ADRA : Adventist Development & Relief Agency International

We spent 20 minutes looking around at the previous site of his small elementary school and his now nonexistent house. We chatted pleasantly, and he introduced me to his many friends, his previous students, and their parents.

He had been sitting on his back porch when the tsunami rolled in. The dirty water was as high as the palm trees, and he was caught up in it while running away. He tumbled around in the water for a long time.

It was time to leave, and I found a small gift for him in my bag. We shook hands as I said good-bye. He grabbed me and hugged me very tight and then pressed my cheek against his very hard cheek and then the other cheek. As I stood back, I could see that he was crying and could not speak very well. We parted, and afterward I realized that I had given him an opportunity to share his story and, in so doing, deal with some of his grief. I have spoken to many people here with a similar response. Often a deep friendship develops from simply listening to their story and caring for their needs.

First I see a baby, and then a beautiful young woman with haunting eyes. “Tsunami,” he whispers, his voice choking as he tries to avoid crying in front of me. I ask our translator if he will translate for me as Mahfoud shares his story with us.

Mahfoud explains that he had his own business and employed several people. He bought land and was moving into a big house next to his brothers. It was close to the beach in the north part of Meulaboh, Indonesia. It was an area busy with life, cafés, and restaurants lining the boardwalk. To have a house in the middle of this was a sign of success.

I ask if it’s possible for us to visit this place, and he agrees to take us there. We drive to the northern part of town and come to an area where it looks as if post-tsunami cleanup has already occurred. There is hardly any rubble or debris, or any sign that this was a thriving area close to the boardwalk. “There hasn’t been any cleanup here,” Mahfoud tells me.

I look around. Surely there can’t have been that many people living here; there is nothing except grazing water buffalo.

I look at Mahfoud, and he leads me to a concrete slab. “This is my house under here, but it’s the floor of my brother’s house,” he says. This sounds a bit cryptic, so I ask him to explain how this is his brother’s floor. He points to another concrete slab and says that his brother’s house was over there, and it was a three-story house. We are standing on the third floor. The first and second floors are lying side by side like dominos.

He takes me back to the 26th of December 2004. It was a cloudy morning, and Mahfoud was hesitant to leave. He needed to go to the Simpat market to sell clothes at one of his many shops. The market was an hour away from his home. He discussed with his wife, Nana Meilina, if he should go. They had been married for more than four years and had an almost two-year-old son, Fakrol Raji. Nana Meilina urged him to go. They had just invested a large sum in new clothes to sell. He looked at her and knew that she was right. They needed the money. He must go to the Simpat market.

He stopped by his shop in Meulaboh to check on things before leaving town. An hour later, he arrived at the Simpat market and felt the large earthquake. Mahfoud quickly got on a motorbike with his friend and headed back toward home. They were close to Meulaboh when the first tsunami wave swept them off their bike. They grabbed a piece of wood and managed to float around for what seemed like 30 minutes. He estimated that the water level was five to six feet deep. Just as suddenly as the wave hit him, it began to pull back. Despite the strong surge, he managed to stay on his feet. He kept walking toward his home until the second wave hit him. This time he could not keep his head above water. He could not breathe; he could not see anything in the black water. He could not swim in the strong current. He was up against forces that were much greater than he was. He thought that these were his last seconds. He was gasping for air when suddenly he felt his friend pulling him up by his hair; he grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled.

At this point, I interrupt and ask the translator if Mahfoud is sure that he was really pulled up by his hair. “Yes,” the translator confirms, “and no, his hair was not longer at that time.”

He must see my surprise, and we both look at Mahfoud. He is balding on top, and where there is hair, it is quite short.

Mahfoud continues his story. After his friend pulled him out of the water by his hair, they both managed to reach a four-story house on the side of the road. They waited—they could not do anything else. When the water went down to chest height, he jumped back in. He waded through the water and all it carried with it. He didn’t seem to sense what was around him; he waded toward his home and prayed that he would find his wife and son.

He got to his house and found several bodies stuck in buildings and trees. His house was gone. He found no sign of his wife or son.

Mahfoud pauses; he looks at us and then looks at the tall coconut trees. “The tsunami,” he says, “was above those coconut trees.”

I look back at him and know why the area is swept clean. Nothing could stand a chance in water levels and waves of such height.

He sighs and tells us that he kept looking around in disbelief. The people, along with the cafés and restaurants, were swept inland toward the city. He now knows that only about three percent of this area’s population survived.

As he looked around for his family, he saw the third wave coming, and he ran to a two-story house that was partly standing. When the third wave had withdrawn to the sea, he continued his search. Not much was left now. Then he recognized some clothes. Yes, this used to belong to his wife, and over there was a piece of his son’s shirt. He roamed around finding some of his own clothes, but no sign of his beloved Nana Meilina or Fakrol Raji.

As Mahfoud talks, tears are running down his face, and I in respect look at the ground. Hearing his pain and sorrow, I feel my eyes swell with tears as well. We silently stand where his house used to be. The place where he saw his wife and son for the last time.

Continuing, Mahfoud tells us that he kept hoping as he kept searching. He wandered through the entire city and helped many people he met on the road. He doesn’t remember how many. He kept walking and searching for days and nights.

He went to the internally displaced persons camp. After a couple of days, he was invited to stay with friends. Mahfoud accepted, but found that his kind friend had many people staying with him. Mahfoud located distant cousins and stayed with them for a time. Since he had lost everything, he could not contribute much to the household and did not want to be a burden. Mahfoud began to spend his nights on the floor in the mosque and looked for work by day.

