We survived the 2004 tsunami

Tsunami, Sri Lanka 26/12/2004

Here follows a true account of my experience.

    I was staying at a friend’s house in the Dutch fort of Galle in the South of Sri Lanka. We were a party of 10 including my wife Kate, and her children Chloe 12, and Oscar 10. Tuck away within the fort's walls, the house was large, beautiful. We knew we were lucky to be there. Christmas day was special, our first Christmas ever away from home. We spent it on the beach nearby, playing in the sea, eating freshly caught fish in a bamboo and palm leaf built restaurant. Around us were locals as well as tourists. Hanging out together, it was all very good fun. Aided by good food and lashings of alcohol there was a proper party atmosphere going on throughout the entire day.

    Oscar had brought one of his presents (a rubberband propelled helicopter) onto the beach with him. It performed well, flew high, but was very unpredictable on where it was going to go - all part of the fun. After several successful flights, the wayward toy ended up landing on top of the restaurant we were eating at. Out of reach, we thought it lost. Luckily, a couple of guys (judging by their accents, Australian I think) nearby, saw it happen. Without any prompting, they worked as a team and quite acrobatically climbed the bamboo-bound walls high enough to retrieve it. Oscar was promptly back to smiling.

    The day went all too quickly. Light turned to dark. Before it became too late however, we found our usual tuk-tuks and drivers, and all headed home together in convoy. The journey, door to door, took no longer than 10 minutes. It should have been slightly longer but our drivers liked to race. Full of high spirits, we egged them on of course. If I recall correctly, our car won.

    Our friends' house where we were staying, two storeys high and built around an internal courtyard, was beautiful. Upstairs there were several bedrooms, whereas downstairs we had a large kitchen and an even bigger communal lounge. All rooms overlooked a shallow rectangular-shaped ornamental pond in the garden. We were greeted at the front door by Michael the housekeeper. He immediately told Kate that our travel agency had called. They'd informed him that our transport,  plans to visit another part of Sri Lanka the following day, have been delayed by 3hrs. The bus that was once picking us up at 08:00 will now arrive at 11:00 instead. At first Kate was a little put out, but with no one to complain to, she let it slide. We decided not to worry, after all, it would just give us more time to pack in the morning. With enougth eating and drinking done for one day, we all went to bed.

    The next morning (26-Dec, Boxing day) was just like any other warm, sunny, and humid day in Sri Lanka. Forgetting Michael, I woke and got up first. It was about 07.45. Others in the houshold slowly began to appear downstairs sometime later. Several of us were nursing headaches. Michael, efficient as ever, had already set the table for breakfast (papaya and all kinds of other fresh fruits with yoghurt). He was now busying himself sweeping the street outside.

    Breakfast had hardly been touched, when suddenly Michael came rushing back in. Looking somewhat distressed, in broken English, he expressed that there was water flowing outside in the street. Noting his concerned tone I went to investigate. Sure enough, our street was partly filled with water. There were people out there too, wading, walking up and down the narrow road. Not seeing any real  panic in their faces, I bushed it off, was unconcerned. The water was barely knee deep, and I wrongly assumed that as this was a special day in the Buddhist calendar streets were ceremonially flooded. To wash out the old, to allow in the new. Going back inside, I passed the news on to the others. With barely even a grunt of acknowledgment we simply all got on with breakfast and then began packing, readying for the day ahead.

    A short time later the street outside became noticeably noisier. There was shouting coming in through open windows. Looking out a 2nd time, I saw the water was still yet to drain. Maybe it was even deeper, I wasn't sure. Most strikingly, there were far more people out there now, young and old, men and women and children. Everyone was carrying something, boxes, pieces of furniture, clothes in bundles. There was confusion, and fear in their eyes. Realising something big was happening after all, we (my family and a couple of others) decided to investigate.

