The skies have opened and the rain we mercifully didn’t get in the weeks after the tsunami has now arrived.
For those fortunate enough to have found or built shelter it’s an aggravation. For the miserable masses huddled in flooded tents and beneath tarps the mind boggles. The temperatures have plunged from seasonal 34C to a damp, bone-chilling 24C. We’re living in a world of deep-chest coughs, flu, and I’m expecting inevitable spikes in levels of typhoid caused by overflowing latrines, and dengue and malaria as the mosquitoes take advantage of all the standing water: some Italian who has never left his office, contracted falciparum malaria in the seven days since he arrived. It almost killed me a couple of years back but he was treated before his brain cooked and seems to be on the mend.
Of course, if you can get that sick in our dry, WIFI-ed, air-con, environments I invite you to image how bad it must be in the camps and the loathsome government-built barracks.
I’ve been out of the loop for the past two weeks, sleeping in my Jakarta bed as I hammered together the first couple promotional videos the organization is putting out to highlight relief operations in Banda Aceh and Nias.
Returned to Banda a couple of days back, in time to celebrate my first wedding anniversary with the Haanster. Hard to believe just a year ago this time (4:20 pm, local) I was looking out the 17-floor window of our suite at the Mandarin at a slate black sky threatening our upcoming outdoor reception in South Jakarta…. The call from the restaurant manager asking if he should go ahead and put up the massive tents (“Do it, bubba.”) and me calculating another $600.00 on the bill while munching on an eight dollar club sandwich and watching the hairdresser (who'd earlier propositioned Tim's driver for a quicky in the garage before the Ulema arrivied to perform the service) weave flowers into my new wife's hair. Of course, once the beastly tent was up, driving the humidity level into the high 90s, it stopped raining, but that’s just the way things go.
It was a beautiful, memorable occasion and a year later there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t marvel at J and the life we’re living together. Here we are now, both having turned our backs on the freelance familiar to do our bit for these poor folk in Aceh. I’m happier now, more settled despite the 14-hour days and the stress of unfamiliar office environments. My contract has been extended by a further six months (has it been 10 weeks already on the Dark Side?) and job one is to find a house to call home.
Much news to on-pass but I’m gonna leave it for now. I will say this, though. The cops and the army are back to their old games. So bad have the shakedowns and harassment of national staff become that several agencies have prohibited their Acehnese employees in Calang, Lamno and Meulaboh from driving around without an ex-pat in the vehicle. The soldiers won’t fuck with whitey but the gloves are off when we’re not around.
Going to Banda Seafood tonight to celebrate our anniversary over tiger prawns, fresh snapper and cold beers. I’m shelving for one night thoughts about what 600,000 Acehnese will eat.