Our friend Tim Connolly writes this detailed dispatch from from Meulaboh, Indonesia (a town along the western border of the Aceh Province), where he's been serving as the civil-military advisor to the UN World Food Programme (WFP) since 5 January, first in Jakarta, then Medan, then Banda Aceh – the epicenter of the earthquake/tsunami.
The techies from a French non-governmental organization (NGO) called “Telecoms Sans Frontieres” (Telecommunications Without Borders, or TSF) are here proving the Internet connectivity for the humanitarian responders. Data is moved via a very, very slow satellite connection, and they have set up a wireless “hot spot” so that organizations can sit here – usually on a random bag of rice – and connect. These folks do great work, and all the organizations do a really good job of coordinating their access, so that no one ends up hogging the limited bandwidth.
In the spirit of that arrangement, I will forgo the usual travelogue approach (“first I saw this, then I did that”), and give you instead some quick observations I have made over the almost two weeks I have been on the ground here. Once more robust communications are in place – and assuming there is interest – I would be glad to give you a more complete picture, or to answer any questions folks might have.
…Medan airport, waiting for a flight to Banda Aceh. Indonesian television is running a video montage of footage from across the country, over the song “Dust in the Wind,” by the 1970’s rock group Kansas: thundering waves of black water, carrying houses, cars, people in the debris…small child crying, while looking down at the body of what I suspect was her mother…construction backhoes lifting mounds of what at first glance appear to be plastic bags of trash, but are in fact the remains of the dead…humanitarian workers handing out bags of food off the back of a truck…
…Driving from the airport in Banda Aceh to the WFP food warehouse, and having to divert to a side street because of a mass grave site, at which truck after truck pulls up, dumps its cargo into the huge hole in the ground and pulls away, while bulldozers stand ready to cover each load with a fresh layer of dirt…
…Medan airport again, a young boy of 8 or 9, sitting on his father’s lap, his mother beside them. Japanese media, who take his picture and interviews the father, surrounds him. When the flight is finally ready to board, the father – looking both proud and sad at the same time -- gently picks up his son and carries him to the flight. A few short weeks ago, the boy would have run out on the tarmac himself. But this night, he father must carry him, since he no longer has any legs below the knee. He is on his way to Japan for medical treatment (hence the Japanese press)…
…Flying “Susi Air” to Meulaboh. Susi & her husband Henry started a cargo charter service that ships seafood from remote fishing villages to the larger cities, thereby opening those markets to the fishermen who might otherwise have no where to sell their fish. After the tsunami, they donated their aircraft to the relief effort. The pilot of the single engine Cessna I flew in was known only as “Mike.” Mike is a 747 pilot for Continental Airlines, based in Newark (although he actually lives in Guam, but that’s a story for a day with more bandwidth). After hearing about the need for pilots here, he took vacation, arrived at Susi’s doorstep, and offered to fly. Before each flight, he goes out and buys copies of the local newspapers to give to the soldiers who work at the airfield in Meulaboh, and a box of donuts for his passengers…
…Picking up my backpack and heading for Mike’s plane, and only then realizing that the “crates” I and my fellow passengers had been sitting on for the last three hours were, in fact, hastily built coffins.
…Driving down the main road in Banda Aceh and watching life go on, in spite of the devastation that surrounds it. Children playing in the streets, vegetable markets opening one after another, folks sitting in makeshaft “cafes,” drinking tea.
… Hearing a description of how the sea suddenly “disappeared”, exposing hundreds of meters of beach. Since most of those living along the coast make their livelihood through fishing, the sight of thousands of fish flapping around on the newly exposed beach was too much. Untold numbers grabbed their fishing nets and ran down there, hoping to capture the fish before the sea returned to “normal.” It never did. Instead, a wall of water – described by eyewitnesses as being “as high as the tallest palm tree” – rushed in from the sea, and swept homes, cars, people inland.
Tim added this closing note to his friends from the Dean movement:
That’s pretty much it for now. On one of my few opportunities to connect, I read that the Dean community has already managed to crash more than one humanitarian organization’s server in its efforts to make an online contribution. As one who sees the results of those efforts, I just want to tell you that you are making a difference, in ways large and small.
Take care, and may you always go forth and do good.
Tim was the IA Field Director on Howard Dean's presidential campaign and now lives in Madison, Wisconsin.
