oxing Day began as any other on this paradise isle. By the beach in Wadduwa, we saw the warm morning sun playing on a calm blue sea. We had planned to be in Yala over this Christmas weekend, but shelved the idea as it was too long a drive after Christmas lunch. Deciding that the beach might be better, we had ourselves booked in at various hotels along the south-western coast, but somehow nothing worked out and Wadduwa it had to be. One of the items on the agenda for that morning was for my husband and I to go to Seenigama, near Hikkaduwa, to be a part of a ‘school-pack presentation’ to underprivileged children in that area. It was this trip that we were getting ready for, when a frantic telephone call from a friend on her way to Seenigama told us that the sea was washing across the Galle Road. Looking out into the sea, we saw milky-brown waves churning their way towards us, rising by the foot along the way. In a few seconds, they crashed into the first level of the hotel garden, rocking the sunbathers under the palm trees and the vendors on the perimeter. The next phenomenon was almost unreal. The waves took with them what they could and receded as far back as the eye could see, leaving an exposed sea bed and stranded marine life… and before long, hundreds of people were curiously crowding the extended beach.
With the waters still far away and no sign of the sea returning to shore soon, we made our way to the poolside – but in the twinkling of an eye, the angry ocean came hurtling towards the land. Gathering the children and urging them to run to the rooftop, we followed suit, with the waves now rearing their head some 15 feet above sea level, crashing along a destructive pathway through the entire kitchen, restaurant, first-floor rooms and whatever else they could find in their path. Not even then did we realise the extent of destruction we would see in the next few days.
It was a day later, as I prepared to attend multiple funerals – and constantly hearing of the demise of acquaintances and people I have worked with – that I realised not only had we had a narrow shave but we had been saved many times over from plans that never materialised.
I wondered what I could do, feeling utterly helpless and hopeless. Then, a timely call from a friend asking us if we would like to go to Ampara gave us the opportunity to channel our despondent energy into something positive.
By 11 a.m., we made our first stop at the STF camp in Ampara, where some provisions in the truck were offloaded to be airlifted to marooned communities.
That task completed, we made our way to a quaint little granite church, which belied the human despair that was to confront us. The refugees, bussed in from the ravaged areas, were seated quietly in the gardens. Not a word was being spoken, but the looks said it all. Utter hopelessness and misery was all we saw.
There was not a grain of rice, clean clothes or a mat to sleep on. The church was a tiny haven for these people, but with nothing to feed or clothe them. The little storeroom, which had been immaculately swept out in the hope that relief supplies would come in, had nothing in it. The men simply stood and gazed at us. After a while, the women opened up…
The most harrowing were those of women who had been holding their infants, but the waves had simply plucked babies from their arms and swallowed them up. Homes had been lost, husbands washed away, mothers missing and children dead. And almost all of them were adamant that they simply did not want to go back to their homes – even if there was a house left! But there seemed to be no tears. I got the feeling that copious tears had been shed and what was now left was resignation. They had suffered much through 20 years of war; and for them, this was just another cross to bear.
This was the emotional destruction we encountered in Ampara, as we visited three church camps. While material things had been wiped off the face of this earth, it was the psychological ruin that was laid bare in all its nakedness – not sparing the old, the infirm, the young or the brawn.
The camps were getting little relief, as Ampara seems far away and sometimes inaccessible. Many mouths had to be fed, and only a miracle would allow those in charge to provide a square meal, let alone three, to those arriving on their doorstep. Children, as always, seemed to be more resilient. Some had smiles of welcome, while others looked at us in awe. Meanwhile, volunteers had already arrived and were distributing supplies among the families.