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Arriving in Sri Lanka


Sarah White (28) works for the UK Government Department for International Development (DFID). She writes about returning to Sri Lanka for a "holiday" after witnessing the Boxing Day Tsunami first hand.
Entry: 3
Date: 27/09/2005

Sarah faces her fear of returning to Sri Lanka - and is pleasantly suprised by her emotions on arrival.

A house without walls

Scenes of destruction from the tsunami

Touching down at Colombo airport, I questioned again whether it was such a good idea to return to the country where I had witnessed such pain and destruction. Last time I was on a plane in Sri Lanka, I was feeling so relieved to be escaping with my life and was certainly in no rush to ever return. But seven months on, here I was returning.

As soon as we left the airport and plunged into the hot, tropical night outside, I knew it was the right thing to come back. It felt comforting to be back in the heat, in the throngs of people, with cars hooting and insects singing. During the five-hour drive to Galle on the south west coast, I peered out into the dark trying to get a glimpse of how the coast had or had not recovered since the tsunami.

Last time I drove this route on 28 December I saw mile after mile of smashed houses, missing bridges, upside down cars, twisted train tracks and people in shock at what had happened, grieving for their loved ones. I couldn't see much but I could see the waves crashing on the shore, eerily lit by the weak moonlight and I couldn't help but think again how such a beautiful ocean had turned into such a monster so quickly on Boxing Day. That night, as we slept in the Fort Area of Galle, I was unnerved to hear the crashing waves, my mind playing tricks on me that they were getting louder and dangerously near. But as the night wore on, I began to enjoy the sound and let myself trust the ocean again.

"As soon as we left the airport and plunged into the hot, tropical night outside, I knew it was the right thing to come back."
A tent by the road

Huts and tents by the side of the road

Deciding to come back to Sri Lanka had been a partly unconscious decision. Somehow I just knew it was the right thing to do. As my two weeks unfolded I found myself doing things that surprised me. I had been clear that while I might feel able to visit Unawatuna where I had experienced the tsunami, I certainly did not want to stay in either the hotel where I watched the waves flood in around us, or the hotel that served as a refugee camp for the survivors on Boxing Day night. But there I was, on the second day, heading back to Unawatuna, suddenly wanting to stay in Unawatuna again. It took just 20 minutes in a tuk tuk (three wheeler taxi) to travel the 5 km to Unawatuna. Last time I did this journey, it took three hours on foot, as we trekked through the devastation, navigated missing bridges, and struggled to comprehend the 'atom bomb' landscape all around us.

Seven months later, on the one hand life was back to normal - bridges restored, tuk tuks and buses racing each other, roadside stalls ploughing their trade. But on the other hand, the tsunami had left its terrifying mark everywhere - fishing boats lay in broken pieces; concrete foundation slabs marked where whole houses once stood; and sections of side walls stood lost without the front or back of houses which had been taken out as the wave slammed through the centre. This roadside landscape also had new features since I last saw it - tents of all colours and sizes and wooden 'garden sheds' - the new homes for the thousands of people who lost their homes and had yet to be re-housed.

As our tuk tuk turned off the main road into Unawatuna, I was nervous about what I would see. I soon had a reminder of the destruction Unawatuna had experienced - a mis-spelt slogan painted on a wall which read, "Tsunami Refugies Need Help". Turning the corner, I saw the broken remains of the sea wall which had been unable to protect the village from the tsunami and which I had been so frightened to walk past as we left on 27 December it case it collapsed and injured us. Suddenly we arrived at the Thambapanni Retreat which I had left full of shocked survivors on 27 December. As I entered the now peaceful, beautiful hotel I had a series of flashbacks. I looked at the inviting swimming pool under the palms and remembered how as our only water source, we had discussed the need to protect it, in case we needed to drink it. I saw an empty lounge chair and suddenly pictured the old lady with the broken arm lying there, waiting to be airlifted to hospital. I glanced up at the open-air yoga studio on the first floor, where I had failed to sleep in a chair on Boxing Day night, too terrified that more waves would come.

I then surprised myself - I wanted to stay here. It felt good to be here. And I wanted to give some business back to the people who had looked after us so well. Excited, I asked to see the manager, Preshan.


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