Journal 8: Well, well, well

By Tony W. Cartledge

BR Editor

DODANDUWA, Sri Lanka - A mission team wants to work. Volunteer relief workers recognize that establishing a home base, finding ministry sites, and readying equipment is valid and sometimes difficult work, but they also want to see those preparations translated into direct aid.

As a result, on their fourth day in Sri Lanka, the forward logistics team for N.C. Baptist Men's response to the disaster in this country looked forward to a day of solid work. The plan was to spend the day in the fishing village of Dodanduwa, where we would distribute bottled water, pump out a large open well that had been inundated with seawater, distribute home water purification kits donated by Woman's Missionary Union, and seek out other ministry opportunities.

Fortified by a breakfast of string hoppers and boiled eggs, the team loaded the van with bottled water, and set out for Dodanduwa.

Pumping all the murky water from the 10 by 12 foot well proved to be a daunting task. Surrounded by curious onlookers, the team cut hoses and attached needed fittings to a water pump purchased the previous day. After some difficulty priming the pump, a firm stream of water began to spew into a narrow gutter designed to channel water during the rainy season.

The hose was not quite up to the task, however. Giving in to the pump's powerful suction, the walls of the flexible hose began to flatten. The pump would lose its prime, and the team would have to start over. After several starts and restarts, two members of the team, J.E. Skinner and Larry Osborne, were dispatched with a hired driver to fetch another pump from the hardware store in Gonapinuala.

They returned with a larger pump and a bigger hose. Soon two pumps were working hard - and two hoses were caving in on themselves.

As Skinner and Osborne manned the pumps with help from a boy named Dadanga, team leader Eddie Williams and I demonstrated and distributed the portable purification units. We knew we did not have enough for all, and we knew that the village consisted mainly of extended families, so we asked and learned that 12 families lived there. In fact, that part of the village was known as Gewaldolahe Linda, "The Twelve House Well."

Most houses in the village have at least one working water tap, but the people have been afraid to drink from it since the tsunami. We decided that I would drink the first cup we filtered in order to show that it was good water. Christopher Gammedehewa called for a representative from each of the 12 families and three visiting families to join us by the van we had rented. Then, as Gammedehewa translated, Williams demonstrated how to assemble, use, and care for the small purifiers, which pump water through a ceramic filter.

When the pump was assembled, we dipped the intake hose into a bucket of tap water, and pumped water through the filter and into a cup held by a small boy. As the cup filled, Williams said "Drinking water!" Before I had a chance to demonstrate, the boy immediately turned it up and drank - then grinned and asked for more. The next cup was passed around for everyone's inspection, then each family was given a pump kit and a spare filter.

We asked if there were other wells in the village, and a man named Randith offered to show us one. Being the most plumbing-challenged member of the team, I volunteered to follow Randith and find the other well.

But, Randith led me toward the beach, motioning and saying "Come here." With some apparent urgency, he led me to a small island of large rocks and majestic palm trees. At low tide, as it was then, one can walk onto the island. Picking up a rock, he hammered it against several huge boulders, some of which sounded hollow. Using hand motions and a few words of English, he indicated that when the tsunami came, the large boulders were picked up and moved some distance.

He then led me to the top of the island, a rocky outcrop that appeared to be at least 30 feet above the water at low tide. In a crack along the top of the rock, a fishing net was snagged: the tsunami had covered the island, he said, leaving the net behind.

Standing on the rocky promontory and looking back across the sandy beach of the beautiful bay, it was easy to imagine that the colorful catamarans were not broken and the happy houses were still there in the shade of the palm trees.

On my return, however, the disaster area is unchanged. Randith led the way to his house, just a few yards from the well where we are working. His house is on higher ground and was largely undamaged, except for the contents. "TV," he says, holding an antenna cable and shaking his head. He points to the water line on the wall inside. It is chest high.

As fiddling with the pumps continued and the team began to sweat, a man whose house adjoined the well climbed a tall coconut palm behind his house. Clad in a sarong and gripping the trunk tightly with his bare feet, he shinnied to the top and chopped loose two large bunches of coconuts (yes, they were a lovely bunch of coconuts). The first bunch he lowered with a rope by looping it over a limb: after he tied the rope to the coconuts, his wife gently lowered them.

The second bunch apparently had no obstacles beneath it, for he simply chopped through the thick stem until they fell with a resounding crash.

As we expected (and some team members dreaded), he cut a hole in one for each of us, offering us a cool drink of watery coconut milk. I drank perhaps a third of mine. Williams and Osborne tasted theirs. Skinner declined the opportunity.

Later in the day, another family brought hot tea. It was not our drink of choice for a hot afternoon, but was quite good just the same. Tea plantations dot many hills and fields in Sri Lanka, often with small trees planted among the tea bushes to provide shade. Tea leaves are picked year round, carried to the sorting houses in large open-weave jute bags, often on the back of a bicycle.

With help from Gammedehewa, we found someone else who promised to take me to the other well. It is much smaller, topped by a round concrete ring with an indention for lowering the bucket. We guessed that it could be drained in a couple of hours.

