Colombo, Sri Lanka—Dr. Putu Listrianai Wistawan and I arrived in Colombo, Sri Lanka at 2 a.m. and then took a one-hour drive to the hotel. I wrote my journal and climbed into bed about 5 a.m. My body clock was way off—too many time zones in too few days. Dr. Listriani and I have been moving fast and sleep when we either fall down or are traveling in cars.

When we awoke after a few fitful hours of sleep, we spent the morning on the telephone coordinating with Dr. Wayan Mudiarta who was heading the Aceh advance team. Dr. Wayan, a veterinarian with the Bali Street Dog Foundation, was getting supplied and outfitted in Medan, just southwest of Aceh, before moving onto the hard-hit province. He was trying to rent a four-wheel drive vehicle, but discovered all goods were in short supply. He finally found a vehicle, but couldn't get it insured to travel to Banda Aceh, which is still considered a war zone. We had no choice. We had to go without any insurance and hope that it didn't get wreaked or hijacked by GAM rebels in the region.

At 1:30 p.m., we met with Bob Blumberg, Anusia David (a one woman show in Sri Lanka animal welfare), Dr. Sumith, director for the National Livestock Board Sri Lanka and director of the Pets V Care animal hospital. We had lost a day in Phuket, Thailand dealing with the dolphin rescue, so we had to shorten the schedule (but not the agenda items) on this end. This wasn't a problem for Bob and Anusia who were more than up for the challenge.

Our first stop was Payagala, about one hour south of Colombo. This use to be a fishing village before it was wiped out by the tsunami. We wanted to look at several issues:

1. The relationship between the displaced families and the dogs. Some recent reports about stray and starving dogs attacking survivors in southern India has put a scare in us all.

2. The possibility of developing programs for emergency care and rabies vaccination, all dispensed from a central location.

3. The possibility of developing a treat-and-release field program for animals.

4. The impact the tsunami has had on livestock and farm animals.

HSI generally prefers working with established animal welfare groups. In this case it was Pet V Care, which has 14 veterinarians and four mobile units working on the relief effort. We departed at 2 p.m. for a one-hour drive south along the coast to Payagala.

Once there, we met with the chief investigator with the local police and explained our mission. He was very accommodating and understood immediately the link between the people and their animals. He said they needed help and assigned us an officer to take us through the village, and thanked us for caring enough about the families who had lost everything, including their pets and farm animals.

Payagala is a sleepy little village with small concrete block homes set among thick green foliage and palm trees. It certainly didn't look like it was one of the hardest-hit areas. That is, until we turned off the main road and onto a dirt track towards the beach. Our time in Phuket, Thailand did not prepare me for what lay ahead. The homes were piles of rubble.

Whereas in Phuket, the destruction was mostly to businesses, hotels, and restaurants, the devastation here had a personal face to it. The villagers were doing the best they could to sort through the rubble without any help or heavy equipment. Piles of what couldn't be salvaged were beginning to take shape. Personal belongings, bricks, wood, twisted metal, and clothing were being sorted with the hope of salvaging anything that might be useful in the rebuilding their lives. Dogs were sniffing and searching, circling the ruins which once were their homes. Cats sat among the rubble, obviously missing the high posts that they once perched on.

This fishing village used to rest between the main road and the beach. Now, the only distinctive feature left is the twisted railroad tracks and ties that bisect the community. The heavy iron tracks were bent and misshapen seemingly as easy as warm taffy, a testament to the force of the tsunami. Walking through what remained of the village, we were in awe of the destruction. I noticed a small play tea set, children's sandals, and family pictures torn from frames—signs of life forever part of history now.

And in the middle of all this sat forlorn and confused dogs and cats.

Our next stop was to a makeshift refuge camp filled with women, older men, and children. The children were restless and without toys. Dr. Listriani had thoughtfully brought along some animal puppets used by the Bali Street Dog Foundation in its animal awareness school programs (sponsored by WSPA). The kids went wild. We thought we were going to be crushed as they pushed and shoved to get the little presents. It was a joy to see these children possessing the kind of resilience and spirit that only youth seem to have. My heart was lifted.

We moved on, and some pigs and chickens caught my attention. I followed them into a cemetery, the only thing remaining in this fishing area. It was scary. Headstones were ripped from the graves while pigs rooted for something to eat. As I made my way through the cemetery a man approached me. His warm face was so engaging that I just wanted to throw my arms around him. He asked me why I was interested in his pigs, and I told him why I was there. Self-consciously, I extended my hand in condolences, which seemed so inappropriate. He squeezed my hand, and did not let go while he told me the story of his pigs. It went like this.

The fishing is seasonal so the pigs and chickens get the family through from one season to the next. The day of the tsunami started out no different than any other. When the wave came in without warning, he frantically tried to rescue his wife and children. Before the tsunami there were about 1,000 pigs in the village. About half of them perished. Those remaining ended up on the road—the high ground—dazed but safe. All night long, he helped his severely injured wife, and searched for his two children who he found dead among the rubble. The next morning, still stricken with grief, he decided to retrieve his remaining pigs which he needed more then ever. When he and the other villagers went up to the road, they were surprised to find that all of the pigs were gone—apparently stolen by bandits in the night.

The tears swelled up in his eyes as he explained that he has lost everything—his children, his boat, his house, his animals, and his very means of survival. He gave me his address in hopes that I could send him a copy of the photos that we had taken of us, along with the surviving children happily waving their animal puppets.

M. Lal Gamini

Cemetery Road

Kalamulla, Sri Lanka