Banda Aceh - The View from My House |
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March 29th, 2005 - 06:52AM |
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Photo: Greg Beals/IRC There are certain things that count as "normal" in Banda Aceh. Devastation is something that unfortunately you see each day. You witness the pummeled houses and carved out lands and hear the stories of loss. Then you acknowledge their awfulness before conceding that they are now a normal part of life here. Since the December 26th disaster earthquakes have also taken on an air of normalcy. On any given day at any time of day you can feel as many as three or four of them. You are asleep and the ground begins to shake. You are at work and you can hear a window rattle or feel your chair rock back and forth. You become accustomed to shaking of the earth – so much so that you can sense even the slightest tremor. The senses become heightened to the point where there are times when you can mistake your own pulse for a vibration in the ground. Since virtually every metaphor we have for stability stems from our relationship with solid ground (think "well grounded" "good foundation" "solid as a rock") we have all tended to approach this new normalcy with a measure of bravado and humor that attends an unmasking. You are about to brush your teeth at the IRC compound only to see five other staff members flying out of the door as the windows behind you begin to rattle and shimmy. You wonder which would be worse -- braving the possibility of falling debris or violating cultural norms by running out into the middle of the road wearing nothing except for a tangerine-colored towel. You tighten the towel and run outside only to see your neighbors are also clad in towels. Then someone comes with cigarettes and coffee. You laugh and hold on to your towel. How unbecoming these earthquakes can be. Monday night in Banda Aceh was different -- but not for the reasons that one would expect. To be sure, the rolling of the ground lasted longer than it had on previous occasions. And perhaps the shaking was a bit more violent. But to be honest, those details did not define a difference. What changed was that suddenly the joking was replaced by a sense of dread. I watched entire families on motorbikes, children with parents, truckloads of humanity – all making their way to higher ground. They trundled into the night, their faces gripped by fear and determination. I looked at one of my Acehnese roommates -- his face was like a child’s. "Greg...earthquake," he said, reduced to tears. "Earthquake." Acehnese are remarkably religious people and I have known them to stop in the middle of virtually any activity simply to pray. Last night, the voices from the muezzin's microphone were telling people to return home. But people were having none of it. The trucks and the motorbikes continued uphill into the darkness and the anonymity of high ground. The rumbling of the earth had ripped away a patina of strength and revealed a trembling red wound. Looking at the crowds I wondered what might be happening in other parts of Sumatra. They too would experience the "normalcy" of devastation and death. Posted By: Greg Beals | Asia, Diaries & Journals, Tsunami Relief Permalink |
