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Helping Disaster Victims |
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Tell Us Your Story |
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One Acehnese child and the voices of ghosts |
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Nina recounted her story to me in the Lamsujen refugee camp in Lhoong sub-district, Aceh Besar, on 3 January 2005. This is what she said: As-salamu `alaykum. My name is Nina Maulidia Rizka. Call me Nina. I am now 11 years old. I was born in a beautiful village, called Gleebruek, in the sub-district Lhoong, Aceh Besar District. There was no place as pretty as my village. Along with dozens of other villages, Gleebruek lay in a valley at the foot of a hill that overlooked the Indian Ocean . My parents, Sabri and Jamiah, gave me that beautiful name because I was born on the day that my villagers celebrated the birthday of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon); we called the day maulid. Growing up, I spent my days the way other children my age did, going to school, doing our sums, and playing in our spare time. My big brother Ilham, my younger brother Sidik, and my baby sister Dinda Sulisna used to play by the sea where there were lots and lots of coconut trees and visitors from out of town spending their holidays. Very often, Dinda tagged along behind me even though I did not like, but my mother made me mind her. One day, all this changed.
I was minding Dinda and playing by the foot of the hill when suddenly we felt the earth shake. “It’s an earthquake!” I heard someone shout, shortly before I saw my neighbors rush out of their homes in panic. There was confusion but a short while later we had gathered in small groups outside our homes. Then, suddenly, we heard the most horrible, horrible sound of the ocean crashing against the beach, a noise as loud as hundreds of helicopters! “The waves are raising...run, run!” I heard people shout. I had a second to look at the black tongues of the ocean, as high as the coconut trees, rushing toward us before fleeing in panic. I remembered to drag Dinda along but the water came very quickly. Its tentacles kept lunging at us. Soon I saw people overtaken by the waves, drowning, drowning. I kept running while dragging Dinda with me, but the water was much faster and it took Dinda from my hands. Then I saw somebody fish her out of the water before carrying her while he kept on running. I followed…until we reached the hill. We beat the waves. But the waves beat my parents. The ocean took my parents away. My brother Sidik had disappeared too. I met Ilham among people who reached safety at the military post and the sub-district head office. But the rest of my family is no more. I still have my grandmother, al-hamdu lillah, and my blind aunt, 22-year-old Yusmanidar, and Ilham and Dinda. But we have no home now. What we have now is a beach that is completely ruined; no longer beautiful after so many bodies were found there. Pak Camat, the sub-district head, and all the other grown men spent days burying those corpses. I don’t know if they found my parents; I think the ocean really took them away. Dinda, Ilham and I are now living together with hundreds of people from the other villages by the sea, in a school building in a hilly village called Lamsujen. Lamsujen is a funny name. In Acehnese, it means “among the voices of ghosts.” Sometimes I think I really hear the voices of ghosts. If I shout at the top of my lungs, the hills answer back with strange noises. I do not do that very often because people will stare. Sometimes I try to find the voices of father and mother among those voices of the ghosts. Several days after the earthquakes and the waves, some friends and I went down to the sea to look at what used to be our homes. The ocean had left nothing. Not a single house was found. Every building that had ever been erected was now gone except for maybe several blocks of tiles. Trees and concrete pillars were uprooted and lying every which way. The soil became a sea of yellow sand. Seaweed all of a sudden was found on the tree tops at the foot of the hill. My beautiful village is no more.
It is strange being among so many people who do not have a mother or a father. Thankfully Pak Camat works really hard to make sure that we have food everyday, but actually, the food is never enough. I go to bed hungry all the time. I wish I could be back home again with mother and father, going to school and doing my lessons. Now my school is no more. My books are all gone. I am thankful that unlike many other kids, Dinda and I are not sick. I do miss mother and father, but so do the other kids in this refugee camp. That’s Amirullah from Cundin village. He is 14 years old, and he lost both his parents too. Anwar, who is a year older, lost both parents and three siblings. Then there is Linawati, who is about my age, who also lost her parents and is now in the refugee camp only with her younger brother Edi Saputra and sisters Siti Rahmah and Nurlia. In this single corner of the school building alone, there are more than 50 children like me—children who have lost their parents and brothers and sisters and their homes. I know that there are hundreds and hundreds of other children in Lhoong who are now orphans. Today, we have guests—two doctors from Banda Aceh and a lady who said she was with an organization in London . This lady, Ibu Santi, said there are Muslims in far away countries such as Britain who wish to help my friends and me Al-hamdu lillah. I would really like to have more food, a change of clothing, and books. I would like to go back to school. I would like to have a home of my own. I do not wish to stay at a shelter any longer. My friends would like to stay on in Aceh, but I would not mind leaving for Java or another place with my sister Dinda; a place where I could go to school and not to have to worry about the waves. I asked Ibu Santi for her address, and her promise that she would return and come and get me. I shall write and remind her of her promise, as soon as there are people who can bring my letter to Banda Aceh because we no longer have a post office here now. Read Also: |
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