The Third Wave (17 page)

The original team: Bruce, me, Oscar, and Donny

Everyone in Hikkaduwa and Peraliya knew that the four of us were leaving. Word had spread as soon as Oscar, Donny, Bruce, and I had made the decision that we needed a serious rest. Since the four of us had arrived together, we agreed that we should leave together.

Donny and Bruce indicated that they wouldn’t return for a while. Donny had to attend to family matters, and Bruce was about to go on a long tour with Pearl Jam. Oscar and I were in the middle of raising money for the new Peraliya School and running CTEC, so we knew that we would be back after a rest, probably within the next year, but we couldn’t be sure of anything. We couldn’t promise our return, and if we did indeed come back, it would be not to work in the village but to oversee larger projects. The villagers probably assumed we weren’t ever coming back, as they had seen many volunteers leave, never to return. Regardless, we knew Peraliya as we had experienced it in these past six months would never be the same again.

We spent our last day in Peraliya at the beach, swimming and laughing with the children. They had been working on a song they had written for us, and a few days prior they had recorded it onto a primitive cassette tape. We sat around a bonfire listening to the song, which was titled “The Only Gods We See.” The chorus repeated: “Alison, Oscar, Donny, and Bruce, these are the only gods we see.” It was hard not to laugh out loud at the words and the children’s voices, which sounded on tape like sad karaoke music. But the silliness of the song gave way to a flood of gratitude toward the children, who had spent many weeks creating it for us and who had always been there to raise our spirits.

For our final night, Dr. Novil organized a phenomenal farewell gathering with hundreds of villagers in attendance. The activities began with a parade of children chanting as they marched into the village temple. We lit candles and prayed to whatever gods we believed in. After the procession, we gathered in front of the old hospital. Many people, including Dr. Novil and some villagers, made good-bye speeches. The villagers presented awards with flowers and beauty queen sashes labeled with new titles they had given to us. Donny was named “the Good Shepherd of Peraliya,” Oscar was named “the Visionary of Peraliya,” Bruce was named “the Master of Peraliya,” and I was named “the Nightingale of Peraliya.” As they placed the sashes around us, the villagers presented us with a carved silver baton containing a rolled-up declaration from the village officially stating their deep gratitude for all our hard work. It was a blessed night as we said good-bye to our new family.

Before I was handed my sash, one of the village troublemakers who had spread many false rumors about us slipped an envelope into my hands. I made the mistake of quickly reading it to myself between speeches. In the letter, he expressed his disappointment
at how unfair he thought it was that I hadn’t distributed the antibiotics and medicines equally to everyone throughout the village and had instead stored them in the hospital. He complained about everything, including the moon. As I looked up from reading his note, they were announcing my Nightingale award. The bad man’s words washed away with the joyful cheers from my many newfound friends. He was a rotten seed, and I knew in my heart that those types never grow in the end.

Following the ceremony, the chief invited our core group of volunteers over for a last supper. The night was calm, and we could see the lights of other campfires sparkling throughout Peraliya. The chief had been fishing for us since early dawn and sat around an open fire cooking up his catch. His wives and family cuddled around us as we laughed into the night. In turn, we all expressed our love for one another. We had formed unbreakable bonds over the past six months. The chief cried as he said that he was extremely sad to see us go and thanked us for saving his village. He told us that he would miss our friendship.

Then the chief presented us with silver rings formed in the shape of the island of Sri Lanka. In each ring sat a small red ruby, which was placed exactly where Peraliya is located on the Sri Lankan map. He asked us to wear the rings whenever we came to visit so that his offspring would recognize and honor us. The chief had a romantic way about him that I loved. The rings fit perfectly and served as a treasured souvenir of our unexpected adventure.

On leaving the chief’s house, I found a dead snake on the railway tracks. This to me symbolized the end of a long battle with negative forces that had constantly been testing us throughout our stay. I was thankful that the snake was dead for now, but I knew it wasn’t the end of him.

The next morning, in our last moments in Peraliya, Oscar, Donny, and I walked hand in hand along the railway tracks while my Tsunami-dog followed behind us. I had arranged for a village family to take care of her, giving them an ample supply of dog food, but I was still heartbroken at having to leave her behind. Bruce was too busy to come with us on our final tour. He had raced off on his bike, saying that he had to tie up loose ends at all the businesses he’d helped start. But I think he also may have been trying to avoid having to say good-bye.

