A Tsunami Experience

I'm only five foot seven, and my knees were touching the airline seat in front of me. But, I had mentally prepared myself to be inconvenienced. Little did I know the extent of the heat and humidity that faced us, that a steady diet of spicy food would constantly burn my mouth and that sunscreen and bug spray are excellent adhesives for sand, dirt, and cement.

I was part of a team of 22 volunteers going to southern India as part of a tsunami relief effort. We were to build permanent homes for those who were in temporary shelters. Eighteen of us were from various parts of the United States and we would eventually meet up with four of our British colleagues.

So, here I was, on the tarmac at JFK on my way to India. After weeks of planning, the day of departure had finally arrived. There I was, and there I sat - for three hours. I reminded myself of the "inconvenience factor" and mercifully took what would become the first of many catnaps.

As we crossed the Atlantic, the airline food was "airline food." But, after departing London for New Delhi, I noticed that the menu started to change - it was getting increasingly spicier. We were, after all, on an Air India flight. But, I started to miss American food a little sooner than I expected. Lesson #1 - Keep remembering that I promised myself - No Whining.

Our route from London took us over the Himalayans, the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea. Once in India, we started to traverse the country - from New Delhi (Delhi) to Mumbai (Bombay) to Chennai (Madras). We had left the New York early Monday evening and it was now Wednesday morning. Since we were heading to the very southern tip of India, we still had a four-hour van ride ahead of us. But, after being in the air for so long, I welcomed being in a vehicle that had four wheels that were in direct contact with terra firma. We had been traveling over 36 hours, had slept in snippets for three days and we bravely decided to stay up for the rest of this day in order to get on schedule.

We were to leave Chennai, a city of over 8 million people and head south. And, as I started to take it all in, I soon realized that I was on sensory overload and I hadn't even left the city for the villages. I started to comprehend that I really was in India! Never in my life had I seen so many people. India is one-third the landmass of the United States and has one billion people. Count 'em. One billion. The streets were filled with rickshaws, mopeds, bicycles, tuk tuks, buses, scooters, trucks, pedestrians and cows. There wasn't a foot of space between them, yet everything seemed to move forward. My thought was of bumper cars at an amusement park - but this was reality in this crowded country. Local busses literally had people hanging out the windows - they were that crowded. Trains moved along the tracks with people hanging off of them. My sensory overload was being challenged - I needed a personal circuit breaker. It took me a while to realize that when I was being pushed and bumped into…it was not that the people were rude, it was their way of life…too many people with too little space. It was hot, dirty and much too "busy." I decided that I wanted to take them all to Vermont for just one weekend. Lesson #2 - Remember to appreciate the concept of personal space.

The further south we headed, the more we became aware of the plight of the tsunami victims. We were the first group of Americans to arrive and slowly it dawned on me that we were the first Caucasians that the villagers had ever seen. We were such an anomaly that we were constantly stared at as we traveled past them in our bus. It was like we were neon purple. But, everyone was very friendly, and when we waved to him or her, they immediately smiled and waved back. It was interesting to be in the minority and it gave me pause to think of what an injustice this feeling really is. Lesson # 3 - Remember this feeling.

Our destination was the village of Nagapatnum, which is just north of Sri Lanka. Along the side of the road, there were makeshift shelters. Some were Rotary tents, all lined up in neat rows on land that was totally barren due to the enormous force of the waves. Some shelters were made of thatch.

I started to think about "the comforts of home" and forced myself to go through a fast-forward typical day in my life. I have a bed with nice sheets, my favorite pillow, and a down comforter. They had straw mats that they rolled out at night. I have a water cooler in my house. They got their water by walking to the nearest pump. I had too many outfits to choose from in the morning. They had the clothes on their back. I washed and dried clothes in machines. They washed theirs at the river's edge - a dirty river, I might add. I could stop for a candy bar or a soda, order take-out, rent a movie, phone my friends and family, answer emails, see a play, take my dog for a walk, and buy "presents" for myself. I threw food away, and gave out-of-date clothes to Goodwill. I didn't want for anything, and it seemed that they needed everything. Lesson #4 - I definitely had too much, and I was truly blessed.

Before reaching our destination, we visited one of the temporary shelter villages, and I will never, ever get over it. It consisted of long corridors of corrugated metal buildings that were sectioned off to each family. The back walls were metal as was the roof. Each family's allotted space was sectioned off and measured 60 square feet - the size of a one-car garage. I found these conditions hard to fathom considering the fact that the temperature was hovering near 100 degrees and the humidity was off the charts There was a water pump at the end of the village and a small makeshift playground where children were doing what they do best - being children.