Pumping continued at the large well, but slowly. Someone suggested that the villagers could help by using buckets to help lower the water, but they insisted that there were no buckets. Gammedehewa, a native of the area, ultimately understood that they did not want to touch the water for fear that a dead body might still be in the well.

Gammedehewa then removed his travel vest, shirt, and shoes. Cheerfully explaining that he would show the water was not harmful, he climbed into the well and stood in the water.

Buckets appeared as if by magic, and soon a line of excited villagers were taking turns at the buckets, filling them to the brim and splashing them toward the gutter, endangering the pumps.

Soon older boys also descended into the well to scrub the walls with brushes made by quartering half of a coconut husk and using the stiff fibrous end as a brush. The bottom of the well was covered with a dark layer of muck, probably formed from years of decayed leaves and other organic matter.

Well after 6 p.m., the job was done, and the tired team returned to a meal of hoppers with rice, dahl curry, and a side dish made from sardines. Hoppers are like pancakes, cooked in the shape of a bowl, with a thick center and thin sides. Eggs had been broken into some of the hoppers as they cooked, making egg hoppers. The normal way of eating is to spoon dahl and sardines into the hopper. Osborne decided that strawberry jam sounded more edible, so he lathered an egg hopper with jam and proclaimed it fitting to eat.

Gammedehewa, our host, also tried one with jam, and smiled. "You have taught me something!" he said.

It rained hard that night and we had some concerns because there are places where daylight comes through the roof of the sanctuary where we are sleeping, but it remained dry.

The next morning we ate ramen noodles and "chicken sausages" (local hot dogs) for breakfast before preparing for the day's work. Having learned that the flexible hose was not up to the job, the team rigged a rigid PVC setup for one pump. After we all delivered a load of bottled water to a Methodist church, Skinner and Osborne went to the Assemblies of God church to purchase and install a new water tank, buy lumber and build tables, and erect a shelter so cooking could begin.

Williams, Gammedehewa and I returned to Dodanduwa, where we discovered that the water level in the large well had returned almost to its former level - but was still discolored. We added two bottles of Clorox to shock the water, then began pumping out the smaller well. Williams sent Gammedehewa in search of more chlorine bleach to shock the other wells, but he returned empty handed after a long search. Williams called our Hungarian friend, Ferenc Tisch, who agreed to bring 15 bottles from Colombo the next day.

As we worked, someone told us that there were two other wells in the rambling, crowded village. The boy Dadanga agreed to show them to me, padding through backyards and debris fields to another small well. It was on higher ground, and appeared to be clean.

He then led me through several alleyways lined with stick fences to a large round well, about eight feet in diameter. It had been flooded, and was filled with leaves, trash, and brackish water.

We then walked back to the small well we had been pumping, and I was surprised when Dadanga kept going. "Come here," he said, walking past a backhoe loader that was cleaning debris. Drawing closer to the beach, he showed me a small square well that would also need pumping, but this was in the most damaged area, and the power had been cut, so we could not pump without buying a generator.

Parts of one house remained standing in the area, while most of the others were flattened. Men were lifting beams hand-cut from coconut palm trees to use as rafters in rebuilding a room. A woman approached. "My mother died," she said. "My house finished."

Back at the well, Dadanga heard an announcement, rubbed his stomach, and ran toward a truck that was distributing food in the village. He returned with a "lunch sheet," a common meal in Sri Lanka. It consisted of a serving of curried rice and chicken wrapped tightly in plastic wrap, both inside a neatly folded page of a magazine.

Later, Dadanga climbed a palm tree and threw down coconuts for himself and another boy. Borrowing Williams' multi-tool, they sawed into it and scraped out the jelly-like coconut inside for a refreshing treat.

When the small well had been successfully drained, Williams and I toured the other wells, including one we had not seen before. We decided to focus our immediate efforts on the largest one, since it served the most people.

The rigid pipe had been effective at the smaller well, though many joints were duct-taped, causing air leaks. After setting up one pump, we sent Gammedehewa and the driver to buy more pipe and fittings so we could set up the second one.

As they left, villagers brought out plastic chairs for Williams and me. "Sit," they said, placing the chairs in a shady spot. They then brought out a low table and a small metal bowl of something that appeared to be chicken curry. Acknowledging local custom and honoring their hospitality, I used my fingers to eat one piece of chicken, doing my best to disguise the fire on my tongue. I was glad I had a large bottle of water with me.

Later, they brought us tea, which Williams joined me in accepting. As the water level got low, the pumps tended to get trash around the foot valve and stop up. We restarted the pumps so many times that several helpful villagers knew as much about the process as I did.

Eventually, it appeared that the level was a low as it was going to go, and we adjourned for the day. Together with Skinner and Osborne again, we went in search of bottled gas for the burners, and took the scenic route home - I made the mistake of asking Gammedehewa to ask the driver to stop for a photo opportunity if we passed a water buffalo near the road. He then directed the driver on a long, looping drive through narrow roads in farming areas so we would be sure to pass some buffalo.

As a reward for the day's labor, that night we were treated to a dinner of macaroni 'n goat. I thought was the tastiest meat we'd had yet, but noticed that a lot of it was pushed aside on the other three plates. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked.