After the Earthquake, the Tsunami Hit

October 10, 2009
We arrive dawn, October 10 after the Tsunami; Memorial service for Danny off SV Mainly; Garry’s fragment of a long story framed in seconds of time; The little blue bus driver’s story; White Sunday; We take our leave from the devastation; Epilogue

We arrive dawn, October 10 after the tsunami

An earthquake in the magnitude of 8.1 on the Richter scale 120 miles SW of American Samoa, followed by a Tsunami has demolished Pago Pago September 29, and taken a toll on many lives. 143 people dead in American Samoa, 150 dead in Apia, and unknown losses in Tonga Tapu are approximate statistics.

I stand my watch before daybreak, motor sailing parallel to the entrance of the island of Tutuila, American Samoa. The waves crash on the reefs and I pay attention to the blinking light on the point and scan the sky for light. I want this night to end.

Russ emerges from the companionway.

“We’re going in.” he says.

My adrenalin always peaks at these times. Down with the sails and start motoring in. The waves crash on the reefs on either side. Suddenly the engine stops!!!! Panic! Get in high gear!!! Turn into the wind toward the reefs!!! Haul up that main! Fall off!!!!!!! Just in time. Unfurl the headsail.

My stomach is in my throat. We sail into the bay. Pull in the headsail, turn into the wind. Let the main sail sheet go. Anchor on the run. Pull the main down. Too much of too much happening in too little time. The lines are all over the place, the main sail hangs over the boom in disarray. Helter skelter.

Phillip and Leslie off SV Carina, from WA state dinghy over to say there will be a memorial service on the dock at 9:00 AM for Danny Olszewski off SV Mainly, from Florida. We had heard Danny was washed off the wharf while trying to untie his lines and make for deep water as it receded from the bay. But the water returned with a vengeance and took him into its powerful turbulence and he was never seen again.

I step down into their dinghy and go ashore, while Russ gets ready to check in with immigration.

Memorial service for Danny of SV Mainly


A bouquet of ginger flowers for Danny, in remembrance.

On the wharf this October 10, Thursday morning, Joan—Danny’s wife-- and her two handsome sons, Wade and Cole, stand by each other lending strength on the Malaloa Yacht Basin wharf, the very wharf from which the Tsunami swept Danny away. Samoans attend giving strong support and empathy.


Danny’s wife, Joan, and her two sons Wade and Cole lend each other strength. Samoans give their support and empathy. In the background, the SV Sunshine is high and dry next to another having been thrown up on the wharf.

Yachts people gather. A van drives up—ironically alongside two overturned sailboats now high and dry-- and opens back doors to take out beautiful bouquets of flowers.

A group of Samoans, impeccably dressed, stand by out of respect. One of the ladies gives Joan a crown of flowers, and Wade and Cole a lei of very special blue flowers that only bloom this time of year and are scarce to find. Joan looks frail, yet strong.

“Today we are not going to be sad. We are going to celebrate. This is what Danny would have wanted.” She says bravely. She hands out his collection of sea nuts from a jar and asks that we throw them into the water after them, when they leave for the burial at sea.

An empty stretcher on wheels is set in place on the wharf as the small group gathers around it. A Samoan holds a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Then another van arrives. The doors open and 6 hefty, chunky men with gloves and boots on lift the body of Danny onto the stretcher. A sheet covers his seemingly small body. He is laid on a board covered withTapa cloth, made from the bark of a mulberry tree.

A magnificent bouquet of ginger flowers is laid on his breast. We can feel his presence. Joan bows her head. He has lived his life—a gentleman sailor.


Dick off SV Ms Pauline and Samoan community members feel the loss and Danny’s presence.

Joan stretches her arms out toward her husband and speaks words in his memory. Wade and Cole stand by her side and take their turns to remember their Dad too. Dubis and Joe off SV Jubilee are close friends. Leslie and Philip of SV Carina and others add their presence and support.


Joan stretches her arms out toward her husband and speaks words in his memory. Her sons Wade and Cole stand by her side. Yachts people attend in respect for a fellow sailor. Those last three to the right are Joe of SV Jubilee, Philip and Leslie off SV Carina. Dubis in purple is also off SV Jubilee.


The Samoan minister, Reverend Ekitoa Sopoaga, officiates at the service.

The officiating Samoan minister, Reverend Ekitoa Sopoaga, is tall as his fellow “brothers”. Tall in stature as a redwood tree: strong, centered. He speaks words of comfort .

The Samoans break out in song so pure so heavenly so uplifting: in harmony a capello style. Strong instruments of melodic island voices carry the spirit of life. We are all silenced. Voices of angels are with us. They sing in their language--

“Folau I luga o le vasa o Lona alofa
Folau I luga o le vasa Lona alofa
Sa’oloto, sa’oloto ei o se lue
Folau I luga o le vasa o lona alofa.”
“Sailing on the sea of His love
Sailing on the sea of His love
Free, free as a dove
Sailing on the sea of His love.”

Joan’s cousin--who so happens to be a principal of a school in American Samoa and had her house destroyed in the Tsunami—reads this poem by Henry Van Dyke entitled Gone from Sight:

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her
White sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her
Until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud,
Just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says,
“There she is gone.”
Gone where?
Gone from sight—that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
As when she left my side, and she is able to bear
Her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
“There she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout,
“Here she comes!”


Danny in the police boat engulfed by flowers, with his precious family and a few friends is ready to be laid to rest in peace at sea. The gentleman to the right is the husband to Joan’s cousin.

The Samoans then take Danny’s body and lower it onto the floor of a police boat and family and a few friends get in and don life jackets. They are going out the very pass we have just come in through, to lead Danny to his final resting place at sea.

We cast flowers into the boat and throw the sea nuts into the bay as they leave. And in the distance they all became mere specs as are we in this universe. And we seem to hear a voice saying 'hear he comes.'

Garry’s fragment of a long story framed in seconds of time

I see Garry off SV Biscayne Bay. It is the first time I have seen him since Suwarrow, and I put my arms around him and hug him. He tells a fragment of a long story framed in seconds of time.

“It was a beautiful, calm early morning. A perfect day. Who would suspect bedlam was about to begin………an earthquake followed by a Tsunami.

After the earthquake, the earth shifted and the water receded from the bay and then filled back in with a wave 30 ft high!!! It swept people away: off the wharf, out of their homes, out of this little pizza shop, and the tool shop on the other side of the wharf. I saw people drowning all around me!

Joan, Danny’s wife, was in shock at the helm of their boat as the Tsunami hit. Danny was gone. He was on the wharf and had caste off two lines with only one more line to go so that they could take Mainly to deep water, when he was swept away. He was there one minute, and gone the next. I ran to their boat and threw her the last line. Go!!!!!!!! I yelled. And she revved the engine and took the boat to deep water all alone.

When the water started to rapidly recede, Biscayne Bay was virtually hanging by the lines from the wharf on her side, and then the lines started popping: zing, zing, zing. Lisa crawled up on top of the bimini and onto the boom and clawed her way up a tire onto the dock just in time.

Wayne on SV Learnativity threw us his tiny dog, Ruby, and took off for deep water. Lisa, my 11-yr-old son Jacob holding on to Ruby, Chris (our Canadian crewman), and I all held onto the same wharf telephone pole as the monstrous wave of water rushed back over our heads. We hung on under that water for dear life!

Once emerged, we saw Galavanter sailing right over the wharf headed toward us, but missing us by a slim line of luck.” Garry went on, his eyes wide. “Our boat took off and was beached at the end of the bay. Galavanter went out to the deep unscathed.

Another young woman hung on to the second telephone pole and also survived as the boat she was on left her standing on the wharf and took off for deep water.

There were bodies floating all around. Cars on 2nd stories of buildings. Boats were sailing down the road hitting telephone poles, boats were careening out of control over the wharf. All this happening while we hung on to that pole. How we didn’t get killed was a miracle.” He was animated in a serious way, reliving the experience.

“When the water subsided, I rowed our dinghy down to the end of the bay for all my worth. With the help of the outboard motor, Chris, and Jacob we manhandled Biscayne Bay back into water. An amazing feat of determination got me tied back up alongside the dock.

Joan was still out there after three hours doing circles in deep water. I went out in my dinghy to get her and she drove the boat alongside the dock like a pro.”

“Did you hear?” Joan said. Danny is gone. We both broke down and sobbed.”

Other yachts people’s stories

“It was 6:50 AM September 29. The people of Samoa were having breakfast or taking their children to school or going to work or having coffee on their boats anchored in the bay, or tied to the wharf. It was a perfect day. Sunny and calm.

It was like this: RRRRRRRRRR, like a huge prop turning out of sync.” Mike off the SV Tribute from Honolulu tries to imitate the sound. “And it went on for 3 minutes! RRRRRRRRRR.” He imitates the sound.

