After the Flood

Just as day is dawning...

4:00 a.m., same alarm but different bed and different place. It’s March 17, and we’ve been spending the last few days flying in Dekai area and parking in the mountain village of Korupun at night time. Demand for flights out of Doyo Baru was slowing down a bit and so the most profitable way to keep flying was to spend a week or so where the business is brisk and give time for more flights from home base to get scheduled.

After getting ready for the day, I follow Gary out of the guesthouse and we make our way in the gray early morning light to where the plane is parked at the top of the sloped runway. Folks are already astir as we begin the preflight and some kids are hanging around, interestedly watching us check the plane over. By 6:00, we start the engine and take off for the short 15-minute flight out the valley to the long, lowland runway in Dekai.

The ramp is glistening from the last night's rain as we taxi up to our parking position. The cargo and fuel cart aren’t out yet; it’s a Sunday morning so things will probably take a little longer to get up to full-speed with operations. We shut down and Gary takes a moment to catch up on his texts and emails. Korupun of course doesn’t have regular cell service, which has actually been nice in some ways.

I undo my seatbelt and wait for a moment till Gary is done so I can ask how much fuel to pump into the tanks. But he seems to be very absorbed in something he’s reading. I notice some messages popping up on my own phone, but ignore them. Then Gary turns to me and shows me his phone. Pictures of smashed cars on AAI campus. “There was a flood last night,” he says. I quickly look back at my phone and realize the messages are images of Doyo Baru also. I pull them up and see more incredible pictures: debris piled all over the place, vehicles nose-down and half-buried in mud, collapsed buildings. “Sounds like everyone’s ok, but Hendrik has a broken leg,” Gary says with a sigh.

Our loading guys have just shown up and they have the news as well. The day’s schedule—and the rest of the week’s, for that matter— is out the window; it’s time to make immediate preparations to return to Sentani. We take on as much fuel as possible and then head back to Korupon to pick up Gary’s family and then continue to Sentani. Apart from the grim pictures, we have no idea what we’ll find upon returning. Our airbase runway is definitely gone, so we will have to land at the commercial airport. As far as getting back to campus from there, there’s a chance we’ll be walking.

It looks bad from up here; just wait till you get on the ground.

The hour-long flight north seems strangely devoid of excitement and action. Just an empty sense of detachment, knowing that we’ve got a bad situation up ahead, but just not knowing yet how bad it is. As we descend toward Sentani area, Gary gets permission from ATC to spend a few minutes orbiting the Doyo Baru area so we can get photos for insurance. It’s a strange sight that comes into view. The perimeter by the main road is gone and scores of people are dotting the surface of a gray expanse that used to be our grass runway. On the edge, next to the road is the Cenderawasih Air PAC-750 that was in our old hangar for maintenance. It’s been washed clear out and the hangar itself is half collapsed. From the air we can see how a huge river has just poured through the middle of campus, sweeping a path of destruction and completely changing the landscape. Above the campus and far up the mountainside, gray landslide paths scar the Cyclops Mountain. The only words that come into my mind as we circle are, What a mess…

Development above campus. Used to be houses where the river is.

After landing at Sentani, we’re fortunate to be able to ride all the way back to campus with Rick, an AMA pilot. The 15-minute distance takes 2 hours to cover as traffic is crazy and parts of the road are reduced to one lane. We finally make it to campus and that’s when the real picture starts to sink in. Somehow the photos don’t quite have the same effect as actually standing there in person. If anything, the reality is worse.

I begin slowly making my way toward the far side of campus where my house is, and I have a hard time recognizing exactly where on the campus I am. The place has been transformed from a lush green jungle compound to a sandy riverbed. Trees and undergrowth are gone and in their place are large boulders. I don’t remember those being here, I think before realizing with alarm that the flash flood had carried these huge pieces of rock along as if they were marbles.

Approaching my neighbor's and my house.

Houses are gone and other buildings are smashed up and partly buried in silt, tree trunks and roots. The place where some of the single guys have been staying looks like three quarters of it was sliced off and snatched away. Part of the roof is still hanging over where the rooms used to be.