    We headed first towards the seaward-facing fort wall, the same direction most others were heading already. On arrival at the wall, about 200 metres from our house, we noticed that the top, where we were standing, was wet. Although the wall was approximately 5 metres above sea level it seemed a wave had very recently come over the top. We guessed this was what had caused our street to flood. Looking back at the sea, now several metres below us, it seemed impossible to believe a wave, even a freak one, could rise up so high and then so quickly disappear. At that point we were told by other onlookers that 3 people had been swept away and were missing. Still taking things in, we looked again, down at the sea. It had disappeared. It had gone out a good 100 metres or more as if it were a very low tide. We had never seen it this low before. Very odd. In its retreat the sea had left behind an abundance of debris. Amongst other things, there was a wrecked fishing boat, uprooted palm trees, and even a full-sized cargo crate (like the ones craned on and off ships when in dock). On seeing the 'low tide', Oscar, my stepson, commented he'd learned recently that tidal waves (or tsunamis) often retreated away from the shore before coming back in force. We took his comment casually at first. We weren't sure what to believe. The weather was fine. There was hardly a breeze and there was certainly no indication of an earthquake. His words simply didn't add up.

    After a short while, the people I was with, except Craig (my friend, a young fireman from London) wandered off elsewhere. We, however, stayed put. We wanted to see what might happen next. Naively we actually sat down on the wall dangling our legs over the edge looking out to sea. Disappontingly, nothing much happened for the next few minutes. Me, easily bored, I got up. I decided to continue my walk, alone, around the fort.

    On further local investigation, I quickly learned that a large portion of the fort was still very much underwater. Our street, it seemed, was least affected. Whereas in other streets many of the buildings (built of brick and concrete) had been wrecked. All around, sewers had overflowed. Their manhole covers had been lifted off. There was raw sewage, debris of all sorts, and the contents of people's homes littered everywhere.

    It had become blindingly obvious that the problem was far worse than just a single freak wave. This was a full-blown tsunami. It was all still too hard to believe however. I repeat again, we were not aware of any ground-shaking earthquake, not even a tremor, and there certainly hadn't been a storm.

    Thinking a tsunami was a solitary wave and that there were no more to come, I continued walking (or rather, wading) onwards feeling relatively safe. The threat was already there all around me. I just needed to be careful. With the water so filthy and dark and not able to see my feet, I took pigeon steps, fearing I might trip or disappear down an open drain. Zig-zagging through the narrow streets, some resembling chocked-up canals, I arrived eventually at the gates of the fort itself. What I saw ahead of me blew me away.  Within the gate's arch itself was a large fishing boat approximately 5 metres in length. Broken like matchwood and laying on its side, it was about 100 metres from the coast. It must have traveled up the beach, across a road, and through a line of huts to get there. Beyond the boat, and the gate it was blocking,  I saw the world famous Sri Lankan international cricket ground. The devastation was incredible. The entire stretch of land was under not just water and oil and sewerage but also a multitude of vehicles including tuks-tuks and buses, most of which were upended. They were crushed, laying on their roofs or sides. Windows had been ripped out. Their seats were strewn all about the cricket pitch. Before the wave, there had been a robust steel tubular barrier all around the playing ground. It was gone now, pulled up, twisted. It looked like a monstrous jumble of metallic spaghetti.

    The devastation continued unraveling as I continued on. Along both sides of a major road once was a village within the town itself. There had been huts constructed of corrugated iron sheets and other waste materials. Here once lived many of the towns' fishermen, the shoe menders, dentists, and barbers. Their homes were gone, had been destroyed, flattened, or completely washed away.

    There was an unearthly silence. Everybody was walking around in disbelief, barely talking. No one seemed to know what had happened or what to do. It looked like a war zone, the sort of thing you only see on TV.

    Having already seen too much, I turned and began heading back to the fort. On the way, people warned me that more waves were expected. How they knew this I didn't know, after all, few people had a phone and there couldn't possibly be any internet access. I took their warnings seriously regardless and quickened my step as best I could. Arriving back at the house, I found just a couple of my friends were there, my family wasn't. Concerned for them, I passed on the warning of more expected waves and then headed back out to find them.

    Taking a different route through the fort, I found the flooding in some of the streets much deeper. At one point the water, thick with god knows what, reached above my waist. With just a pair of flip-flops on my feet, it was tricky staying upright. I feared cutting myself too, with contaminants in the water there would be a high chance of infection.

