‘After every storm, there is a rainbow. If you have eyes, you will find it. If you have wisdom, you will create it. If you have love for yourself and others, you won’t need it.
– Shannon L. Alder; a contemporary author whose writings often explore themes of self-discovery, personal growth, relationships, and spirituality.
One moment we were safe and dry inside our little farmhouse; the next moment all hell seemed to break loose. The whole roof of our little farmhouse was torn off by a relentless wind during a thunderstorm!
Suddenly, we found ourselves marooned several miles inside the jungle, far removed from the comfort of our remote rural village. However, I mustn’t leap too far ahead in recounting this story. Let us retrace our steps back to where it all began.
One sunny afternoon, in the year 1963, when I was ten years old and my little brother, whom I always affectionately called Little B, was eight, we found ourselves playing in a river, located about fifty metres from our humble farmhouse. The cool waters provided respite from the summer heat, and we revelled in the simple joy of splashing around.
However, our carefree playtime was abruptly interrupted by the distant sound of our mother’s voice, carried by the wind. She was calling us urgently, her tone laced with concern. We were not always the most obedient children, but our love for our mother overshadowed any mischievous tendencies we possessed. We knew that causing her distress was something we wanted to avoid at all costs, so we hastily made our way back to the farmhouse.
As we reached the safety of our home, our mother wasted no time in assigning us some tasks. The sky above had transformed into a canvas of dark, ominous clouds, a sure sign of an impending thunderstorm. Sensing the urgency, she instructed us to retrieve the clothes hanging on the washing line, as well as some rice and rubber sheets left out to dry.
“Better be fast! A storm is coming!” she exclaimed, a sense of urgency evident in her voice. We nodded in understanding and immediately set to work, eager to assist our mother and ensure her peace of mind.
True to her words, the dark clouds loomed closer, casting an eerie shadow over the landscape. The air grew heavy and tense, carrying with it the subtle rustling of leaves and a whisper that seemed to echo through the trees. Sensing the approach of the storm, our family sought refuge within the confines of our cosy farmhouse.
Peering out of the windows, we observed the unfolding transformation with a mix of awe and trepidation. The wind, growing in strength, began to sweep through the trees, causing them to sway in unison. Seeking solace and warmth, we huddled near the crackling fireplace, our eyes still fixated on the ever-darkening sky.
The sounds of the storm grew louder, the wind gaining strength as it whistled past, causing the windows to rattle and the leaves outside to rustle in harmony. Thunder boomed, its deep rumble echoing through the air, as raindrops began to fall, creating a soft, rhythmic tapping against the rooftop and walls.
Mesmerised by nature’s turbulent symphony, we listened intently as the storm’s intensity heightened. Suddenly, chaos erupted. The wind, with a terrifying roar, unleashed its full might upon us, tearing through the surroundings with relentless force. The farmhouse creaked and groaned under the strain, its walls struggling to withstand the powerful gusts. Fear gripped our hearts as we huddled together, our pulses racing in sync with the raging storm.
In an instant, the storm revealed its unyielding strength. With a deafening roar, the wind tore off the roof. The sound of breaking wood permeated the air, drowning out our gasps of horror. Wide-eyed, we looked up in disbelief as the roof was carried away by the relentless gusts, leaving us vulnerable and exposed to the elements.
In a matter of seconds, rain poured into the farmhouse, drenching us completely. What was once a cosy refuge had transformed into a battleground. Frantically, we scrambled to salvage what we could, desperately shielding ourselves from the downpour. The thunder rumbled overhead, its booming voice accompanied by lightning flashes that illuminated the chaos surrounding us.
As the severity of our situation sank in, we realised the need to seek shelter elsewhere. With the storm still raging, we made a swift decision to seek refuge in our neighbour’s farmhouse.
It turned out that they had witnessed the destruction caused by the storm and had anticipated our arrival. Their home, though not much larger than ours, offered us a haven from the elements.
Inside, we were enveloped by the warmth and kindness of our neighbours who provided us with dry clothes, blankets, and a comforting meal. As we sat together, the storm continued to rage outside.