Campus friends have told me they think my house is okay, although perhaps with some water leakage. I hope it’s true, but I try to prepare myself for the worst as I approach the building. My neighbor’s yard is filled with about 2 feet of tangled branches and driftwood. A small log is sitting against the corner of my house and my lawn is buried beneath a thick layer of muddy sand. I reach for the door and gingerly turn the key and peak inside. I almost can’t believe my eyes. It’s spotless. All around are destroyed homes or at least muddied floors, and my house has not one trace of misplaced moisture inside.

"Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further..." Job 38:11

I spend the rest of the day wandering aimlessly back and forth across campus, not really knowing what to do. I go to the new hangar and poke my head inside the opening in the front where one of the large sliding doors has been opened a few feet. Dank air greets me as I look inside the gloomy dark place. The entire floor is caked with a few inches of gooey chocolatey muck, crisscrossed with a couple muddy-water-filled paths that some staff members tried to clear. The hangar is where the campus families took refuge last night when the flood was happening.

I listen to harrowing accounts of that night. (Click here to read Ruth Boyd's story). Intense rain, a constant low rumble that sounded like thunder but just kept on going, a strong earthy smell, everyone fleeing their houses as water started rising, people crowding around outside the hangar and trying to find a way to get inside the locked building, the onslaught of water and debris breaching the side door after everyone had managed to get inside, water flowing through the bottom of the hangar while the families waited in darkness on the second floor, and outside, beyond the campus property, cries for help all night long. It must have been awful.

Right now it appears things are relatively stable. The decision has been made to allow the single guys to stay in my house for the time being with the warning that if it starts raining hard again and water levels rise we should head to the hangar. Only one guy decides to move in with me, as the others are too traumatized to stay on this side of campus.

Darkness arrives and with it an eerie, foreboding feeling. No electricity on campus; just flashlights. My new housemate and I get back to the house and agree on a plan for the night. I will sleep first till midnight while he keeps watch and periodically goes out to shine the light around to keep potential looters away and keep an eye on water levels. I’ve already noticed that despite the fact the rains have stopped, the small leftover streams running through campus have seemed to get wider and deeper through the course of the day. If it starts raining again, whoever is on watch will wake the other up and we’ll head to the hangar.

After getting my backpack ready just in case, I climb into bed and do my best to fall asleep. I feel very uneasy. Finally, as my few hours before midnight evaporate, I manage to doze off.

Until I hear it. Light rain sprinkling outside. I’m instantly awake, paralyzed with nervousness, willing the pitter-patter to stop. It seems to slow down; I wait. And then it starts raining heavier. And keeps raining. Heavier now.

I wonder if my friend is going to come and wake me up or if he was out walking around when the downpour started. After a moment more of waiting I make the decision that we'll leave for the hangar. I get up, grab my stuff and go out to the front of the house where I find my friend sleeping an exhausted slumber on the couch. With difficulty I wake him up, tell him what we’re going to do, and then we head out.

We stop at my neighbor Stenli’s house to make sure he’s coming too. He says he is, he’s just getting some things together first. A moment later he appears with a small suitcase and we head out for the hangar, doing our best to step across the growing streams. I can still step through some with my waterproof low rise shoes, but there’s definitely a lot more water then when we arrived.

Arriving at the hangar, we slosh through that smelly water on the floor and then climb the stairs to the second floor where we drop our stuff. Then back down to start figuring out if everyone is making it back to the hangar from their houses. Roberts's arrive. Then Boyds. A good number of people are already here, having never moved out in the first place. Finally we’re all in.

Waiting for morning on the second floor of the large hangar.

We quickly try to secure things in the various ground level rooms, taking things off the floors and bottom shelves. Everything is done with flashlight. Gary decides to get a generator from his house so we can have a light in the hangar. If there’s going to be a breach in the hangar wall and we have to evacuate the hangar, we're going to need light in the chaos. I spot for him as he walks carefully through the swift-flowing water now running between the hangar and his house. A few moments later and he’s back with the generator and he’s able to power a light bulb to illuminate the inside of the hangar.

A bleak, but still very welcome sight after a long, tense night.

