Chathura lost his mom and sister to the 2004 tsunami, but on June 9 gained a new family when his dad married Chamari Nisansala, 20. He also recently left Sri Lanka for the first time to take a trip to Greece.

Chathura's new step mom brought her child from a previous marriage to the household. Seven-month-old Kaushika Sandamini is a beautiful baby girl about the same age as Chathura's sister was when she died.

Chathura couldn't be happier, and Sarath says their life is complete again. "I am happy about my new life. The baby looks just like my baby," he says.

I asked Sarath how he and Chamari met. He told me that two months ago he and Chathura went on a trip to Wellawaya to visit Sarath's uncle. His uncle introduced him to Chamari. They immediately liked each other, spent a couple of weeks together and then married.

While Sarath is at work driving a tractor and Chathura is in school, Chamari looks after the house and a friend helps her to care for little Kaushika.

Chathura left Sri Lanka for the first time on Aug. 11 to take a 21-day trip to Greece. His dad thinks the trip offered a good change for Chathura and a way to see another part of the world.

The family continues to live in one of the Weligama camps for residents who lost their homes in the tsunami. Although the new houses that the government promised to build after the tsunami have not materialized, the overall state of Sarath's camp is at least good compared to others. Each room is provided with a ceiling fan and a table fan. Non-government aid organizations and generous camp visitors have provided tables and couple of chairs for the camp inhabitants.

After Chamari moved in, the family made some clever re-arrangements around the home. They divided the tiny room into three sections. Front is the living room with Chathura's bed, then the bedroom and, at the back, the kitchen. The living room has a neat arrangement of artwork, done by Chathura. Chathura is very good in handwork. He loves to draw too. He also has now his own pet fish in a small aquarium.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

When Thailand started evacuation procedures, the people of Weligama became restless. Some of them immediately moved to higher ground. But others decided to remain and wait. I got a call from a friend immediately after 11 to turn on the TV and watch the news. Then, I found out about the happenings in Thailand.

I remained in front of the TV. Luckily, the earthquakes didn't trigger a tsunami, as many expected. After midnight, an announcement went through that the coast was clear. No tsunami. Some of the people who evacuated returned shortly after the news got to them. However, most of them were awake the whole night, listening to the radio for more warnings.

There wasn't as much panic in Weligama as when the March 30th tsunami alert came -- a true sign that the Weligama citizens are slowly recovering.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

The sewage system -- a network of open canals leading to the sea -- became filled up when debris from the tsunami was added to the tons of garbage that had been dumped there over the years. Instead of flowing out to the sea, the sewage has just been sitting in the canals, the biggest of which is about two meters deep and three meters wide.

A group of German sewage experts arrived in Weligama in May to clear the canals with the help of some locals. They had come from Frankfurt-on-Oder, Weligama's sister city in Germany. The local people were happy to see them, saying that it was noble of the "white men," as Westerners are called in Sri Lanka, to do such a dirty job.

But the German experts stopped work after just four days, saying they did not have the proper equipment. They haven't returned, and people are now wondering when, if ever, the canals will be cleared.

When there are heavy rains, some parts of town become flooded with sewage. The smell is particularly bad near the railway station, where the water doesn't flow at all. The stench of the garbage-filled canals is becoming practically unbearable.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

Enoka writes that people are getting discouraged because, nearly six months after the tsunami, it is still not clear when their permanent houses will be rebuilt. Most tsunami victims are staying in refugee camps or other temporary accommodations. Fishermen are still without boats. Since their own boats haven't been repaired in most cases, they are without work. Their only hope is to work as day laborers on the boats of richer fishermen.

In Enoka's opinion, all this is going to have a negative impact on the psychological health of the villagers. There is little a psychiatrist can do to help people who are without work and without houses. As Enoka writes, "However much I or anybody else goes and talks to the people, their problems will not be solved until their needs are met."

-- Michael Dobbs

The mention of the word "tsunami" can send a shockwave of fear through the normally quiet town of Weligama. Some Weligama citizens still look at the sea as if the killer wave will return at any moment and take away everything they own.

The most recent tsunami scare happened a couple of weeks ago. A school child had been killed in a traffic accident. When she heard the news, the child's mother ran along the beach and then the main road, sobbing and crying. Some bystanders ran after, not knowing why she was crying. More and more people joined the run, spreading a wave of panic and fear through the town of Weligama.

I went to talk to Dr. Enoka Wickramasinghe, the medical officer for mental health in the Weligama district hospital. I thought that she could tell me more about the current mental state of residents.

