Commemoration in Aceh– one year after the tsunami 

Sally Rude rscj (center) and the teachers who help in the education program for the children in the camp and who organized the year’s anniversary.

1000 meter-cloth where people write names of family and friends who died or disappeared.

Writing the names of the victims.

Newly built anti-earthquake house

Edi (right) who is serving in Meulaboh (West Aceh) as a driver and helping in the Organic Agriculture program. He isa former street kid, one of the 'Sacred Heart Children' in Jakarta. The others are teachers who in the education program.

On Christmas Eve, 2005, Digna Dacanay and Sally Rude flew to Meulaboh, Aceh, to commemorate the anniversary of the tsunami. Fourteen thousand persons died here, the second hardest hit of all the areas touched by the tsunami.  All year relief efforts here have been problematic because of its remote location, damaged roads, and insecurity until the peace accords with the Free Aceh Movement were signed in Helsinki.    We RSCJ were invited by a group of Islamic religion teachers that we have sponsored this year.  Sisters Chizuyo Inoue and Digna Dacanay have been to Aceh and the islands of Nias and Semeulue a number of times this year to encourage and evaluate projects we have sponsored.  Other RSCJ have been as well:  Lulut Triwiludjeng, Patricia de Souza, and Nancy Murphy.  At this time only Digna and Sally were able to accept the gracious invitation.  As we flew in along the coast the beaches were lovely with waving coconut palms, long white caps, blue sky.  As we descended, long marshes became apparent, and water could be seen trapped far inland, with great flat stretches of land wit h only occasional partial structures and further inland fringes of small houses near roads.  We landed at the tiny airport and were met by Jalil and his four-year-old daughter Mita.  We drove about one-half hour to the town of Meulaboh.  The road was in poor repair in parts, but there were many signs of new life:  new houses built by JRS, CRS, Habitat for Humanity, and other groups; shops; many horned cattle and goats munching lazily; lots of life on motorcycles, bicycles, trucks, cars, on foot.  The “Naval Shipyard” had nearly completed boats up on scaffolds, and several sturdy fishing boats on the water already in service.  The tempo of life has normalized, despite scars of dead trees, derelict remains of houses, and who can imagine the inner scars of loss.  We passed the prison compound which had a number of political prisoners last year.  Its four guard towers and the prison buildings are in shambles.  Some escaped, but many died here, unaware of the tsunami until it hit them, across a long flat stretch of land that reached in from the sea.
 
After checking in to a small hotel, we went to the main mosque where the commemoration was centered.  Many of the religion teachers were gathered in a welcoming tent there, and groups of people were praying in the mosque, with young and old, men and women, clearly at ho me in this treasured center of their community.  Jalil and Phaisal coordinate the seventy religion teachers we sponsor.  The teachers also act as community organizers.  This project was chosen because the children and their families so needed this basic support as they rebuild their lives.  The group had decided that three days of prayer would be the most meaningful commemoration.  They also had over 1000 meters of white cloth that went from tree to tree around the mosque compound.  On this people were encouraged to write the names of their lost relatives and friends.  Clusters quietly wrote names all day long, saying little, some in tears, with a quiet dignity and silence suffu sing all.  Groups prayed in two hour stretches.  Trucks picked them up from their camps or villages, and then drove them home after several hours and picked up more.  Some told stories.  One man spoke of his beloved five –year-old daughter who was carried by his wife as they ran from the inundating water, while he ran with their son.  Only he and his son made it to safety.  He lost thirty family members that day.  All with us had similar stories, told or untold.

That evening we joined a small group of Catholics who were having Christmas Eve Mass.  Their community had had about fifty families last year.  Now there were about twenty.  The priest is one of two priests who serve the one Catholic parish in the state of Aceh.  He had come from Banda Aceh to be with this group for Christmas.  The upstairs room of a commercial building was lovingly decorated with a tree and flowers and Christmas bows.  It seemed incongruous to be singing Western Christmas carols in Indonesian in this small remnant community, remnant of the tsunami, and remnant too in their Christianity in this so Muslim area.  Again all was quietly dignified.  The Offertory mentioned lost loved ones, but there were no outbursts.  One had the impression more of strength and courage, than sadness, although the remembering was palpable and solemn.

The next morning, Christmas morning, we returned to the mosque compound, and continued to visit with those who came.  The women seemed a little more at home with us than most of the men, but all were gracious.  We were the only sponsors there, as Oxfam, JRS, CRS, and other groups had gone away for Christmas.  It was humbling to see signs and banners around the mosque and elsewhere in town with RSCJ on them, thanking us for sponsorship of part of their recovery effort.  They had some difficulty understanding just who we were, but that did not matter.  Some probably realized that we who were not of their faith still wanted their faith community to have the support of its religious teachers in this critical time and were trying to help.  That was enough.  One of our “sons” whom Kaeru met on the streets of Jakarta is now working as a driver for Catholic Relief Services in Meulaboh.  Edi was delighted to find us, and drove us to several camps where we saw people who are not yet in their own homes.  (About 80% of those who lost their homes are still in temporary housing.)  Some were in barracks built around a covered central open meeting space.  Others were still in tent villages, similarly gathered around a common open space where people come together for prayer, meetings, or just to visit.  These were typical of the centers from which the truckloads of people were coming to pray throughout these three days—the men in white shirts, distinctive caps, and often batik plaid sarongs or black trousers and the women in vivid colors in head coverings and tops.  The Indonesians are an attractive people, who dressed formally for this occasion.  Clearly the communities have a sense of cohesion and support.

We intended to stay through the 26th, the actual anniversary of the tsunami, and the culminating day of the Meulaboh commemoration.  However, we learned that we probably could not get space on a plane on the 27th , and it would be best for us to go on the 26th.   We had spoken to many, and thanked God for the time we had.  As I looked at the rising sun on the morning of the 26th, I thought of how very peaceful and beautiful it was, much as it probably was a year earlier.  Jalil picked us up and we went by the mosque a last time where people were carefully unfolding the name cloth and attaching it along the trees, getting ready for the last day.  We drove in the early morning light to the airport, and already the way looked familiar, back passed the prison and the shipyard and the colorful small new homes, and the sweeping vistas, and the areas coming to life with women sweeping the streets, children beginning to play.  The clouds were still rosy with dawn, and the roads had puddles from an overnight sprinkle.  Then a rainbow appeared, somewhat pale, but clearly there.  A sign of hope.  A grace.  A handsome young couple with a four-month old healthy little boy were waiting for the plane also.  She had been pregnant with him when they were caught in the waters, but they survived.  A new day has begun.  

Sally Rude rscj
Area of Indonesia