By Alex Dobbs Photographer
January 10, 2005;

On the morning of Sunday Dec. 26, at around 8:45 a.m., Jonathan and Vicki Wattis sat on the terrace of my Uncle Geoffrey's small island, just 100 meters off the southern coast of Sri Lanka.  In the middle of breakfast, a crow landed on their table.  He looked Jonathan right in the eye, and Jonathan shooed him away.  He came back even closer, screeching and flapping his wings, looking out at the vast Indian Ocean.

At exactly 9:15 a.m. that same morning, I was asleep at the top of that very island in the Indian Ocean.  I dreamt that I was back in America in the middle of a heavy rainstorm, with the water pouring in sheets from the sky.

I opened my eyes to find myself back in Sri Lanka under a warm and cloudless blue sky.  But outside I still heard the deafening "whoosh" coming from the ocean.  My brother said, "There's something weird happening with the water, and we might have to evacuate."

I walked down the steps and out to Weligama bay in my Grateful Dead pajama shirt, still only half awake.  At first I thought I was dreaming.  The day before, the bay had been filled with the clearest blue water I had ever seen, but now, the naked seabed was completely exposed. It was as though someone had pulled a plug and all the water had rushed down a drain.

I stood there dumbfounded staring at this eerie scene until a guest on the island warned us to get to higher ground before the water rushed back into the bay.

I ran back up the steps to the top of the island where I found my mother on the porch, dripping wet with blood pouring from her leg.  She repeated the story of her near-death experience over and over again, and kept saying to me, You have no idea how close you just came to becoming an orphan.

My mother had been in the ocean when the tsunami hit.  She had just started swimming back to my uncle's island, but she quickly realized that it was getting further and further away.  She gave up and turned to swim back to shore, but the shore had disappeared.  Before she could do anything, a swift rush of water swept her into the village.  She passed a man in a tree and he reached out to grab her hand, but the raging water forced her under.  She tumbled blindly through the water, bumping into everything in her path until she came upon a taut rope.  She followed it, and it led to a tree.  She pulled herself up as high as she could in the tree, praying that the water wouldn't rise any more.

In the house next to her, the water was at the roofline, and my mother could hear people dying inside.  The possessions that made up these stranger's lives floated out of their houses and past my mother: pots and pans, toothbrushes and clothing, children's drawings and crayons.

All of a sudden, the water began to slowly recede, and then, like a freight train, it screamed out of the bay.  My mother clung to the tree with every ounce of her strength.

When the water had disappeared, she stumbled down from the tree and found my dad and uncle who had also been in the ocean at the time. They had survived by holding onto a fishing boat lodged between a palm tree and the roof of someone9s house.

Just as we had predicted, the water rushed back into the bay less than ten minutes after it had receded.  There were thirteen of us staying on the island, and we all watched, stunned, as the water surged into the bay and then back out again.

For the next two days the water surged in and out.  We noticed with each surge came less power, and as the day wore on the surges came with greater frequency.  We knew the tides were returning to normal.

I didn't leave the island that first day.  We all sat in shock, waiting for news and speculating about what we had just witnessed.  I thought that the full moon that night had prompted some strange tidal changes, but in truth we were all clueless.  Across the street I heard the constant cry of dogs.  I spent much of that day wondering if the dogs were crying because they were injured, or if they were crying because their owners had been killed.

Around midday, the four Australian girls staying with us began receiving concerned text messages from friends and family who had seen news reports on the tsunami.  It was then that we first learned what had happened and realized the widespread damage.  We had all thought that this surreal wave was only local, and were shocked to discover otherwise.

We ran out of food and drinking water the second day after the tsunami, and there was still no electricity or running water.  With no clean water and no flushable toilets, hygienic conditions were deteriorating.  We had no choice but to evacuate.  With the help of some locals, we managed to get to the Dutch House, a hotel in Galle owned by my uncle.  All the paying guests were in the process of evacuating, and the Dutch House had been turned into a refugee hospital.

We spent the next days swapping survival stories with the other refugees, learning about each other and ourselves.  I met some truly fantastic people, many of whom I9m sure will become life-long friends.

We walked around Galle to survey the destruction.  The water had picked up buses and cars, twisted and crushed them, and thrown them into flimsy fishing shanties.  It wrenched railroad tracks out of the ground and flung trains and boats carelessly into the countryside.  Water blasted through thick concrete walls, which lay in ruins in the streets.  Everywhere I looked, I saw people picking through piles of rubble that used to be their homes, searching for loved ones or lost possessions.

Many people held cloth over their noses to escape the lingering smell of death which hung in the air.  Dead dogs littered the streets and I even saw a dead cow, upside down with his legs straight up in the air.  Periodically, vans with loudspeakers drove through the streets announcing that human bodies were being cleared and everyone must stay out of the city.

The Sri Lankan military stood at attention on street corners throughout Galle. During the first two nights much looting had occurred in the coastal cities, and the army was called in to police the area.  There were also rumors circulating that locals were spreading false warnings of another tsunami, urging people to evacuate to higher ground, at which point they would loot any standing houses that had been left unattended.

Food and water were in very short supply and strictly rationed.  Twice a day we helped cook food for the masses, which was usually rice.  My siblings and I were also employed to sweep floors and make beds in the Dutch House.  We all wanted to stay on and help for as long as we could, but in the end we were just five more mouths to feed.

On Dec. 30 we started our long trip home, ten days earlier than we had been scheduled to leave.  Most of the roads were destroyed or blocked by fallen buildings.  One bridge that we crossed collapsed less than two hours after we drove over it.  It took us ten hours to get to Columbo, a drive that usually takes only three hours.

At 2 a.m. on Dec. 31st, we pulled into our driveway in Bethesda after more than fifty hours of traveling. 

I'm still not used to being back in America.  I really didn't think I was ever going to leave Sri Lanka.  If nothing else, surviving the world's worst natural disaster was an unbelievable life experience.  That week I learned more about the world around me and the people in it than I have ever learned in my life.  It's amazing how much we take for granted here in America: regular meals, fresh drinking water, the ability to wash everyday.  Sometimes we get so caught up with grades, college, and the high expectations that are placed on us, that we lose sight of the things that really matter.

My family and I are incredibly lucky to be alive.