Whooo, Whooo – NOT #21

The next morning after I had crashed and slept the sleep of the dead for several hours, I showered and put on the same dirty shorts and a t-shirt given me by Jan, Head of the SLMM mission. I was most anxious to get back to my home base in Mutur to survey the damage, so after breakfast graciously provided by Jan, as he had the evening before dinner, I went to the jetty to see if the ferry to Mutur was running. When I got to the ferry, it was about 20% full, and the Captain said that when they received a delivery of critical supplies in about an hour, they would be going to Mutur. During the interim, I was able to get to an Internet Cafe and make a post on my blog that I was safe. In about an hour-and-a-half we started out into the Bay; then we stopped and went back to the jetty. The Captain said they had been informed by the Sri Lankan Navy that another wave was coming from an aftershock. This happened three or four more times -- leave the jetty, get out into the harbor, and then turn back to the dock. Not having a book to distract me, in somewhat of a fugue-like, dissociative state, I just stared at the always swooping and screeching crows. All of a sudden, I was startled by my cell phone ringing; it was Dharshini, one of the Colombo Administrative Staff, telling me the good news that she had just spoken to Croos, our Tamil interpreter, who said that the NP House/Office was completely okay, unscathed. Thank goodness ICRC and UNICEF had very spurious information about it being destroyed. Finally a little after noon, we got on our way across the beautiful Trinco Bay.

About three-quarters of the way to Mutur, the coastline in full, but still distant view, we stopped again, and the ferry circled about. In the gently rolling sea was the body of a 8 or 9 year-old girl, lying on her back, her arms and legs outspread, hair drifting behind her, eyes open, as if she were watching the serenely passing clouds above her. With great care and reverence, several of us retrieved her from the water and laid her down on some bags off flour, closing her eyes and covering her with a sari that one of the women passengers gave us. Later, I found out that of the some 390 killed in Mutur by the Wave, 60 per cent were children under twelve years old, with a higher proportion of girls dying. When it hit Sunday morning, most of the able-bodied men in the fishing villages were out at sea fishing. Their wives and children along with elders were left back at home. A number of fishermen came back from fishing, unaware of what had happened, to discover that not only were their homes destroyed, but also their whole families had been wiped out. One man in despair later in the week suicided.

As the ferry pulled up to the jetty, the incredible destructive power of the Tsunami was apparent. The Navy facility was totally destroyed, as were many of the houses and stores along both sides of the jetty. A nearby school was devastated, the grounds and floors covered with mud and sand. Boats were broken in pieces; debris scattered about or ensnarled in skeins of barbed wire. Walking up from the jetty I carefully stepped over hand grenades, ammunition and flares that had been retrieved from the washed away police booth at the base of the jetty. For several hundred meters from the seashore, the destructive path was apparent, but unlike the Muslim town of Kinniya, which was by and large destroyed, most of Mutur was a mile from the coastline and was still intact.

It felt very good to get back to my home, to have a shower, shave, brush my teeth and put on clean clothes. There was neither telephone service nor electricity, so I spent the afternoon getting together essential supplies such as candles, boiling and filtering water, and procuring provisions for meals. I also rode my bike around to check on the safety of our main contacts. Almost everyone I spoke with had suffered incredible losses, such as our landlord, Sedak, whose daughter, aunt and several cousins were killed in a train washed away by the Tsunami. They had been on their way to a wedding in Galle. When I encountered him out in front of the Public Market, putting my hand over my heart, indicating to him my sorrow at his loss, I was incredibly moved by his response to me – in the middle of the street in this very public space, this respected Muslim businessman, a leader in his community, openly hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder, me, an American man, whose country has been terrorizing Muslims in Iraq and throughout the world. Another close contact lost both of his parents and some twelve members of his extended family. By nightfall, I was exhausted, but very luckily, the phone service, despite information it might be out for several days at least, was restored. I was able to call my stepdaughter and Momma to tell them I was, indeed, safe. By candlelight I was able to cook a meal for myself and pass out, exhausted by the efforts of the day.

At about 2:30 am, the ringing phone awakened me. It was Dan Marries, a TV reporter for CBS affiliate KOLD in Tucson, Arizona. The previous November, we had spent a wonderful two weeks traveling throughout Vietnam on both of our second return trip there. He conducted a quick phone interview, about which he did a story for the evening news of December 27th. A printed version of the story was put up on the KOLD website. This was the start of a chain of events that resulted in the incredible gift of the Kosmos, which brought LovelyLadyLynn and I together over time and the mere distance of 12,000 miles – there, Annette, a tidbit, just for you!

During the next couple of days I did exhausting work throughout Mutur, walking around the devastated community encountering awful scenes such as this distraught old man, sitting on the front stoop of his destroyed house in which died his wife, daughter and several grandchildren. All I could do was extend to him compassionate Tonglen, breathing in his deep pain, and breathing out light and love:

In the late evening of December 30th, the power, which had been predicted to be out some 20-30 days by the Ceylon Electric Board, suddenly came back on, and I was able to make a long blog entry on the NP Office PC. As I discuss there, I experienced another critical piece of deep acceptance within me, such as those I discussed above in Whooo Whooo – NOT #19. In hindsight, I fully believe that, through grace, the easy acceptance of my G-4 Powerbook with all of my digital life being lost was a requisite part of me becoming prepared for the miraculous love story between LovelyLadyLynn and myself to reveal itself.

I was also able to catch up a bit on the scillions of emails that were beginning to be exchanged among the 79 members of my email list. Included were several emails from an associate, Bart Jones, who is a staff reporter for Long Island Newsday. Bart was busily contacting my stepdaughters, Dawn and Jennifer in Phoenix, and my son, Tommy, in Tucson. Using their comments, information from my blog, and a digital picture sent by Jennifer, along with Dan’s article on the KOLD website, he fashioned this article, which ran in Newsday on Thursday, December 30th:

The confluence of LovelyLadyLynn and my destinies were surely swirling closer together . . .

Comments

[Scott Butki]

Good to read you, Tom

[Scott Butki]

Just plugged your blog, sort of.