The Return of the Jessdie (geddit?)

There are two ways to post an entry after a trip to a place like Aceh:

1. The factual report (bitching included)
2. The story style

I'll do both lah.

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"When the first wave came, you could hear people screaming for help, 'Tolong, tolong!'. After the second wave, you couldn't hear anyone anymore."

Singaporeans at 63 typically start to retire. Those lucky enough already have grandchildren and a fat pension, spending their times either in kopitiams downing Guiness or in country clubs sipping wine - depending on the strata of society.

He spends his day sawing wood, building a new shelf to put his things on. Everything in his tent supplied by the UN were scavanged from the ruins of Ujung Karang, the little outcrop of land not unlike a peninsular - the place which was the worst hit in Meulaboh, the place that had been his home for the past 20 years.

He stays next to his friend, probably his oldest friend other than his wife. He has not yet found his wife's body. It may have already been six months, and he may have already stopped looking, but the desire for closure is still there.

"I know she's dead, but until I see the body, I don't know if i've lost her, or if she's died."

His face is blank and expressionless when I force him to recount the day the waves collasped on Ujung Karang. This is the first time in six months they have spoken about it.

"After the earthquake in the morning, we sat on the roof of our houses staring at the sea. We saw the waters start to go down, as if it were low tide, and we went down to pick the fishes left behind. When we saw the wave rushing towards us, we ran to the other side. But there was a wave coming from there too. There was no where to run. The waves came at us from three directions. When they crashed, it was like a bomb exploding."

He survived by clinging on to a piece of wood, and was swept out to sea.

"I was lucky to go out to see. Later, when the waters came back from the city, it brought with it all the dead bodies. Everyone who was swept to the city died."

I asked if he knew of entire families that had been wiped out. He repeated what he had already told me with an ironic smile, "Remember? Only three of us from our village survived."

Ujung Karang is beautiful, even by the standards of those who frequent beach resorts. The sunsets will take your breathe away, the silhouettes of empty broken houses just make the place more tranquil.

Perhaps, the beauty of the place is all the more enhanced by the knowledge of how much has been sacrificed to it. It is not known how many are buried in the mass graves, but to speak in thousands would be safe.

With nothing left to build your imagination on, it is difficult to envision what this place used to be like. After half a year, rubble and the dead has been cleared, leaving broken pieces of foundations and flooring overrun by weeds. A few pieces of clothing and personal items are strewn all over the place.

I wanted to ask him, "Why do you still go on living?" But I ask that with an assumption that he does, and I really did not want to be corrected on that point.




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After a few days, I stopped asking people I met "Did you lose anyone in the tsunami." I asked instead, "Who did you lose in the tsunami?"

The first question was pointless. Because everyone said yes. And I mean everyone. My driver, my translator, the people I interviewed, the people I chatted to on the streets. Every single fucking one. And to have to ask two questions on the topic was simply uncalled for.

Girlfriends, mothers, fathers, brothers, children, sisters, grandchildren, neighbours, babies.

Guiqing mentioned something about all this being such a big fucking joke. What a way to kick people when they're down, eh? As if being poor wasn't enough.

Other than that, I enjoyed myself. What a fucking strange thing to say, yes? But as an experience, it was good, I learnt stuff. I liked the people, my driver, Rahman, made my life so easy, going out of his way to help me catch the sunsets.

Even though I enjoyed myself, I'd like to believe that there is a line between having a good experience, and making a mockery out of the entire event.

Judging by the behaviours that I witnessed in my group, I think at some point or other, everyone made a mockery of the disaster.

I was initially pissed off at it, but hey, a joke is a joke, and who am I to decide what really goes on in their head? But I am amazed that some people, throughout that one week, remained relatively impassive and unemotionally touched by what has happened.

My theory is that they were to caught up with getting their stories done. Which is all fine, because hell we were supposed to do that anyway. But I really don't know how to not get affected when interviewing people who have lost everything. Not in front of the people anyway, but after that, when in the house, I just had to get away from all the joking and laughter and seemingly mundane talk.

I am starting to feel "morally superior". It's a flaw, I am aware.

We all have different ways of dealing with things.

But when I got to know the people, I didn't want to do the stories anymore. It seemed pointless after awhile. I guess I didn't have that much faith in my stories being able to help anyone. I wanted to do the help myself, with my own hands. It seemed a much better use of my time.

I don't know, I can't wait to go back in September, and see the old men again. FUCK THE ETHICS I am bringing them stuff.

Ethics are for when I start working, and I'm not working now.