The Third Wave_ A Volunteer Story - Alison Thompson [50]
Over time, Oscar adopted the nearby Galle village soccer team and began coaching them. His team was talented, so he organized friendly matches with other teams, such as the visiting Canadian team and the Sri Lankan military team. Oscar found sponsors to buy his team jerseys and soccer shoes. Most of his teammates had never worn soccer shoes before, though, and halfway through the match they would kick them off and run without them. Through soccer, Oscar made many Sri Lankan friends and found great fulfillment.
On one of my rounds to the village next to ours, I came across a crippled little boy living in a shed who had a blind father and an autistic mother. The temperature inside must have been over 106 degrees. The little boy lay on a filthy makeshift bed. The infected fourth-degree burns covering his legs were wrapped in bloody bandages that stuck to his wounds. The sight of him broke my heart, and I raced back to Peraliya to find some toys and medicine to give him. I offered him a whistle to call his mother, two balloons, and a large green toy frog that spat water out of its mouth when squeezed. He responded as if all his Poya wishes had come true at once, and he gave me the most gleeful smile.
The boy’s injuries were not directly related to the tsunami. He had been playing cricket with his friends some weeks after the disaster. He was a few miles inland at the time, chasing a ball across a huge cricket field, when he fell into a deep, hidden pit of boiling black oil. Roadworkers were using the oil to tar the roads but had left the pot of burning hot oil unattended. The boy’s friends were far away on the other side of the cricket field when he disappeared from sight. He was in shock, but managed to pull himself out of hell and drag himself in the opposite direction to a nearby river to relieve his pain. There, the skin on his legs peeled right off, and he felt the fish eating away at his flesh. Next, he dragged his body over to the highway, where a bus picked him up and took him to a local hospital. He had been through a devastating experience and was now left to rot in his shed.
The mother asked me for money for food, so I handed them the only ten dollars I had left to my name, and apologized that it was such a small amount. When I inspected their food supply, I wondered where all the billions of donated aid dollars had gone. All they had was one plate of old rice with hundreds of flies hovering over it. I bit my lip and told them I would return with some more food. As I started to leave, the blind father got down on his knees and rapidly kissed my feet. I should have been used to this customary gesture of thanks, but it still embarrassed me intensely. I smiled and turned away from them, walking outside to find fresh air.
It had a ring to it: “The Hawaiians have arrived.” I was out body collecting when along the street came a flock of Hawaiians in light blue scrubs and friendly smiles. They were from New Hope church in Honolulu, and their leaders were named Pastor Wayne Cordeiro and Doug Kennedy.
Timing is everything. The Hawaiians had arrived at a time when we had nothing left to give. When a disaster strikes, there are often many first responders, but then everyone slowly goes away to work on the next disaster, so the second group of responders is essential. Pastor Wayne and the others had brought with them a donation from their church that helped save Peraliya.
I was sitting on the beach watching a perfect eight-foot barrel peel to the shore when it occurred to me that it was time to leave. I’m not sure how I knew, but I just did. The hospital was still quite busy but most of the initial tsunami infections had healed. We were mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted, and it was time for us to go home to rest. I shared my thoughts with Oscar, Bruce, and Donny, and they agreed with me. We were all squeezed out. Oscar’s and my original return plane tickets both had expired many months before,