I Wanted to Make Their Hearts Free

	Three miles from the tsunami-devastated beaches in Cuddalore my first impression was that of normalcy. This city in the Indian state of Tamil Nadu had been singled out in the news as the second most hard-hit area, yet everywhere I looked it was business as usual. This appeared too much like any typical Indian city. Where was the sense of emergency, I wondered. I was on my first visit to the affected areas with a group I had organized along with a young German woman, Christina Retz. It was Retz fifth visit, but this one was different than the others. This disaster was really about children, we had agreed. Wives lost husbands, husbands lost their wives, thousands of fishing boats were destroyed, and even more homes were devastated, but it was the children who suffered the most. It was they who constituted most of the mortalities reported in the news. And it was they who were most confused by the loss of family members. Television images and newspaper photos in the first days after the disaster showed rows of tiny, lifeless bodies moments before they were covered over in mass graves. This disaster was about the children. And yet it was they who were most ignored in the relief efforts, Retz discovered. While it was true the government had set up new orphanages for the parentless survivors, and private relieve organizations had provided clothing and food for them, no one seemed to be giving what we thought the children most needed: compassion and an opportunity to resolve their grief. Our taxi carried a team of five people, two Americans, two Germans and an Indian. We brought with us drawing pads and colored marking pens, toys, toothbrushes, combs, and various items teenage girls use as beauty aids. We turned off onto a small road that took us to the coastal villages a few miles from Cuddalore. I expected to smell death as we reached the beaches. Newspaper photos showed relief teams wearing surgical masks to ward off the stench of decaying bodies. So it was something of a surprise that instead the smell reminded me of a swimming pool. I was puzzled until I noticed the white powder that covered every damp piece of ground within sight. Apparently, sanitation teams had spread bleach powder in an effort to prevent the outbreak of disease. We stopped at a school complex Retz had visited on a previous trip. That time she had distributed desperately needed clothing to the several hundred homeless people staying on the school grounds. This time we had a different mission. The Indian member of our team announced to the refugees beginning to surround us that we wanted all the children living at the school to assemble inside one of the rooms. About fifty children were directed to sit in a circle and we distributed a blank drawing book and a set of colored markers to each child. They were then told to draw their memories of the tidal wave that destroyed their homes on that fateful day. There was no hesitation; they all began immediately to draw. It was as though they had been waiting for someone to ask them to do this. I walked around the room peering over small shoulders to see what was being drawn. I had to stifle tears several times at what I saw. The scenes they drew were remarkably similar. Always there was the ubiquitous coconut trees and, of course, the boats because every family was a fishing family. And the water. Blue was the predominant color used by every child, representing water. In most cases it filled the sheet, but how they depicted the wall of water varied from child to child. One tiny girl of about four or five years, drew three distinct waves, looking like rolling hills, but colored blue. These represented the three successive waves the tsunami brought to their village. Others scribbled blue lines over the entire page denoting that water was everywhere in their memory of that event. They all drew people as stick figures and many had the figures positioned horizontally in the blue streaks, obviously representing people being carried away by the wave. One child drew what appeared to be a school bus near a house. We were perplexed until we later learned she had stayed alone on the roof of a house for hours until a school bus drove up to take her to higher ground and the ultimate safety of this relief camp. As each child finished their drawing they were invited to sit in the middle of the circle with Retz and her Indian interpreter and asked to explain what they had just drawn. It was a way to gently allow the children to tell their story, probably for the first time. I could not hear what was being said in this inner circle but I noticed the sad faces often reflected a look of relief, if not outright happiness after this simple form of therapy. Later Retz related to me what she had heard from the children. One child told how she had clung to the roof of her house for many hours, waiting for her mother, who never returned. Throughout the whole time she was on the roof, she could see the body of her sister lying in the water below her. Most of the stories were similar. Many of the children reported hearing a shrill sound immediately before the wave hit. When they saw the wave coming they began to run, but most did not reach safety. Almost none of the children remembered being swept up by the wave. Their next recollection is of finding themselves on a roof, in a tree, or on higher ground, where the wave had deposited them. They stayed in that spot until they were rescued, either by a family member, neighbor, or by the school bus that someone had the presence of mind to drive along the back roads in search of survivors. Most thought they spent two or three hours where the wave had deposited them. All reported experiencing three waves. One boy said when the water came into his house he stood on his tiptoes as the water came up to his nose, before it receded. His younger brother, shorter than he, died from that wave. A mother told us when the wave entered her house she didn't know how to save her infant child. Then she saw a shelf high up on the wall and she