Washed Away

Devastation caused by the tsunami in Japan.
Google Images.

It's hard to turn on the TV and not be deeply affected by the devastation in Japan. Especially when I get the privilege to be in my warm bed, nestled in with my kids. The images are so harrowing. I am sure these people would give anything to have a warm bed again. I'm sure these people would give anything to just have their loved ones back again. Today it was reported that the death toll reached close to 7,000.
Seven thousand people... washed away.

I once traveled to an area that was devastated by a tsunami. Many years back I went to Nicaragua with a group of professionals. I was there to observe, take notes, and ultimately report on this delegation of people. We visited many areas—one was on the coast outside of Managua, Nicaragua's capital. This beach-side landscape stretched for miles and was hailed as a once-beautiful vacation spot. It was an area where the then-president (Violetta Chamorro) had her summer home. It was anything but beautiful when we were there. I remember the feeling of a death and likened it to singed hair frayed at the ends. You had to trim back the layers and hope to make way for something healthier. Looking at the barren land, it didn't feel like growth could ever occur again, but it was—slowly. You had to look deeper. For many of us, who had collectively traveled all over the world and had seen waters so blue and architecture so extraordinary, it was just so hard to get past what we were seeing.

We were told people survived only by climbing up a tree and holding onto it for 90 seconds. I remember looking up at the trees. They were palm and seemed flimsy in the face of a natural disaster. Surely they would be washed away? I imagined if I would have the strength to hold on with winds raging and waters pulling. I didn't think I could; I'm just not that strong. Who knows, maybe adrenaline would kick in. Maybe a will to survive, too.

And there were bugs. Big flying bugs everywhere. We were told the bug infestation got worse since the tsunami. The five-inch flying "cockroach-like" bugs perched themselves on the ceiling in our room and at night would drop onto our beds, creeping into our hair and covering our bodies. Every time they dropped from the ceiling they made the worst sound. It sounded like someone stepped on it. C-r-u-n-c-h! You quickly learned to sleep with the covers on your head and prayed for the bats not to fly through the windows. Bats were everywhere. But here's the irony—through those windows we could see the most beautiful sky. Stars illuminated it. Someone told me it has something to do with the Celestial Equator, though I am not skilled in astrology. Every night a bunch of us would gather at the edge of the beach forming a ring of chairs and just "night watch." There was such beauty among the ruins. I actually saw a shooting star. I was in amazement long enough to be distracted by the large wild pig that grazed across the sand. "Did you just see what I saw?" we all asked each other, hoping it was a mirage. It wasn't.


You don't forget the things you see. It stays with you for a long time. You can try and describe the images to other people, but they can't really comprehend unless they see it for themselves. And we can't fully understand what it is like right now in the areas hit the hardest in Japan. We can hear about the homeless, the radiation levels, that food and water are scarce... but we aren't there. And mostly what I have found is people are only deeply involved in what they are doing at the moment—the things that truly affect their own lives. Who isn't guilty of this? We are busy making up a life for ourselves and our families.

I was there about two years after the tsunami hit the area. Though I felt a deep connection with the country and the women's movement that was beginning to happen there, I never went back. I don't know what development has occurred since. I have read a lot of reports that Nicaragua is fast-becoming a retirement destination. I guess it's safer now. I do know I met a lot of strong people who have had to overcome extreme obstacles and had stories so gut-wrenching it would make the milk in your morning cereal curdle on the spot. But these were resilient people. Life would go on. It always does.
But still...

Life will go on in Japan. People will rebuild. Growth will happen. But it will take years... years of sifting through memories and things that make up a life that was washed away only to end up in piles of debris.