Aceh on their minds

The eyes of the world now focus on Aceh. What we see in media pictures everyday is a broken, torn, devastated land; ravaged by earthquakes and tsunamis that came without warning. We see piles of bruised, blackened bodies, dehydrated survivors, lost children, smashed lives; people barely clinging on for survival. The pain of Aceh’s destruction is felt keenly by the Acehnese refugees in Malaysia, most of whom have come here only in the past two years, in order to escape the rigors of Martial Law declared in May 2003.

Within ten minutes of the earthquake subsiding, some refugees already knew of the disaster. Word spread like wildfire, and many tried anxiously to phone home. However, most could not get through to their families as telecommunication lines were down. TV channels and newspapers had still not reported on their villages. While they knew that something had altered, they had no idea of the immensity of the destruction.

Aceh is always on their minds. I have been frequently beckoned to go there. "You must come to Aceh", they say to me. "Come and eat in my house, I will cook kuah pliik for you". "Come to my village, I will bring you to the beaches nearby". "Come to Banda Aceh, I will show you the famous Baiturrahman Mosque".

I have never seen as much of Aceh as I have seen in the past few days since the tsunamis shattered its coastlines. Sadly, the pictures of destruction are in sharp contrast to the land of mythical beauty the refugees always described to me.

In Aceh, they would tell me; blue-green mountains rise impressively, almost touching the sky. In Aceh, gleaming waterfalls plummet gracefully; throwing shimmering rainbow arches through fine mists. In Aceh, beaches have aquamarine waters, majestic waves, pure unspoilt sand. The only freshwater sea in the whole world lies in Aceh.

Unimaginable stories

There is a certain irony, they find, in the worlds’ current attention on Aceh. At first, they didn’t believe than anyone would care. The day after the earthquake struck, they were still pessimistic about whether the international community would do anything to help. "We have been suffering so long, and they haven’t bothered", Azahar said to me, "why would they care now?"

The current devastation of Aceh, for the Acehnese, is one bad dream in what has already been a dark and lonely night.

Before the tsunamis crashed, they would already tell me unimaginable stories. Some gave harrowing accounts of burnt, mangled, chopped up flesh; of slit throats, cast away bodies, mass graves. Others told of military operations; of getting arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; of facing beatings; electrocutions; imprisonment; rape.

Sometimes, after they told me these stories, they looked like scared, tired, teary-eyed boys, putting up brave faces to face the challenges of tomorrow.

It was the women refugees who would cry and tell me that they missed their children, their babies, their elderly parents, for the men could not express such feelings; stories marked by separation, grief, weariness, worry, and pain.

The utter devastation in Aceh puts yet another worry on the Acehnese refugees, lives already burdened with poverty and insecurity.

Their most important concern now is the fear of being rounded-up when the mass scale arrests and deportations begin in February 2005. "Will we be arrested?", they ask me. "What if they deport me? I will die, if the TNI (Indonesian Military) get me".

Longing to go home

Being in Malaysia is painful for most of them. It is painful not only because they are always on their guard, scared of being arrested at any time of the day, feeling a constant insecurity that plagues their sleep and keeps them ever watchful wherever they go.

It is painful not only because they cannot find work, or are fired from their jobs because the towkays are now afraid of being caught in impending immigration operations. It is painful not just because they live from day to day, hoping that a friend will buy them a little food for tomorrow.

It is most painful because they miss home.

They want to search for family and friends, to kiss their parents, to hug their children and to never let them go. But they don’t have the money or the guarantee of safety, to go home. Aceh remains under Civil Emergency; there has been no official demilitarization, the TNI soldiers still rule their villages.

"What can I do", they ask me. "Tell me if any NGOs need volunteers, I am ready to go back". "I am ready to help rebuild Aceh". "I want to go home".

"In Aceh*" my friend Mohammad would tell me, "beautiful orchids grow wild, spread out in every direction". "In Aceh*", he would say with a glimmer of a smile, "my house is near the sea, and the sunsets take your breath away. I will show you one day".

That day has not arrived, and for now, Mohammad has to wait alongside thousands of others, for a certain madness to end. He dreams the dream of many, and hopes the hope of a multitude. He longs for freedoms and peace yet un-tasted in Aceh; he longs to go home.

Alice Nah is a researcher based in Kuala Lumpur. She is also the refugee affairs coordinator of the National Human Rights Society (Hakam).