Families came out from their houses and children collected behind us as we made our rounds through the village. Many of the villagers still begged for help, while others cried. Oscar had tears pouring down his face as he hugged the children. We had stayed for the children and had learned so much from them. But I was truly in an exhausted state and had nothing left to give. I also knew that it was important for the villagers to get on with their lives again without us. Eventually, we managed to tear ourselves away and climb into the van we’d hired to drive us back to Colombo for our flights home.

As our van pulled out of the village, I could see the thousands of new baby coconut trees that Bruce had planted. A lot had changed since those first days in Peraliya, when we had pulled into a scene of utter despair and destruction, wondering if there was anything we could do to help. New businesses were sprouting up everywhere. A great deal of rubble had been cleared. The villagers were no longer living in tents. The school had reopened. Our small first aid van had grown into a field hospital that in six months had treated a documented 75,000 patients. Medical people had come from all over the world to work there, and a new permanent hospital, led by our wonderful Dr. Stein, was under construction.

With my beloved Tsunami-dog and her boyfriend

But our efforts never would have succeeded without the help of the volunteers who joined our efforts, everyday people who felt that they could make a difference and took the time to come here. No politics, no bureaucracy—they just showed up and got to work. That first night in Peraliya, I had prayed for every spare angel in the world to come to help us, and without a doubt my prayers had been answered.

Just then, I looked out the window and noticed my Tsunami-dog running after the van, panting and out of breath. I yelled for the driver to stop the van and jumped out to give her one last cuddle. Leaving her behind was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

I had missed New York during my six-month stay in Sri Lanka. All I wanted when I got back was a chewy poppy seed bagel and
The New York Times
. But then I saw the newspapers at the airport newsstand: Most of them had headlines about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston’s breakup and no news at all about the tsunami recovery efforts. I had assumed that the papers would still be reporting on the effects of the disaster. Then Oscar and I arrived home, worn out from our thirty-two-hour journey, to discover an eviction notice on our apartment door. It stated that we needed to move out in six days. We had just helped rebuild more than 500 homes and had lost our own.

For the past five years on my way to the gym, I had passed by a gentle man named Ricky who lived on the street. I would often buy him food and fruit drinks. Sometimes I would sit in the gutter and chat with him, and we would watch the tall world pass by. After returning from Sri Lanka, I saw Ricky sitting in his usual spot in the gutter. He had a cup in front of him where passersby
could put their money. I reached into my pocket to grab some quarters to give him, but found that I had nothing in my pocket. I realized right then and there, as I looked into Ricky’s cup, that he actually had more money than I did. We both had a good laugh about it.

My mum sent me a few hundred dollars to live on, and Oscar and I used it sparingly for subway rides and bananas. We were too proud to ask wealthier friends to help us, as over the past months we had used up all our favors by asking for donations for Peraliya. Fortunately, my banker friend Phil offered to cover the rent and utilities for a time as a gesture of thanks for our tsunami relief work.

The whole beauty of the mission was that it had been spontaneous. In Sri Lanka, we had lived day by day and concentrated fully on the tasks of caring for the people there and rebuilding, not worrying about our troubles back home. Letting go of that fear was liberating; we knew we would only burn unnecessary energy thinking of such things. Having no money to my name was in a strange way freeing. I knew that I could always make more. I still had an unmoving faith that everything would sort itself out.

Hot water felt like such a treat to us now. Oscar kept turning the taps on and off, marveling at the water flow. But New York’s opulence also made me uncomfortable. It seemed unfair that so many people were suffering when most New Yorkers were so privileged. However, my opinion on that topic flipped 180 degrees when I learned how much money the American people had donated to the tsunami cause, even if a lot of the funds never made it to Sri Lanka.

Meanwhile, Oscar was suffering from post-traumatic stress
disorder. He was not easy to deal with. We hid away in my apartment trying to make sense of the previous months, living on bananas and air.

I had accumulated a lot of footage of our tsunami rebuilding efforts, but it would have taken hundreds of hours to watch it, and when I got home I just didn’t have the time or the energy. Although we had recorded our experience, we had never sat down to talk about making a documentary. I had just collected the tapes from Sunil each week and thrown them into a big steel container to protect them from the heat and humidity. The only thing on my mind now, besides the tsunami recovery effort, was getting a ton of sleep, which I did.

During our first week at home, we received a call from Kym Anthony, the CEO of the Canadian bank who had volunteered in Peraliya with his daughter Callen. He had organized a trading day during which the bankers had agreed to donate their commissions to the tsunami cause. He wanted us to attend the event, so he sent us plane tickets, and off we went. We were thrilled when Kym announced at the event that he and his traders had raised over $800,000 Canadian to rebuild the Peraliya School.

It also warmed my heart to receive an email from a CTEC officer about a week after I had returned to New York: