Ian Woolverton
2004 indian ocean tsunami
At 07:58 local time on December 26, 2004, a massive underwater earthquake struck off the west coast of Sumatra, Indonesia. Lasting an agonizing 8 to 10 minutes, it was the third-largest earthquake ever recorded, unleashing the destructive force of 1,500 Hiroshima atomic bombs. The devastation was unimaginable. Read my story in The Guardian, “We have too many bodies,” for a firsthand account of the aftermath.
10-15 minutes after the earthquake, the first of three waves struck the north and west coast of Sumatra. Tsunamis were triggered in fourteen countries with landmass bordering the Indian Ocean. Read my story in The Guardian, “Hit by the aftershock.”
Waves lifted large fishing boats out of the ocean and carried them many kilometres inland. Can you see the date scrawled on the boat? Read my story in The Guardian, “A welcome deluge.”
Entire villages were sucked out to sea. Bridges and road were destroyed.
The death toll was devastating, with an estimated 230,000 to 280,000 lives lost across 14 countries. Indonesia was the hardest hit, accounting for approximately 220,000 of the total fatalities.
Banda Aceh will forever be remembered as the “Ground Zero” of the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. Just a sixty-minute drive west of Banda, the village of Lampuuk was situated closest to the epicentre of the catastrophic earthquake and tsunami. Here, 5,000 lives were lost, leaving only 1,000 survivors.
Many sought refuge in the sole structure left standing — the local mosque. Across the region, mosques often emerged as the only buildings resilient enough to withstand the surging waves, serving as a powerful symbol of hope and strength for the devoutly Muslim Acehnese. However, for some, the tsunami was interpreted as divine retribution, raising profound questions about faith and suffering in the aftermath of the disaster.
In the wake of the disaster, thousands of Red Cross volunteers surged forward, coming from every corner of Indonesia and beyond to lend a hand to those in need. I was profoundly moved by the sight of these young volunteers, their faces etched with determination and compassion as they laboured tirelessly in the sweltering heat and oppressive humidity.
Day after day, they waded through the debris retrieving bloated dead bodies, each one a heart-breaking reminder of lives lost. Their selflessness and unwavering commitment to humanity in such harrowing conditions was awe inspiring; a testament to the resilience of the human spirit amidst unimaginable tragedy.
“We have too many bodies,” a Red Cross volunteered told me. “But I am working for humanity. I am sad but it is my obligation.”
Volunteers, often Indonesian university students, collected dead bodies in the thousands.
In a race against time, the International Red Cross Red Crescent mobilised every resource at their disposal, chartering planes, helicopters, and boats to reach the most isolated communities devastated by the disaster.
They swiftly transported field hospitals and water purification units from as far away as the UK, Germany and Spain, determined to deliver life-saving aid to those needing it most.
In early January 2005, I joined an International Red Cross team that flew by charter aircraft to Meulaboh on Aceh’s west coast. We travelled with a BBC crew and a team of trauma surgeons and nurses from the Japanese Red Cross.
When we arrived, no aid had yet reached the town. What we encountered was unimaginable, profoundly impacting us all.
Thousands of decaying bodies lined the streets, while others lay buried beneath collapsed concrete buildings and twisted metal. The stench was unbearable; it was like stepping into hell. This visceral and emotionally charged experience is etched in my memory forever. I had seen dead bodies before, but witnessing hundreds upon hundreds sprawled across the streets was overwhelming beyond words.
BBC’s Andrew North and Cara Swift accompanied the International Red Cross to Meulaboh, becoming the first Western journalists to report from the ravaged west coast of Aceh Province.
As we picked our way through the destruction in the back of a large truck, survivors lined the streets, calling out, “BBC, BBC!” Their cries echoed with hope, knowing their plight would finally reach the world.
Later, we secured a lift to Medan aboard a Royal Singapore Airforce Chinook. Flying low over the lush Sumatran rainforest, with mist swirling beneath us, I took this photograph: Andrew North engrossed in writing a story for BBC News.
In Meulaboh, I vividly remember doing a BBC interview, where I described the devastation as eerily reminiscent of the images of Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the atomic bombs were dropped during World War II.
We made the local hospital our makeshift home, sleeping on a concrete floor for five gruelling days, subsisting on nothing but two-minute noodles and chocolate. The constant hum of backup generators allowed the Japanese Red Cross team to perform basic surgeries in the makeshift operating theatre, a stark reminder of the chaos surrounding us.
Amid this turmoil, I encountered a little boy at an evacuation centre for those who had lost everything. Motionless, a vacant stare, he simply rested his chin on his hands. Over the years, I have returned to this image and wondered about this young boy’s fate. I hope he grew up happy, healthy, and surrounded by love, far removed from the pain of that tragic time.
With coastal roads and bridges destroyed we relied on small planes and choppers to ferry humanitarian supplies and aid workers.
We experienced a white-knuckle landing at Meulaboh airstrip. As we approached, the pilot banked sharply to the left to navigate the battered runway, which had been severely cracked by the earthquake, allowing only the smallest planes to land.
Looking at the image, you can see the Japanese Red Cross trauma surgeons unloading vital medical equipment from the aircraft, ready to assist those in desperate need.
Medical staff from Japanese Red Cross unloading health kits to treat 10,000 people.
This is me in the cap, in discussion with the Spanish Red Cross team specialising in water purification.
For five days, I was immersed in their efforts, witnessing first-hand the incredible commitment of water engineers and technicians working around the clock to purify water that would be delivered to 4,000 families a day.
I hadn’t intended to stay so long, but with no helicopters landing near us, I found myself ‘stranded’ on Aceh’s west coast. Eventually I was ‘rescued’ by a US Navy Seahawk, which flew me to Banda Aceh. But not before we landed on the deck of the American aircraft carrier, the USS Abraham Lincoln —an unforgettable experience.
In Meulaboh, Red Cross delivered water to 4,000 families every day.
Wherever we went, we met people relieved to receive support from the Red Cross Red Crescent.
Young and old, the tsunami spared no-one.
Here I am leaning on a Red Cross chopper, loaded and ready for take-off to Teunom. It was an awe-inspiring sight as U.S. Navy Seahawks from the USS Abraham Lincoln flew 22 sorties from Banda Aceh, delivering tonnes of medical supplies, along with a German Red Cross doctor, three nurses, a lab technician, and a paramedic to Teunom.
The health team’s kit, packed in sturdy metal boxes and assembled on-site, was designed to serve the medical needs of up to 20,000 people. It included nine white tents that housed a maternity unit, pharmacy, waiting room, operating theatre, and laboratory.
The Boxing Day tsunami prompted one of the largest humanitarian relief efforts in history. Witnessing the profound acts of humanity amidst such devastation was a tremendous privilege. Being among those who sacrificed so much to help others was deeply humbling.
I returned to Aceh every six months for three years. During my visit in 2006, I concentrated on small business owners to investigate how financial grants from humanitarian agencies had empowered hundreds of families to rebuild their livelihoods.