Tsunami Hits Home

Minutes before the Asian tsunami hit, Attila Kilinc, professor of geology, noticed the earthquake that preceded the waves. The seismic station in the Geology-Physics Building records any earthquake occurring anywhere in the world 24 hours a day. And when the waves from the 9.0 quake took a scant 16 minutes to register on the seismometer, Kilinc considered the possibility of a natural disaster.

But even he could not predict the extent of devastation that would occur. A few hours later he found himself explaining to a television reporter the aftermath of the waves' impact: “Their magnitude caused so much material from the ocean to be pushed into the earth's interior that there was an increase of three microseconds in the planet's spinning. Another way to understand the impact is to consider that Sumatra and the smaller islands were actually moved about 100 feet southwest.”

Robert Frohn, assistant professor of geography, saw the destruction from a different perspective. His “before” and “after” satellite images are so clear he plans to use them in his classes on intermediate remote sensing (the study of earth from satellites) and environmental geographic information systems (mapping technology).

The images will allow students to map the impact of the waves and the condition of the infrastructure prior to and following the tsunami. Planners could then use comparisons to achieve what Frohn calls “the quickest comeback.” They will demonstrate the types of construction that best withstood various intensities of impact, what can be rebuilt right away, and how to reinforce and protect structures in the future.

For Dan Ralescu, professor of mathematical sciences, and Sri Lanka natives Rohana Wijewardhana and Siva Sivaganesan, physics and mathematical sciences professors, the disaster was personal. Ralescu was relaxing on Thailand's Phuket Island when the waves caught him as he headed away from the beach. Amid the sounds of breaking glass, screaming people, and his hotel's generator exploding, he struggled to contain the blood from cuts on his scalp, hand, and shins. He and his wife managed to survive by retreating up a hill behind their hotel, but he spent eight days visiting a hospital that he described to a Cincinnati Post reporter as looking “like a war zone.” He recalled being moved by the hundreds of photographs of the missing: “I'm not usually an overly compassionate person, but every time I saw those photos, I cried.”

Wijewardhana, a former advisor to the Sri Lankan student organization, wasn't as concerned about his own losses and anxieties as about grieving Asian students far from home: Milhan Ajward, who lost an aunt, uncle, and three cousins; Sumith Doluweera, whose in-laws escaped death only because their church, which sits 40 feet above sea level, was late getting out; Priyankara Wickramasinghe, who told the Post he “sees the faces of his own children in photos of those orphaned by the wall of water that crushed his hometown.”

Finally, there is Sivaganesan. He lost a friend and worries about his mother, who survived but lives in a poor and remote part of the country cut off by years of civil war. Sivaganesan described growing up in “beautiful Sri Lanka, part of which has already suffered through a 20-year-old war and was just barely recovering when the tsunami dealt another severe blow.” He believes that “if aid is delivered fairly and expeditiously, there is hope that victims will make the best of their shattered lives and the tsunami will be remembered for bringing out the best in all of us.”