Throughout the night, we listened to the howling wind and the persistent drumming of raindrops against the windows. Our hearts went out to our farmhouse, now battered and defenceless against the storm.
When morning broke, the storm had finally subsided and my father made preparations to venture back to the farmhouse. He was apprehensive but knew that some tough decisions had to be made.
When he saw that I wanted to tag along, he tried to discourage me, saying that there wouldn’t be much to see or do.
What he meant was I was too small to be of much help to him. Perhaps he also thought that I would slow him down.
“I’m curious,” I said. “I want to see what has become of our farmhouse.”
“First I’m going to check on the roof. There’s no path through the bushes,” said Father.
“I know. I promise not to get in your way, and I will carry our water,” I said.
Without saying a word, he got up and together we made our way through dense bushes to a grove where the wind had deposited the roof, about the length of half a football field away from our farmhouse.
The sight that greeted us was disheartening. The thatched portion of the roof, composed of woven sago leaves, now lay scattered across the landscape as debris. The sago fronds were torn and tattered, a testament to the storm’s sheer force. However, amidst the chaos, there was a glimmer of hope. Surprisingly, the main frame members of the roof remained intact, although they were jumbled and twisted.
Realising that salvage was possible, Father told me to get help from the rest of our nearest neighbours most of whom were several hundred metres from our farm, so it was quite an effort to reach them.
Later that morning, however, two of them turned up. A few more came in the afternoon gawking at the devastation around them. The landscape bore the marks of the storm’s wrath — uprooted trees, scattered debris, and a sense of desolation.
Amazingly, our farmhouse, though roofless, still stood; a testament to its resilience and the shelter it had provided us throughout the years.
Together, the men carried out the arduous task of reclaiming what could be salvaged. With determination and a shared sense of purpose, they carefully gathered the scattered pieces, sorting through the wreckage. Remarkably, the main frame members were undamaged.
Undeterred by the enormity of the task, my father and his friends embarked on the laborious process of rebuilding the roof. With each nail driven and beam aligned, a renewed sense of hope filled the air. Word of our situation spread and before long, a few more friends joined the effort, offering their support in the rebuilding process.
In the meantime, Little B and I tried to make ourselves useful by scouring the area around the farmhouse to see what else the wind had sucked up and dropped from the sky.
We found a woven bamboo hat that belonged to our mother. Miraculously, it remained undamaged with not even a little hole in it. I found my old shirt stuck up a small tree. It had a tear in it which I was sure Mother could mend.
Close by, we found the remnants of our chicken coop, but no sign of any chicken. We guessed they must have been scattered around in the bushes somewhere. We also assumed that if they were alive, they would eventually find their way home. Domesticated chickens are like that.
Time seemed to blur as the hours passed, but the men’s tireless efforts yielded progress. By the evening of the following day, the bare frame had transformed once again into a shelter for our farmhouse. The collective determination and hard work had paid off, showcasing the resilience and unity of our community.
On the third day, we eagerly moved back into our restored home, grateful for the protection it once again provided. The sense of normalcy gradually returned as we settled back into our familiar surroundings. On the fourth evening, we gathered with friends, neighbours, and loved ones, holding a heartfelt gathering of thanksgiving.
Amidst the laughter and warmth, we expressed our gratitude for the support and generosity that had carried us through the storm’s aftermath. It was a celebration of strength, resilience, and the unwavering spirit that bound us together. As we shared stories, a profound sense of appreciation filled our hearts, reminding us that even in the face of adversity, there is always something to be thankful for.
The storm left us shaken, but as we rebuilt our lives, we were so grateful for our neighbours’ selflessness. They gave us hope and accompanied us through the challenging days.
Years have passed since that fateful storm, but its memory remains etched in my mind. It left me in awe of the power of nature, mindful of the fragility of our existence, and appreciative of the strength we find in the support of our loved ones and community.
As I reflect upon that time, I am forever grateful for the experience that taught me resilience, compassion, and the stubborn spirit of humans to cling to life even in the most hopeless of situations.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
