Tsunami Story: Sokktikuppam

On the first day of February 2005, I found myself standing in a palm

grove drinking juice straight from a green coconut on an island off

the southern coast of India. Sounds idyllic, even sybaritic. Walking

around the little island of Sottikuppam, 250 km south of Chennai, it's

easy to miss the telltale signs of tsunami devastation, and only see

the beauty here. After disembarking from a small ferry, one walks the

sandy lanes lined with blue and lemon pastel houses past the pink and

green fishing nets drying in the sun, hearing laughter flow out of

school windows, and seeing fisherman sit in the shade playing cards.

 

However, if you continue walking the short distance to the beachfront

on the eastern side of the island, you'll find wreaked fiberglass

fishing boats, gaping holes in their sides, and long spindles of wood

that used to form a catamaran, useless now. There are fishing nets

bundled together at the base of coconut trees, too torn to be of any

good for catching fish, and on the southern end of the island, there

is a gigantic beached oil ship unmoored from a harbor near

Cuddalore—all a result of the violent and unruly tsunami that struck

on December 26.

 

This is my second visit to Sottikuppam in two weeks. I've come back

to this place after visiting several other tsunami affected areas in

Tamil Nadu and Kerala. The people and the stories in Sottikuppam kept

coming back to me on my travels—I needed to come back to them to see

how they were faring. Consider me a concerned citizen of the world. I

am not a reporter or a government official, not the leader of a

prestigious aid organization. I am a lover of India and its people,

and due to a fundraiser I held before I came here, I have a small sum

of money that I would like to give to tsunami victims that need aid.

 

Sottikuppam interested me from the beginning. Since it is an island,

its people are both protected and isolated from mainland issues. This

can have positive and negative effects. For example, in several

places I visited, there were rampant tales of corruption: fisherboat

owners keeping aid for themselves, instead of disseminating it to

laborers that run the boat; a social welfare officer taking money

meant for orphans.

 

On the contrary, Sottikuppam is devoid of any air of corruption. From

my first talk with the village chief, V. Raman, and the elders, there

was a sense of community, a gracious attitude, and a general feeling

of goodwill. It seems that being an island, a contained community,

has made them wholesome and dependent on one another; unfortunately,

it has also kept them from receiving aid quickly and effectively.

 

This island of 1,780 lost twenty-five people in the tsunami,

twenty-three of which were children. Any loss of life is a tragedy,

but admittedly, Sottikuppam didn't lose as many people as Cuddalore or

Nagipattinam. For this reason, it seems, the island hasn't made

headlines. But their needs are just as sharply felt as other fisher

communities. When rice intended for them is taken by selfish

mainlanders, the 400 surviving children on Sottikuppam go hungry.

When the Collector appears and exhorts fisherfolk to go back to sea,

the fisherfolk can only count on each other when a boat is overturned

and a man is sent to the hospital. When sacks of government-given aid

are opened to reveal kilos upon kilos of yellow, soiled rice, the

elders have to find another way for their people to eat. When

villagers hear of government grants and additional aid, they are the

ones left waiting with nothing to show when those promises never

materialize.

 

The first time I visited the island people, their situation was dire.

More than three weeks had passed since the tsunami hit, and they had

only received standard government aid. Other areas were besieged by

help from Unicef and other big name organizations. Sottikuppam had

been overlooked by private donors and NGOs and as a result, they were

struggling.

 

My most recent visit was more encouraging. Members of Development of

Humane Action (DHAN), an organization based in Madurai, have adopted

Sottikuppam and committed themselves to repairing all boat engines and

damaged boats here. This move alleviates some worry and financial

strain, as some of the boats will cost upwards of Rs. 20,000 to

repair. Other organizations have given good quality rice, cooking

utensils, bed sheets and saris. All supplies offered are divided

equally amongst the two thousand villagers, which means that 750 kilos

of rice will only last one day.

 

For now, life is still being lived day to day. A cooking fire burns

continuously at the small school, where communal meals are served.

Fishermen bide their time under palms, waiting for the chance to

resume their diurnal routine. Village leaders meet regularly to

discuss ways to get back on their feet. The situation is tense, but

the pace here is slow and relaxed. The government has given as much

as they can. One or two organizations have stepped up to help. But,

how many other villages are suffering in silence? How many other

fisher-families must wait for their boats to be made sea-worthy? How

many people are dependent upon the kindness of strangers?

Done