“When the earthquake hit, I went online and Hawaii said we would not be impacted by a tidal wave, so I made that announcement on VHF16. Then it hit us catastrophically.” Lou on SV Sunshine says sadly, with his head cocked to the side and bent down as if he were partly to blame for the loss. He and his family, and some fellow yachts people sit in the shade of a derelict hull, now indeed wrecked, leaning over on its side high and dry on the wharf. Lou’s boat, too, is high and dry on its side next to it on the wharf.

“Virtually all we own was looted by some young Samoans. Even my good clothes I was going to wear to find a job are gone. And all our important papers. What would they want with our important papers?” Lou asked. He is a quiet, gentle school teacher from Arizona.


Lou and his daughter and Thai wife at his side. Their SV Sunshine is caste high and dry on the wharf next to this derelict; Dick and Margie off SV MS Pauline come away with little damage; and Popeye from Poland off another boat, now wrecked, sit in the shade of the derelict hull trying to face reality.

“I’m going back to Poland. I will never sail again in my life!” Popeye says bitterly.

“My boat is so far ashore down by the Mormon church in Pago Pago. And some young Samoans, an exception to the rule, took everything! All my possessions! Gone!” He is angry. “I want to go and live near a forest and plant a garden far, far, far from the sea.”

“My boat, Tulag, was sailing down the main road toward the end of the bay in Pago, hitting telephone poles as it went with the surge of the big wave! The rigging and mast came down all around me!!” Steve said wide-eyed.

“I stayed aboard for awhile to guard my boat. But at night young hoodlums would come with panga knives, banging on the hull, threatening me until I walked away from it all with the shirt on my back.” He talked as if he was shell shocked.


Steve’s boat ‘Tulag’ sailed down the road hitting power lines before landing high and dry in Pago Pago. He had to walk away from it because of hoodlums threatening him with knives.

“We got T-boned by a fishing boat.” Randy and Cheryl off SV Caribee from Clinton, Arkansas say. They were the first people who responded to our radio call when we came into Samoa. Nothing is too much to ask of Cheryl. She stands by those who lost more than she did. Randy just keeps working away at repairing Caribee.

A father and son on the SV Eva dragged anchor toward shore. “I told Robert to jump into the bay devoid of water, grab that anchor and run as fast as he possibly could with it, as far as the chain would allow, before placing it. And then run as FAST as he could back to the boat.” The father expounds. “ Believe it or not he did this all in his underpants alone! That was all he had on that early in the morning. When the water came back in we winched the boat up to the anchor.” Robert’s father told us later.

“We heard there would be an aftershock, so ran for the hills. Robert was still in his underpants! We were running for our lives!! A Samoan lady wrapped a cloth around him for the sake of modesty.” Eva left Samoa that day.


Boats dragging anchor and pushed to the end of the bay at Pago Pago (photo Caribee).


Bedlam in the bay at Pago Pago (photo Caribee).


Gogosina is left high and dry after the water level recedes back to ‘normal’.


Another boat is left high and dry after the water level recedes back to normal (photo Caribee).


A house is lifted off its foundation and bent like a bow by the mighty force.


No looting. Sadly some did take place. But for the most part the Samoans were staunch, helping each other, giving strength and food and water and light.


The end result of a joyless ride.

The little blue bus driver’s story

We board a little blue bus to go and get provisions for Zulu. Its windows are designed without glass for the breeze to cool the passengers. The young driver in his early twenties sits low in his seat with broad shoulders and baggy pants on down to his knees. Inside a blue blanket with a picture of two puppies on it hang across the space above the front windshield.

“I will take you to do a big shop and bring you back.” The driver says when he knows where we were going and why.

“How did you do in the Tsunami?” he very quietly asks as he pulls his little bus into the traffic flow.

“We were not here for it. How about you? “ Russ asks.

“I only lost my little brother.” He says so quietly with pain written all over his face, and with a long silence following.

“What happened?” I ask quietly. He looks ahead as he drives. It takes a while before he speaks again.

“I took him to the school at the end of the bay in Pago early that morning. There was no warning of an earthquake or a tidal wave. I did not hear anything on the radio. Then I felt it. The whole earth shook. I could not drive fast enough to go back and get him. There was no time. I could see a Tsunami was coming. The water in the bay was going out.

Later I heard the teachers took the kids high up the mountain. I drove up there as soon as I could. But when I got there, he was not there. He was missing.” His face turned sad, stone like, scared as if in shock.

