HAVING biscuits and a hot cup of tea and looking out to the open sea sounds like the ultimate relaxation plan for many, me included.
But, take a second to include a few things in that picture.
Like the fact that it’s raining and there’s a bucket and a jug in front of you, catching water that’s leaking through the roof.
And in your view out to the open sea, you have a beach strewn with debris from clothes to home appliances, timber, furniture and the list goes on.
And instead of a quiet time to enjoy your hot cuppa, you have the excited chatter of people around you, all wanting to share their experiences about the moment Severe TC Winston slammed into Fiji with 320km per hour winds.
That’s the welcome I received from villagers of Nayavutoka in the district of Nakorotubu in Ra.
There’s really no other way to find out how those in cyclone-ravaged areas are faring unless and until you live like them.
Or at least attempt to, even if for a day and night.
Entering the village more than 50 days after Severe TC Winston, the first impression you get is that life has moved on, people have rebuilt apart from the few who continue to live in tents scattered throughout the village.
Children appear to be happy, running around playing tag while a few others stand on the sea wall fishing.
The ideal village life that is so welcoming and so relaxing.
Oh how very wrong first impressions can be!
All of these thoughts and assumptions quickly disappeared once I started interacting with everyone on a personal basis.
My intention was to spend a day and night at this village, talking about rebuilding and rehabilitation, trying not to focus too much on the past.
But try as I did, conversations always led back to that terrifying night that claimed two lives in this village.
Situated on the foot of a hill, Nayavutoka Village was one of the worst affected by Severe TC Winston.
Villagers kept recalling how they were stranded between strong winds and tidal surges.
Survival stories are too many, but there were also stories of tragedy and death that keep haunting this village.
“What you think you see here is happiness,” said village headman Timoci Nabogibogi, pointing to a group of men laughing over a lunch of rice and split peas (dhal), food that is most common in cyclone-affected communities.
“Anyone who saw this would think we’re OK, but in reality, inside our hearts, we are still hurting very much. Every time we close our eyes, we remember that night and what we went through, what we lost and we get very emotional,”
There’s a usual trend in the coastal village right now.
While the men concentrate on clearing debris and rebuilding, for the women, it’s an early start to a day filled with uncertainty.
“It’s very hard,” cried an emotional Anaseini Lavataki.
“Especially for us women. Every day we have to worry about what we will cook for lunch or for dinner. We have received food rations from the Government, but that doesn’t last very long.”
At low tide, it’s a common sight to see men and women lined up along the edge of the reef, fishing for their next meal.
What makes it even harder is that tidal surges on the night of the cyclone demolished their coral reef, ripping large boulders and coral from the seabed and scattering them along the top of the reef, destroying the homes of marine life that villagers relied on.
“Before we would catch nice big fish over a short span of time, but now, we can stand and fish for hours and return home with just a few small ones,” said Mere Tinai.
“It’s difficult, but we continue to pray and be thankful for what God has provided for us.”
It took me a little over two hours to walk around the village and farms to see first-hand the damage sustained from Severe TC Winston.
And everywhere we went, there was always a story to tell.
Take for instance mother-of-two Asilina Waibuca, who trembles when she recalls the night she had to make one of the hardest decisions of her life.
“We were sheltering in our house that’s close to the sea with my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law and my grandmother-in-law,” she told me. “All the men in the house were out assisting the elderly and those whose houses were blown away.
“We had all hidden under the bed and all of a sudden, we were hit by the first tidal surge.
“When I realised what was happening, I quickly told everyone that we had to run to higher ground.
“We didn’t have much time and by the time we jumped out of the windows, the water was up to our chests. I looked back and saw our grandmother still under the bed, her hands trying to claw her way out from the debris that had already engulfed her. We all wanted to go back for her, but I told them if we go back we will all die. If it’s God’s will that this is her time, then it will be. It was either we saved ourselves, or try to save her and die with her.”
The 98-year-old drowned that night.
This is just one of the many stories of despair that’s prevalent throughout the village.
The trauma is still very much evident and by the looks of it, it will take generations for it to finally subside.
“We still live in leaking houses and we barely have anything to eat,” said Mr Nabogibogi.
“We have to properly ration our food and keep hoping for some good Samaritan to continue to help us. We’re even more worried now that since the floods that came with cyclone Zena, all efforts will go towards the flood victims and we might be forgotten.
“All we can do is hope and pray that the assistance to rebuild our homes will arrive soon. That’s the only way that our people will be able to rebuild their lives, when they have a proper home that’s not leaking and that’s safe to live in.”
