Flooding

During the first two weeks of May, it rained a lot here in Colombo, the capital city. This was not the monsoon, but a pre-monsoon downpour that lasted for days. Owing to a number of factors, including new construction and blocked drains, the unexpected rain caused great amounts of flooding in some areas of the city. This weekend, I had the chance to go visit a family that had been flooded.

I was going with a group from St. Michael and All Angels Anglican church. The flood victims were members of the church, and a delegation was going to check in on them, and see what practical help the church could offer in re-building or repairing the damage.

Our air conditioned SUV pulled up to the top a steep hill. Clearly it would be asking for trouble to head down a hill like that, four wheel drive or not. As we got out of the truck, the humid warm air hit me like a wall. It's always hot and humid in Sri Lanka, but there was something else to the air here, outside the city. The stink of dirt and garbage was gone from the air, and was replaced by a vegetable scent, the smell of a thousand years of trees living and dying.

We carefully made our way down the hill. The house we were looking for was a small two storey house right at the bottom of the hill. There was a man wearing only a sarong standing beside the house, wiping off plastic lawn chairs. Father Dushantha stopped me as we reached the bottom the hill, and pointed out the high water mark on the house. It was about five and a half feet off the ground.

The man greeted us, and carefully laid out boards for us to walk on for the last few slippery feet of hill. The house was still surrounded on three sides by water, and beyond the house was the remains of a road, leading right into the impromptu lake. One of the trees next to the house boasted a swing, it's seat just a few inches above the water.

Inside the house, the owners showed us the kitchen. The smell of mildew was everywhere as she sadly opened the cupboards and showed us how even now the dishes in the cupboards were all filled with water. While the water had receded below the level of the foundation, the slightly lower outbuildings just behind the kitchen still swam in half a foot of water. In the living area, a ceiling fan labored mightily to dry out the room.

There were two small children as part of the extended family that owns this house. We were shown their legs and chests, covered with sores from the dirty water. In a tropical climate like this one, standing water is a standing invitation for disease.

Outside the house again, we discussed solutions. Maybe they could live only in the top half of the house - use the lower level for storage. Nothing was said about what the family might think of having their living spaced halved.

On our way back up the hill, I was talking to one of the group. "It's a shame" he said "this is terrible. They have paved and built all over the lowlands, so when the water does rise, it has to affect someone. It's the poorest people who live in these areas - the rich and well off have houses on the hills, but the poor are relegated to the valleys, and so they are the first to be flooded."

The water is receding for now, but it will come again. A combination of poor urban planning and global climate change makes this a virtual certainty. And, as my friend pointed out to me, it will be the poor who feel the effects of these things first.