Arrived in Calang

A Journey to Calang: Reconnecting, Reflections, and Resilience

I was poised to embark on a journey to Calang, a remote island accessible only by a 45-minute helicopter flight operated by the World Food Programme (WFP). Accompanied by my Oxfam colleague, Eka, we arrived at the bustling airport, anticipation humming in the air as we prepared to board the helicopter. Just before takeoff, Eka asked me to capture a photo of her with the aircraft. As I framed the shot, a familiar face in the background caught my eye—a man whose identity lingered just beyond the reach of my memory.

[Photo: Eka and Berry, left to right]

Once aboard the helicopter, the man settled into the seat across from me. We exchanged polite nods, both seemingly grappling with the same unspoken question: Where had we met before? The deafening roar of the rotor blades rendered conversation impossible, but he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and passed it to me: “Are you from RedR?” Instantly, the fog of memory lifted. This was Berry Darling—a close friend of mutual acquaintances, Pradeep and Prasad, with whom he’d worked in Afghanistan. Berry and I had crossed paths years earlier as participants in RedR’s “Environmental Health in Emergency” training course in October 2003. Reconnecting mid-flight, we shared smiles and handshakes, the noise of the helicopter giving way to the warmth of rediscovered camaraderie.

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A Bird’s-Eye View of Contrasts

As the helicopter soared low over Aceh, the landscape unfolded beneath us like a vivid tapestry. After months surrounded by Afghanistan’s stark, monochromatic mountains, the lush greenery and azure coastline of Sumatra felt like a balm to the soul. The island’s beauty was surreal—a patchwork of emerald forests, golden beaches, and turquoise waters. Yet interspersed with this natural splendor were sobering reminders of the 2004 tsunami: shorelines clawed back by the sea, skeletal remains of homes, and uprooted trees lying like scattered matchsticks. The ocean now appeared tranquil, almost apologetic, belying its ferocity on that catastrophic December day when colossal waves claimed hundreds of thousands of lives.

 

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Touchdown in Calang: A Hub of Hope

The helicopter descended toward what I initially mistook for an ordinary football field—a vibrant green clearing that doubled as a makeshift helipad. Below, a line of NGO vehicles waited to transport arrivals. Spotting Oxfam’s logo, we climbed into a waiting car and drove the short distance to the office: a cluster of wooden huts painted in the organization’s signature green and white, nestled within a gated compound.

Inside the main hall—a spacious, no-frills structure with six worktables—I was greeted by Peter Strujif, the Project Manager. His welcoming demeanor and thorough briefing on my induction schedule immediately put me at ease. Later, I met Gaurav Prateek, an Indian livelihoods advisor whose philosophical insights and sincerity left a lasting impression.

[Photo: Standing (left to right) Gaurav, Peter, Liz, Jim, Andy, Prasad; Seated: Myself, Myron]

My shelter team, though small, radiated dedication: Aarif, the Project Officer; Putri, the Administrative Assistant; and an architect currently on leave. Together, they guided me to my new residence—a quaint wooden bungalow perched on the beach, one of ten identical structures arranged in two neat rows. Assigned to Bungalow #10 in the back row, just behind Peter’s, I unpacked my luggage, already feeling a sense of belonging.

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Settling Into a New Rhythm

As dusk fell, I stood on the porch of my bungalow, listening to the whisper of waves and absorbing the day’s contrasts—the haunting scars of disaster juxtaposed with the resilience of both nature and humanity. In this fragile corner of the world, where collaboration and compassion were rebuilding lives, I felt a profound gratitude for the journey ahead.

[We called this a Bunglow!!]

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funny article to narrate condition of "timber"

A Satirical Snapshot of Post-Tsunami Reconstruction Chaos

Dear Friends,

Here’s a lighthearted (yet painfully accurate) take on the logistical nightmares of post-tsunami reconstruction. No offense intended—just a dash of humor to cope with the madness. Grab a coffee and enjoy the ride!

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Background: The Perfect Storm of Challenges

Reconstruction efforts here are paralyzed by two colossal hurdles: logistics and material shortages.

• Transportation Woes: Harbors remain non-functional, airlifts are prohibitively expensive, and roads are more myth than reality.

• Timber Troubles: Indonesia’s strict timber policies, enforced by police and forest departments, have created a bureaucratic quagmire. NGOs are drowning in paperwork over "legal sourcing" and "sustainability," turning timber procurement into a man-made disaster rivaling the tsunami itself.

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Implications: When Logistical Madness Takes Over

1. Timber Obsession:

   • Logisticians now refer to their own families as “Timber-1,” “Timber-2,” or “Australian Timber”—a tragic blend of dedication and donor accountability.

   • Before sleeping, they inspect their beds like forensic experts: measuring wood dimensions, counting knots, verifying moisture content, and demanding structural stability certificates. Only then do they drift into dreams of sustainably sourced plywood.

2. Mealtime Mayhem:

   • At dinner, they interrogate cooks: “When was this rice requisitioned? Where’s the manager’s approval? Show me the Goods Received Form!” Every meal requires a signed delivery confirmation.

