I started writing this in the back garden of The Lighthouse in Galle.
In the garden of the Geoffrey Bawa designed Jetwing Hotel, there is a long, rectangular swimming pool and a line of leaning coconut trees pegging the beach. Just a few metres away from my lounger, the beach recedes into the Indian Ocean. Waves crash into the sand, a dishwater brown lapping-in.
I try to imagine if I was here just over 10 years ago. On a sun-lounger, a cocktail order en route, in the peace and tranquillity of this south-west region of Sri Lanka. Before the Boxing Day tsunami hit.
In 2004, rolling walls 90-feet high were triggered by a 9.0 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Sumatra. Waves swept in like something biblical, killing more than 230,000 people across 14 countries. It was one of the deadliest disasters in recorded history, at its most devastating in Indonesia, followed by Sri Lanka.
Over a decade later and signs of the damage are still evident along the coast. Two and three-story homes became instant bungalows as upper floors were wiped clean away. The remaining foundations too expensive to repair and too expensive to knock down.
The hardest hit were the fisherman, a profession held by thousands of Sri Lankans. The great supply-and-demand profession of an island community saw both fishing boats and beaches destroyed.
As the tsunami hit on a ‘poya’ day (a full moon and holiday in Buddhist Sri Lanka), most of the fisherman were not at sea and their small fishing boats lined the shore and beaches, leaving them exposed to the force of the tsunami.
In Galle, 4,000 people were killed, crushed under falling buildings or drowning. The island’s inability to swim proved deadly. Swim schools and support programs have since been setup, such as the ones run by the Foundation of Goodness, a local charity created by the philanthropist Kushil Gunasekera.
Many who did manage to survive, were later caught by disease. Cholera and malaria was followed by a sort of asthma-pneumonia called ‘tsunami lung’. It’s impossible to fix an exact number on the lives claimed in Sri Lanka, but it’s believed around 40,000 people died.
Bolstered by international aid and community rebuilding projects, restoring the infrastructure began almost instantly.
But according to Transparency International, the non-governmental organisation who monitor corporate and political corruption, of the $2.2bn (£1.3bn) received by the Sri Lankan government (some estimate the multinational corporation sum to be as much as $12bn), $60m was spent on unrelated projects, while another £500m is missing.
The former mayor of Galle was fired for charges of corruption and there still appears to be a sense of government and political suspicion about the international funds received.
A buffer zone restricting new buildings to a 100 metre distance from the ocean was put in place, but people gradually started returning to the beaches, so the government changed the buffer zone regulation to 50 metres. Then, as more homes and hotels appeared, to 40 metres, then to 30 metres.
I’m told that in more extreme cases, actual cities were moved further inland as a safety precaution. Galle, Matara and Hambantota, because of their strategical positioning to the coast, were all badly hit.
Rather frighteningly, 200 prisoners escaped when the waves swept away the high-security prison in Matara. To date, only Hambantota has been partially moved.
Early warning systems and Tsunami Evacuation Routes are now in place to safeguard against the possibility of another ocean rage.
Warnings are broadcast on television and radio, as well as using text messages and Tannoys. But how many fisherman, families and small communities on coastland Sri Lanka have TVs, radios or a mobile phone?
I spent time in Colombo where the damage is less evident. Although the capital was hit, investment and rebuilding was made a priority. You can’t have your trump city and international airport as a Waterworld.
Colombo has returned to a bustling metropolis. There’s American, Arab and Asian wealth pouring in and hotels like the Shangri-La and Hyatt Regency are under construction… along the coast.
One of the biggest problems facing the island has been Thalassophobia (fear of the sea), with many fearing to go anywhere near it.
To identify and further the ability of local artists, and to help those with ocean anxiety, businessman Ranil de Silva, created a programme in which artists are slowly introduced back to the sea, encouraged to paint the ocean as a means of therapy; after which their work is showcased. The initiative is called Leo Art, with several artists making ‘top-dollar’ for their work.
It is this local support; the charity work; foundations; the new warning and escape routes, that are the progressive steps Sri Lanka are demonstrating, and which gives optimism for the future. There’s always the fear that this might happen again, but Colombo is building rapidly, not just because of the tsunami, but as new (international) investment pours in and Sri Lanka becomes a growing tourist destination for backpackers, surfers and safari enthusiasts.
Despite the widespread wreckage and the unfathomable lives claimed, there remains a sense of optimism in the country.
A decade is a long time and even though the fierce lick of the 2004 tsunami and its chaos can still be witnessed, the positivity of the Sri Lankan people is overwhelming. Their cheery disposition is contagious and their fighting through the devastation with a smile.
There’s a feeling that things are going to be okay.
Associated Newspapers Ltd