It
is 10 years today since the Boxing Day tsunami
Boxing
Day tsunami: Tranquil, isolated for centuries
The December
26 tsunami killed almost a quarter of the indigenous communities of
India's remote Nicobar Islands at the southern end of the Bay of
Bengal, close to the earthquake's epicentre.
Rasheed Yousuf
26
December, 2014
The
eight 20-metre-high waves that smashed the archipelago's 24 islands -
only 12 of which are inhabited - not long after dawn wiped out an
idyllic way of life forever.
Located
1200 kilometres off the east coast of India, none of the islands were
spared. Entire villages that had been protected for centuries behind
mangroves and fragile sand bars dissolved into the ocean.
Rasheed Yousuf
"We'd
had a big Christmas party the night before, a lot of coconut wine,"
says Prince Rasheed Yousuf, a tribal leader from the island of
Nancowrie, which was home to 79 families.
Like
the rest of the Nicobarese, Yousuf lived an isolated existence in a
large stilted house made entirely from local materials, with more
than 40 members of his extended family.
"We
felt the earthquake, it woke me up," says Yousuf. "It was
around 6am, and soon we noticed that the sea was behaving strangely,
it was receding a long way back".
Screen grab, Google Maps
At
the urging of his mother, who sensed danger, Yousuf moved the family
to higher ground.
"The
waves came for about an hour. We sat there and watched as everything
we owned was washed away. It's difficult to describe how I felt. I
was numb."
First
came the shock and grief of so many lives lost. From a total
population of more than 20,000, the tsunami took the lives of 4405
people.
Rasheed Yousuf
"We
stayed there, not moving, until we saw other survivors moving about,
they told us that everything was gone, all destroyed by the waves".
Denis
Giles is now the publisher and editor-in-chief of the Andaman
Chronicle in Port Blair, the capital city of the nearby Andaman
Islands.
Back
then he was an eager young reporter with a talent for helping foreign
correspondents fix stories about the mysterious Nicobar Islands.
Giant
tsunami waves thrust the people of the Nicobar islands into a new
world of NGOs and consumerism.
Rasheed Yousuf
"Since
India gained control of the Nicobar Islands after independence,
access has been strictly controlled," says Giles. "It's
almost impossible for anyone to visit the islands, especially
non-Indians."
One
person who had managed to gain access in 1999 was Indian academic
Simron Jit Singh, who had spent the next five years studying a tribal
lifestyle that seemed frozen in time.
Despite
the efforts of Christian missionaries from Britain, Denmark and
Austria, as well as Muslim, Hindu and Buddhist traders, most
Nicobarese remained largely animist in their religious orientation.
Idyllic
lives in stilted houses were ripped apart by the 2004 tsunami that
battered the Nicobar Islands.
"Simon
had studied these people a lot, gained their trust, and in 2004 he
was looking for someone to go with him to the islands and film the
people as they lived, recording their cultural practices, and I
managed to get hold of a camera and went with him."
Giles
spent about three months filming on the Nicobars in the second half
of 2004, mostly on Nancowrie Island, getting to know many of the
people intimately.
"I
was in Port Blair when the tsunami hit, and I realised that whatever
happened to us, it would be much worse in the Nicobars. When I tried
to find out, the first thing I heard was that the islands had
actually sunk, that they had been completely wiped out."
As
the Indian authorities in Port Blair prepared a flotilla to supply
emergency food and medical supplies, Giles managed to talk his way
onto a relief ship armed with a video camera. By the time he arrived
on Nancowrie, it was three days after the tsunami had hit.
"Where
the shore had been, all was water," says Giles. "It was
like the island had been broken in two, the waves had just washed
everything away."
The
footage Giles took made international news, helping the world, and
the Indian government in New Delhi, absorb the scale of the
destruction wrought by the tsunami.
This
was the beginning of what the Nicobarese came to know as "the
aftermath", a phrase that Austrian filmmaker Raphael Barth has
used as the title of a new documentary on the transformative impact
of the tsunami on life on the Nicobar Islands.
"NGO?"
recalls Rasheed Yousuf of the weeks and months following the tsunami,
"we'd never heard of this thing called 'NGO', but suddenly it
seemed like there were hundreds of NGOs all around us, all telling us
what to do, how to live, how to build our houses, how it was time to
come into the modern world."
Name
any of the big international non-government organisations, says
Yousuf, including Care, World Vision, Save the Children, Caritas,
plus a host of Indian government and non-government aid agencies: all
sent their representatives.
Located
near the equator, one thing the Nicobarese didn't need was blankets,
but suddenly crates of them appeared on the islands, to name just one
of the many useless items that were suddenly being thrust into their
hands.
Instead
of helping communities rebuild their traditional style of housing,
which was perfectly adapted to their way of life, there was a push to
separate extended families to just parents and their children and
accommodate them in tin sheds.
"We
had all been used to living in housing in stilts," says Yousuf.
"With air flowing above and below, providing a natural breeze
that cooled us and protected us from the mosquitos, but suddenly we
were made to live in tin houses. The heat very bad. There was no air.
It was very bad."
After
two years of mind-bending bureaucratic frustration, Yousuf, who was
acting as go-between between the Nicobarese, and the NGOs and
government officials, says one word came to symbolise their enemy.
"It
was 'decision', everything that we asked for, the officials said no,
we must wait for the 'decision' to come from Delhi or Port Blair.
Eventually people started saying who is this 'decision', he is our
enemy, the cause of all our problems and we must go and kill him!"
says Yousuf.
In
the end, says Yousuf, the Indian government forced their decisions on
the Nicobarese.
Then
came the bundles of cash, compensation worth millions of dollars that
turned a tribal community into virtual millionaires overnight.
"I
would see them all walking the streets of Port Blair, literally
carrying plastic bags full of cash," remembers Denis Giles.
"They came to get drunk and they came to buy things. They
discovered consumerism. Motorcars, motorbikes, televisions,
refrigerators, anything and everything, and it made me so sad to see
how they were exploited."
Broken-down
old vehicles were being offloaded for double or even triple their
worth, then hauled back to islands that had no roads, let alone
petrol stations to fill the fuel tanks, or enough electricity to run
the appliances.
"It
was heartbreaking," says Giles.
Today
many of those vehicles sit idle and rusting on the islands' pristine
beaches. Some of the motorbikes are even being used as fishing boat
anchors.
For
Rasheed Yousuf, the tsunami induced a period of severe depression as
he struggled to cope with opposing demands. On the one hand were his
own people, who had lost many of their elders and a huge portion of
communal knowledge, all of whom seemed to want something different.
On the other hand were government officials who believed it was time
to bring the Nicobarese into the modern world.
"We
had lost many of our elders," says Rasheed. "And the young
people who had survived, they missed their leadership, there was no
one to pass on the old ways and cultural practices. They also
discovered how to buy things. Before the tsunami, we were ruled by
happiness. Afterwards, it was money. The tsunami may have destroyed
our homes, but it was money that was given to help us that really
destroyed way of life."
Arun
Kumar Jha, a senior Indian Administrative Service official based in
Port Blair, who used to oversee government on the Nicobar Islands,
argues that while the Nicobarese are still struggling to come to
terms with the aftermath of the tsunami, the same thing was bound to
happen over time.
"Simplicity
is bliss," says Jha. "But this life could not go on
forever. The tsunami caused dreadful damage, and while the Nicobarese
are still struggling to adjust, I think that in another 10 years, we
will see real generational change for the better."
Rasheed
Yousuf, who pooled his family's compensation to buy five hectares of
picturesque waterfront land near Port Blair and hopes to turn it into
a tourist park that will both educate visitors on the traditional
life of the Nicobarese and pass on that culture to a new generation,
says three-quarters of the Nicobarese are still traumatised by the
changes brought on by the tsunami.
"Before,
if you wanted something to eat, you went out to sea in the canoe and
caught a fish, or slaughtered a pig and enjoyed a feast. We
cultivated coconuts and other local resources, we traded and we had
everything we needed. But most people who survived, they could not go
back to that. They're caught between the two worlds."
Likewise
Yousuf himself, who spends most of his time in Port Blair, managing
his family's trading company and planning the tourist park venture.
He
is proud of his white Honda sedan, his brand-new MacBook Air
computer, and his comfortable air-conditioned house.
Yet
his ready smile and easygoing nature seems tinged with sadness. He is
himself that very person, trapped between two worlds.
"Me
too, yes, I am a consumer now. But I tell you, the Nicobarese who are
the happiest, it is the quarter who finally decided to rebuild their
old-style housing and live the way it used to be."
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