A city rebuilds with elephants and prayer

"Things are going great," says Cmdr. Craig Yeager, overseeing the helicopter operations from a tarp-covered command post peppered with Pringles cans and Mountain Dew. "People have no idea how much coordination and planning it takes to pull something like this off."

For the hundreds of aid workers, journalists, and others visitors, simply finding a place to sleep can be a challenge. Samuel Sinar, whose family runs the Medan Hotel, emerges from the shadows to tell visitors his hotel has electricity, air conditioning, and beds - but no staff. "I have more than 200 rooms," he says. "But I have no workers to run the place."

The need for housing has spawned a group of spontaneous hosts - families eager to earn the top dollar outsiders are often willing to pay. Many also work as guides and drivers, earning more in a day than they usually could in a month. Those opening their homes have often lost relatives or businesses. "We love having the guests because it keeps our minds off the tragedy," says Ida Rasyid, who has housed Dutch and US journalists in her home, three miles in from the shore. She fixes them meals and offers melon drinks. "They give us income, make us laugh. They are a blessing."

Back near Ulee Lheule, those residents who fled are driving, biking, or simply walking to where their homes once stood. A man, his cousin, and two colleagues are collecting wood and nails to build a new structure, though they have no way to transport the pieces of timber, and no official permission to move forward. "We want to take control of our future and begin to build a new life," says Mohammed Rasyid Musa, a 67-year-old businessman who lost 20 relatives. "Usually, I would be cleaning my house for Sunday visitors. Now, I am trying to salvage boards for a future I cannot envision in a place I don't even know where."

His friend, Safrizal Idris, takes a sledgehammer to a wall, trying to salvage bricks. "They haven't told us where or when we can build, but we want to be ready," says Mr. Musa.

The sweltering heat and humidity are little deterrence. On one day, despite a chrome noon sun, two men are hard at work demolishing a house. "I'm the older of the two of us," says one man, wearing flip-flops and shorts. "That is why he has the sledgehammer and I tell him what to hit."

The structures that remain offer solace to many residents. Just blocks away at the center of town stands the giant Baiturrahman Mosque. Like several other mosques, it survived the waves - a blessing residents are quick to identify.

Five times a day, starting at 5 a.m., the call to prayer can be heard throughout the city. "The prayer services are islands of solace in this chaos," says a woman leaving the mosque. "Our conversations with Allah are what hold us together."

"It is a sign from God that the mosques were saved," says Siti Aisah, standing outside Masjid Bairurrahim Mosque, near the beach. "There is a message in all this that we should all be taking care to move closer to Him."

The call is heard in refugee camps as well. Beneath the canopy of Ara trees at the Posko 85 displaced persons' camp, Imam Zainun Tengku is getting ready for prayer.

Dragonflies flit, and half-tailed cats prance nearby as women kneel 12 feet behind the men in a makeshift mosque. Then over the microphone, come the words: "Almighty God, Almighty God. Let us gather to pray, let us gather to pray...."

Imam Tengku says every Muslim must now concentrate on moving forward and focus on prayer for clear direction.

Many residents say they are already moving into fresh relationships - with cousins, uncles, friends - that are filling the void of loss.

In the hills above Banda Aceh, 9-year-old Tiara Rezapahlevi is forging a new life with her grandmother. "It is a tragedy for her to lose her mother, and for me," says Marlian. "But I now have a new life with the gift of a new daughter. I am cherishing it." And at Posko 85, young friends play on a swing set made of rope and slats salvaged from the tsunami. "There is much to do here," says 12-year-old Rahmat Munadi, adding without hesitation: "We are happy."

Page: 1 | 2 | 3