zone' is set to run indefinitely
as a timeframe has not been placed on it. Many have speculated that
if it were to be removed in a few years the people that originally
owned the land would be living away from their old home, which would
then be open to offers from developers with plans for hotels or
larger commercial interests.
Nevertheless, people are being moved in greater numbers inland.
If long mooted plans for the throttled town of Hambantota come to
fruition, the town will cease to exist in its present guise. Faced
by the sea on one side and a lagoon on the other (where, famously,
a bus was flung onto its side by the water and stayed there for
more than a week), the town has regained some of its bustle, but
the signs of damage are still evident.
A few kilometres away from Hambantota, the mustachioed face of
President Rajapaksa and that of his predecessor Chandrika Bandanaraika
Kumaratunga beam out from a sign leading to the 'Great Love' Community
housing project. The President is from this district and this Government
housing project will cater for up to 8,000 families when it is completed.
GOAL were asked to be one of the supporting NGOs but decided against
it. Unlike the other, much smaller scheme in Arakena, it was argued
that this project was an under-resourced community waiting to happen,
that it would have limited facilities and was too large and ungainly
for such a rural area.
In addition, even before the tsunami there were plans to build
an inland harbour that would transform the area, catering for freighters
and tankers. The old town would be rendered obsolete as huge boats
came in off the trade routes, although where the smaller fishermen
are to go is open to question if the project ever gets off the ground.
Some believe that it is a pretty big 'if'.
Instead, the aid agency prefers smaller but quicker projects such
as those undertaken on both sides of the river near the town of
Ambalantota. People living in temporary shelters look out their
door and more often than not see the permanent house they will move
into. Throughout the year local people have been engaged in 'cash
for work' schemes, but the added incentive here is to help build
your own home. With voluntary labour also provided, the local rehabilitation
committee is consulted and the first homes are given to the most
vulnerable, and many certainly fall into that category.
In one shelter an old woman and her 17-year-old grandson look at
the foundations and walls of their new home. The woman, so shrivelled
she appears to be shrinking by the minute, has two teeth in her
head and two safety pins pulling her blouse together. Behind her
the interior of the shelter is a grimy, unkempt mess, the beds packed
closely together, while outside the rear of the shelter has been
cut and slashed in numerous places thanks to a row in the extended
family over a romantic liaison of some description. A few pieces
of sellotape just about succeed in holding the covering in place.
WHATEVER the problems along the south coast, the difficulties become
more pronounced as you edge along the east coast and up towards
the Tamil areas. On the road from Kirinda to Ampara in the east
of the country, the security presence grows by the mile. This is
a reaction to the spate of recent incidents involving different
groups in the area, including shots being fired at a helicopter
travelling to collect the Italian deputy Foreign Minister by suspected
Tamil Tigers in the Ampara region just two days before. In addition
to this long-running situation, local flare ups between the pockets
of Muslims and Tamils living in different parts of the tsunami-affected
coast have also led to tit-for-tat shootings in recent months, as
well as random work curfews and labour stoppages, all of which have
hindered the rehabilitation and redevelopment of an area where one
third of the country's fatalities in the tsunami resided.
When GOAL teams began working in the area in January it was not
unknown for unexploded grenades to turn up in cleared debris. Now,
almost a year on, the rate of clean-up and development has quickened,
but while in the immediate aftermath of the disaster the Tamils
and Government forces agreed to co-operate so as to help the victims,
now old quarrels have resurfaced. They just can't get along, although
many on both sides claim the problems are attributable to "certain
individuals". Added to this is a Tamil splinter group now engaged
in an internecine feud with the main Tamil Tiger group, the LTTE.
Police give way to the Army in this part of the world, to such
a degree that soldiers armed with machine guns are stationed outside
a local school in which state exams are taking place.
Despite, or maybe because of the scale of the problems faced by
this area in the aftermath of the tsunami, GOAL operations here
have gone into overdrive. The organisation covers a coastal area
from the town of Kalmunai to Ninthavur, with a head office in Sainthamaruthu.
This area, 45 minutes drive from Ampara, was defenceless as the
water tore through the sea front. The town has a strong Islamic
influence due to the large percentage of Muslims living here, and
the tight streets and the houses on them stood little chance when
the Tsunami struck.
In the town it is difficult to walk 100 metres without encountering
a GOAL project, and such is the ubiquity of the group's work that
in one small stretch of shorefront three new schools are being built.
Bridges and roads were also put together out of the debris and even
the cricket pitch, which at one stage was covered in a massive pile
of debris, was cleared and relaid by GOAL and will now serve as
the site for new medical facilities being installed by the Government.
