Tsunami Eyewitness

Hi everyone,

First off, I wanted to let everyone know that Meow (our cat) and I are both ok. We were lucky enough to have a house up on a hill, and was left largely unaffected. To everyone who doesn't know the story, though:

Yesterday morning, I was jolted awake by the earthquake, and waited for it to end, and waited, and waited. It seemed like one of the longest moments in my life. I finally got up and eyed the door frame to see if I should start standing under it. Finally, though, it subsided.

I walked out of the bedroom and tried to find Meow. She was hanging by her claws on one of the curtain rods. I didn't know if she was rattled by the earthquake, or was just excited by the buoyancy it gave her. Either way, I grabbed her and started preparing for work. As I was fiddling with the computer, I looked out of the window, and saw the first tidal wave heaving all the boats in the harbor to and fro, like so much dead twigs in a pond. That's when I ran to the other window for a better view. It was a storm without the rain. A perfect sunny day, but with the damage of a hurricane. There were a series of waves that swept to and fro, and only later did I hear that the force was so strong that it literally sucked the water dry from the reef when it receded, and then smashed the water against the shore when it came back in. This went on for a good part of an hour, after which I only remembered to start calling people. I got a hold of Tim in Maryland (he's on a conference trip), and told him excitedly about what happened. It was still exhilarating at this point, since I've never seen anything like it.

But only after putting the phone down did the horrors actually start. Groups of people started running up our steep driveway. I waited for a bit, because our landlord's wife was crying and screaming for her kids. After a little bit, I ventured outside, and asked her if they were ok. She said that their house is flooded, and that on the next fale over, a woman had drowned, and her 4-year old girl was missing. I don't know if they have found her already.

The power went out shortly after I spoke to Tim, and the water, and then the phones. It was at this time that I started cataloguing the contents of the fridge and pantry. Around 1pm, I finally took out our camping stove and cooked my lunch (our stove is electrical), and slept/read the day away. This was around the time that I became really grateful that Tim had bought that case of water for emergency. The sirens went non-stop the whole morning and evening, and since I had no other sources of information, so I just decided to stay indoors and avoid getting in the rescue people's way.

Towards afternoon, I tried the cellphone again, and was able to call my mom, and assured her I was ok. Dada, another Filipina I know here, finally got a hold of me too via phone, and offered me a place to stay. However, seeing as I couldn't leave Meow, I told her I was fine for now. Instead, I passed the night away, reading with our camping flashlights, and sleeping with Meow in bed.

In the morning, I woke up and was half expecting another earthquake or tsunami to happen (yes, worst-case scenario), but I didn't know that the disaster I was expecting would happen as I drove through the blasted landscape later that morning. Instead, I got up and took out all the food that I could save from the fridge, took a bar of soap, and grabbed my backpack. I would be taking a shower at work, and cooking my dinner in our work kitchen.

When I finally got out, they had cleared off the debris on the road from yesterday, so that people could drive already. However, they could not clear the destruction on the sides of the road. I drove through a landscape so unreal, so unlike the familiar, that it felt like I was driving on another land. There were so many cars that were stranded on the sides of the road, smashed up and beyond repair, that any Samoan who first looked upon them would probably end up sobbing. I counted 10 boats on people's lawns, and finally stopped counting; it was just too depressing. It turned out that the only boats that were saved were the ones that had people living on them, i.e. rich people's yachts, who were able to maneuver throughout the tempest the whole time. All the other boats, the fishermen's boats, the working men's boats, the poor people's boats, are now decorating people's yards. I passed by a large wooden house that was uprooted and smashed against a neighbor's. There were spaces of land that seemed strange to me, and only later did I find that some whole houses were completely swept away.

It turned out that the areas most affected was a village (Leone) on the far west side, and Pago Harbor, where we lived. The water had funneled through the harbor's opening, and added impetus to the already terrifying rush of water, so that the bottom part of the harbor was devastated. Only the upper arms of the harbor escaped with only a slight rising of water. The gas station that Tim liked, the korean market, and countless homes were smashed up, but hey, at least McDonald's is still standing, hooray hooray.