Inside each family's area, there were mats on the floor and a few battered pots in the corner - that was it. Small babies were sleeping in make shift hammocks; young children were scaling fish no bigger than their small hands and constantly swatting flies away. The fish were being cooked over hot rocks. I thought of fresh vegetables, turkey sandwiches, burgers on the grill, ice cream, warm Toll House cookies and cold milk. It didn't seem fair. But I was to eventually learn that the "have-nots" really did have more than met the eye. These were not sad people. Desperate, yes, but not defeated. The tsunami was truly tragic, but for them, it was a temporary setback. In many cases, they still had members of their family, but, more importantly, they still had their religion…a concept I would learn more about and admire as time went on. Lesson #5 was starting to evolve.

Traveling further south, we visited another village affected by the tsunami. We helped give out fishing nets to the fishermen and boxes of rations to the families. We then became part of what was a celebration marking the first time the fishermen would put their boats in the water since the tsunami. We all marched to the sea behind an Indian band. It was an incredible sight - we were walking with the whole village - and, since I had never been in a parade before, I made another mental note to be forever grateful for this experience. Little children were running up to me to hold my hand. Some of the revelers were setting off firecrackers that landed all around us. I thought of our laws back home. This would be not be the last time that I would be struck by the comparisons of our safety codes.

To be witness to boats being put into the water was very moving. These were the boats that had been thrown from the sea and badly damaged. But, now, they had been repaired and were freshly painted. Everyone was cheering and waving brightly colored flags. It seemed to me that the natives were excited but wary. Getting back on the horse never had a more analogous meaning.

During our trip, we also had the opportunity to visit several orphanages. The mere word evokes sadness, but I found it to be quite the contrary. They seemed happy and were being well cared for. Each of them was dressed in clean, colorful clothing and they greeted us with the most beautiful smiles. They taught us an Indian greeting, and we all had a great laugh trying to learn it. We had brought bubbles, stickers, school supplies, and beanie babies. Each of the children had a small metal footlocker that held all of their belongings. Once again I found it hard not to "compare" and it was difficult to conceptualize that all of one's earthly possessions could be contained in a two-foot box. We saw a one-year-old baby sleeping on a mat amidst all the noise, and later found out that she and her sister had lost both parents in the tsunami.

At one orphanage we visited, I tried to teach the children how to play a kazoo that I had brought along. It took me quite a while until, finally, this musical challenge was overcome, and we had a little impromptu parade. It was wonderful and very rewarding to sit and play with the children. But, it was extremely difficult to leave because, after we left, they were still going to be orphans. Each visit offered a poignant moment…at one orphanage, the children proudly lined up and sang us a song. They had learned "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." As they sang, I knew I would tuck this moment into my lifetime bag of memories.

Our schedules on track, the sightseeing over, it was time to get to work. Our team was originally scheduled to build temporary housing for the victims of the tsunami disaster, but the Indian government had not yet cleared the land. Our plans then changed to helping build a new orphanage. This structure would house the children from four temporary orphanages that had been hastily set up after the tsunami. Each temporary location housed between 40 - 50 children, and they were going to be combined into this new structure that would house all 200 children. We were very happy that we had visited these temporary orphanages because it definitely made our mission more meaningful.

Each member of our team had paid his or her own way for plane fares, lodging and meals. I had collected many donations before I left. But, as promised, this money would be held for permanent housing - thus bringing families from shelters to permanent homes. This project was to begin in a month, and when they are complete, there will be a house in a village in India with a plaque marked: "From the People of Woburn, Massachusetts, USA." Since our plans had changed, I chose to put the names of everyone who had donated to the tsunami relief effort on a piece of paper and place it in the wet cement of the orphanage foundation - for posterity.

Our team worked alongside laborers who make $2.00 a day. We moved bricks by hand via the chain-gang method. All I could think of was the days of building the pyramids. It was truly that primitive. The cement was mixed on the ground with worn out tools and we carried it on our heads in wok-shaped "hods" to where it was needed. We spent the day either moving earth, passing bricks in a "brick line" or laying bricks for a retaining wall. We all wondered where the wheelbarrows were and stood in awe as we watched a rickety truck pull in with a load of sand. This truck had bald tires that lacked sufficient air, and it also did not back up. So, in order to get it into place, it was moved by brute force and limbs of trees used as fulcrums.