He owed money from the clothes he had purchased to sell at his shops. His assets were gone. He sold his old car, which was parked where the tsunami didn’t reach, and this enabled him to pay off some debt. It would have been easy for him to claim that he had lost everything and was unable to pay. However, he was convinced that he wanted to pay some of his debt. He also desired to hold a Kenduri (a memorial service) for his wife and son. At this point, Mahfoud felt no need to plan for the future, for what future was there for someone who had lost everything?

Eventually, he found work as a driver in a pickup that belonged to a distant relative. Then Mahfoud became one of ADRA’s Meulaboh drivers. For weeks, he went quietly about his work, always ready to help and assist. One day, his heart spilled over, and he shared his loss with one of the Indonesian ADRA workers. When our ADRA staff heard that Mahfoud had been sleeping in the mosque for several weeks, they invited him to share their living quarters.

The always helpful and smiling Mahfoud. When you get to know him, you see that his smile, though genuine, has sadness to it. His eyes reflect pain and grief, yet he gets up every day and does a great job with ADRA. Friendship has sprung up with several of the ADRA workers from Jakarta, and those of us who are not fluent in Bahasa Indonesian wish we could say something of comfort. All I can do is smile and put my hand on my heart to shown my empathy, and ask the translator to express my sympathy and how his experience has brought tears in my eyes.

Mahfoud is grateful for the opportunity to work with ADRA and shows no bitterness that he now is an employee when he used to be the boss. Those of us who work with him pray that one day he will be able to plan for the future.

The ADRA canoe glided through the mangrove forest carrying me to one of many destinations on this journeyNggatokae Island. Intense, natural beauty grows rampant with lush tropical forest and wild orchids blooming everywhere. Walking towards Somboro village, the wind increased, bringing some respite from the hot and humid weather. But also the first drops of rain. I was glad to step inside the home of Illene Kenneth and listen as she spilled out her story. Outside her simple home, the rain poured heavily.

“Name blong me hem Illene Kenneth. Me likem for talem you how ADRA hem chagem life blong me. My name is Illene Kenneth. I want to tell you how ADRA changed my life.

“I live in the village of Somboro on Nggatokae Island in the Solomon Islands. My island is in the largest lagoon in the world, Marovo Lagoon. It is very beautiful here, but we have many hardships.

“Although I live a routine life nowpreparing meals for my four boys, washing clothes, gardening, collecting food, having worship, preparing dinner for the family, and putting the kids to bed it hasn’t always been like this. Not so long ago, I spent two hours each day getting water.

“The only water supply was more than a mile away. And I made four trips every day just to get the basic water we needed. In our culture, drawing water is considered women’s work, so my boys couldn’t help me carry water. I have no girls to help, so the burden was mine alone.

“Those four daily trips were just for the water we needed to drink and cook. With the water so far away, I often didn’t have the energy to get enough water to wash clothes as often as I should. Some days we ran out of water at night. Not wanting to make a trip in the dark, we didn’t clean up after dinner. This drew flies and insects to our home. We weren’t able to bathe every day, even the children.

“My children were often sick with many types of diseases. My boys had diarrhea and all types of boils, rashes, and skin infections. So did most of the children and people in my village. Those things affected us greatly, especially for the mothers because the nearest health clinic is so far away. We tried our best to survive, but it was so difficult.”

Will you help women and children like these whose endless search for water is the difference between life and death?

Illene’s eyes lit up as she continued her story, “When ADRA came, things changed for the better. Not just for me, but for my whole village. Our village impressed ADRA because we have a high school here that is a community initiative. It is not a government high school or a private high school. The community started it and keeps it running. ADRA could see that we are a very motivated village, but needed help. They talked with us about our needs and everyone agreed a new water source was a priority. Together, we decided to install a new water system for our village and high school.

“We all wanted to help, but couldn’t afford the equipment for a water system. ADRA paid for those, but we gave what we could — our labor. We worked together to carry equipment and parts along the five-mile route the water would run and dug trenches for the pipes.

“There are now many water pumps in my village. Now that we have a water supply and are able to wash more frequently, we are much healthier. It is a natural remedy for us just being able to wash and bathe our children. Not long after the water supply came, our boils, rashes, skin diseases, diarrhea, and sickness disappeared. That makes things easier. I am a great believer in clean water.”

Illene’s life had changed because she now has access to water that provides life, literally. ADRA’s development programs in the villages in the remote Solomon Islands are helping villagers create new futures for themselves and their children. Generations to come will remember ADRA’s name as the agency that gave them the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Will you help ADRA change lives for more women and children?

“Now that I don’t have to spend two hours getting water every day, I have more time to spend working for my family and on other things like garden activities and keeping my home clean,” Illene continues.

“My children have more food because I now have time to plant my garden properly. This means that they also get better nutrition. I am also able to be more involved in the community. Each Tuesday, the women in our village meet together to learn new skills like sewing, traditional weaving, or other practical skills. Previously, we never had time to do this.

“ADRA is my partner and helps develop and improve my community. They worked together with us to improve our lives. It is like a burden has been lifted.” Leaving Somboro, our boat skimmed across Marovo Lagoon past countless other islands. I wondered how many more people lived in these places that also need clean water and improved health. Even though ADRA is changing hundreds of lives in the Solomon Islands through the 10 gravity-fed water systems that have already been installed, much more needs to be done.

Many more children are suffering from lack of clean water. Together, we can change that. With your help, ADRA can continue improving the lives of women like Illene and her family.

How many lives will you change today?