placed the baby on that shelf hoping the waters would not reach it. She was one of the lucky ones; both mother and baby survived. One older boy said he tried to wade back to his house after the first wave to find his family. The second wave came in as he was nearing his home and he was saved only when some adults grabbed him and pulled him to safety, he said. Several children said their fathers, who were in their fishing boats when the tsunami struck, never returned. More than 40 people died in this village, the majority of them children. Retz said she was surprised at the manner in which the children told their tales. Most told it like an adventure story, she said. Shortly after noon, we were invited to join in lunch. A contingent of policemen came to the school and were fed along with the refugees and the people serving as relief staff. Huge aluminum pots placed over wood fires contained rice, a curried dish called sambar, and a vegetable. One woman asked me if I had eaten yet. When I nodded that I had not, she scooped an abandoned plate off the ground, took it to a large water tank nearby that had UNICEF printed on the side and washed the plate with her hands. Filling it with far too much rice and sambar, she brought it over to me and directed me to a place where I could sit.  I said an earnest prayer before eating, both for the people around me and for the purification of what I was about to consume.  Though there had been many news reports quoting health officials about the possible outbreak of water-borne disease, I thought this communion of lunch was worth the risk. We were being included as one of them, and to refuse would have been rude. Besides, I was hungry. After lunch I walked around the grounds of this small school. In the shade of a large tree near the front gate was a small medical camp staffed by what appeared to be a doctor and several nurses. Anyone who needed medical attention, both from the camp and from outside were treated without charge. The UNICEF water containers seemed to be provided for the use of anyone who needed good water. Saline water from the tsunami had made most wells unusable and other water sources were suspect of biological contamination. We saw these black plastic UNICEF water containers in many locations and we passed a few tanker trucks bringing reliable water to refill these neighborhood tanks. After distributing a few toys to the children, we drove to the beach. It was an eerie experience to stand facing the tranquil ocean and have the waves gently kiss our feet. When we turned our back to the ocean our eyes took in a scene of utter destruction. Fishing boats were stranded helter-skelter across the landscape. Tangled fishing nets were lodged in trees and bushes. Debris was everywhere. It was debris now, but just a few days ago these had been the items that constituted a home. But the worst sight was the houses. An enormous area now lay bare, where previously had stood the frail bamboo shelters of the fishermen and their families. Even the scattered concrete structures did not escape. Tile roofs were ripped off, leaving the rafters exposed. The ocean-facing wall of these seemingly sturdy structures often was knocked over. The raw force of the tsunami was staggering. As we walked inland from the beach we could see the high water line on homes marking the height of the waves. With each few yards we walked that height lowered further and further, until we reached an area where there was no debris and no sign of damage. We had only walked a quarter mile from the ocean. It then occurred to me that this disaster was really a long, thin ribbon of death and destruction. That was why Cuddalore seemed so normal to me when we drove through it. This calamity really only affected a very narrow area close to the beach. But when I mentally multiplied that area times the hundreds of miles of affected coastline in at least ten countries, the disaster again resumed its enormous dimension. Driving back to Tiruvannamalai I reflected on the amazing experience in the school where I saw a young German woman providing the only psychiatric intervention these children would ever receive. I asked Retz what gave her the idea to do that. "I wanted to make their hearts free," she said. "We heard many horrible stories, but it gave the children release." David Purviance was formerly the director of University Relations at UM. Prior to that he was the executive director of Plenty, an international relief and development organization. He and his wife Jean live in India. Donate now to aid tsunami victims. Plenty donation page.
			Christina Retz comforts a small child as she tells the story of how she survived the tsunami. Photo: David Purviance
			This boy's face expresses the sadness he feels the day after the tsunami struck his village. Sadness seems to be the only emotion on this girl's face the day after the tsunami hit. Photo: Christina Retz
			Three days after the tsunami this crowd of people wait for Christina Retz to distribute the supplies she brought. Photo credit: Christina Retz
			Christina Retz surrounded by children waiting their turn to show her their drawings and tell their personal tale. Photo: David Purviance
			A child's drawing of what they experienced during the tsunami. Photo: David Purviance
			A child's drawing of what they experienced during the tsunami. Photo: David Purviance
			A child's drawing of what they experienced during the tsunami. Photo: David Purviance
			People wait in line to get lunch at a relief camp. Photo: David Purviance
			A free medical camp set up just inside the gate to a school grounds that was turned into a shelter for those who lost their homes in the tsunami. Photo: David Purviance
			A damaged home with a fishing boat that was carried inland by the tidal wave. Photo: David Purviance
			The television set, a symbol of wealth in India, is meaningness the day after the disaster. Photo: Christina Retz
			Christina Retz making sure her gift will fit this young girl. Photographer unknown, photo used with permission of Christina Retz