Nagapattinam

Nagapattinam -



"How is Appa? Is he still alive? Is he coming?"



We are at the center of tsunami destruction - the small 

seaside city of Nagapattinam, 12 kilometers from my 

mother's office. Thousands dead - last estimate is 

over 4,000, but honestly, no one really knows; and the 

survivors are asking after Jagannathan.



They know that five years back, he fasted for 58 days 

by the side of the fish market. The pollution caused 

by the prawn farms, and destruction of the mangrove 

forests, had decimated the fish breeding areas, 

resulting in catches being reduced by as much as 80%. 

The local fishing communities were suffering greatly, 

but none of the political parties was interested in 

hearing of their plight. Now, with thousands of their 

own dead and injured, with houses, access to food, 

and their source of employment all but gone, they are 

asking after Appa. Virtually everyone seems to know 

this old woman as she shuffles down the street.



It is almost impossible to describe the staggering 

concatentation of sight and smell that one meets by 

the seaside. Boats have floated over the tops of houses 

and crashed into other houses three blocks from the 

shore. The port itself is a giant tangle of broken 

boats, debris, and fishing tackle. Goats gambol over 

what had been houses. Entire streets are tangles of 

electric wires, chests of draws, and cast-off clothing 

and water packets. The smell is a mix of rotting 

seafood and rotting bodies. In one place, fishermen 

are arguing with folks directing excavation equipment - 

it seems there are bodies buried under several tons of 

fishing nets, and while some hope to get at the bodies, 

others believe there is some chance to save the nets 

(I frankly don't see it), and don't want to see the 

last representation of their livelihoods disappear.



Krishnammal takes us to the home of the head of the 

fishing community. His house overlooks the fishing 

market, which was filled with 20,000 people when the 

tsunami hit. His house was filled with water nine feet 

high, and everything he owned has been destroyed. We 

are standing on his roof. He immediately recognizes 

Aliyah and me - we have met him twice previously, and 

Laura Coppo had interviewed him for "The Color of 

Freedom". He is somewhere between rage and grief, but 

he knows that he is the sole representative of his 

community, and is prepared to meet all comers, though 

the tangle of aid organizations is almost as great as 

that of the fishing nets. He is man of great dignity, 

and of powerful demeanor. He hugs Krishnammal.



There are all kinds of aid organizations here, but 

they are extremely unorganized. One group decided to 

cremate bodies in the middle of a settlement, without 

checking on the state of the local gas main. Forty more 

houses were burned to the ground, their charred remains 

standing in the middle of other houses from which 

people are shoveling out mud. In one location, World 

Vision (which does good work), is handing out tokens 

for water, rice, and clothing, but the people are 

complaining that even when they walk to the place 

where these are being handed out, they have no place 

to put them, and no cooking utensils. In other places 

where groups have set up outdoor emergency shelters, 

there is no coordination with food or medical care. 

Ambulances are everywhere, from all over India, and 

bearing signs from various missionary organizations or 

foreign governments. Clinics are concentrating just 

now on tetanus vaccinations - so many were injured in 

the big wave, and antibiotics are dispensed freely to 

those suffering injuries. It is now 8 days since the 

tsunami, and hundreds are walking around in a daze. 

I meet one unsavory character representing some kind 

of Christian organization who can best be described 

as "hunting for orphans" - he is apparently being paid 

to care for orphans, but he doesn't have enough of them. 

But this is a very closeknit community. Any child who 

loses a father and mother would quickly be taken in by 

an extended family member, and the last thing this 

community wants to do is lose more children!



The District Collector (kind of like a local governor) 

is holding a meeting to try to untangle the aid mess, 

but my mother does not feel a need to go. She 

communicates with him directly, and is clear about 

what she is planning to do. Tomorrow, she is sending 

out teams to clean up the local schools, some of which 

had been hit by the wave, others of which had been 

used in the initial aftermath as collection points for 

displaced persons. She is going to get the schools open 

again - the streets and byways are unsafe places for 

children as the cleanup goes on, the teachers have no 

work, and there is great need to create even the 

semblance of normal life for them, and also have a 

place to talk about their own grief and losses. I 

think this is where Aliyah and I are headed tomorrow.



LAFTI is currently feeding 74,000 people. But Amma says, 

"People cannot live only on rice." She purchased a 

chili pepper grinding machine, and is making "sambar" 

powder (sambar is a kind of watery South Indian curry). 

"The people will not have any money to purchase sambar,

" she says, "and to get back to living, they must eat 

that to which they are accustomed."



She asks me to plead with our friends not to forget us 

in late January, when many of the aid organizations 

will likely disappear. The health situation will likely 

worsen; houses will still need to be built, and 

something will have to be done about the loss of 

employment. She is not going anywhere - this is home 

turf, and these are her people.



I need to end this note. Krishnammal has dragooned me 

into writing to supporters in Italy to explain the 

connection between the mangrove forests, prawn farms, 

and veritable sea of destruction all around us.