When I got to work, I started hearing more stories of what happened. The power plant close to us was destroyed and we would have no power for the next month, another Filipina was washed away and found in a creek, a Korean store owner drowned inside his store. So many stories, so many people that someone knew.

What finally got through the fog to me though was how small the community here was. One person would call someone else and started checking if everyone there was ok, and then that person would call other people they knew, and so on. By this morning, everyone knew who was missing, who was there when it happened, and who has survived. Two completely unrelated people that I know was able to track and call each other, trying to find out if either one had talked to me. Tenuous relationships like this become even more tangible, networks of people become even more defined, and stories of people you know are more heartfelt. Indeed, in a small community, your best resource, whether for help, for information, or just for comfort, is the people around you.

Michelle Brinker

Ofu on My Mind

When living on an island (no matter the size or environment), at a certain interval a desire exists to get off and search for something else. This logic may have been similar to what lead Polynesians to sail thousands of miles across open ocean without knowledge of their destination. The urge to explore lies dormant in much of our daily existence, repressed beneath TVO, Mcdonalds, and Survivor re-runs. Without quite the bravado as our predecessors, we planned a weekend getaway to volcanic bow-tie shaped Ofu/Olesega islands (2.786 sq m). These idyllic islands are the definition of remote <14.175°S 169.618°W>, as time marches along much as its has in the past. Islanders retain many traditional ways that have fallen by the wayside in Tutuila.

The only transport (besides the 8 hr overnight ferry), interisland airlines, has a "charter" license which allows them to fly when ever they want, reservations are relative. For labor day weekend, we planned on departing on friday and returning on monday- simple enough. After a cancellation to the friday flight for unknown reasons we were flying high the next day in a 9-Seater Britten-Norman Islander. To give you an idea- it was similar to riding in a crowded soccer mom van on the way to the big game. It was disimilar with respect to the 65.3 million square miles of vast blue water underneath the wings of the prop islander.

After 27 minutes of airtime Ofu island airstrip came into full view and the pilot (with backward baseball cap) touched down about 20 feet from the sea. Thankfully, the driveway/airstrip is also the front lawn of the lodge, leaving us a 2 minute walk to our oceanfront room. Heavenly, peaceful, & serene are the words that pop into most visitors heads as they grab a large vailima brew and switch the auto-pilot on "hang" mode. The open vista of steep cliffs, golden beaches, and crayola reefs are reminisent of a Salavador Dali painting.

After dropping your bags, the national park is less than a five minute walk. Soon the crown of the American Samoa National Park comes into view, a powder keg of fine white sand stretching forever. When a person conjures up an image of polynesia, they are thinking of Ofu Island. The protected reef, namely hurricane hole is the icing on the cake, as a dazzingly array of marine creatures mingled between castle-like corals. Attention all neurons! We are now commencing stress reduction.
Hidden within the lodge bookshelf, I found an excellent book about a biologist who joined a troop of baboons in the Serengetti Plains, thus i commenced to disappear for 2 days. After feasting on barracuda, draining the beer supply, and reading about far away lands- the rains came. More like a wall of rain, which nearly blew the roof off. Needless to say, the airline cancelled all flights (2) and we were holed up in paradise. The winds continued to howl through the night into the next day. I was a bit nervous calling work and explaining that i was stuck on the most beautiful island in the archipelago, yet they seemed to understand as flood conditions had gripped the main island.Even returning on Tuesday seemed like a long shot- as the clouds obstructed the landing strip and winds persisted. When suddenly the courageous little islander bursts through the clouds and did a swan dive onto the 10 X 10 landing strip. Through the pouring rain the pilot yelled "all aboard" and we literally sprinted into the van, i mean plane. Before the fake background music could roll, the left engine stalled. The determined pilot seemed to look up and think why me, finally the engine roared and came to life. We taxied down the airstrip and took off into a sheet of gray, blown by the occasional wind gusts. As we all bumped fists "obama style," as i vaguely recalled that there was no radar (or windshield wipers) and the pilot was basically shooting from the hip.
Anyway, all ended well as your reading the author's blog.

General Meow Zedong Jr.