“How old was he?” I ask.

“Two years old.”

“Did they find his body?”

“Yes we have the body and will prepare for the funeral.”

“What is your name?”

“Lua.” It means number 2.

We get to the store and I go shopping in a hurry, as I do not want to keep Lua waiting long. He finds me in the store and offers to push the cart for me. I fill the cart as fast as I can: spinach, carrots, beets, tomatoes, cucumbers, canned goods, bread, crackers, juices etc.

“Go and choose a juice for you Lua” I say.

He helps put all in boxes and loads them into his little bus.

Besides us he has one passenger waiting in the bus. It is his last passenger and a neighbour. He, too, is headed home.

“I am 35 and in all these years I never seen a Tsunami.” The passenger keeps repeating as he empties one Coors Light after the next!” You want a Coors Light?” He asks.

“No thank you.” We say.

“I drink Coors Light because the other beers make me fall asleep.” He slurs a bit and his eyeballs wonder around in their sockets somewhat before finding center point.”

“I got candles because we got no power. I have a wife and two little children.“ A look of quiet responsibility comes over him. “I also got some mussels.” And he holds the package up for us to see with a smile.

“How do you cook them?” Russ asks.

“With soya sauce on the fire.”

He is late getting home, because of us. Lua keeps driving. It is about a 45 minute drive back. The passenger’s cell phone rings. A women’s voice blasts out reading him the riot act. His eyes wonder some more in their sockets. This time taking longer to find center point.

“This is my wife.” The passenger says pointing to the cell phone. “It is getting dark in Pago Pago soon and she wants the candles.”

The phone rings again. He checks the number before answering. “This is my big brother.” He advises us.

“Hello Hello Hello??? The battery is dead!” For the moment he is off the hook.

We drive along the seaside. It all looks so serene. We drive through a park.

“There is the monkey house.” The passenger points to a house with guards and barbed wire. “

“They’re building a big Monkey House”. He spreads his arms as wide as he can. Then shakes his head and takes another drink of Coors Light. Lua keeps driving and sips on his cold drink, looking in the rear mirror now and again to see how the passengers are doing.

“I’ve never, never seen a Tsunami before in my life! The water was gone from the bay and then pheww it came in and all of Pago is gone!!” He shakes his head and is wide eyed as if it all happened minutes ago.

Lua drives his bus right up on the wharf and helps unload the 6 boxes of groceries. Our small dinghy is there waiting to be loaded.

“Lua you are # 1, not number 2.” I say.

“No, I’m number 3.” He says smiling sadly. “I go home now.” He gave us the Samoan handshake: hand against hand and fist against fist, but so very gently. His eyes are red. He sees me looking at them.

“They are red from the wind when I drive.” He says. “And from my tears.”

The little blue bus leaves with the letters on the side-- Lord Jesus.

White Sunday


White Sunday is a day to recognize all the children of the island.


The children are dressed in their white finery, ready to be lead into the church by their teachers.

This Sunday morning is called White Sunday. It is a day to recognize all the children of the island. They all dress up in white finery, and celebrate in the churches mostly through song.

I approach the church. Outside the children are gathered looking like they truly descended from heaven. Teachers are dressed in pale peach native costume of long skirts and long tailored tops. Their hair is up in buns or plaited and adorned with orchids or plumeria.

“Let me shake your hand.” A women in a gray outfit says to me. “I am Miss Samoa and Miss Universe.” She mentions a year when she was crowned that I do not catch. I show my pleasure at meeting her and others usher me into the church wanting some details about me so the minister can acknowledge my visit.

I sit close to the front and soon the little children file in in their finery, followed by older children in the Samoan costume. All the dresses are ankle length and shoes glitter and some have little heels—even some of the tiniest tots have heels. Pearl necklaces, crowns. Some of the boys wear seed necklaces or sea urchin spines, some ties with white shirts and calf-length white lava lavas.

They file back and forth onto the stage by age groups and lift their voices to the heavens with all the zest and sincerity and joy they can muster. The theme is Ola Isle Alofa, which translates into Live to Love.

They sway and move their arms in different formations, sometimes in island dance fashion-–always smiling so wide—singing with all their hearts. The service is long and the children are given sweets to tie them over.

The preacher welcomes me by name and boat, and prays. He is tall and elderly and subdued.

