Safmiah Hussein had borne her heart and liver illness for many years, but her son Irwan is convinced it was stress and depression induced by the Boxing Day tsunami that finally brought her life to an end.
”She wasn’t the healthiest person in the world before the water came, but she wasn’t close to death,” Irwan said. ”After the tsunami she just wasn’t the same. She became much quieter, more introverted, and just seemed to give up.”
Indonesian government experts predict a similar fate could befall thousands of people across Aceh, the Indonesian province on the northern tip of Sumatra that bore the brunt of the tsunami. It left 165 000 people dead or missing, and more than half a million homeless. The Guardian is regularly visiting the village of Nusa to monitor relief and reconstruction operations. Whether more residents are likely to succumb to Safmiah’s fate is hard to judge.
In some respects, such as shelter, temporary employment programmes and the state of the elementary school, the village is relatively well off. But tensions are also creeping in, triggering conflict and frustration that could escalate.
Almost four months on from the tsunami, only three of Nusa’s 149 families are still living in tents. The rest are either in their own homes, those of relatives, or one of the five temporary barracks.
Life in the barracks is proving not quite as bad as expected, according to Nurul Huda (17). ”It’s way better than a tent,” she said. ”We are living close to our friends and family, we have a cooking area, and it’s pretty clean. But we still want to rebuild our homes as soon as possible.”
But in many other Aceh villages The Guardian has visited, some just a few miles away, not one house remains intact, there are no barracks, and villagers are camping in motley collections of tents.
When The Guardian last visited Nusa, in mid-February, the residents’ main worry was income generation.
Paid work
For most villagers, this is being taken care of by a paid work programme being run in the sub-district by the international aid agency Mercy Corps.
Every day except Sunday, all adults who are not otherwise employed (and only about a dozen are) or looking after small children, don boots, gloves and hats, form work parties and continue the monumental job of cleaning up the village and surrounding fields.
Much of the village is now clear of the tonnes of debris the tsunami dumped on it, but many fallen tree trunks remain embedded in the ground. ”We really need a couple of chainsaws,” said Mohammed Abdullah, as he wiped his brow. ”Then we’d be able to do much more.”
Each worker receives 35 000 rupiah (£2) a day, with the group leaders and village coordinator making a little bit more.
”Not only does the work give them money but it makes them feel better, because the village looks smarter and it means they’re not just sitting around feeling depressed,” said Ichsan, a project manager from Mercy Corps.
Once the clean-up process is completed, the village will move on to stage two: construction of basic facilities and homes. ”The plan is for the whole programme to last six months,” Ichsan said. By then, the 70% of the villagers who are farmers hope to be able to return to cultivating their land, both the plantations that escaped the tsunami and the inundated rice fields.
”Although the fields look clear, there are still thousands of little thorns, shards of glass and nails in the ground,” said Muhammad Yassin. ”People are too afraid of getting injured to start planting.”
A different sort of fear is preventing them from tending their plantations. About three weeks ago when a farmer, who asked not to be named, went up the hill to his plot he was jumped on by a patrol of about a dozen heavily armed Indonesian soldiers hunting members of the separatist Free Aceh Movement, who have been fighting for 29 years for an independent homeland.
”I was questioned for about an hour and a half,” he said. ”They repeatedly threatened to hit me and shoot me, even though I had my identity card. Their parting words were that if I told anyone about what happened they would slit my throat.” The farmer has not complained because he feels it would put him and his family at risk.
He also believes the village chief, Mafudz Din, is not interested in the problems of his villagers.
Villagers complain that he rarely engages with them, even in the evenings when many are gathered around the large television donated by one of the national stations, TPI.
When the village secretary, Abdul Kadir, confronted Mafudz about his apathy towards Nusa, he was fired. Mafudz declined to give details about the dispute, describing it as a ”misunderstanding”.
Nusa is one of the few villages in the sub-district where the 350-odd refugees have yet to receive their daily food payments of 3 000 rupiah (17p) a person. The villagers blame Mafudz; he claims the problem is a bureaucratic hitch at the sub-district level; and the sub-district chief says he has yet to receive complete data from Nusa. As a result, many villagers are taking their own initiatives. ”We’ve given up on the village chief,” one man said. ”We were just getting so frustrated.”
Helping ease the frustration and depression, in addition to the TV, is the success of one of the village’s football teams in the sub-district knockout tournament organised by the Turkish delegation that is running health programmes in the area. Hidayatullah, named after the non-governmental organisation running one of the relief posts in Nusa, has reached the semifinal and is hoping to win the cup.
”It has been great for the village,” said the captain and top scorer, Usman.
”Hundreds of people come and watch each match. They forget their troubles and it gives them something to talk about.” – Guardian Unlimited Â