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!

---

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.

---

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!)

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.