A Review by Nadine Millar

A harrowing read, as you'd expect, but beautifully and sensitively put together by the author Lani Wendt Young. This is a meticulously researched book published only a year after the Tsunami - in other words, while the memories of the day were still raw for the survivors. It's hard to ascertain how many people were interviewed for this book but it seems like hundreds - from those who were directly in the path of the Galu Afi - Wave of Fire to those who were a part of the rescue and recovery effort. Sources include first-hand interviews with survivors and emergency and aid workers, as well as material from television and print media, journals, government reports, and seismic, meteorological and geological data.

The book is organised chronologically - an historical foundation is laid first (i.e. what experience the Samoan people had had of Tsunami prior to 2009 and therefore how prepared they were), followed by "The Earthquake", "Evacuation", "The Wave", through to "First Response", "How will we cope", "The Hospital", and so on until the closing chapters of "We Remember the Dead" and "After. Thoughts". In total there are 25 chapters, each one made up of different voices telling their individual stories.

I wouldn't have envied Wendt Young's task - she had to weigh up one story against another against another. It might have been tempting to devote whole pages to one family's tale - even, arguably, disrespectful not to - but Wendt Young doesn't allow the reader to dwell too long in one story. Or when the going gets tough she'll leave a family in peace, as if allowing them the privacy to grieve, coming back to their story in a few pages time. The desire for this book to be something other than the the literary equivalent of a bad car accident depicted in morbid detail for the benefit of nosy, insensitive onlookers is clearly evident. Likewise, Wendt Young manages to tell the most heart breaking of stories without succumbing to pity - if that makes sense. She just tells the story - or, more accurately, allows the stories to be told as they are, without layers and layers of thick, overbearing emotive language. You'll still cry though. Here, for example, Sili recalls how, trapped by debris with his 4 year old nephew in his arms, he had no choice but to let him go.

"When I looked up the water was about two meters above me and I didn't know what to do with my nephew. When I thought he may have a chance, I just released him, I pushed him up towards the light".

Sili's nephew never made it.

If you've ever been to Samoa, ever stayed at Lalomanu, this book will have an even greater impact on you. You know that stretch of beach, you woke up to all that white sand and the turquoise water peaking through the drop-blinds of the fale. As you read this book, you can picture yourself being there. For me, having lived in Samoa for four years and recognising a number of people whose stories are told in these pages, including Sili & Tai's, it's not an easy trip to take at all. If you're Samoan, on the other hand, I could actually imagine this book being impossibly tough to read. You would know so many of these families if not personally, then in some way or another - the community is that small.

The upshot of all this, is that you should beg, borrow or steal yourself a copy of this book however you can. That may be easier said than done however - my edition was published with funding from Ausaid... and it's registering unavailable on Fishpond or Amazon. Thanks to Marion for sending me this copy, always could count on you! Good luck tracking it down folks, and if any commercial publishers are reading this here's a piece of gold for you!

You can find the original review posted on Goodreads, here: Goodreads.

29/09 "I don't want to remember. It's too hard."

Photo by Pele Wendt.

I didnt want to do this. I didnt want to talk about this. I didnt want to remember that today marks a year since the release of the 'Pacific Tsunami' book. And two years since the event which changed so many peoples lives, so drastically - forever. I didnt want to think that tomorrow morning, Samoan time - families in many different places around the world, will pause to reflect on what happened that morning when the earth shook and the ocean answered.

I didnt want to remember what I was doing. What I was thinking. What I was feeling when my natural disaster paranoia was actually realized and yes, a tsunami really did happen. And people were dead. And villages were wiped out. I didnt want to open my mind to the memory of organizing with an amazing group of women to make soup and hotdogs, going to the disaster zone - like so many others - with nothing but the fragile hope that we could try to help, in some small way, any way, possible. I didnt want to think about the woman sitting by the side of the road. Watching. Waiting, "for them to find my baby." The uselessness of giving her a cup of soup. Her thanks. Her dead smile. The useless hug I gave her. I didnt want to remember the tears I cried as we drove away. The same useless tears Im crying now.

But most of all, I didnt want to think about the hours, days, weeks, months spent interviewing people. As they opened their shattered lives and hearts - to me - and to you. Sharing their stories. Of loss, pain, suffering, faith, heroism, hope, anger and bitterness. The three hours spent with Jared and Netta Schwalger as they relived the day the wave took their two children and their parents. The days spent searching for the body of their son. The nights filled with dreams as a little boy called to them from a mangrove swamp, 'Daddy, Mummy where are you? Why arent you coming to get me?" The month spent in hospital as volunteer specialists from NZ and Australia battled to save Netta's leg. All the times I listened to that audio recording of their interview. Again and again. Not wanting to get their story wrong. Not wanting to mess it up. Not wanting to somehow write it any less than what it was. An experience repeated many times over with others and their stories. With Mika and Ave from Lalomanu who lost their two children -the father who's little boy was never found. Who went to the morgue every day to wait. To look at just one more body. One more incomplete piece of a person. In the hopes that his child would be found. And Ave who could hold her remaining son and say with assurance and faith - "The tsunami took two of my children but I thank God that He has left me this one. This is the child that will have a future." With Taitasi from Leone in American Samoa building a bonfire so that her missing daughter would not "be lost and afraid in the dark." With rescuers like Comm Tony Hill and Vaughn Simpson. Doctors like Ben Matalavea and Riki Puni. Nurses like Henrietta Aviga. Public health responders like Andrew Peteru. Counsellors like Elena Peteru and Malia Manuleleua. So many people. So many stories.

No, I dont want to do this.

Anniversaries and memorials are important things. They are there to remind us. To make sure we don't forget. Events, people, experiences, emotions. But for some people the tsunami lasted longer than for others. For those living with the loss of their children. Their parents and extended family. For those struggling to rebuild a life, a home, a village, a community. For those who battle nightmares. Of working with the search teams. The body recovery. For too many people, the tsunami is something they want, they need - to forget.

A year ago, I went back to give people their copy of the book.Two weeks ago I went back again. To give money from the book sales to survivors who had shared their stories. Many greeted me with smiles and welcoming hugs. Many confessed to me, that they could not remember ever being interviewed. One mother said, "When I got my copy of the book and saw my picture and read my story, I couldnt believe it because I cant remember telling it to you. Its like I've blocked so much out from that bad time. I dont want to remember any of it. I am saving this book for my children and their children. I never want them to forget what happened here. What happened to our family and to our village. But me? I dont want to remember. Its too hard."

I continue to be grateful for the opportunity of being chosen to be a gatherer - a recorder - and then a storyteller for so many people of the Galu Afi of 29/09. The experience has changed me, changed my life, my perspective in so many ways. I continue to be humbled by the trust that so many survivors and rescuers placed in me, and in you - the readers of this book. I still feel that the book could have and should been so much better. Could have and should have spoken so much more powerfully about so many people's strength, courage and endurance. I read it and I see errors. And names and faces of people that were left out. And Im sorry that the record wasnt better. More accurate. I wish I could have been a stronger person, a better writer. I went with Lagi So'oalo and interviewed people and I cried. I wrote their stories and I cried. I proofed and edited with Joe and Celine Keil - and there were more tears. If I hadnt done so much crying, maybe it would have been a better book. One more worthy of the stories shared.

I have stayed close to one family in particular from the tsunami project. Mika and Ave from Lalomanu. My sister Pele paid for their children's schoolfees after the tsunami. Sent money for gifts of food, clothing and other essentials. On my last trip back, I met Ave's newest son. A little boy they have named Aleki - after the son they lost. The son who is on the Missing Persons list from 29/09. I held him in my arms, soothed him while he fussed for his mum and was humbled by the blessing, the miracle of new life. Mika and Ave live in a small, rough house built with tsunami funds. Yes, they are struggling to move on. To rebuild. To make a new life for themselves. But Ave said it best, "I hold this boy, and I remember the baby I lost. And I think about my daughter who died. But the Lord has given us another child. We have a new life to look forward to. Blessings and praise be to God."

There is a lot of reasons why we honor this anniversary. Why we pause to remember. We remember those who died. Those who served and gave so much of themselves. We ensure lessons learned are being put into action.

But for me? If Im being totally honest. On this anniversary of the 29/09 tsunami?

I dont want to remember. I dont want to talk about it. Because I'm still trying really hard to forget.

Community is vital to survival.

Anna at GetJealous.com talks about her experience visiting Aleipata and reading "Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi". Anna's travelling the world and you can follw her adventures online.

"Today I woke up at 5:45 am to catch the Lalomanu bus back into Apia, the capital of Samoa. I'm on the island of Upolu, the one everyone says is "not the real Samoa" and "doesn't have the good beaches" and "blah, blah, blah". Through SERVAS (Man, I love this organization, it's made my trip), I managed to connect with a woman who runs a wellness retreat in Salea'aumua (which I can finally pronounce).

Salea'aumua (sal-ay-uh-ow-moo-ah) is in Aleipata (come on, it's not that hard, you can do it!), which is the district of Upolu that was most seriously damaged by the 2009 tsunami. Read: Aleipata was basically destroyed. Most people that died in the tsunami in Samoa, died here. One family, the Taufuas, who run a beach fale resort here, lost 13 loved ones, spanning four generations. Driving through town, the road is several meters closer to the sea than it was before (shore washed away), and the foundations of houses that were leveled are still there. People either rebuilt next to them or moved far inland to escape the unpredictability of the sea. One village, Saleapaga (sal-ay-uh-pan-gah), completely moved inland except for one determined business owner, now the only building in the old Saleapaga. These people, if they are anything, they are resilient.

I stayed with Lee Letiu for 4 nights. During that time, I had the opportunity to attend church, be treated to yet ANOTHER Sunday family umu, spend a day visiting a secondary school (at which I managed to score a copy of Samoa's secondary science curriculum goals - OMG!), and read an incredible book that wove together tsunami survivor stories (which Lee was included in). Not only did I get to experience village life where there are no resorts, I got to see a school, talk to teachers and a principal, observe classes, and most of all - learn from people who have honestly looked death in the face and somehow managed to survive.

I highly recommend the book to anyone who is interested in what the tsunami was like here, what the response was, and how people coped economically, emotionally, etc. It's called Pacific Tsunami - Galu Afi by Lani Wendt Young. It's incredibly well-written, and although I'm positive that being in the place while I read it was a big part of it's meaning, I still think everyone should read it.

Now, I come from a solid family. There was love in our house growing up, and there is still love - we are strong and united, and I know my family would support me in a heartbeat if I needed them (hell, they are right now). But I was blown away by the degree of family support outlined in the Aleipata survivors' stories. Remember the Taufua family? They lost 13 family members because they spent so much time saving their GUESTS, because they considered them as important as family. People ran from the first wave, and ran back to save family, friends, strangers - because in Samoa, the village, the district, the island is connected by extended family. Community is vital to survival. In fact, after the tsunami, there were no refugee camps - because EVERYONE had family to take them in somewhere. If they had no family left, someone was kind enough to include them in their family that day. I mean, the society is not without flaws, but the family structure is thought to have saved many people in this particular disaster just because the response was so immediate.

Anyway, it struck me as really beautiful, and sitting by the ocean reading that book on a calm day was so unnerving - when just over a year ago the ocean took a lot from these people, yet they continue to live in harmony with it, fishing, swimming..."

Lee Letiu with her copy of the book at Saleaumua.

"Helter skelter in the summer storm." Gillian Brown's Survivor Story.

Gillian Brown receives care from Aust medics.

On 29/9 oblivious to what would happen, folk went about their morning holiday business. The Tafua family prepared for another one of their delectable community breakfast feasts. I was showering in the ablution block when suddenly everything started to shake. I thought the roof would come off. The past two nights had been stormy. As I live in tropical Queensland I assumed it was similar to a cyclonic wind. I was wrong. It was a tremor. An earthquake. I gave no thought to the imminent Tsunami. A Swedish lady, a German guy and I spoke. We were relieved we were standing on solid ground and it had not separated. How do you know about something if it is out of your realm of experience or concept? Everyone was in a different location and from what I now believe everyone responded differently.

I went back to the Fale and continued to pack for our road trip north to La Vasa. I was carrying my back pack to our hire car when I heard the desperate screams to run for high grounds. I wasn’t sure why but I knew we had to do so. Rob wasn’t in sight. I ran back to the Fale to warn him. I will never forget the mental snapshot I have from the Fale balcony of a young Samoan lad running along the beach screaming at people to go to higher ground. Also the distant view of the two sets of women who unwittingly lolled in the water. I believe two of those four are now sadly dead. I am presently haunted by thoughts of time, space, speed, what if...The words ‘helter skelter in the summer storm’ come to mind.

Rob would not come immediately. He continued to pack his day pack. I expressed the urgency of the situation. Finally we tried to leave the Fale through the front door. This was not to be the case. The clouds of whitewash consumed us from the front and underneath the floor boards. Oh f--- expletives expressed. Rob pushed me to the bed away from the open door. Within the Fale I felt trapped as though I was in a scene from the Wizard of Oz whereby Dorothy floated away in the house. I recall trying to kick the walls away with the hope we would climb through the louvres and escape. I was aware that we needed to prevent the walls from crashing in on us. Odd what you do. The wave was upon us. We were fighting for air space within the confines of the Fale. That first wave took us under and seemed to spit us out quickly.

The battle was still not over. The sea presented another challenge. I was still inside the walls of the Fale. I remember being dragged up with two huge poles firmly squeezed around my neck. It felt as though my neck would snap and fall limp. I apparently contorted my body and kicked the poles apart. Rob and I were in the same space calling for each other. Suddenly large sheets of metal appeared above us. They slid towards us. I thought I was going to be decapitated.

The second wave followed. I can’t speak for Rob but it took me under. I lost him. Initially I fought. Day pack was pulled from my arm. I struggled. Finally I couldn’t take in any more water and I made a conscious decision that if I was about to die I wanted to do it so peacefully. The see-through pool green colour surrounded me and was cleansing. I completely let go, allowing the water to do what it needed to with me. My body was outstretched. I was calm. It was an incredibly beautiful and serene experience. I died.

I have baulked at writing the next section. So many feelings and emotions are attached to survival, trauma and tragedy. I remember so much. I replay the events on my internal movie screen. I was told the wave was travelling at 964km per hour and lasted for approximately 7 to 8 minutes. I had no idea of length of time. There was a third wave. I have absolutely no recollection of it or anything else until I was simply present amongst the debris. No explanation. Just there.

The scenario was and still is incredulous. Finding Rob was foremost on my mind. I screamed for help. I scanned the destruction. It was surreal. Scared, weak. Dragged myself onto a platform. Perched. People started appearing in the water. They were calling for each other. Stranded! A seemingly insurmountable, impassable amount of debris. Urgent need to find others and help them to safety. In shock! Horrible! Survivor mode was necessary. Life was moving in front of us.

A small Samoan child scrambled out of the water to the muddy bank. I will never forget the look on his face. A waif of a child who showed the way. To my right a Samoan woman stood with her baby amongst the chaos. There were so few of us. 50 metres back to my left Rob screaming that he had a bone poking through his leg. Behind me Martina was calling help. Joseph her partner scrambled toward her. Charlie emerged injured and immediately went to the aid of the woman and child. In front of me there was a yellow canoe which became a water stretcher. I carried Martina to the bank first. Hearing our screams for help a young Samoan man ran into the carnage to help me place Rob onto the canoe. Together we balanced it and dragged him to shore.

Our next hurdle was to climb a cliff which was a zigzag path seeming to be about 300metres.
There was an urgent murmur that another wave was coming and we had to run for high ground. We were all injured. Some more so than others and some suffering excruciating pain which was at times debilitating. It was a tale of extraordinary human endurance and support. Together Samoans and foreigners coaxed, motivated, carried and coerced each other to the top of that cliff. It was amazing and unforgettable..

There is a saying that “pigs fly”. Martina, Joseph and I discovered this not to be true. We remembered they rolled like bowling balls ready to skittle human ten pins. What else was nature going to bring? I don’t know what happened to the pigs but thankfully they didn’t hit us.

Sadly the saga did not end at that point. Life emerged at the top of that cliff. A Fale and local farm were steps away. Water. People. Road. Urgency to find higher ground. The ambulant were without shoes. Bits of bandage wrapped around their feet. Utilities carried the injured. Wailing. Screams of pain and distress. Disbelief yet reality creeping in. Folk in shock not sure what to do. Instinct crept in. Surrounded by death and loss. Breathe.

Next was the Lalomanu Medical centre. Survival to be embraced. Finding those who were alive. Relief and tragedy intertwined. Stories told. Blood. Bandages. Injuries recognised. Suffering. Missing children, relatives and mates. Not knowing. Emotional torment. Wailing. Breathe. Medical staff and volunteers compassionately, tirelessly, willingly gave of themselves. Grateful. Thankful.

The Samoan Government sent out a warning that another wave was about to hit. We needed to evacuate the Medical Centre and again relocate to higher ground. Those who could walk did. Injured were transported in utes and trucks. The Tafua family’s house which was at the skeletal stage of construction was generously opened to us. A place of shelter.

It was at this point I became aware that in times of crisis we all bring our different personalities to the fore. Folk took on different roles. Preparing the space for injured. Human chain moving timber. Clearing water from the concrete. Putting down mats. Making sure the injured were as comfortable as possible. Blankets, tarpaulins, water, carrots, Sao biscuits, government register of names. Organising, managing, motivating, nursing. Leaders and doers. Cava man contacting government agencies. Feeling of importance. NZ doctor at the site. People in shock. Sitting wailing. Grief magnifying. Trying to make sense of what had happened.

At this point I was still ambulant. My ribs were broken with deep cuts to the right foot and arm. I could feel the lumps on my head growing. Drying blood. Wound swabs on the ground. Infection growing. Carer mode in place. My first priority was Rob however there were many in need. Horrific stories started to unfold. Children had been ripped out of their parents grasp and taken. Gone forever. Bodies not found. Grief. Too horrible to write. I remember -

*As soon as water arrived, I grabbed it. Knew we’d need it later. Girl photographing
*Water – ambulance – Richard – make sure Robs medical needs are attended to – stay strong -
*Medical centre – swapping patients – some people angry we had to wait - that pregnant woman is now dead.
*Transported to Apia via Lalomanu – destruction – debris – cars not making way for ambulance – now I know some were looters but many were trying to locate the dead– village’s gone, people trying to sweep up an insurmountable amount of debris. Futile Destruction. Despair.
* Ambulance had a flat tyre – transported by ute to hospital – me with Heather Dixon – consulate advisor - mayhem.
*Outpatients – Rob bed opposite – wounds stitched – scared frightened – urgent – separated from Rob – x-ray. Met 50ish Kiwi women who survived swim – Had been in a tidal wave in Hawaii 2 years prior –was in same place as 20 year old girls who died.Pediatric ward turned into surgical ward
*Sam - beautiful Samoan lad whose mother and sister had died and his dad lying in bed with terrible wounds, Sam bought me a cup of coffee, such a generous gesture and it tasted so sweet - people in shock, our bottle the drinking only water for everyone. Ward filling up, toilet floors covered with bloody water, washing people, Rob turning white with blue lips, oxygen mask. *Media crews constantly looming and wanting stories.
*Survivor TV show Drs volunteering time and wound dressings, Samoan nurses doing 24 hour shifts, Setting up a functional ward within 24 hours, an amazing achievement considering many of those nurses didn't know where their loved ones were
*Australian guy who was a volunteer - we had met in supermarket two days prior - now re-meeting under horrible circumstances. He gave us 10ST and NZ Dr gave us 20ST, egg sandwich, coke and water. I was finally getting some treatment to my wounds which just seemed to grow with infection.
*Fa'afafine nurse ‘a woman’s work is never done’.
*Advised that Australian Gov’t would get us home in the next 24 hours. Bill Griggs team arrived with medical supplies. Ambulant were flow back to Oz first. Makeshift ward fully functioning with ward rounds within 24 hours. No sleep. Painful ribs, wounds growing, exhaustion, shock. Samoans give us biscuits and apples. Samoa Survivor reality TV show doctors help and give medical supplies. Overseas news teams everywhere. All wanting to grab a story.
*Gillian and Gary. Distraught over death of their son Alfie. So sad. Claire identifying her friend Vivien in the makeshift morgue. Sorrow. Charlie on her own. Washing the injured. Given clothes from volunteer agencies. Sarong toothpaste and soap. So generous. Shower.Given contact details for relief agency. Long day. Ask Nz Dr to look at my wounds. Less ambulant and very painful. Wounds growing.
*Advised we would be transported home that day. Relief as we were worried that Rob would be operated on in Samoa. Fear of infection and the unknown.
*Comforting each other. Samoan lament which resonated throughout the ward. 6 Aussies transported to the airport to catch C170 Hercules flight. Rob and I separated. Scared and relieved to be going home. Flight late by a couple of hours. Rob on morphine. All of us carried by stretcher onto flight. Fantastic Drs and nurses. Finding veins.

Story still continues and still trying to keep my head above water.
Gillian Brown

The most painful thing.

Sina Ale kisses baby Jai Trafford on holiday at Taufua Beach Fales.

Taufua Beach Fales was started back in 1970 by the patriarch of the family, Taufua Leifi. His daughter Faafetai (better known as ‘Tai’) explained, “It started out as fales that our family used for resting on Sundays after lunch, we’d go to the beach and sleep there. Then we started having tourists come in asking if they could rent the fales for a day or two and we’d allow them.” And so it began, modestly, with a few huts on the white sand and over the years it grew. In 1999, Taufua Snr handed over the business to Tai and her husband Sili Apelu. Initially there was a temptation to completely change the look of the place, to do away with the beach fales and build a more Western style resort. “But we thought it would be very un-Samoan to do that. We decided to maintain the beach fales but to at least make them more comfortable for the tourists. Over ten years, we have built on slowly, adding new fales with the availability of funds…that has been a blessing in disguise because it has been a time for us to learn and to nurture our workers and that is where our strength is. I think what makes this place special is the atmosphere that we created. Guests always feel at home as if this is their home as well. We make them feel very welcome and we see that in the repeat guests. Many of them return, its like friends and family coming back. Of course, Lalomanu has its own beauty, like the sand and the clear blue lagoon and all those things, but service – quality service and the attitude towards the tourists is what makes it special.”

New Zealander Sara Trafford delighted in that family atmosphere. “What really stood out for me was how great everyone was with my son – from the ladies in the office, to the young men waiting tables – everyone helped to look after him and gave him loads of cuddles and hugs. They would often come and whisk him away from me for a walk so I could eat my dinner, go snorkeling or just have an hour by myself, it was wonderful! Even the night watchman would go and sit outside my fale in the evenings after I put Jai to sleep and then run to the restaurant to get me when he woke up for a feed. When I would get up in the night to soothe Jai, the night watchman would shine his torch in to make sure we were both okay.” Tai’s sister-in-law Sina helped in the business. She, had three little ones of her own, the youngest - Etimani Jnr, was the same age as Jai and the two babies would bathe in a plastic tub – one rosy-cheeked peaches and cream, the other sugary cinnamon and raisin cheerfulness.

On 29/09 fourteen members of the Taufua family were killed in the tsunami, including all three of Sina Ale's children.

Sili says of 29/09, “The loss of the children is the most painful thing. The elderly had lived their lives, but the young kids were so helpless, nobody could help them. Our nephews and nieces, even though they had their own parents they call us mum and dad because we look after some of them. They would get up early in the morning and come to our room, mum, mum, hungry, fia ai. The physical association with the kids, every morning, every evening, they would always be asking us for something…they would come looking for us. We’re missing them, because even though we believe in God and we are sure they are in a better place, sometimes there’s a feeling of emptiness, not being able to see them anymore.”

"They were relentless." After. Thoughts. Vaughan Simpson.

Photo courtesy of Pele Wendt.
There are those, who at the first hint of tragedy, will rush with cameras and recorders – to get the story. It’s their job to take the photos. Of headless houses. Crumpled trucks. Dead people floating in a sobered ocean. The photos that will move us. Inspire us. Horrify us. It’s their job to get the story. They film the mother weeping as she clutches a baby covered in bruises. They ask her what happened? They zero in on a man who grips the fence posts for support as he tries to process seeing his wife crushed underneath an angry barrage of debris. They ask him what happened? Tell us, tell the world… They watch the man who finds the body of his mother in a cluster of fallen trees, watch as he weeps, hugs her, takes off his lavalava and covers her from the sun, shooing away the flies. They watch and through their lens – we watch. Curious, concerned and captivated. On 29/09, the world wanted to know what was happening on this cluster of islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And local media were rushing to respond. TVOne and TV3 Samoa both had teams out in the disaster zone on the first day. International media were mobilizing and Australia had the first overseas news team arrive in Apia on the eve of 29/09, quickly followed by many from other countries.

Some of the media proved to be a challenge for the search and rescue teams It is difficult to report on tragedy when it is so raw. One treads a fine line between compassionate concern and invasive scrutiny. To reconcile the ‘public’s need to know’ with an individual’s need for sensitivity and privacy. There are those who felt that line was crossed. Vaughan Simpson had his limits tested as journalists flocked to Lalomanu, eager for stories, for pictures of the body recovery. “Some of the media were a litte frustrating. Every time we found a body, we would radio them in to Tony. The media would come charging into the bush and they’re trying to take photos or they’re trying to film the dead people and I would tell them to f… off! I would chase them out. The dead, they’re people, like your brother or your sister, they could be your kids and these pricks want to come in and film it. People aren’t supposed to do that. Some of the film crews were shocking, they were relentless. I chased them all out one day cursing at them and they reluctantly left. They probably went to the next village. I know they have to report on the world news, I suppose, but when you’re out there, working with the dead – it’s not nice. The media have got a job to do I guess – they’ve got to make money somehow, don’t they? I found it disrespectful, but I suppose it records history.”

I felt like an intruder.

Gradually throughout those few days after 29/09, others came to volunteer. To walk the line. To dig, forage and hack their way through Lalomanu. Matthew Leal came as a Red Cross volunteer. “We were assigned to go to Lalomanu and help with ‘clean up efforts’. We later found this was a euphemism for picking through rubble searching for the deceased.” He quickly realized this was not work for the faint of heart –or of body. “Searching for the dead is difficult in many different ways. Most rubble is heavy and haphazard and jagged. Sifting through, lifting and dropping and finding footholds is strenuous and Samoan humidity doesn’t help. The scene is surreal. Dead fish, left behind by the ocean litter the affected area. And then there’s the emotional leap required to look for dead bodies.”

Matthew had been one of a relay team that had run through Aleipata only a few weeks earlier on a 103 km race from Siumu to Apia. The difference between then and now, was mind-numbing. And digging through the personal leftovers of people’s lives, felt intrusive. Almost criminal.

“More than anything, I felt like an intruder. I’d driven by the area we searched many times before the earthquake, but never did I stop to search a family’s possessions or prod through their kitchen. And yet there I was today, finding family photos and Quiksilver baseball caps,condoms and notebooks and novels and gin. Two days ago, it would have been completely unacceptable for me to trudge into these people’s lives. It’s as though with the loss brought on by the tsunami comes the loss of one’s dignity. I felt like I was snooping.”

Death is like a knife going through your heart.

Lesa Foti Tuvale is seventy-five years old. He is not a man who lives a sedentary life or who overindulges on heavy fare. Two weeks after the tsunami, Lesa sits under a canvas awning with a bush knife beside him. His hands are worn with black earth. He is the father of six children – one boy and five girls. Lesa’a daughter Leueta was killed in the tsunami. Often when a child dies, we are plagued with questions. Were we good parents? What could I have done differently? Our grief is serrated with guilt and self-doubt. Lesa is no different. On the morning of the tsunami, Lesa had angrily punished his daughter Leueta before she went to work at Taufua Beach Resort.

“This is the only daughter of mine that is naughty. I’m always looking for a stick to smack her with because she was very difficult and wouldn’t listen to her mother. This is the duty of the parent to discipline the children…but it’s so hard. I don’t know. I just pray to God and hope that I was doing the right thing. Who knows if I’m wrong or if my children are wrong – only God can judge.
It was dark when I got word that she had died. And her body had been found. I felt my heart breaking and tears sprang to my eyes. I left everything at that time and just went and sat at the hospital where they were bringing people. I just wanted to see her body. They brought in a group of bodies and I saw my daughter amongst them and I just went and wept on her. Its hard to explain. Its right about the saying that death is like a knife going through your heart, you don’t know how to move on.”

After. Thoughts. Becky Glew, Survivor.

UK survivors, Helen Wright and Becky Glew, photo courtesy of ITN News.

"My boyfriend and I are expecting our first child on the 30th of July, 2010. Having a baby is something we had always talked about but I would put it off as ‘the time wasn’t right’. However, the tsunami made me realize that life is for living and there is not a minute to spare. The pregnancy has also made me look to the future instead of dwelling on the horrors of that day and it has truly helped me to move on. I still have fears and nightmares but my recovery from the trauma has been much swifter – it will truly be a magical baby when it’s born.”
Becky Glew, UK. Holidaying at Lalomanu on 29/09.

After. Thoughts. Sally Adye, Survivor

"We will never ever forget the Samoan people that day and how they had lost so much. And yet they made sure we were alright. They gave us shelter, food and drink. They organized everyone and got us safely to Apia. We heard that it was after we all left that they started their own grieving. We will always be hugely thankful for all they did for us at such a traumatic and sad time. These wonderful people had not only lost loved ones and friends but they had also lost their homes and their livelihood.”
Sally Adye, New Zealand. Holidaying at Lalomanu on 29/09.

Tsunami never happened in those days.

At Lalomanu, the earthquake felt to Tufaiga Fatuesiafioga “like the ground was going to open up.” She told her mother they should get away from their house on the beach. “My mother said to me that nothing [like tsunami] ever happened in those days. I said to her that those days were different from these days.” When the wave came, Tufaiga was separated from her mother and washed out to sea. A drifting log saved her. Her mother and grandbaby both drowned. Raw grief is a gaping wound in our conversation.

Papa, fa'amalosi.

The maximum runup of the Samoa tsunami was 14.5 meters - at Lepa village and 11.4 meters at Lalomanu. A standard two-storey house is eight meters high. Set it in the Samoa tsunami at its worst hit points and you wouldn’t even know it was there. But what does that mean for a regular person like you and me? I am five feet nine. It would take at least seven of me, standing on each others shoulders before I would be able to get my head above water at Lalomanu. What does that mean for a parent with a small child? Like thirty-five year old Maua Toa?

When the wave slammed into their village, Maua grabbed his seven year old son Aukuso and ran. They were smashed into a huge, majestic-sized breadfruit tree. Maua held his son crushed between him and the tree trunk. They were underwater while the sea tried to rip them away. Maua pushed Aukuso up into the branches of the tree, helping him climb higher and higher as the second wave engulfed them again. Higher than the roof of their samoan fale. Sweeping over the edges of their neighbors two storey roof. Maua was exhausted. Debris continued to plough into him, weakening his hold on the trunk. But Aukuso was foremost in his mind.

“When I looked up the wave was on top of us. I couldn’t breathe. The only thing I wanted was some air so my son could breathe…”

Maua shoved Aukuso further up the tree until he was safe. Crying above him in the final, smallest branches. Gulping mouthfuls of the sweet morning air. As Maua battled to keep his head out of the water, he thought about letting go. Giving in. But then Aukuso called to him,“Papa, be strong. If you die, I’m going to jump down so we will die together. Fa’amalosi!”

Maua hung on. A child’s plea gave him the strength he needed. “I did what my son was saying. I ended up being saved because of what my son said, to be strong.”

They came to help. What was it like?

Many people came to help after the tsunami. Vaughan Simpson from Cabella Construction was one of those who came on Wednesday and every day afterward until the searching was called off. Relying on only fragmented reports of the damage at Aleipata, he had mobilized his team on tsunami afternoon and they were on the road before daybreak that Wednesday morning. Thirty men loaded on four heavy duty trucks with ropes, bushknives, generators and other supplies. “We wanted to see what we could do to help. We didn’t really know the full scale of the disaster, we thought we would just drive until we saw someone who seriously needed our help. We were looking for the end of the line basically and we found it with Tony at Lalomanu. We arrived at half past eight and the fire brigade had just got there. We looked at Lalomanu and we just knew – this was the place to stop.”

It was a devastation that film cannot truly capture. You had to be there. Not on the road driving past, but really there. “From the road you couldn’t really see the thick of it. The houses had been pushed through the trees, leaving a shield of debris, like a shelter or blanket along the tree line. The natural lay of the land also meant the ground fell away from behind the trees…we called this area, Ground Zero. It was so thick. There was roofing iron, toilet outhouses, wire fences, furniture, fabric, dead animals, locals and tourists belongings, vehicles, kids toys – all pushed through the trees back and forth with each wave like clothes in a washing machine. Most of what was left in piles wasn’t much bigger than a meter long and so densely compacted that in some areas it would take three men, several hours to clear even one square meter.”

And of course, no media reports could capture the smell. “Anyone that’s been to Samoa will understand the heat. You can nearly chew the air as you come out of an airplane, and when you add water like rain or in this case, the saturated ground due to the waves – as the water evaporated up from the ground it was intense. In that heat, things go off really fast. Pigs, fish that had washed in with the waves and all the food that was in the many fridges and freezers, many which were full…frankly, the smell of some of these things made you want to vomit. But you kept searching. Some of the guys wanted to burn the bigger animals to stop the decay but we wouldn’t let them because the smoke would sit in the search area and hamper our efforts. Then, as the days went by, smell was the best way to locate the problem areas that needed searching. ”

The searching began with a prayer before the group spanned out. “We would walk in line to a grid pattern , left to right, back and forth, power pole to power pole, coconut tree to coconut tree. We would paint marks on trees to give us reference points or stand temporary markers so we could know exactly what areas had already been searched and continuously radio in where we were and which areas needed to be marked off.”

It was never as simple as just ‘walking in a line looking for a body’ though. Not with so much debris to get through. “Apart from the search line we also had five or six gangs with about six people in each that would work with chainsaws, bush knives and a small one ton excavator. These gangs were used to pull apart the very dense concentrated areas that were as big as half an acre. It would take them all day to get through.”