More singing and praying. Then the choir leader, a woman of redwood tree stature with a solid neck begins to read off names in Samoan. It is a long, long list of names. Toward the end she has to stop awhile to gain composure. She chokes up. The tears stream down her cheeks and she sniffs loudly into the microphone—and sniffs again and again to prevent herself from breaking down in tears. She is reading the names of those members of the church who were lost. Gone from the great wave.

The preacher prays for those lost. And the children sing in quieter voice in closing. There is so much more than words can tell-- more to the eye that can see. So much preparation was put into this recognition service. There is reverence, respect, happiness shown, and a truth expressed in the clearest and most beautiful medium of song. Ola Isle Alofa. Live in Love.


A little boy in his white lava lava decides to leave his station on the stage and go his own way.


Little boys and girls line up to go on stage and sing their hearts out. They watch for their teacher’s cue.


Next the young adults walk down the aisle singing joyfully as they make for the stage.


Two sweetheart little girls pose for me after the White Sunday service ends.

We take our leave from the devastation

It is time to take our leave from the devastation. I walk the last time along the waterfront of Fagatogo, the small town up from Pago. A rusty blue inter-island boat readies to leave for Apia, Western Samoa. It heels over to starboard from the weight of the passengers who gather on deck to say goodbye to their American Samoan families and friends.

They do this in song. First the passengers on deck sing with all their heart and soul. Then those standing on shore sing in response with all their heart and soul. It is such a touching sight. I stand and listen to the powerful voices singing in exchange a farewell.

Then the lines are caste and black smoke escapes the stacks. Reciprocal waving and singing continues until the boat becomes a spec. Until it is ‘gone from sight’.

I think of Danny Olszewski off SV Mainly, laid to rest beyond the pass, his life lived, a gentleman sailor. ‘Gone from sight’. Of Lua’s little brother. ‘Gone from sight’. Of the long list of names read--in a trembling voice--of those church members whose lives were lost by the great wave. ‘Gone from sight’. Of all the unknown souls lost in American Samoa, Western Samoa, and Tonga Tapu. ‘Gone from sight’.

I think of all the property damaged and physical possessions destroyed: SV Biscayne Bay, SV Sunshine, SV Tulag and so many, many more. Homes and businesses destroyed.

I go back in my mind’s eye to the ominous stormy skies when we left Bora Bora and to the ketch passing us like a ghost in the night, that must have been Biscayne Bay, and to the lanterns on Maupiti that were lit to scare the ghosts away. Did the light of the lanterns only fall on one of those boats?

The sun is setting and I must walk on into my future. I tarry awhile longer and think of a quote from the author of The Other Side of the River—Alex Kotlowitz as he comments on the book Isaac’s Storm in 1900 by Erik Larson.

He says of the book and the storm: it is a tale that reminds us that there are forces at work out there well beyond our control, and maybe even well beyond our understanding.

Indeed. This is the truth.

Epilogue

SV Carina with Leslie and Phillip on board spent the cyclone season in Vavau, Tonga.

SV Mainly was sold to an Australian and Joan returned to her home in Melbourne, Florida with one of her sons. Her other son returned to his home and job and family.

SV Jubilee with Joe and Dubis on board spent the cyclone season in Lautoka, Fiji, which got hit by a hurricane. His outcome is unknown.

SV Biscayne Bay was sold to an American in Samoa. Garry and Lisa returned to Western Australia--via Aggie Gray’s in Apia and a drive east to west overland in Oz--to new beginnings. Jacob preceded them in returning home. Before they left, Garry’s mother came to visit them and kissed the pole that saved their lives.

SV Learnativity is somewhere in the Pacific with Wayne and Ruby, his little dog, on board.

SV Galavanter is somewhere in the Pacific with his wife and sweet son, and Lucky the cat on board.

SV Tribute is cruising somewhere in the Pacific with Mike on board.

SV Tulag is back in the water in American Samoa with Steve on board.

SV Sunshine is back in the water in American Samoa with Lou and his family on board.

Popeye is apparently back in Poland, perhaps planting his garden close to the forest.

SV Ms Pauline with Dick and Margie on board spent the cyclone season in NZ.

SV Caribee with Cheryl and Randy on board spent the cyclone season in NZ.

SV Eva with Robert and his Dad on board spent the cyclone season in NZ.

SV Zulu with yours truly Marilyn and Russ on board spent the cyclone season in NZ.

Ola Isle Alofa. Live in Love


In remembrance of the earthquake and tsunami victims forever in our hearts.


The Sea Gang—Samoan fishermen--express their trust in God.


An artist’s carving alongside the waterfront of Fagatogo signifies, to me, the continuance of life.