Fishermen in the area also have reasons to be optimistic as two
new fisheries buildings are being constructed. (Fish sales in the
country have gone up since the tsunami, as the fear of consuming
fish because they might have eaten bodies proved short-lived. So
many small boats were donated that there are now concerns that local
'one day' fishing stocks will be depleted, while the wait for the
bigger boats to get back into action continues. Down on the beach,
with its mix of silver and gold sands, fishermen tend to their boats
and look out at the glass green sea. One of them, MT Farook, recalls
the scene as the waves swept in on December 26 last year.
"First there was a normal wave," he says. "Then
I saw a huge wave coming and I turned and ran away. My bicycle was
parked by the road and I tried to get on it but I was too late.
It carried me away about 200 metres and eventually I clung on to
a tree."
He broke his leg and was in hospital for 14 days, but was lucky
in that his family survived. His boat, however, was ruined and he
has spent the year working at odd jobs for other fishermen. He waits
for his replacement boat and his colleagues wait eagerly for the
new fishing buildings. Twenty-five of his friends died on December
26 last year, but he now looks to the future. "We will keep
on trying," he says.
A little later a teenager who works on the boats in his spare time
asks to write down his memories of the tsunami and his view on life
since the disaster. "I'm Nowzath who is from Saikota and who
was affected by the tsunami," he writes. "I regret very
much in tsunami I have lost my grandma and my mother's sister. My
house fully affected by the tsunami. We were staying at Sammaithurai
on tsunami day. Now we are suffering from the shelter. We live in
shelter now."
As for the schools projects, this is the domain of Bawa, a commanding
character with 25 years experience in the Government's Education
Department. He is the education resource manager for GOAL in the
area and explains that the vast majority of its 12m school rebuilding
programme is based in the Ampara region, and that the three new
schools will be something of a quantum leap in comparison to existing
buildings, particularly as they include provision for students with
disabilities. The three new schools have also been split between
Tamil, Sinhalese and Muslim and form part of a 12 year plan worked
out with school principals and the authorities.
Looking like old peanut casings, the smashed hulks of boats still
remain on the shore, but amid the gaps where houses once stood,
classes are still taking place in temporary schools. Some of the
proposed buildings skirt along the buffer zone, a fact which has
caused some alterations to plans, although this has not affected
the fisheries buildings as they are exempt from the ruling. In what
was formerly a hospital, principal ALM Aliyar conducts classes with
youngsters. About 209 children up to Grade 5 attend the school,
about 25 of whom lost family in the disaster. He is now looking
forward to bringing his charges to the new, modern school building
which will be built in the New Year.
"In the early stages students refused to come back because
they were scared there might be another tsunami," he explains.
"By the end of the year they were getting more confident and
gradually there has been an increase in the classes. They have also
been coming out of shock a little bit."
The new school will have a capacity of 500 students, while the
other school not far down the shore will be able to take in more
than 1,000 children. Yet another, on the fringe of town, will be
built on land reclaimed from a lagoon and will cater for 439 children,
who are currently in a temporary school also built by GOAL. Teaming
up with a Colombo based architect, the new buildings will be suitably
modern in style, with one climbing to three floors and another offering
a 'bridge' between two connected buildings.
While the second school is being readied, classes continue nearby
in a ramshackle building where one young girl has become a local
celebrity.
Nine-year-old A. Safirafawrah, who writes her name in the notebook
in a deliberate, scholarly hand, won a bicycle and the princely
sum of 20,000 Rupees after her drawing of the tsunami won a prize
in a competition organised by the Education Ministry. The bike was
part of the original prize and the cash was the amount paid for
the drawing by a wealthy Colombo family.
Fidgeting nervously with the hem of her dress, she describes the
picture, which depicted an emergency shelter and a number of tents,
each one identified as Tamil, Sinhalese or Muslim, and all marked
with a religious sign indicating Buddhism, Hindi, Islam and Christianity.
"The theme was to show that everybody was close and being together,"
she says shyly.
Back on the boat aground at Kirinda, locals out for a Sunday spin
stop to gaze at the dredger, while the ice cream man continues to
do a decent trade. The one advantage of the ship's current status
is that the crew have been able to repair its underside themselves,
without having to pay for it to be repaired as would have ordinarily
been the case. It is just another episode of triumph and disaster.
The assistant captain, his boss and the 10 other crewman have had
to get used to spending time ashore. Down below them men shovel
sand out of the way as the path into the sea slopes down to an elevated
roadway which will also have to be removed to make way for the dredger
to finally slip into the water, whenever that may be. A year on
since the sea came to wreak havoc on the land, a return to normality
continues to bob around at some unspecified point on the horizon.
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