The searching was tinged slightly with apprehension. Major earthquakes are always followed in resultant days and weeks by aftershocks, some of them quite substantial ones. For a people already staggering from the previous day’s disaster, the earth shaking was a cause for alarm. For those on the tsunami sites as well as for those loved ones worrying and waiting for you at home. Throughout the day there were several aftershocks. Immediately cellphones would go off all down the search line, twenty or thirty of them, shrill and piercing as wives and family would hit speed dial. Where are you? Are you anywhere near the water? Did you feel that? Are you alright? You need to get to a safe place…Be careful… Heads would whip back for an assessment of the ocean, is that a wave? Is it pulling back? Were those rocks showing before? Then everyone would turn to look at the hill, gauging the distance that would need covering, scrutinizing for the best ways/paths up. Then huge breaths would be taken to steady tensely strung nerves. And the work would continue.

Poppy Wilson's Story

Poppy and Max Wilson outside Lalomanu Hospital.

Time - 7am
Day - 29th September
Samoa
In my sleep I felt a strange rumbling and I thought it was a massaging machine but as I woke my Dad was yelling “Get out of the Fale” He grabbed me by my foot and dragged me outside.I realised we were in a big low rumbling earthquake that went on and on. When it stopped I went back into the Fale and got dressed. At that point dad joined me and talked to me about staying close as he suspected that something else could come after the earthquake.
I said “Dad I need to go to the toilet”.
Dad replied “Yes but if you here me calling come no matter what”.
I went to the toilet block and locked the door behind me.Then I heard screams and my Dad yelling
“POPPY, POPPY, POPPY”
I bolted out of the toilet I was very frightened because the tone of my Dad’s voice
was very desperate and I could also hear other people screaming and yelling…
“RUN, TSUNAMI”
I saw Dad by the Fale and ran to him.I dropped the Fale keys in the hidey-hole.
Dad said“RUN IN FRONT OF ME”
He pointed to the cliff behind the toilet block that I was just in. Dad was right behind me yelling“GO, GO, GO”Every time he said GO I ran even faster.Maxwell was already well ahead of us.We ran over a rubbish pile.I dropped my beautiful fan that I had just bought the day before for 5 Tala.We started to climb the cliff using the roots and branches of the trees.

Maxwell was climbing in front of me, my dad was behind us both yelling
“GO GO, don’t look back”
We got about 15 meters up. I couldn’t reach the next tree root
“Dad I can’t go any further” I screamed.Dad yelled to Maxwell to grab my hand.
Dad pushed my feet from underneath.Maxwell cried“If I’m going to die, at least I’m going to die with you guys”.
Dad replied“Don’t be so stupid just GO”
Then the first wave hit the cliff.A yellow car was tossed up against the cliff. At that point I became very frightened .I climbed the cliff so fast that I can’t remember climbing it.At the top of the hill we were all alone.I was so frighten I was balling my eyes out.Then I saw movement in the bushes and I said
“Hey other people”but a stupid pig appeared instead.2 other Children turned up.
They were really frightened and crying for Their Mother and fathers.
Then 2 Samoan boys came running towards us.One of them was yelling for his Mum.
Dad stopped them from going down the cliff and told them to stay with us.
Dad turned his attention me and the other little girl to calm us down.
While dad wasn’t watching one of the Samoan boys went down the cliff.
We never saw him again.Eventually the other children’s parents appeared
over the rim of cliff.Dad told me to hold onto another little girl who was also crying and very frightened as he went to look for our friends Jenny and Sophie.
Dad reappeared with Jenny and Sophie Jenny had a sore foot.
After a while there was lots of people with us. Most of them wanted to go back down,
but dad said
“Don’t, We don’t know what’s coming next
Then as a group we started to walk away from the cliff,through the bush. Going inland We came across a Samoan man who told us to go to the hospital which wasn’t far from where we were.We arrived at the hospital and we cleaned all our scrapes and burses with wet cloths.
I saw a woman crying over her dead baby.The hospital got really busy and frightening so we walked further up the hill on a sharp gravel road in bear feet.
We found a house that was half built.Other people had already started to gather there.
We sat down and dad found some water to drink. After I drank the water I vomited.
Strangely I felt much better after that.We cleared an area for us to lie down
as we believed that we would be staying the night.Then some Samoans turned up with woven matts and pillows to make us more comfortable.In the house with us were a lot of badly wounded people and 2 families that had lost children.
Then a van came with cooking rings and food.They set up a cooking area and prepared us food to eat.After a while the wounded were taken down to the hospital.
Then cars turned up and before we knew it we were on the back of a ute and driving down the road.We drove past the hospital and it was over crowded with lots of injured people.Then we drove past what was our resort, which was totally destroyed.
I saw a leg and a head poking out of the sand on the beach.It took us 1 hour, 50 minutes to drive thought the destruction zone to Apia.
We arrived in Apia on sunset and went to a motel to stay the night.At 4:30 the next morning the church bell rang.We all leapt out of bed and ran out side,
Up the stairs to the top story of the motel thinking it was a warning for another Tsunami.But they were just calling people to early church.
The next day dad got us on the late flight back to New Zealand.We left Samoa with just our shorts and tee shirts.We had lost everything else
to the Tsunami.The Samoan’s of Litia Sini at Lalomanu lost everything
including family and friendsBut they still made us their first priority.
They are truly kind and loving people.We are collecting money to help them rebuild their lives, so please give generously.


Poppy Wilson
Age 10
Speech date - Friday 16th October 2009
Coatesville School

My son who was lost - and then was found.

You know that feeling you get when you’ve forgotten something but you don’t quite know what it is? You’ve left the house, you’re on your way to work – and you have that niggling feeling that you’re not quite complete?