Each day, a truckload of 5,000 bricks was delivered in the most dilapidated truck. We had arrived at the site at 7:30 am and the laborers were waiting for us to unload them into a neat pile. After that, we either moved earth or cement. We passed them from one person to another - all the while trying to avoid those areas containing tiny ants that delivered a not so tiny bite. Some of us helped the ironworkers bend rods, which would create retaining columns. They were joined together by wires, which had to be twisted in a certain way. Then they were raised in place. The scaffolding for the site was nothing more than stripped branches that were held together with hemp (OSHA where are you?).

Each day, we were served lunch that consisted of everything we didn't exactly like - but had learned to eat. Food wrapped in newspaper to keep it hot was dumped into battered pans. We would then gather for yet another buffet where none of us ever really knew what we were eating. But there was always yogurt and bananas. I was grateful for the yogurt because it took some of the fire away from the inside of my mouth. We were never hungry, just never satiated. I desperately wanted a pizza.

I tried to get used to the food, but I didn't care for it. It was spicy hot, as I expected. But sometimes I had to put Vaseline on my lips after eating because I swear they'd been burned off. Once, I told a team member that the evening dinner would be bacon cheeseburgers as a special surprise, and for a second he believed me. We drove each other crazy taking about American food. Everything was so spicy - and, since the cow is sacred in India, there was no meat. In fact, cows wandered everywhere - they were even at our work site. I thought that maybe when I come back after I die, I might want to be a cow in India.

The first Sunday, I went to a Catholic Mass with the four British members of the team. It was very long, and because it was spoken in Tamil we didn't understand a thing that was said. Halfway through the Mass, one of my companions leaned over to me and said "Do you notice anything strange?" I looked around and noticed that all the men were seated on the left and all the women were on the right. And there I was sitting with the only men sitting the right. Another anomaly.

After working one day, we went to the beach where the tsunami hit. It was overwhelming to all of us - a completely bare beach with barren land as far as the eye could see. I saw the top of a concrete roofing structure sticking out of the sand; the bottom was 40 feet away. One-inch steel rods were sticking out of the structure where it had completely snapped off. Seeing this put in perspective the utter force of the water. One of our team had thought to bring a soccer ball and a pump. As children gathered around us, the ball was pumped up and given to them. They were so grateful and happy with this simple gesture that it made me sad.

On another occasion, we had been invited to have tea at the Governor's house when we finished working at the site. This invitation presented difficulty since we had to turn our shirts inside out and hastily try to look presentable. Through a contact with a local Rotarian, I had previously arranged for us to meet a young man who was destitute and had applied for monetary assistance so he could attend college - a figure that amounted to $30/month.

I had been told that the young man was handicapped and I found him sitting on the floor in a corner waiting to meet us. He had been stricken by polio as a child, and his legs were atrophied under him. So, to move toward me he had to use his two hands and one of his hips. I found out that he had traveled 30 miles on a bicycle with a special seat using his arms to pedal. He had traveled 30 miles to meet us because he wanted to go to college. It was that simple, and it was that moving.

I knelt down to greet him on his level. I took his papers, and since we were about to leave, I gave him a hug, and stood up. I walked away towards our bus, and burst into tears. Too many orphans - too many people in need. We had seen some difficult situations and it was just plain hard to take it all in.

Back at the site the next day, we found we were in for a challenging ordeal. It had rained the night before and we spent almost six hours bailing out water from the foundation that we were building. We carried the water to the edge of the site in the hods (bowls) and dumped it (oh, for a sump pump). Then sand was dumped into the foundation bowl by bowl to soak up any remaining water. This sand was eventually scooped back up, passed to us, then handed down the line and dumped back into the sand pile for later use.

One member of our team who owns a construction company estimated that we moved over 35,000 bricks and five cubic yards of earth and sand while we were there. We did this by forming interminable "brick lines" - and the 4 British team members were quite comical about it. They were at the beginning of the line and would start a chant - "What do you want?" and we'd answer "More bricks!" - then "When do you want 'em?" and we'd yell "Now!" Pretty soon our answers turned into "Pitchers of beer." But, the beer never materialized.

To pass the time, and break up the interminable monotony of the brick lines, we often sang songs and the laborers would join in when we taught them the chorus line. "I've Been Working on the Railroad" was a favorite. One morning, we got off the bus two by two singing "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off to Work We Go," We looked so funny and I'm sure everyone thought we were nuts. Everyday, I thanked God that he blessed me with a sense of humor and the gift of tolerance.