    Still within the confines of the fort walls, I was relieved to find my family. They were busy helping another British family (we'd met them the day before on the beach) rescue the contents of their house.   The wave and the following flooding had hit their home hard. Their entire ground floor was still very much under water. Close by, outside, were two cars dented and bruised, one was sitting on top of the other.

    Kate and the kids were moving what could be salvaged from the house and putting onto higher ground. There was only so much they could do however and in the end, we had to leave them to it.  We did however take care of their young children and pet puppy. Them with us, away from the worst of the carnage, the parents could concentrate on saving what that could.

    Back at the house, all together now, we were dumbstruck. We still had no idea what had happened or what to do next. We were safe here, but for how long? Were there going to be more waves?  Nobody knew.

    Approximately 2 hours had passed, still none of us had seen any police or any formal rescue efforts going on. On top of that, we didn't know how widespread the devastation was.

    

    Our house had a landline telephone but as we were without any electricity, it didn't work properly. There was a dialing tone but it was full of static, it kept dropping out. We did however all have mobile phones (this was the time before smartphones with cameras of course). Putting them altogether, only two had a signal, one of which was mine. Calling out didn't work, but it looked like we could send a text message back to the UK. To Ruth, Kate's friend, and her children's nanny, on my Nokia I typed 'not sure if you have heard about the flooding in Sri Lanka but we are all ok'. I pressed send and was relieved to get a message back informing me it had been sent. At least now Ruth can tell everyone back home that we were safe.

    Not only were we without power, the water was cut off too. Fortunately we had a tank as reserve. Not knowing how long we'd be stuck there, we agreed quickly to ration it. From there on, no one was allowed to flush the loo. Talking as a group we all had very different ideas on what next to do. Some thought we should sit it out for a few days to see what happens (we had only about a week of holiday to go anyway), others thought we should help the local people as much as best we could, and others still, thought we should all get out as soon as possible before things got even worse. The water tank could only last so long, and with so few shops still operating, the food we had already would soon run out. Diseases like dengue or malaria could also be a problem (this is the tropics after all and we'd seen already rats in the streets, forced up from the sewers). Who knew what was out there? Another consideration was that we were 10 in number, two of those, young children. With so many unnecessary mouths to feed, we'd be more a burden than a help. Whilst still deciding, we sent Micheal, the housekeeper, home. His family lived on the coast further North, somewhere between Galle and Columbo. Without any communication he was, understandably, worried for them. He said, catching the train, it should only take a few hours to get there. We told he he should go. In case of any unforeseen problems, we gave him extra money. He took it with thanks and left straight away.

    Our meeting concluded. We decided to pull altogether and wait to see what happens over the next 24hrs.

    Some of us went off and joined the growing queue at the local grocer shop. It was one of the few still open. We bought as much food as dared, mainly rice, pasta and fruit. It wasn't spoken out loud, but we were of no illusion that we, with money, were lucky. We were fully aware that just a few metres from our own frontdoor people living homeless with nothing but the rags on their backs. Deciding to leave everything we didn't eat after our escape for them, made us feel only marginally better. Also on our shopping list were candles. When night fell, all the candles lit, the house took on the appearance of a temple.

    Throughout the day there had been more waves. Though not as big as the original they were still enough to rip through the town. The bus station and the cricket ground next to it were flooded again and again, sending people running every time. Watching it all from the tops of the fort wall, we felt useless. There was nothing we could do for them without putting ourselves at risk too.

    Early evening, still on the first day of the disaster, our landline actually rang. We all looked at each other with a 'who the fuck is that?' type expression. It was a call from England, a friend of one of our party had finally got through. He'd woken up to the news, it was a tsunami. It was all over British television. Sick with worry, he was surprised, though relieved, to hear we were all okay.

We learned from him that the flooding wasn't just local. The tsunami was massive. It had wreaked havoc all over South East Asia. It was the biggest news story in the world. He'd seen videos, from Thailand especially, hotels had been swept away taking people with them. Still with only half an idea of the scale of the situation, we insisted he needn't worry. We were okay. We were all safe. Before dropping the call we gave him the names and numbers of all our friends and family. He said he could call each and every one of them to pass on the good news.