Tsunami victims go through three mental stages, she said. The first is denial, which occurred as soon as the tsunami happened. The second is grieving , as people accept reality. The third and final stage is a return to normality.

According to Dr. Enoka, tsunami scares have had the effect of causing tsunami victims here to go back to stages one and two -- they have been "retraumatized." In particular, the tsunami scare of March 28, caused by another earthquake in Indonesia, means that it will "take another six months" before people go back to normal again.

Some 10 percent of the population, she added, never left the first stage after the tsunami and are in need of psychological attention.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

For Chathura, the rain isn't the only problem. The Sri Lankan army stopped guarding the camp he lives in two weeks ago, and security has deteriorated.

The camp was built by the Ministry of Fisheries in the Pelena neighborhood. Chathura and his father moved in about a month after December's tsunami destroyed their home, and considered it a step up from the camp where they had been living near Weligama's school.

The Pelena camp's temporary homes have a gap between their corrugated metal walls and sheet metal ceilings. When the rains started, camp residents tried to keep dry by sealing the gap with mats, plastic sheeting and even bed sheets. It has not been very effective.

When it isn't raining, the days are humid and very, very hot -- around 40 degrees centigrade (104 degrees fahrenheit). Fans aren't much help, so some residents have placed coconut leaves on top of the galvanized roofs. That has brought the temperature down a few degrees, but it is still very unpleasant.

A more serious problem is the Sri Lankan army's recent decision to stop guarding the camp, according to Chathura and his father.

The guards had generally kept order in the camp, forbidding the use of alcohol and not permitting people to enter or leave after 10 p.m. Since the army pulled out, drunks in the camp have become a nuisance and sometimes start fights. Chathura and his father go inside their small room when there are fights and lock the door. "We don't want to be a part of that kind of activity," says Chathura's father, a tractor driver.

There is also less water available for washing in the camp, because nonresidents have begun to take water that the guards had reserved for residents. "They just come in early in the morning and take it," said Chahura's father. "We don't have enough water to shower. At my own home I could shower whenever I wanted. Here, there isn't even enough water."

Chathura's father says that the government promised to rebuild his home after the tsunami, but has not delivered.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

He has completed repair work on a boat that was given to him by Michael's brother, Geoffrey, and has been going out to sea for the first time since the tsunami. He told me that he had a couple of good catches, but is still frustrated because he hasn't received the fishing nets from Geoffrey that he was counting on.

For now, Sujith is able to borrow nets from a friend whose boat is being repaired. Once the repairs are finished, he'll have to return the nets. Geoffrey says the nets have been ordered and he plans to check with the supplier this week to see when they will be delivered.

In addition to returning to work, Sujith reports that he has moved out of the temporary housing camp where he was staying because it was getting overcrowded. He shared a single-room wooden hut with his mother, his father and his brother's family. He has moved in with his sister, who has a house on Weligama's Main Street.

He also organized an almsgiving -- the Buddhist equivalent of a memorial service -- for his wife and family. On the way to his mother-in-law's house, Sujith's three-wheeler (commonly referred to as a tuk-tuk) flipped over and Sujith was tossed out. He slid into the road, and suffered cuts and scratches to his left knee, arm and hand.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

Enoka writes that people are getting discouraged because, nearly six months after the tsunami, it is still not clear when their permanent houses will be rebuilt. Most tsunami victims are staying in refugee camps or other temporary accommodations. Fishermen are still without boats. Since their own boats haven't been repaired in most cases, they are without work. Their only hope is to work as day laborers on the boats of richer fishermen.

In Enoka's opinion, all this is going to have a negative impact on the psychological health of the villagers. There is little a psychiatrist can do to help people who are without work and without houses. As Enoka writes, "However much I or anybody else goes and talks to the people, their problems will not be solved until their needs are met."

-- Michael Dobbs

-- Travis Fox

For weeks after the tsunami, the survivors were living in tents on the ruins of their former houses. Although the government promised to provide permanent housing for all tsunami victims within six months (by the end of June), nothing has happened yet. It's still not clear where people will eventually live, as the government has imposed a ban on any new building within 100 meters from the sea.

The solution was temporary housing. With funds raised in the U.S., I was able to help pay for the construction of 15 wooden huts on land provided by a Buddhist monastery at the edge of town. The work was supervised by Kapila Jayasekera. According to Sascha Gerbracht, the son of a local organic farmer, the remaining seven families from Sathniwasapura moved into the huts in mid-April, in time to celebrate the Sri Lankan New Year.