The light helps with the atmosphere. Families on the second floor do their best to settle down and sleep, while most of the guys stand around near the hangar entrance and restlessly watch as the rain pounds outside and thunder and lightning punctuate the deafening roar of the rain falling on the metal roof. We periodically shine flashlights out the front of the hangar to see if it’s starting to flood badly outside again. The downpour continues as we uneasily wait. I look at my watch - it’s past 2:00 a.m. I decide to go upstairs and try to sleep. Finding a spare mattress, I flop down and lie there in the semidarkness, too wound up to sleep and too tired to do anything else. I eventually drift into a fitful sleep as the rain continues to pound and hound me.

Over the next couple hours the rain slows. And finally stops. Someone shuts off the generator and everything becomes peacefully quiet. I sit up and squint through my sleepy eyelids. A faint gray light is spilling through the hangar door opening. It’s finally morning. I have never felt so relieved for dawn to come. We’re still safe.

Standard uniform for the next week.

The next few days are a blur. Rivers of water now flowing through campus, water levels getting higher. Endless hours of shoveling mud out of the hangar, and then trying to squeegee water off the floor during the night as heavy rains cause water to begin seeping onto the floor again. Getting poor sleep while thunderstorms crash away outside, sleeping with long sleeves, pants and bug spray to keep the mosquitos at bay. Wearing wet shoes and socks all day long. Hearing the sad news that Hendrik, our one staff member who had been injured in the flood, had passed away. A futile effort of a bunch of us guys to try and divert water away from Gary’s house as the flow began threatening to start flood the building, and then excavators finally doing the real job upstream just in the nick of time. Celebrating my birthday in a most memorable way, burying dead rats with Jacob and Nathaniel. Cherise and her friends making my favorite chocolate cake—and the thought suddenly striking me how much it looks like the hangar floor! Taking the time to video call my family for the first time since the flood happened and being able to see the faces of the ones who’ve always been there for me through thick and thin. Electricity and full-time running water getting restored on the hangar side of campus. And things slowly starting to dry out as the river gets fully diverted back to its previous channel.

Yep, this is the good stuff (chocolate, not mud).

Each day I take time to visit my house, to swap out muddy clothes for clean ones and just to assure myself the house is still there. There’s lots of work to be done on the other side of campus, but for a few stolen moments I stay in this familiar place, snacking on some of the food that’s still in the cupboards or just sitting and reading my Bible. One passage that I read slowly and more thoughtfully than ever before is Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
Even though the earth be removed,
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;

Though its waters roar and be troubled,
Though the mountains shake with its swelling. Selah

 Familiar words, but in real context now. Words to repeat at night when you can hardly hear yourself think because of the noise of the rain thundering on the corrugated roof. And then a beautiful picture in the next phrase:

There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God,
The holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved;
God shall help her, just at the break of dawn.

In place of the terrible destructive watery deluge is this scene of a river that brings healing and peace. So different from the fearful, forceful flood that has swept away so much; instead, this is the river of life flowing from the very throne of God.

Then it’s back to the hangar to continue shoveling mud into wheelbarrows—but now with some spiffy new rubber boots.

Things ever so slowly start to look up. Heavy equipment works all day long collecting debris and loading dump truck after dump truck. I move back to my house and Stenli runs a generator for a couple hours each day to briefly power the essentials in our houses. Gary and I start flying again from Sentani airport, first doing the most important flights while splitting time with important projects back at campus and then eventually resuming a slightly busier flight schedule. Then a temporary runway is smoothed out close to the hangar. It’s about the size of a grade-school soccer field, but after a couple careful passes, Gary is able to bring PK-TCA in for a safe landing. It’s an important step as we’re now able to do periodic maintenance at home base in between regular flights out of Sentani.

Parked at Sentani Airport after a full day's flying.

And the moment that makes me the happiest? When Stenli manages to get electricity and running water restored to our houses. The fridge works again. The washing machine runs again. The lights work; no more headlamps to dimly illuminate the house during the dark nights. I can take a hot shower anytime I want. It’s a day I’ve been looking forward to for a couple weeks and I actually hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

For one reason or another, I’ve had a hard time calling this place that I moved to 7 1/2 months ago home. But for right now, at least, it feels closer to home than it ever has.