Looking beyond the blue
by Aditha Dissanayake
Yes. Like every Southerner, whenever I heard the call of the sea
summoning me home, I used to jump into an A/C bus and surprise my grand
ma by my unannounced visits, claiming I felt too homesick to remain so
far away from her lovely meals, the "thyei, aththei" Southern dialect
and of course the smell, the sound, the cool breeze of the Indian ocean.
Today, grand ma is no more, nor her home. And ever since the tsunami,
I am not so sure I want to hear the call of the sea again.
 Yet, standing on the beach at Yala, with the sea and the sky matching
the colour of my faded denim holdall, watching six fishermen push their
boat into the water and listening to the seventh, Michael a migrant
fisherman from Welisara, who is curious about why I am there, but is too
polite to ask and rambles about the dried fish I could buy from him at
half the price I would have to pay in Colombo, it is hard to think that
this was the same sea which rose to the skies creating indescribable
destruction witnessed never before.
But a stone's throw away are the ruins of what used to be the Brown's
Beach Hotel; a yellow toothbrush, a dozen floor tiles, the remains of a
drainage pipe, some slabs of concrete, a piece of silk cloth twisted
round the branch of a dead araliya tree fluttering in the breeze
vouchsafing that the sea should never again be trusted for being soft,
gentle, and above all, benign.
Here is evidence, according to experts, that unlike a classic
surfer's wave, tsunamis do not roll towards land but SURGE forward like
a flood and goes through the coast picking up debris, cars, stones,
lamp-posts at 40 miles an hour-that's going to hurt, that's going to
kill.
This is probably why there are no photos of the first wave on
December 26, which hit Sumatra, with the cameramen either running away
or unfortunately not surviving to show their pictures which means there
must be plenty of video footage showing a far destructive wave which
will never be found.
 "I'm glad I wasn't here that day" says Michael sighing with relief.
"Even though most of our huts got washed away none of us died because we
were on leave." Neither he nor the others are scared of the sea but they
keep their radios switched on twenty-four hours a day - so that if there
is another tsunami they hope they will hear the warning and be able to
run for their lives (duwala berenawa).
Michael also says there is a "pole" (tsunami kanuwak) erected behind
the temple at Kirinda which is said to be a tsunami warning device but
admits he does not know how it operates.
But, because, even the most efficient detection-and-warning system
may not be able to warn the areas extremely close to what are called
abduction zones knowing what to do by yourself, is surely better than
waiting to hear from authorities. This could mean the difference between
surviving and not surviving.
 For fishermen like Michael, and for security guards like Nimal who
works for a hotel in Chilaw and who says even though his hotel got
flooded with water there were no drastic damages, it is essential to
know nature's three tsunami warning signs, says Eddie Bernard, Director
of the Seattle-based Pacific Marine Environmental Laboratory.
"If you feel an earthquake, if you see the water retreating, or if
you hear a loud roar from the ocean, those are three natural indicators
that a tsunami could be present. In any of these cases, head inland
fast. Every step you go inland, even if it's not up, is a step toward
more safety." So, the next time you let the Galle Road take you home to
the place where you belong remember to look beyond the blue.
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