Post tsunami in Kuala Sungai Muda
Salbiah Ahmad
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By early morning on Jan 14, a small crowd of children and male elders had gathered at the T-junction at Kampong Kepala Jalan, one of the village hit by the Dec 26 tsunami in Kuala Sungai Muda, Kedah.
The day before a truck had unceremoniously dumped about some 50 boxes of used clothes at this junction. It was difficult to miss the pile as this junction leads to the main road out of the several villages of Kuala Sungai Muda to Kota Sungai Muda.
Eleven people perished here including an 11-year-old child. The dead were “kept” (“simpan” was the word used by villagers) in the cemetery in Kota Sungai Muda which is on higher ground, not in the village cemetery.
Some boxes had been opened, clothes strewn carelessly adding color against the grey 5-7 metre high wall of rubbish bull-dosed from the streets and compounds which lined the beach blocking the view to the sea. The wall was a pile of earth, broken houses, mortar, bricks and furniture.
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There were about six of such walls on the beaches of the villages. The dead fishes which included dolphins, rendered helpless by the rolling waters were buried. Children helpfully point out to where some dolphins were buried.
Male elders in their motorbikes stopped at the T-junction to query as to who was responsible for dumping the boxes unsupervised as they watched the children go through the boxes. The children were enthralled by sari pieces edged by gold-colored threads. One of the men, decided to try wrapping a sari around himself accompanied by good natured jibes and hoots of laughter.
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“We do not need any more clothes,” one ventured. “We should think of getting these across to Aceh, they fared worst than us, even Sri Lanka.”
Villagers were politely curious of strangers and we exchanged introductions. They were pleased to have visitors in their midst and would readily recount their experiences without prompting. This is the case for both women and men. The children were shy.
Moving on
Three weeks after the disaster, stories were often interlaced with humour, perhaps an indication that people are moving on, or hiding their sorrow or even trying to forget the nightmare as best they can.
There were two waves that fateful Sunday. The first wave carried mud, slime, helpless creatures of the sea. In some parts, the water was thigh high, in other places, up to an adult’s neck. As this was described, others pointed to the water marks on the walls of the houses which were still standing or part standing.
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The first wave swept everything in its path, it swirled into homes, crashing walls and doors and eddied in the rooms, churning the contents and occupants in the houses.
The second wave as high as coconut trees, crashed and flatten both wooden and sand-brick homes. In many cases, houses were uprooted and carried inland, some still with occupants in it. Many scrambled to safety in the first wave.
The day before, adults told us that they simply told their children to take the younger ones to the forests or run to homes of relatives further inland when they saw the strange white line on the sea’s horizon. It was magical that the children simply did as they were told and survived.
At some point in the discussion at the T-junction, one of the men pointed out to a strolling villager, “He was one of the people hosting a wedding party that day and the water swept everything, including the bride and groom on the dias, muddied up to their eyes!” The crowd laughed at this. The man gave a grin and waved.
“She, that woman, she lives alone and managed to climb up the mango (pelam) tree behind her house in safety.” The said woman looked past 70. She watched us quietly from her wall-less front room. Several villagers are back, cleaning and repairing their houses.
We were told that one wedding host was not so lucky. He brought his guests to watch the curious line on the horizon. He was found perched on a tree after the water subsided, dead. Those who perished were mostly women and the elderly. There was respectful silence when the dead were mentioned.
Tombstones and mosques
According to a search and rescue volunteer the day before, the area was cordoned off early to allow bodies to be quickly retrieved to avoid additional trauma to the living. He made careful mention that the tombstones in the village cemeteries were also straightened. None of the mosques were damaged. I ventured to say that perhaps better building materials were used for the mosques. He shrugged.
Houses bordering the beach behind clumps of mangrove fared better as did the red and blue painted fishing boats resting in inlets surrounded by nipah fronds. It does not take a scientist to note the protection afforded by these trees. Villagers however do not remember if mangrove had covered the length of the beach which has always been a mud beach.
The man who hosted the wedding party came to join the discussion at the T-junction. The man with the sari tied to his waist said that people were just caught off guard and he saw parents scrambling to safety leaving their children. Other adults however grabbed any unattended child.
By this time two gentlemen emerging from a Kancil had also joined the discussion. One of them offered a view that as Muslims we are already acquainted with these unexplained phenomena as signs of the end of time. Mothers, he said, would simply abandon their children to save themselves. No one added to this.
Where are the politicians?
One of the elders asked the wedding host about compensation to the fishermen. The villagers had only received RM500.
The wedding host-fisherman said that he had gone to several meetings with the authorities and did not get anything. Again hoots of laughter. I suspect that the villagers were well acquainted with this tale and the retelling was for our benefit, the visitors from Kuala Lumpur.
“First, they said all fishermen will be compensated and we all came. Then they said compensation is only for those with damaged boats. Half left the meeting. Then they said that only fishermen with damaged boats with police reports will be compensated. We all left.” They laughed again. There was no anger in these people, just incredulity in their voices.
“Well I think we have to cut down the old trees,” said one elder. “There is no point in cutting off a branch. The shoot that grows is part of the same old tree,” he continued.
The wedding host agreed and grinned, “Yes, we have to plant again” (tanam semula). With a final hoot of laughter the crowd dispersed.
These sentiments seem commonplace in Kuala Sungai Muda at the moment. On Jan 13, my companion from Kuala Lumpur had spoken to an elder at the Sekolah Kebangsaan Haji Sulaiman, which had housed the victims.
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The elder said that (besieged business tycoon) Eric Chia had come to the village to contribute to the repairs of three houses. “Where are the rich Malays and rich Malay politicians? They come and give batik,” he said with reference to a photo-op on the same day at Sekolah Kebangsaan Kota Sungai Muda. A politician from Selangor had media coverage of him distributing sarongs in the bilik gerakan pemuda Umno and puteri Umno.
He pondered over the political slogan “gemilang, cemerlang, terbilang” painted on a wall in the school. “You must add to that slogan, the word hilang (disappeared).” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger for effect.