NOTE: I didn't give him my father's or sibling's details because they didn't know I was away anyway. 

    Whilst some of us stayed up 'on guard' as it were, others went to bed. I for one, did not sleep. I spent most of the night looking out into the street fearing the worse. Further along from our house, parked outside the shop, was a car. It had its radio on and people were gathered around it listening to the news. As it was spoken in Ceylonese I could only make out the odd word, but from the way the people were acting, there was nothing positive to be had.

    The next day (27th Dec) Michael returned back early morning. He explained that the train he intended to catch had been destroyed, along with the line on which it ran (we later learned that the train had been derailed by the wave and some 1500 people had lost their lives. To this day, August 2022, it is still recorded as the biggest train disaster of all time). Michael was still yet to hear any news of his wife and child and was close to losing his mind. Wanting to help as much as possible, we gave him even more money and told him to hire a tuk-tuk or taxi, anything that would get him home. With more thanks, he immediately set off all over again.

    Several of us, including myself, decided to leave the relative safety of the fort and go out into town a 2nd time. We needed to see what was happening with the intention of maybe finding a way back to the UK.

    In the town centre, although much the water had returned back to the sea, it had left behind a scene looking like a disaster movie. There were more people out now, many had come down from the nearby hills. The Sri Lankan army had arrived too. Bearing guns, they were trying to create some form of order, an impossible task. There were just a few them, wandering around on foot. Debris was still blocking most of the roads meaning their trucks were parked some distance away. Sri Lankans themselves were beginning to come together, to work together. Trying to clear rubble and the wrecked vehicles by hand, was one thing, but a fleet bulldozers is what was really was needed, and they were yet to arrive.

    A helicopter flew overhead causing me to look up. I asked myself why weren't they helping us? Even with the army, nothing of any substance was happening. We were all still in shock. Independantly, local people approached us offering food. It was awkward to refuse. The fact was, they were far more in need than us, something that was hard to explain. Looking around we seemed to be the only tourists about.

    Lost of ideas, things to do, we walked around in circles. At some point another man approached us, offering biscuits. He insisted we took them before guiding us away to a large church in the heart of town. Because it was built on higher ground it was intact, the waves hadn't reached it. The church had become a refuge, it was busy of people. Basic foods, bread and suchlike were being given away. We'd been there only a few seconds before yet another man came up to us. He was well dressed, looked very business like. Smiling, he said that we (European tourists) were very important to Sri Lnaks and he would do anything he could to help us. After offering more food he introduced himself further as a worker from the Ceylonese Tourist Board. We informed him we were a party of 10 including two children, and we needed to get to Columbo. He was unbelievably helpful; he said he knew of a man with a minibus who should be able to get us there.

    'Come, follow me', he said 'I'll show you.'

    We followed him up, further away from the coast, through a maze of tiny muddy streets lined with rows of single story brick built houses. Some of the dwellings, though basic, had lush gardens. Palm trees and bushes full of flowers, untouched by the horrific tsnumai, were growing everywhere. Mid-afternoon already, it was hot, sticky and very humid, making progress tiring. In some of the streets children played. On seeing us, clumsily trudging through mud in just our flip-flops, they giggled and waved. I wondered if they were even aware of the devastation back in town less than a kilometre away further downhill.

    Whilst walking on, a motorcycle with a passenger onboard passed by us. Stopping and turning around, they gave us bottles of water. Taking the water, we thanked them. they immediately then putted off without another word. I didn't realise how thirsty I was. The water disappeared in seconds.

    There was a point in our journey where we came upon a very basic narrow footbridge. Barely half a metre wide and with no handrails, it spanned what was best described as a canal. The canal itself, approximalty 3 metres wide, had vertical concrete walls on either side. The water flowing through it was fast, angry. It looked deep and was for most part, jet black in colour. Intermittently however, patches of oil floated by, causing the surface to become like a mini rainbow. All along the canal was yet more debris. Up rooted trees bounced off tin dums and the contents of peoples homes on their way down to the oecan. The crossing was dangerous. Anyone unfortunate to fall at this point would undoubtedly lose their life. Whilst preparing ourselves to cross, behind us there came a very old man. He had a bike with him and was as reluctant to use the bridge as we were. He could barely walk, let alone carry a bicycle too. Craig promptly came to the rescue. With barely a pause he took the bike, put it onto his shoulder, and with his spare arm stretched wide for balance, pidgeon stepped slowly across. The man followed close behind him. Once we'd all reached the other side safely, the old man pressed his palms together to thank us and disappeared through a grove of palm trees.  