"Sathniwasapura is deserted. Only ruins and memories remain," Sascha wrote last week from Weligama. "Most Sathniwasapura people seem very happy, even though their possessions consist of little more than their clothes and a few personal items."

Normally an occasion for raucous celebrations, the New Year festivities were quiet and subdued this year, Sascha reports. The people who run the refugee camp handed out parcels of Singhalese sweetmeats to celebrate the occasion, but there was no singing, dancing or throwing of firecrackers. Traditionally, New Year is a time when relatives get together to celebrate, rather like Thanksgiving in the United States. But this year, everybody's thoughts turned to lost loved ones.

-- Michael Dobbs

The radio reported that an earthquake measuring 8.2 on the Richter scale had happened near Sumatra. The president of Sri Lanka warned of an "impending disaster" and ordered all coastal residents to evacuate to higher ground, at least 2 kilometers away from the coast.

In Weligama, all hell broke loose. People took all they could carry and ran inland, seeking refuge in temples. Belgian soldiers drove along the main road shouting, "Tsunami coming!" and telling people to move to higher ground. By the time the Sri Lankan police showed up to warn of the danger, most residents had already fled to temples and other places far away from the coast.

"As soon as I heard the news, I secured all our things, took my wife and ran as fast as I could to the temple," said Wasantha Abesooriya, a 47-year-old Weligama citizen. His house is located on Main Street, around 150 meters from the sea. When the warning came, he stowed his mattresses, gas cooker and some other possessions between the roof and ceiling, where the water wouldn't reach it. Then he tied the cooker's gas cylinder to his door to keep it from being swept away and left with his wife for the Agrabodhi Temple, around 1 kilometer inland.

Wasantha, who praised the Belgian army's efforts to warn people of the danger, stayed in the temple all night with his wife.

Sriya Abeyweera, a shop owner in her early 40s said that she was horrified by the news. "A neighbor told us about what happened at about 11:30 p.m. We just left everything as it is and ran," she said. Sriya, her 12-year-old son Minon, and the rest of the family left their home on the old Galle road, about 200 meters from the sea, and sought refuge in a house on top of a small hill about 1 kilometer away.

Around midnight, the radio reported that a tsunami could possibly arrive around 1 a.m. This was followed by a report of an aftershock of 6 on the Richter scale, and an advisory from the Sri Lankan government to stay on alert. I kept watching the news and called my friends, giving them updates on the situation.

Finally, at 3:40 a.m. an announcement was made that the danger is over. Relieved, but still terrified, many Weligama residents decided to remain in the temples until dawn.

I was curious about how Chathura Madhushanka and his father dealt with the warning and went to visit them later in the morning in the refugee camp where they have lived since the Dec. 26 tsunami destroyed their home.

As soon as he heard the tsunami warning, Chathura said he grabbed the pictures of his mother, brother and sister, who were killed in the tsunami, and ran with his father a couple of kilometers inland.

"Most of the camp residents climbed on top of the building beside the camp, but we just kept going," said Chathura's father, who felt that they would be better off away from the coastal area than on the roof of a building close to the sea. The fear was still visible in both of their eyes. Like so many Sri Lankans, they didn't sleep all night.

Chathura was still holding the pictures of his mom and siblings. He didn't go to school today. Actually, no one in Weligama did. Students who showed up at the schools were sent home for lack of teachers.

Although the earthquake was felt in some areas of Sri Lanka, no one seems to have felt it in this area, but people remain extremely frightened. Rumors are that about 70 earthquakes happened in the past 12 hours. Some think another tsunami could hit Sri Lanka any minute.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

View Enlarged Photo and Caption

The other day, I brought Chathura a new sports bicycle presented by an anonymous donor, along with some masonry tools for his father, Sarath. They are both delighted. Sarath takes his son to school every day on the bicycle. He has also repaired a little tractor-trailer that was his main means of livelihood before the tsunami. When I went to see him, he had just earned $3.75 for a day's work, compared to $4.60 a day before the disaster.

Chathura introduced me to two new girl friends, Sumeda, 14, and Sulojana, who is almost 12. He calls them his "tsunami friends" because he met them in the camp. "We used to play badminton a lot until they lost the badminton rackets," he says, grinning. "Now, most of the time, we go to the TV room in the camp and play games with other kids from the camp."

Sarath says he still doesn't know how much longer they will be in the refugee camp, when they will get a permanent house or even IF they will get a house. He is skeptical about government promises to provide tsunami victims with loans to rebuild their houses. Even if the promises are true, he says, he doesn't want to go back to his old house because it is too close to the sea. "My son is afraid to go back there," he says. "I would rather rent a place somewhere not so close to the sea."

