In Sri Lanka, the rewards of helping

On Dec. 26 the ocean is like glass. There are no waves. It isn't until the water is at its highest point on the sandy beach that its small ripples turn to spume. To us it looks incapable of the terrible destruction it wreaked a year ago, even though what was once a vibrant fishing village lies in ruins between us and the sea

We are here to spend the anniversary of the tsunami with our friends in Lovigahawaththa. On Dec. 25 we drove down from Colombo to Galle, reversing the journey we made last year on Christmas Day, when we escaped the tsunami by less than 24 hours. Our reunion is more sweet than bitter -- though our presence there is inevitably one more sad reminder.

Our first meeting was on Christmas Eve last year. As tourists looking for a way to the beach, we had wandered into their midst, setting the dogs barking and the children giggling a chorus of hellos. We had spent a happy hour with them. A day and a half later, 72 out of 220 of them were dead, 36 of them children.

When we returned to see them in March, they still were in shock, numbed, really, by the horror of what had happened to them. In October when we were back again, their mood was different. The unthinkable had become their daily reality. What to do about it was uppermost in everyone's mind.

The word on everyone's lips was work. What Lovigahawaththans have always wanted is to regain the independence they enjoyed before the tsunami. When in March we offered them fans when their rooms were over 100 degrees, they asked that instead we bank the money with Sister Alex until we raised enough to buy a boat.

Now, after a year, Meredith College, aided by friends in the Raleigh community, has raised the funds to give Lovigahawaththa what it asked for -- boats, tuk-tuks (three-wheeled vehicles) and sewing machines. Three boats have arrived, with three more to follow on Jan. 20. Women in sewing classes have graduated and staged an exhibition. Tuk-tuks will be ordered in January.

Helping us in this endeavor are Sister Alex and Jonny Angel (I am not making up his name), a young Englishman who is here with his friend Tom Leaver. They are among the approximately 600 fine people from 30 countries who have volunteered to help out at Project Galle.

We go together to Lovigahawaththa, wondering if anything will have changed since October. The accommodation, alas, has not. Nor have the children, whose wide smiles belie what they have been through. The good news is that there is some good news. The sewing exhibition was a unequivocal success. Chathura has gotten dazzling examination results, though he did his studying in the single room he shares with his mother. His brother Pubudu, who had thought that his father's death would be the end of his university studies, is now "No. 2 in his batch" of computer science majors. The twins are now 8 months old, crawling always in opposite directions, and there is a new baby girl, just 2 weeks old.

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There are interfaith commemorations up and down the coast. Amplified prayer calls, chanting and intoning can be heard, sometimes simultaneously, throughout the day. And when it is dark, hundreds of oil lamps line the streets and beaches as the country remembers what it most wants to forget.

But today is not just an anniversary of death. It is an anniversary of life. Those who were not killed by the tsunami have made it through a year which, even as they recall it, they cannot believe they have survived. And slowly, ever so slowly, they are being caught back up into life. The future remains uncertain. Who will get houses? When will they get them? Where will they be located? What if they don't get them? These are the huge questions that weigh on them. But they know that if they lived through this year, they can live through next -- whatever happens.

The Meredith project is called A Tide of Hope, a name that reflects the college's wish to bring hope to tsunami victims. Ironically, hope is the one thing Lovigahawaththans have not lost. They talk about the future with optimism, even though they cannot see clearly how they will get there, reminding all of us that, as Arthur Miller said, hope is out there, a gift -- but available only to those brave enough to accept it.

In hoping they risk crushing disappointment, but what really do these folks have to fear? Their bravery is inspiring. Our exchange with them is a mutually beneficial one. We are helping them obtain the means to live and they are showing us how to do it.

(Betty Webb is a professor of English at Meredith College. This is her fourth report on this page from Sri Lanka.)