The flood happened on the second of November, 2003. It was 9 at night. My daughter was three years old. She and my wife were sleeping. It was only raining a little, but the water started moving really fast. The river is known to rise when it rains, but this was different. There were large trees, full trees, and a lot of debris in the water. Entire houses were swept away. Families were sleeping and had no idea they were in danger. It happened that quickly. You couldn’t swim because there was wood everywhere in the flood and it was very, very dark.
I remember having my daughter in my arms and then a log came and she was gone. Swept away into the night.
The news said only 200 people died, but we know it was more. Possibly 400, maybe even 500. A lot of people died from their injuries from the trees while they were in the water. Children were orphaned. People in the village who survived were looking for their loved ones for days and weeks following. Everyone knew someone who died and the search felt like it would never end.
My daughter’s body was found 5 kilometers from here. My wife’s body was near the cave. I will never forget my friends who helped me search for them. If they ask for something, I never hesitate to help them. They’re my brothers now. They found my wife and they helped me. They saved me.
One week after the flood, I took my son to see my wife’s mother. They knew their daughter died and blamed me. I said to her, “I’m not here to talk about money. Look at him. Don’t look at me. This is your daughter’s son. The last piece of her.”
But she didn’t say anything. That’s when I knew we were on our own.
For three months, I kept my son at his grandfather’s. He was always asking for his mom and his sister. It was too hard for me so I would only stay for 30 minutes at a time before I fell apart. Almost every day I sat at the river, thinking and crying. I still had to provide for my son. He was staying with my parents, but I still needed to provide for him. What do you do when you lose everything?
I had many friends come from around Europe. They brought me money to help me, but I refused. I didn’t need money; I needed my family. One friend in particular stayed for two weeks, but after three days, we rented a car with his girlfriend and friends and brought me to Medan.
My friend said, “I want to show you something.”
“What do you want to show me?”
“Something special.”
They brought me to a store that sells guitars. “I don’t want your money.”
“I’m not giving you money. I want to give you a guitar.”
That’s when I found a little happiness. I played guitar every night with my friends. Music brought us together again. It helped us heal. I still went to the river, but I was starting to feel better. It wasn’t long before I started collecting wood and bringing it to a friend’s house who was a carpenter. He had the tools so, with my time, I started making ashtrays and tables.
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