    Our trek took about 2 1/2 hours in total. We eventually came to a house where we understood the man with the minibus lived. Stepping up to the open frontdoor we learned he was not presently at home but was asked to wait for him by a family member. Removing shoes first, we were shown inside. It being such a small house and cramped, I decided to wait outside in the garden instead. After a further 20 minutes or so, the minibus owner arrived home. Speaking in Ceylonese, our guide promptly explained him our predicament. The man almost immediately nodded. Yes, he would help. Payment wasn't discussed but collectively gave him a generous amount of cash. It was probably more than he would make in a year. We didn't care how much it cost us. We just wanted to get home. Our guide, and newly appointed driver headed away, following them we soon reached the minibus. On first impression, the minibus was a lot smaller than I anticipated - big enough for 10 maybe, but it would be a squeeze with our luggage too. We didn't have a choice however, it had to do. Including the guide, we all jumped in and headed back down towards town and the fort just beyond. On the journey back, one my friends whispered that in the house was the body of the driver's 9 year old son. Killed in the tsunami, he was laying flat out on the kitchen table.

    The minibus was silent, no one had anything useful to say. Our eyes were all cast out through the windows, taking in the devastation, the wrecked lives, the deaths of 100s of people. I really still couldn't believe what had happened, what was still happening. As we entered Galle town we approached an army roadblock. They were stopping everyone getting through. Even after our driver had explained his reasons for being there, the armed soldier still wouldn’t let us back into the town. Our guide was next to try. He also failed. During this time a plump mustachiod officer arrived on the scene. His uniform was unblemished in stark contrast to everything around us. Again, we were refused entry. Finally, it was up to me to make our case. Climbing down from the minibus, the officer saw the vehicle was full of tourists. He understood at last. On condition our Sri Lankan guide got out first, he flagged us through. It was important the guide stayed put, we didn't lose him because only he knew the inland route North up to Columbo. The plan was, we'd pick up the others and then collect him on the way through.

Note: We'd have to take the inland route. News had it that much of the coastal road was either blocked or swept away. Another consideration was that we'd be safer away from the coast if more waves arrived.

    At last we pulled up to the house, only to find the rest of our group waiting out in the street. I was surprised, also, to see another minibus parked nearby. It was explained quickly that in our absence my family's tour operator had managed to get another vehicle through. Their plan was to get us out of Galle and up to Columbo as quickly as possible. Loaded already with luggage, they were waiting for my return before finally heading off. They'd been particularly worried because whilst away there had been reports of shooting and looting. The army had arrived to keep order.

    Our tour operator's minibus had been parked up a while and there were already other parrengers onboard ready to go. The driver, though patient, was keen to get away to avoid driving through the mountains in the dark. He would have left earlier without me had it not been for my wife. She'd insisted they waited for as long as possible. The bus had even gone away once, to pick others up, before coming back for me one last time.

    I disembarked from the 1st minibus. After one final check I had my passport etc, I then prepared to board the 2nd bus with my family. Having gone through so much together, we were somewhat reluctant to separate from the others, but there was simply nothing we could do. At least with us four gone, it did mean there would be room enough for them and their luggage in their much smaller vehicle.

    After hugs and promises to catch up again in the UK, we, my family, at last set off.

    We had barely left the fort when we were joined immediately by another car. It was driven by a British couple - expats, they lived in Columbo but as they didn't know the mountain route home, they were going to follow us all the way. Whilst driving through town Kate and I distracted the children as best we could. The intention was for them not to notice the carnage and the bodies that still littered the roads.

    After much thumping of the horn and following diversion after diversion, we eventually left the town of Galle. We allowed the lush green forests, the tea plantations and mountain ranges to swallow us up. We'd driven out of hell and into heaven. The contrast was indescribable.

