by Geoffrey Dobbs

Weligama, Sri Lanka, New Years Eve

The script would have won a Hollywood scriptwriter an Oscar for the best disaster movie.

Imagine a brilliant blue sky and a calm turquoise blue sea. I had just finished my daily morning run into the paddy fields beyond the coastal road, somewhat later than usual due to the Christmas festivities of the day before. I plunged into the sea and started swimming around the small island home I own 200 metres offshore. The time was 9.15am.

Having swum about a hundred yards, I suddenly realized that I was getting nowhere and I cursed myself for being so unfit. About 30 seconds later, I suddenly realised that I had risen about 30 feet. I shouted to my brother who was swimming behind to get out of the water as something strange was happening. I glanced back to the shore and saw the sea crashing into boats and fishermen rushing about trying to control them. It was too late many boats went crashing across the coastal road and into houses on the other side.

My brother and I were swept along with current. Luckily, after a few hundred metres we managed to cling onto a fishing catamaran which had lodged itself between a palm tree and the roof of a house. We could hear the terrified screams of women and children in the houses beyond. They never stood a chance.

After about five minutes, the waters seemed to subside and I found myself once more resting on the side of the road. There were complete chaos in front of me. Foolishly, I left the boat and walked a few yards before being greeted with the returning rush of water. A local fisherman threw me a line. I looked behind me to see my brother being taken out to sea, but luckily managing finally to grab hold of a fishing boat going in the same direction and by some miracle the fishing boat came to rest on the ocean floor.

By this time, the whole bay of Weligama had been emptied of water as far as the eye could see. It was a scene that far surpassed Moses parting of the waters in the Red Sea.

Meanwhile, back on the shore line, what survivors that were left were running about in complete confusion; naked men, women and children were emerging from houses, human bodies and animals were floating around in the debris. I saw my brothers wife clinging to a palm tree about 100 yards inland, thankfully still alive with only superficial leg wounds. My brother and I for some reason being completely unscathed from the sudden ordeal of a few minutes before. The sun was still shining brightly and the sky a perfect blue.

Dazed and shocked, we walked back to the island. The front gate and jetty were a mangled wreck. At the bottom of the island steps, we were greeted by my staff and guests, all of whom had survived. Some had been swimming in the pool at the time only to be lifted four feet above its surface and swept to safety along one of the coral sand strewn pathways that surround the island. We climbed the 103 steps to the house on the island summit and pondered on what had happened to us.

The sea in the meantime had come back into the shores but at five minute intervals would recede back into the Indian Ocean, revealing once again the bottom of the ocean floor. My mind suddenly remembering that on my run I had bumped into a friend who said he was just going diving, I shuddered to think what the ocean had done to him where the next nearest land mass is the south pole.

By now it was lunchtime. We eat the remains of the Christmas turkey in silence. For the rest of the day we were too shocked to do anything meaningful.

We went to bed early. On waking, I resolved to get my family off the island. We found a vehicle and drove the 20 km up to Galle. We passed scenes of utter devastation. A trip that would normally take 30 minutes took 3 hours as we wound our way around debris on the coast road, occasionally having to drive inland when the road became impassable. The scene inland was a complete contrast to the devastation of the coast; farmers were still tending their paddy fields, shops were full of produce, it had all the resemblance of the normal full moon poya day. My niece Alexandra suddenly broke the silence

Uncle Geoffrey, can I give the remains of my holiday money to help these people?

On arrival in Galle, we were greeted with similar scenes of devastation; boats piled up on top of each other, buses on the vertical, shattered fish markets, a stench of rotting bodies.

I left my family in Galle and went back to the island of Taprobane anxious to see if my diving friend had survived. Incredibly his dive boat had been delayed by the late arrival of the hungover divemaster and they had not yet put to sea. We discussed how we could help our shattered community.

I went to look for tourists who were dotted about seeking shelter in the few standing buildings. I went 50 km further down the coast to the town of Tangalle; all along the coast the scene was the same.

However, as the days went by, I could see villagers beginning to rebuild their shattered lives. But there was no sign of any government aid in these villages.

We decided to see how we could help. My diving friend Pierre, who owns the largest factory in the area, immediately mobilised his workforce to start cooking food for homeless people. Pumps were found to start pumping sea water from contaminated wells. We are also trying to make better latrines for those in camps.

Private aid is coming in, with initial contributions going to cooked food for 26 camps around Weligama.