The Third Wave_ A Volunteer Story - Alison Thompson [68]
I observed that in the past week, there had been minor bickering between the volunteers. People were here in a different capacity from the early days and felt at a loss as to what to do next, although there was still plenty to do. It would take another twenty years to rebuild from the tsunami, but with fewer emergency-level needs, volunteers had more time on their hands. Many of them felt guilty about going to the beach or taking a swim, though their behavior was perfectly acceptable. The heart of a volunteer wants to go go go, but it is important to look after yourself as well.
The situation was different for Oscar and me. We weren’t working in Peraliya anymore and didn’t even go into the village that often. Instead, we focused on larger-scale projects, from which many more people could benefit. I was still deep in work mode with CTEC to develop it along the coastline. Oscar was busy getting the school built and developing soccer and sports programs throughout the country. Our plates were more than full and it felt like our work there would never end.
Christmas day was particularly joyful that year. We had so much to be thankful for in our lives. I had brought Christmas decorations from New York and created a special Christmas lunch for the returning volunteers at our monkey house in the jungle. We sat around a long table that we had dragged out into the garden. We reflected on the happier and sadder moments of our adventure. We laughed a lot and felt guilty about eating such a good meal when we knew that many local people were short on food. But we came to the conclusion that we had worked hard and deserved it. The friendships we had formed were strong because of what we had been through together—though we all agreed that back in our own worlds we probably would have never been friends.
Christmas lunch with the volunteers
The next day, December 26, 2005, would mark the one-year anniversary of the tsunami. The celebration was not quite what we had expected. Our village was shut out of its own memorial. Later I wrote in my journal: “Today they institutionalized the one-year anniversary of the tsunami. After they left, the real ceremonies began.”
The government and the Army took over the ceremonies and excluded the local villagers along with the village monks, the chief, and all the volunteers. Also not invited was our friend, the godfather to Peraliya village, the Honorable Sri Lankan Trade and Commerce Minister Jerarj Fernandoupulle. I knew President Mahinda had no clue of his administration’s blunders, but I wasn’t happy about it. The government pageant involved a procession of expensive NGO jeeps, most of which we had never seen near the village. We tried to get into the reception area but they blocked access, claiming they were nervous about possible suicide bombers. Security was tight. The military lined the streets with machine guns and tanks, and collected cellphones for storage.
I turned away from the swollen crowds and walked down to the beach to join the children frolicking in the water. The monsoon swells were long gone, replaced by an intoxicating sea lapping the white shore. The children were giggling around the waves. I watched them trust the sea again. They had come a long way. For the first time, I thought to myself, “They’re going to be okay.” Across the road, pompous speeches clogged the air. Then President Mahinda followed with a beautiful, well-thought-out speech, which I could just barely hear above the sound of the crashing waves.
By the late afternoon, the government officials had left, and the villagers and volunteers headed to the beach for a private ceremony. The village women had written letters to their dead. They lined the beach with candles, bowing before them to pray and set the letters alight. It was