    The roads through the mountains, so few, were narrow, poorly maintained and busy in both directions. Whilst vehicles like ours, full of people trying to escape, were heading North, ambulances, and trucks carrying food and supplies, were heading South. In both directions it was just one continuous line of slow moving traffic. Even at this point, we did not realise the enormity of the situation.

    Along the way were dozens of tiny nameless villages. Not prepared for the increased traffic flow through them, we often came to a complete halt. Progess was slow indeed. It didn't help much that our following car was low on fuel too. The man driving tapped on our window. He said he'd been in the red since leaving Galle and was about to run out altogether. Fortunatly, the very next village had a petrol station.  Unfortiunatly, there was a queue of dozens vehicles long looking to top up. We could join the line and wait with everyone else but there was no guarantee there'll be any fuel left when we get there. The mood in our minibus soon became scratchy. A passenger, a well spoken young middle aged woman, spoke out. She suggested that we leave them, and we should head off on her own.  The consensus with the other passengers was different. We couldn't do that. There had to be another way. I personally thought her mean, but we heard later that her teenage son had been playing cricket down in Galle when the first wave hit. The water had swept him away. It was only by good fortune that he managed grab hold of the roof of the spectators stand that saved him. He hung there uselessly, watching the sea level rise and rise. He thought he was going to drown. Luckily, the sea dropped as fast as it rose and he managed to climb down safely. As I recall, all of the British schoolboy cricket team survived, but many of the local players weren't so fortunate. Putting myself in her shoes, I guess I too would have wanted out of there.

    Giving the need for petrol our highest priority, we stopped at every hamlet and village on route. Nothing was available anywhere. Our driver however did at last manage to procure 4 liquor bottles full of black-market petrol from a shopkeepr. The price was massively inflated but we didn't care. The car driver thanked us for our understanding. He carefully poured all bottles into his tank and once again we were on our way.

    It was dark and late by the time we arrived into Colombo. The contrasts between beaches of paradise, to the beaches of destruction, to the lush plant-lined valleys, then finally the hustle and bustle of a major city Asian city was overwhelming. Most noticeable was the noise and the choking stench of low grade motor fuel. It was all too much for one day. Our tour operator had reserved two rooms in a swanky boutique hotel. There were 5 stars on the door. All rooms were built independent, like bungalows.

    The hotel manager greeted us personally as we arrived. With just an idea of what we'd been through she was discreet but still very welcoming regardless. Telling us she'd kept the restaurant open especially (the chef too, had been woken up ready, just for us) she showed us to our rooms. The rooms were perfect, too perfect. With dark stained woodwork throughout, air conditioning, ceiling fans, and large sumptuous beds with the finest cotton linen, we couldn't ask for anything more. Best of all, we had running water and electricity. Because we were hungry, we took only a short shower before heading straight to the restaurant. Getting there we were met again by the smiling hotel manager. We were the only diners. Sitting around a large table, menus were passed around. Forgetting we hadn't eating well for a couple of days, our food was superb. Just like our rooms, once again it exceeded all expectations. Finished, with out plates taken away, this was the first time we'd had to relax properly. We'd made it, we were safe. I shed a tear of relief.

    After eating we talked briefly to the manager. She explained that we were her second batch of refugees in as many days. The day before, a young couple had arrived. The girl had only a bikini to her name, no other clothes, no passport and no money. Everything else had been swept away.  The hotelier herself provided her with some of her own clothes for the journey home. 

    Looking back, we ultimately realised how lucky we all were. The tsunami hit Sri Lanka around about 09:00. Had our plans to leave Galle not been changed, we would have been on the coastal road at the time it hit. Just beyond the coastal road, further inland, was the railway. On the line was the train which was swept away killing those 1500 people. We would have almost certainly been killed ourselves.

Note: Watching the news on TV, one of the two guys who'd rescued Oscar's helicopter was being interviewed. He said his buddy was missing presumed dead.

Also: It turned out that my father did know I'd gone to Sri Lanks. He'd reported me and my family as missing too. He only learned we were okay when I arrived home more than week later.