Memories
of the 2004 tsunami may be fading as the world remembers other
disasters, and newspapers report on new crises. However, on
the Maldives almost two years on, people who witnessed the horror
of that day still - literally - wake up screaming.
Walking through the centre for displaced people on Ugoofaaru
Island early in the morning, just as children are getting ready
for school, women are sweeping the leaves and men are chatting
about the issues of the day, this seems like any village community
anywhere. The difference is that these people, some 1,800 of
them are in limbo, their lives on hold while they wait for a
new community to evolve.
Ten minutes by speedboat across the azure water another temporary
community is waking. Laborers from all over south Asia are hard
at work on the first batch of 166 houses out of a total of 600
funded by the International Federation, which will house the
displaced from Kandholhudhoo island, currently scattered in
different settlements on nearby islands.
The one thing an Internally Displaced Person (IDP) has to have
in abundance is patience. There's a lot of sitting around, a
lot of waiting for news, but not a lot of work, not a lot of
space, not much to be happy about. But one extraordinary man,
himself an IDP, is doing what he can to help heal the mental
scars, the anguish of losing a home, a loved one, or a living.
Ali Ibrahim, a 53 year old father of twelve is a hakeem,
a traditional healer, whose skills have been passed on to him
down through the generations. We meet accidentally - our lock
is being fixed by a small man with a cigarette in his mouth
and purple sunglasses pushed back on his head. When I am told
this is the traditional healer I look around to see who else
is in the room - expecting to see a shaman, or a marabout in
robes - but Ali simply puts down the screwdriver and we talk.
He says that his services have been in high demand since the
tsunami, especially a potion made with rose petals and spices
that eases depression. "There's a lot of psychological
wounds here. People have nightmares or get frightened when they
hear a loud noise. But I also treat headaches, fevers, urinary
tract infections, heart disease, arthritis, cuts, fractures
... I see the symptoms in people eyes, in their hands and in
their feet."
Ali works with contemporary medicine, encouraging people to
go for MRI scans and other high-tech treatments, but also uses
incantations, herbs, plants and spices. The incantations, he
says, come from the Koran, but he acknowledges that his craft
is much older than Islam.
Dr Satyabrata Dash, who runs the American Red Cross psychological
support programme in the Maldives, acknowledges that traditional
healers do play a positive role in the community, but doesn't
believe herbs alone can help. "There are very few roots
and plants that are useful in psychological medicine",
he said. "However the healers listen to people and help
them to speak about their problems. That definitely helps".
On the day of the tsunami Ali was out fishing for sea cucumbers
- which have made his family wealthy and enabled Ali to provide
free consultations - when the boat's communication system crackled
into life warning that there were severe problems on Kandholhudhoo,
their home island. As they returned to port survivors clambered
aboard and told them about the unfolding calamity.
Kandholhudhoo is abandoned now, effectively wrecked by the tsunami.
We travel there with Ali, and with a local schoolteacher Ahmed
and his son Rifhan. It's an impressive sight from the sea, the
new four-storey school giving it a cityscape appearance. On
shore, a fish-processing business has started, which will move
with the IDPs to a new base on Dhuvaafaru, where the Federation
houses are being built.
But that's the only sign of life. Many older buildings were
smashed to pieces by the tsunami; newer ones have started to
deteriorate. A slogan on the school wall reads (ironically,
given our traveling companion): "an apple a day keeps the
doctor away"; schoolbooks and class registers blow around
the plant-strewn yard.
It's a time of real mixed emotions for Ahmed, who the day before
had traveled to see where his new life would take shape. "It's
sad," he mutters in English, "just so sad". Then
switching to Dhivehi he admits that life on his native island
had been harsh - cramped, overpopulated and without any real
hope for his children.
The traditional doctor agrees. The day before on Dhuvaafaru
he picked clumps of a plant which helps liver pain. The plant
was a rarity on the old island, which had little vegetation.
"Life will be okay here," said the healer. "Our
people will be happy."
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Ali
Ibrahim, is a traditional healer, whose skills have been
passed on to him down through the generations. Since the
tsunami his services have been in high demand, particularly
for a potion he makes with rose petals and spices that
eases depression. "There are a lot of psychological
wounds here. People have nightmares or get frightened
when they hear a loud noise. (p14689)
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Abandoned
Kandholhudhoo Island. It's an impressive sight from the
sea, the new four-storey school giving it a cityscape
appearance. On shore, a fish-processing business has started,
which will move with the internally displaced peoples
to a new base on Dhuvaafaru, where the Federation houses
are being built. (p14687)
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Kandholhudhoo
is abandoned now, effectively wrecked by the tsunami.
Many older buildings were smashed to pieces by the tsunami;
newer ones have started to deteriorate. (p14688)
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Ten
minutes by speedboat across the azure water another temporary
community is waking. Labourers from all over south Asia
are hard at work on the first batch of 166 houses out
of a total of 600 funded by the International Federation,
which will house the displaced from Kandholhudhoo island,
currently scattered in different settlements on nearby
islands. (p14686)
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