3. Fashion Forward (Sort Of):

   • In a bid to “think local,” logisticians have adopted coconut branches and banana leaves as office attire. (Indigenous innovation at its finest!)

4. Communication Chaos:

   • Radios? Too mainstream. Instead, they’ve reverted to yelling across compounds. (Sustainable energy, folks!)

5. Identity Crisis:

   • Drivers now answer to “Charli Mobile-1” or “Charli Mobile-2.” Guards respond only to “Golf-1” or “Golf-2.” With pre-tsunami records lost, rebranding is a breeze!

6. Questionable Job Placements:

   • Physiotherapists moonlight as radio operators. Radios now do morning stretches instead of transmitting signals. (Brilliant upskilling!)

7. Desperate Measures:

   • Spot a truck? Logisticians sprint after it like kids chasing an ice cream van.

   • Need cement delivered? Just hand a bag to anyone heading to the village. Nails go in pockets, paintbrushes clip onto belts. (Accountability meets creativity!)

8. Role Reversals:

   • Logisticians now moonlight as shelter engineers, while engineers draft logistics manuals. (Cross-functional synergy!)

   • Drivers can eyeball timber quality like seasoned experts. (UN job applications, here they come!)

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Conclusion: Surviving the Circus

In this topsy-turvy world, we’ve mastered the art of turning absurdity into strategy. Who needs roads when you’ve got banana-leaf fashion? Who needs radios when lung power is free? Here’s to the unsung heroes making miracles happen—one illegible Goods Received Form at a time.

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Note: All scenarios are fictionalized but uncomfortably close to reality. Names changed to protect the exhausted.

Stay sane,

[Manish]

First few days in indonesia

A New Chapter: Arriving in Aceh as Oxfam’s Shelter Manager

In November 2005, I was appointed as Shelter Manager for Oxfam-GB’s Tsunami response in Indonesia—my first assignment in Southeast Asia. The journey began with a flight from Delhi to Kuala Lumpur, followed by a connection to Medan, Sumatra’s bustling hub, via Malaysian Airlines. The trip was smooth, and Kuala Lumpur’s sprawling, efficient airport left an impression, especially its inter-terminal tram, which I rode with childlike curiosity.

By 11:00 AM, I landed in Medan. My next flight to Banda Aceh—the epicenter of Tsunami devastation—was scheduled for 5:30 PM, leaving me hours to navigate the chaotic domestic airport. Oxfam’s administrative coordinator, Nana, had arranged my tickets, but the scene at Medan’s cramped, smoke-choked terminals was overwhelming. The air hung thick with haze, reminiscent of a coal-fired engine, making every breath a struggle. With check-in delayed, I stretched out on a wooden bench, dozing briefly to pass the time.

Awakening hungry, I scavenged the waiting lounge for snacks, settling for biscuits and a Coke. When check-in finally opened, a mix-up at the Garuda Indonesia counter sparked an amusing confusion. The agent scrutinized my ticket, puzzled: “You can’t be Manish.” Turns out, Nana had listed me as Mrs. Manis—a Bahasa Indonesia quirk, as manis means “sweet” and, in her view, an unlikely name for a man! We laughed it off, and after paying excess baggage fees, I boarded the flight to Banda Aceh, eager yet uneasy about what lay ahead.

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First Glimpse of a Shattered Coastline

The 70-minute flight descended into Banda Aceh as dusk settled. Peering through the window, the scale of destruction unfolded beneath me: vast swaths of land swallowed by the sea, salt-stained soil, and skeletal remnants of communities. The ocean, now deceptively calm, had clawed inland, leaving permanent scars.

At the airport, an Oxfam driver greeted me with a placard. We collected two regional staff members, Allison and Lillian, before heading to the office. There, Zubair, an Afghan HR manager, briefed me on logistics and escorted me to Oxfam House #10, a quiet accommodation far from the city’s pulse. Exhausted, I collapsed into bed, skipping dinner for much-needed rest.

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Building Connections in a Broken Land

The next morning, I arrived early for my induction—a half-day immersion into Oxfam’s operations. Meeting colleagues felt like reuniting with old friends: Shemeles, a former Darfur teammate, and a lively contingent of Indian staff, including Joseph, Anand, and Jaimon. I learned Gaurav, the philosophical advisor I’d met earlier, was stationed in Calang, and counted at least six fellow Indians on the team.

Joseph, ever the hospitable soul, invited me to Oxfam House #1, a shared residence where Shemeles, Thomas (a Bangladeshi engineer), Anand, and he lived. The house buzzed with camaraderie and the aroma of home-cooked meals. Joseph, a culinary enthusiast, whipped up hearty dishes, while Thomas mastered flaky chapatis, and Anand’s egg curry became a lunchtime staple. Sharing stories and food in that makeshift family circle eased the weight of our grim surroundings.

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Reflections

Those early days in Aceh were a collision of contrasts: the horror of nature’s wrath and the resilience of those rebuilding from ruins. Amid the debris, I found purpose in the chaos, camaraderie in unlikely places, and moments of levity—like being “Mrs. Manis”—that reminded me of the universal language of humor. As I settled into my role, the journey ahead felt daunting yet deeply meaningful, a chance to contribute to healing a fractured world.