Personal Reflection After 20 Years from the Indian Ocean Tsunami in 2004 in Aceh, Indonesia

It was 8:00 a.m. on Sunday, 26 December 2004. I was at home, starting what seemed like an ordinary day. Suddenly, the earth shook violently—a magnitude 9.1 earthquake, one of the strongest ever recorded. The walls of my house trembled as if they might crumble at any moment. The floor beneath me felt like a living thing, heaving and buckling. Panic consumed me as I stumbled out of the house, my heart racing.

Outside, the street had cracked. I saw neighbours standing barefoot and confused. Many were still in their pyjamas, their faces pale with fear. Some were crying, desperate to find family members still trapped inside crumbling homes. Children clung to their parents. The stench of sewage from burst septic tanks filled the air—a smell I will never forget.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was only the beginning of a disaster that would directly claim hundreds of thousands of lives.

Living in a region prone to earthquakes, we were no strangers to tremors. But this was different. This was chaos. The ground didn’t just shake—it roared. It was as if the earth itself was crying out.

I lived just 1.5 kilometres from the coast. About 10 minutes after the earthquake, panic turned into confusion as people began shouting about a massive wave. I heard someone yell, "The sea is coming!" My legs froze, but my mind raced. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, we all started to run, and the wave swallowed everything in its path: homes, trees, cars, and people.

The tsunami claimed over 230,000 lives across 14 countries. In Aceh alone, entire villages were wiped from the map. Families were torn apart in an instant, and the places we once called home became unrecognisable.

The Aftermath: A Blur of Survival

The days and months that followed were a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I moved from one emergency shelter to another for six months, searching for my sister and relatives, clinging to hope even as despair slowly set in.

I survived on food provided by charities and relief agencies, eating because I had to, not because I felt hungry. Nights were the hardest. Lying on the cold ground, surrounded by strangers who were now my community, I often wondered if life would ever feel normal again.

At the shelter, we were all the same. We had lost everything—the people we loved, the homes we built, and the wealth we had worked so hard for. We were left with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the shared pain of survival.

I am thankful to have found my sister alive after a long and desperate search.

Two Questions That Still Haunt Me

Every day, I wrestled with two haunting questions:

1. Could more lives have been saved?
2. What could I have done differently with the money I had to ensure I had something to fall back on?

These questions stayed with me, echoing in my mind even as I tried to rebuild my life. They shaped how I think about disaster risk reduction and the critical importance of financial preparedness in the face of life’s uncertainties.

These questions have shaped the work I do today, fueling my curiosity and driving me to help others prepare for and recover from disasters. They remind me of the hard lessons I’ve learned and my responsibility to make a difference.

What Could I Have Done Differently?

Life became brutally clear as I relied on the kindness and support of others, both inside and outside the shelters. During those difficult days, I realised two important lessons—things I could have done better to prepare for the unexpected.

1. Knowing Which Direction to Run for Evacuation

When the earthquake struck, confusion reigned. In the chaos, many people ran towards the coast, following familiar roads that tragically led them closer to danger. Lives could have been saved if we had known which direction to run and what to do.

Evacuation drills and education on disaster response are not luxuries; they are necessities. After the disaster, efforts were made to establish evacuation areas and signs, but the lack of regular simulations left people vulnerable. In moments of shock, we don’t think—we follow what’s ingrained. Without practice, even the best plans fail.

This is why drills and education must become a regular part of our lives, especially in disaster-prone areas.

2. Reducing Physical Assets and Transferring Risks

My parents were farmers, and they taught me the value of hard work and saving. As a child, I learned about investing through a small loan my mother gave me—a female duck. I cared for that duck, and soon it produced eight eggs and ducklings. We divided them—four for me and four for her. Over time, I built a small flock and eventually expanded to goats. This small lesson in resourcefulness stayed with me and became the foundation for how I approached saving and investing later in life.

As I grew older and moved to the city, I continued this practice to save and invest money. I entrusted goats to others under the same profit-sharing arrangement. It was a system that worked—until the tsunami struck. The caretakers lost everything, including the goats, leaving us with nothing.

Looking back, I realise the fragility of relying solely on physical assets like goats—the tsunami wiped everything away. I should have diversified my savings, keeping some in a bank and purchasing an insurance policy. This experience taught me that no matter how self-reliant we think we are, unforeseen disasters can strip us of everything.

Gratitude and Reflection

Those days were some of the darkest in my life, but I will always be grateful to my family and the strangers who reached out to help me. They gave me hope when I had none and showed me that even in the hardest times, kindness and humanity can shine through.

My mother once told me, 'The past is in our mind, but the future is in our hands.' She also said, 'Every step you take carries my prayers.' Her words have been my guiding light, pushing me forward when all I wanted was to give up.

I am incredibly thankful to have met kind people, including the director from my previous work. He supported me during those difficult times—a mentor who helped me rise, walk, and eventually fly.

I am deeply grateful to my colleagues and friends, who have supported me along the way and helped shape who I am today, both personally and professionally.

Since 2004, December has always been a hard month. As 26 December approaches each year, I am flooded with memories—of fear, pain, and loss. But I am also filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the life I have rebuilt, for the lessons I have learned, and for the resilience I discovered within myself.

I am thankful, I am hopeful, and I carry these lessons with me every day as I strive to create a safer, more resilient future for others.