And "tolerance" was the operative word. One day, I lost my footing and stepped backwards into cement up to my ankles. I had my old sneakers on and had to swish them in a bucket of water to get them "clean." It was 10:00 in the morning and I slopped around in soaking wet sneakers for the rest of the day. (See Lesson #1)

At the work site, the women laborers worked right along side the men, but they made less money. They also worked in their native dress, the sari, and remained remarkably clean throughout the day. On the other hand, our team defied description in the "looks department." At the end of the day, we were so terribly dirty with caked on mud and dirt that we were actually hosed down before getting on our bus. We never really figured out what we were doing wrong. And it goes without saying that showers were absolutely the highlight of the day.

As a team, our health remained remarkably fine. We had all had a myriad of shots before our trip and were thus protected against every disease that might present itself. We could not, however, drink the water and had to rely on bottled water. The weather was often close to intolerable. We never really knew what the temperature was, but we all decided there was only one reading: HOT. And, knowing fully well there is no such thing, the humidity seemed like 150%.

It took a while to get used to the unit of currency in India, the rupee - with approximately 43 rupees to the dollar. The stores in the village resembled long rows of dilapidated garages. The grocer was beside the plumber who was beside the merchant who sold metal pots. The pharmacist dispensed needed medicine from shoeboxes. All the vendors' wares were out on the sidewalk, and one could purchase just about anything needed for daily living. Everything was extremely inexpensive. To put this in perspective, one day the bus driver and I walked to a store and bought 110 Popsicles for everyone at the work site, and it cost under $12.00. Our team decided to contribute ten dollars each to purchase an outfit for each orphan and buy a group of destitute women personal items they could never have afforded for themselves. I thought of the line in St. Francis of Assisi's prayer - "For it is in giving that we receive." For all of us, this was true.

Our last day at the site was fast approaching, and each of us knew that parting was going to be difficult. At the end of the day, we hosed off our boots and lined them up in order to give them away. They were gone in an instant. Then we gave away extra clothes we had washed, and any snack that we had brought, thinking that we were going to starve. I had brought some of my father's levels and his collection of pocketknives with me. I gave the levels to the master bricklayer who was using the string method of finding a plumb line. I gave the knives to the laborers who had been splitting bags of sand and cement open by hacking at them with a bent metal rod. My father is deceased, but I know two things: he is probably having a good laugh for himself - and, that when he bought the tools, I'm sure that he never figured they would end up in India.

As I was leaving on this last day, one worker pointed to my sneakers that were caked in mud and cement. I put my foot up on a bench and the laborer unlaced them, took them off of my feet and bowed in thanks. I then walked to the bus through muck and mire and sat down to change into my sandals. He followed me and pointed to my socks - which need no imagination to picture, and I took them off and gave them to him. When I thought of how many clean fluffy socks I have in my drawer at home, I could have cried. Lesson # 6 - Remember to thank God every day for all that I have.

Since returning from India, I have given my experience a lot of thought. I have decided that a much of what I saw and did is beyond my ability to relate because it doesn't "translate" easily into words. I have been asked that if labor in India is so cheap, what difference could 22 people make in building the foundation of an orphanage - a good question. Brian, one my team members, answered that question very well, and I paraphrase him here: It's not as if India, with over a billion people needed the labor. It's not as if 22 of us could ever accomplish enough to help those who had been displaced. As it turned out, we only got the foundation in before we left. Others would do the massive job of completing it.

In retrospect, I don't think that the powers in India really thought we would come, and I don't think they thought we would work as hard as we did once we got there. But, we did. I think what we did really mattered. We mattered to the laborers as we worked side by side with them. I think we proved that no one should be afraid to roll up his or her sleeves and lend a helping hand. I think, in the end, that it wasn't what we completed, it was what we accomplished - just showing that we cared enough to travel so far to help them. I know that we mattered to the children who will eventually live in the structure that we started. And that's enough for me.

I came home from India a changed person, and all of that change can be attributed to the warmth and strength I found in the people I met there. Someone on the trip told us that the Indian people are among the happiest on earth, and despite the tragedy and overwhelming poverty they face, I have seen first-hand that it's true. This is probably the greatest lesson that I learned: that happiness truly is not found in possessions. We say it all the time - but sometimes it takes a trip halfway around the world to truly understand.

Susan Hartmere
April, 2005
Woburn, MA 01801
Hartmere Associates