They are still bringing out the dead in Meulaboh. Two weeks after the tidal wave that destroyed half the town, days after a stream of international dignitaries had their pictures taken in Banda Aceh, 320km to the north west, Meulaboh’s ruined streets are still strewn with corpses.
There is no clear-up operation. Shell-shocked residents picked through the rubble of their homes with their own hands. The Observer watched as one householder removed the putrid corpse of a child from a heap of splintered timber outside what was his living room, laying it gently in the street outside. Desultory fires sent acrid smoke pluming into the heavy tropical air. On street corners, heavily armed paramilitary police stood listlessly in the heat, on guard against the desperate and the hungry.
In the overflowing refugee camps that ring the city, rice is rationed to four ounces daily. Aid workers and soldiers say there are thousands more victims outside the city, unable to travel, who have yet to receive any assistance at all since the tsunami struck.
Though the world appears increasingly confident that the relief effort in the Indian Ocean is going well, there are pitifully few international aid agencies in Meulaboh. Médecins Sans Frontières has cleaned up one of the hospitals — where half a dozen septic limbs are amputated daily. Greenpeace’s ship, the Rainbow Warrior, is bringing in some supplies. Indonesian naval vessels bring in rice. There are a couple of Singaporean military clinics. At one Indonesian army first-aid post, 400 victims had been treated every day since the doctors arrived eight days ago. The Indonesian Red Cross picks up corpses from the streets — when they can.
But everywhere there is still horrific distress. A woman in yellow pyjamas wandered through the streets with tears streaming down her cheeks and a bewildered small girl holding her hand. Once a nurse, all she could do was point to where her house once stood and pronounce her only English word: ”trauma”. Sitting nearby was Herman, a volunteer body collector. His team had picked up nine bodies by nine o’clock. They had started at eight.
Yet the plight of Meulaboh has been known almost since the beginning of the emergency relief effort. It is two hours from the nearest airport and the road from the major city of Medan is just about driveable in a light truck. The first Indonesian soldiers reached the town three days after the disaster. But it was only last week that the United Nations managed to get an assessment team into Meulaboh — and that was delayed by a day because of a bureaucratic mix-up. ”It’s no big deal. It’s only 24 hours,” said Alwi Shihab, the Indonesian social welfare minister.
Meulaboh was a thriving town of around 60 000 people. No one knows how many of them died. ”It’s all very confused. Some people say 5 000 died, others say 50 000. No one knows,” said one French aid worker. A lack of heavy equipment had stopped his team bringing in desperately needed water purification gear. ”No one knows how many people are dead.”
Or how many people are alive. The Indonesian army says there are 60 000 in a dozen or so refugee camps around the city. At one, known as Base Camp One, more than 20 000 people are crammed into a former administrative office compound. Fetid water stands in pools outside. The concrete sweats in the heat. Those who salvaged a few belongings can trade them for extra food — vegetables or a bit of dried meat — but most subsist on the meagre rice handouts arranged by the government.
”It is rainy season, so we need blankets and more shelter,” said Alif Zailufnun, who lost his family and his home, and is now running Base Camp One.
Faridah (43) who lost five children and her parents in the disaster, said she was willing to go back and rebuild her home. ”I am not afraid,” she said. ”I am not afraid of the sea.” – Guardian Unlimited Â