This past weekend, the family assembled at a relative's house in Weligama for a Buddhist ritual called an alms giving to honor their dead, three months after the tsunami. These alms givings are usually quite elaborate affairs. There is always food (rice and curry) for the guests, and Buddhist monks are invited to say prayers for the deceased.

-- Sascha Gerbracht

View Enlarged Photo and Caption

I first met Sascha on Christmas Eve last year, the day before the tsunami, when he came to Taprobane with his parents for a drink. When I returned in January, I hired him as a guide-interpreter. His knowledge of Sinhalese, and his wealth of personal contacts, made him absolutely invaluable to me. When I left, I asked him to keep us up-to-date with the news from Weligama.

The reason why Sascha speaks such fluent Sinhalese is that he has been attending local schools since his parents, Tom and Heike, brought him out to Sri Lanka at the age of six. Now 17, he is in his last year at Richmond College in Galle, before going to university in Colombo.

In addition to helping his parents run their organic farm -- where he supervises the preparation of various biodynamic composts -- Sascha is an avid motorcycle enthusiast. He says he feels much more at home in Sri Lanka than in Germany and feels a little out of place when he returns to Sri Lanka from family vacations.

One reason why Sinhalese is such a difficult language for Europeans, Sascha tells me, is its unusual alphabet. There are 58 letters in the Sinhala alphabet, and none of them correspond exactly to European letters. To speak Sinhala properly, you also have to learn to use your tongue like a Sri Lankan. "Some letters you pronounce with the tip of your tongue pressed against your front teeth, while others you pronounce with your tongue curled back a bit and curled upwards, " says Sascha.

Watch this space for Sascha's reports from Weligama.

-- Michael Dobbs

Although nearly three months have gone by since the tsunami, Weligama residents are still very jittery about another big wave engulfing the town. Panic broke out yesterday after the radio announced that a tsunami had hit India, and there was a possibility that Sri Lanka would also be hit.

"It was total madness," said Sunil Padmasiri, a 54-year-old Weligama citizen, who was caught up in the chaos outside a local school, as teachers climbed onto rooftops and parents fought their way into the building to retrieve their children. "Some people even enjoyed the chaos and started fights with other people, just for the fun of it. To make things worse, van drivers and motorcyclists and other vehicles squeezed their way into the crowd."

Padmasiri compared the noonday scene outside the school to "a herd of cattle being chased," with parents, children, and teachers running in all directions. It took him more than an hour to find his way through the chaotic crowd.

-- Michael Dobbs

View Enlarged Photo and Caption

He is also a man with a dream. He sees the tsunami not just as a tragic natural catastrophe but also as a unique opportunity to reverse decades-old economic development patterns that have had a devastating impact on the environment. Along with other local businessmen, he has become part of the Weligama relief effort, as reported here. But he doesn't want to simply build new houses for tsunami victims. He wants to turn them into organic farmers.

"A decade ago, people just laughed at me when I said I wanted to do something organic," he says. "But they are now realizing that it isn't such a crazy idea after all. Farmers here have been using so much pesticide and weedicide that you have to use heavier and heavier doses to get any results."

The Gerbrachts are raising funds for the construction of a model village, to be run on organic principles, including the use of a biomass unit to generate electricity from natural waste. Along with new houses, the villagers will also be given plots of land, where they can grow organically certified cashew nuts, pineapples, and other fruits, all of which have a ready market in western countries. (Provided the documentation is in order, it's actually much easier for a Sri Lankan farmer to sell an organic pineapple to the American market than a non-organic pineapple.)

Tom points out that most relief projects have focused on the coast and on the fishermen who suffered the most during the tsunami. The 30 percent of tsunami victims who had nothing to do with fishing have been largely overlooked.

One way to support this project would be for food stores in the U.S. and Europe that purchase organic produce from Sri Lanka to contribute a small portion of their profits to tsunami relief. Modern information technology can help create a much more personal relationship between suppliers and consumers. Through labeling and blogs like this one, it's possible to imagine an American going into a grocery store, buying a bag of cashew nuts and having the satisfaction of knowing that a few cents on the transaction will go to help a tsunami victim-turned-organic farmer in Weligama.

Executives at a big American organic food chain -- I won't name it just yet in case nothing happens -- have expressed some interest in this idea. I will let you know what develops.

-- Michael Dobbs