My first visit to the South after the Tsunami had struck was an emotionally loaded experience. On Thursday, I had the first meeting with board members of the different women's societies. Appachi (the affectionate and reverential title given to an older man) who had donated land to the Small Fishers Federation for a community centre was there in a seat in the front row. But I hardly recognised him. His face was pale, ashen. His eyes were drawn in, shrouded. He sat there motionless. He only stared at me; his eyes didn't blink, but tears rose out of the corners, forming a stream over his cheeks. He didn't wipe the tears away. Appachi had gone to his daughter's place, with his wife, for an important occasion. His first granddaughter, being 18 months old, was to get her first solid food (after breast milk). The Buddhist priest had determined the auspicious time at 09h30. Just as the grandmother wanted to feed the first solid food to her grand daughter, the Tsunami struck. Grandmother, daughter and granddaughter disappeared, as well as the son-in-law and a second daughter. Appachi was saved by the wave that threw him into the crown of a palm tree. For two days he searched backwards and forwards along the beach, to and fro, with the thought in his mind, growing ever stronger, to make an end to his own life as well.

Sansi normally sits next to Appachi in the first row. Sansi had lost her husband and only son at sea, some years ago. Her only daughter committed suicide after her father's death. Still, Sansi was the bow-head of the fisher widows; and not only locally. Today, though, I had to look for her: she had tried to conceal herself in a corner. She sat, head stooped, and maintained this pose during the entire meeting.  She had lost in the Tsunami her only two sisters and 7 other family members. Her eyes were big and dry, no water left for tears. 

Visiting the villages was a shocking experience. How many times did I hear: "On this spot the house of member Mrs So-and-so used to stand." Now both Mrs So-and-so and the house were gone. Around midday, we were in Matara, where Sansi is the chair person. After lunch we had a meeting. Sansi sat in the first row. Initially she didn't utter a word, but as the meeting progressed, she became active. By the end of the meeting, she had taken the helm again. We looked at each other with a veiled smile. I told them that  
Terre des Hommes will support the fisher women through their women's bank.   Slowly the notion sank in.  Fisher women are, in reality, outcasts in this part of the world. And although during the past years they had gained some confidence in themselves, as members of a society, they had quickly reverted to their traditionally subservient role because of the catastrophe that happened to them.  I told the women that when I mentioned to a friend that Terre des Hommes was going to give an amount in cash per month to fisher families for their basic needs, he asked me if I had a screw loose: the first landing stage for a fisherman would be the public house. Some faces looked disturbed, some showed a tiny smile. And slowly the women raised their heads. They promised that funds routed through the women's bank would be utilised properly, for the entire family. They pledged that they would let neither me nor Terre des Hommes down. I believe them.

Sansi attended the conference in London on Widows Without Rights in 2003 with Anu the Director of the Small Fishers' Federation (working for widows) of Sri Lanka. She came with Anu Wickeramsinga, the Director of the SSFI.  When we heard fromn Anu that Sansi had been killed by the tsunami the trustees did a whip around to support the children of those widows carried away by the sea.  Later we heard that Sansi had been discovered recouperating from her injuries in a hospital some distance from her home.   Although she was alive, many of her family members were killed.   The Trustees funds will support 57 widows and the children of some of the widows who were washed away.   We are now in contact with Anu to see whether we can support the widows through their bank.