I've written different versions of my memories of this day over the years, but this is my first time telling the whole story here. Many of you probably remember the news reports of the tsunami that took place on December 26, 2004, which is still considered the deadliest tsunami in history.
{Scenes of the aftermath and the clean-up process in my neighborhood}
It was nine years ago, but that day is one of the most vivid memories I possess. At the time, I was 13 years old and I'd never even heard the word
tsunami before. My family had gone to church and then out to lunch. My mom had declared naptime for everyone that afternoon, but most of us kids had plans to cut naptime short and play with the Christmas presents we'd received just the day before.
Those little plans didn't happen. We weren't even done eating lunch when restaurant workers shouted at us to run, and we did, though we didn't know why. Mom grabbed the baby, and I grabbed one of my sisters' hands and ran as fast as I could in the black velvet high heels that my oh-so-stylin' 13 year old self had decided to wear to church that day. As I ran out of the restaurant and up onto the main road, I could see gray water flooding the entire restaurant. My whole family and all of the workers stood on the sidewalk near the road, staring at the flooded restaurant, and wondering what had happened. The back wall of the restaurant meant that we couldn't see the beach, but the restaurant was just a little off the shore. People were shouting that there had been a big wave.
In the rush, funny details stick out. It was very important for my Dad to pay the restaurant for our meal, and because the water hadn't reached as high as the table tops, they insisted on wading through the murky water to pack up our uneaten food in brown wax paper and bring it to us to take home.
We quickly walked the 5 minute distance back to our neighborhood, and were greeted by most of our neighbors standing on the street, staring blankly at the ocean. The homes closest to the ocean had already been flooded.
We rushed indoors, changed into play clothes at my mom's orders, and rushed back outside to wait with our neighbors. We stood huddled in little groups around the gate of my house. No one really knew what was going on, but a few minutes later, shouts and screams from those who had ventured a little closer to the beach told us that another wave was coming. I grabbed my sister Anna's hand and turned to run up the hill to the main road, but she started screaming, "Where's Rebekah?!" I stopped a moment to look for her and I saw that she was already running up the hill with another of our siblings. I yanked Anna along with me, but as I ran I turned for one last look, and it's a sight I'll never forget.
The most terrifying thing I've ever seen: The wave rose taller than a house, and as it rushed in, it caved in the walls and lifted the roof of one of my neighbors' houses. I stopped looking then, and just ran. When my family and neighbors stopped running, at the top of the hill, we saw that the wave came in just far enough to spill into the gate and yard of my home, and then it receded.
The rest of that day, and the days afterward, are a blur of work and dirt and grease and heartbreak and love and resilience and tragedy and miracles. When the tsunami happened, no one knew what was going on, but the news of what had really happened trickled in over the next few days. I remember scenes:
Auntie pulling apart sticky, sand-encrusted and water-smeared baby photos of her children and laying them in the sun to dry, pointing out which babies were which.
A friend, who had been at work when the tsunami hit, crumpling to the ground in shock at the first sight of her home.
Children and teens finding out that their Christmas presents just opened the day before--I remember photo albums and a Spiderman backpack--were irretrievably damaged.
The rising death toll on the front page of each day's newspaper.
Colorful saris hanging from our 2nd story balcony to dry after being washed by hand in buckets--forever stained with spots of black oil from the ocean.
Mountains of broken and water-spoiled furniture and appliances in the middle of the road, waiting to be picked up by the dump trucks.
A friend taking all the children who lived in our neighborhood out to McDonald's to cheer us up; I remember seeing fishing boats that had landed in neighborhoods on the wrong side of the main road because the water had come so high in certain areas.
The days passed without laughter or smiles, we were preoccupied with fear of further bad news that might come; after some time had gone by, we were finally able to make jokes with our friends over how many telephones we found in the rubble we were cleaning up, or get into waterfights with neighbors while trying to rinse ourselves off with the hose in my yard after a long day of dirty work.
I won't forget that day. I, and almost everyone who I knew who was there, had tsunami nightmares for months afterwards. Before that day, us kids often spent time on the beach, digging for shells and building sandcastles. After the 26th, it was a long time before we felt safe spending time on the beach again. I know that for the rest of my life I'll be celebrating Christmas while remembering the day that came after. It was a day of tragedy for so many families, cities and neighborhoods. My neighborhood was blessed. More than 10 houses were completely destroyed or severely damaged in my immediate neighborhood, but no lives were lost, and that is a miracle. I've told you about my
Auntie before--she lost nearly everything she owned in that wave. It's hard to come to terms with knowing someone that you love has lost everything: both the practical necessities for daily life and the priceless, memory-filled mementos that accrue over a lifetime. And yet, so many people lost much more than just everything they owned. They lost entire families or entire villages all at once. That was December 26, 2004.
