Manimala is pictured here with a photograph of her mother.

Processing the Aftermath One Story at a Time

by Kathryn Reid

Where does one begin to describe the aftermath of a natural disaster that claimed tens of thousands of lives and forever changed the lives of millions more?

As I traveled throughout the tsunami-ravaged areas during the first five weeks of the new year, I discovered that I could take it in only one story, one glimpse, at a time. Perhaps I learned that from Manimala...

A bright, bubbly 19-year-old, Manimala somehow seemed younger. Soon after we said hello, she grabbed the photographer's camera and made us line up together so she could take our picture. We were standing in front of the broken-up block and stone foundation where her Sri Lankan family's Habitat house had been.

Through an interpreter, she told us the story. Her father and brother were returning in their tiny catamaran from fishing in the lagoon in front of their house. The water was getting high, so they hurried. The brother ran inside yelling to his mother and sister to get out. The father caught a tree near the door and held on.

Manimala was rescued, but her mother was swept away by the waves and died. Her body was found two days later caught up in a thicket on the opposite shore of the lagoon behind their house.

Manimala grabbed my arm and walked me through the rubble to point out the place.

"My mother found there--died," she said. For a moment she struggled to put her thoughts into English. Then she added with a sad smile, "I like my mother very much."

Within days of the tsunami and for more than a month following, Kathryn Reid, a writer and editor for Habitat for Humanity International, traveled throughout Thailand, Sri Lanka and India documenting the stories of lives lost, families burdened and hope restored.

Under a coconut tree she showed me some fragments of fabric embedded in mud. There was a deep purple with a gold border design, a peacock blue and some others. "Those were my saris," she said, kneeling down to touch them. That's all the language we could share, but I imagined her mother helping her pick them, and when she was younger, showing her how to make the shoulder drape just right, and then telling her how pretty she looked.

I told her that I have a daughter, too. I know she understood when I put my hand on my heart and said, "A daughter is her mother's heart."

It's 4 a.m. and I'm lying on a mat on the floor of the Habitat affiliate office with a silly headlamp on my head, dripping tears in my notebook that's full of stories of human loss and strength. In a haunting sort of way, it has been a privilege to be here, a privilege to hear these very personal stories of loss and life and love and to share them with an audience of compassionate people throughout the world, people who will take these stories to heart.

--Kathryn Reid