Rita Romeo, 36 - of Lalomanu had that feeling on September 29th. As she chased her children up the steep embankment at the back of their beach fale operation. As she tried to tell her guests to follow them to the mountain. As she went back to scream at tourists who were holding tightly to the posts of her dining fale, telling them – “Don’t be stupid, those posts won’t save you! You have to run up the mountain. Run!”

As she watched the girl who owns the ice cream shop on the beach, turn back and run to her house as if she had forgotten something, ignoring Rita’s shouts.“Come back! Cant you see the wave is here? Come back. We have to run.”

As she saw the girls house collapse in the wave with a loud banging sound.

As she scrambled up through rocks and bushes. Pulling on roots and branches to get up the steep mountainside. Turning to grab an older palagi woman by the arms, scraping her bare legs raw as she dragged her up and over rocks.

Even as she gasped for breath at the top of the hillside, watching the ocean consume their village, their home, the twenty open beach fales they rented out to visitors for a day, a night, a weekend. Yes, even then, Rita had that terrible feeling that she had forgotten something. Or someone.

Rita has eight children. The youngest still toddles over to nurse. At the close of day, as sunset burned the evening sky, Rita would usually take a few moments to sit in the main fale with her child at her breast – a few moments of contentment as she surveyed the tourist operation that she and her husband had worked so many years to build/develop. They were extending their business – a restaurant and a roadside store. A White Sunday opening was planned.

But on that desperate Tuesday, as she stood with her family and guests on the mountainside, Rita realized with horror what she had forgotten. Her six year old son Livi. Asleep in the bedroom when the wave came.

Who can know what she endured as she waited for the water to recede? “After the wave finished I felt sadness. As I looked out over the villages there were no houses. All I said was ‘oh Lord what have we done to deserve this?’ I felt so much grief when I heard people crying, wanting to live. I thought Livi was dead too. I couldn’t do anything.”

It didn’t seem possible that anyone could survive the ocean beast. But Livi did. An hour after the tsunami, he was found underneath a pile of rubble. “He was found by a woman named Salome. She said she saw him crouched down under all the wood and roofing. He must have been trying to get up for breath but he couldn’t because of the debris. Many people were under all that rubbish. Salome saw a body down there close to where she was standing and then she reached down to bring it out and he came up and it was my child and he was alive.”

Livi’s chest was cut and badly bruised. He had ingested a lot of seawater and would need some serious antibiotics for the infection. But two weeks later, he would be his usual mischievous self. Pestering the team of Australian army volunteers who came to clean their beach with amazing machines that could drive into the ocean, growling over coral on the sea floor.

Rita would watch him run over golden sand beside crystal water and shake her head in quiet awe. “We are thankful to the Lord for sparing us and our eight children. Especially my son Livi who was lost and then was found.”

Extraordinary People: Tsunami Samoa

Today in the zone, it was blazing hot. And dusty with sea silt. And it smelled. Bad. Very bad. Not just wet, dead fish smell. The air was thick with what i can only describe as lots of dead things smell. It seeped through the windows. Into your clothes. Your hair. Making you want to cover your nose. Or hold your breath for the three hours it took to drive the zone and give out soup. But you didnt. Because it felt rude. Disrespectful. To all those picking through the pieces of their lives. Pushing a wheelbarrow with a rice sack and a water canteen. Sweeping sand out of a spindly hut thats surrounded with hills of tsunami trash. Asking politely if theres a spoon to eat with? while wearing one jandal and sitting on the cement foundation of your swept away home. Announcing with a sigh of relief - 'No, theres nobody missing from our houses here. Everybody is found. 18 bodies all found yesterday. Nobody missing anymore. '

The zone is not an easy place to live. Or to work in. But extreme circumstances require exceptional effort from ordinary people.

People like EPC linesmen. - The day after the tsunami they were putting up new power poles. Clearing away fallen wires. Today, they were still there. The same teams because lots of them recognized the soup truck and greeted us like long lost friends. I will never flip a light switch again without a greater appreciation for the work that goes into shining light in darkness. Amazingly, power poles are up. Lining the road clear through to Lalomanu.And as we drove away at 5pm, still the linesmen labor on. I doubt theyre calculating their overtime pay. And certainly none seemed to begrudge their hard work. As the lights start to go on at Aleipata - we say thank you.

People like - the road crew. Immediately after the waves hit, a call went out on the radio for all and any heavy duty equipment companies to please, please come help clear the roads so rescue teams could make it through to the disaster zone. They came. Bulldozers. Diggers. Dump trucks. EXcavators. And with them came the machine operators. The truckloads of road workers. They cleared the road. They started trucking rocks and sand to fill in the holes so cars could make it through. They're reinforcing the seawalls. Moving rubble. Shifting concrete blocks and fallen bricks. Helping to find the lost. You can drive smoothly and pothole-free right from disaster zone start to finish. I got home at 6pm, eager for a shower to erase the grime of the day. I wondered - what time will the road crew get to sleep tonight? As the relief trucks roll in on beautiful strips of road - we say thank you.

People like - the Samoa Police force. On the eve of tsunami day, the radio called for 'all police to report at 4am in work boots and heavy duty gear.Bring a change of clothes because you will be swimming and diving to recover bodies. Come ready to work.' And they did. On Tuesday, police were everywhere. Doing everything and anything. Today, they're everywhere. Doing everything and and anything. At Boomerang over 60 of them are scouring the ground for the 7 people still missing from those beach fales alone. They found one crumpled 4 year old today. They'll be there till late tonight. And they'll be back again tomorrow. Until they've found them all. We got to them at 4pm. They were tired. But cheerful. As the relief effort continues, organized and orderly - we say thank you. Extreme circumstances require exceptional effort from ordinary people. And the results? Extraordinary.

EPC take a soup break.

Police pause for soup.
Road crew take a break. Road warriors.

Police stay positive.

Soup crew at work.