For many, tsunami damage runs deep

IRRAKKAKANDI, Sri Lanka -- Abdul and Rispiya Fowser, brother and sister, were both suddenly acting bizarrely. He tried to strangle his wife. She made what her father called "improper" suggestions to men.

So their befuddled family tied them together with ropes. When the two reacted by setting fire to their clothes, the family looked for outside help.

Like many families of people suffering mental breakdowns after the tsunami, the Fowsers turned to a traditional healer. One early pre-dawn morning recently, Mohamed Haniffa Latheef, sat next to Abdul Fowser, 29, and townspeople brought him items from a list of his required ingredients: crabs, shrimp, beetle leaves, lemon, herbs, and 11 varieties of cut flowers, among others.

Latheef, who is blind, began to chant over burning incense "to chase the evil spirit out," he said. None of the neighbors, who peered in through windows or the doorway, had ever witnessed a person with severe mental problems in this village of 2,300 people on the northeastern part of the island nation. And now one family had two members who couldn't control themselves.

"It's the tsunami," said Ansar Jailabdeena, 37, the village president. "The tsunami has affected us in many ways."

The Fowser siblings are an extreme case, but not the only ones psychologically affected by what happened on Dec. 26.

Jailabdeena said everyone in the village now looks at the Indian Ocean differently, and many don't want to go near it.

"People looked at the sea as a God who gave them something to eat every day," he said. "Now, the very mention of the word 'sea' instills fear into their hearts. People are so scared, they sleep with their doors open at night -- so they can leave in a hurry if they want to. Even I'm too scared to come down to the sea."

The Western ways of seeking therapeutic counseling with a trained psychologist or psychiatrist has not taken hold in most of Sri Lanka, where more than 30,000 people were killed in the tsunami. The entire east coast of the nation reportedly has just one person educated as a therapist. The nearest psychiatric care is more than 120 miles away, at the hospital in the central city of Kandy.

But most people seek out traditional healers -- no matter the ailment. "So many people here believe in them," said Dayananda Silva, who directs CARE's operations in the area. "And why not? For thousands of years, people have been using them, and getting well."

And yet, the case of the Fowser siblings confounded many in the village, even the patients themselves.

Abdul Fowser, a fisherman, husband, and father of four boys, said he had never had any psychotic or delusional experiences before the tsunami; his sister, Rispiya, 20, said the same. Townspeople concurred.

During the tsunami, Rispiya was far enough from the shore to escape trouble. But she worried about her brother, Abdul, who was on a boat about a mile offshore, near Pigeon Island.

Abdul said the waves capsized his boat, throwing him and eight others overboard. All survived, he said, but he swam for an hour before reaching land.

After the tsunami, brother and sister seemed to be lost at times, either by not responding to others, or by the dazed look in their eyes, said their father, Mohammed Sultan Assandeen, 55.

"They seemed jumpy," he said. "But in late January, it got worse."

Relatives said Abdul especially began acting erratically, and violently. They described how he would get angry in a flash, and then start throwing chairs, or attack anyone who is near him. Neighbors, on several occasions, were called in for the difficult job of restraining him. Ropes, they said, were necessary.

But one afternoon recently, Abdul Fowser held up his wrists that showed rope marks and began to weep. "They beat me up," he said. "I don't know why they have to tie me."

Neighbors around him smirked. Everyone said he posed a danger to others, especially his wife, Farhana, 27.

"It's the sea that did this to him," said Farhana Fowser. "He was very nice to all of us before. Now he has mood swings. He's a sick man. We don't know what to do."

A neighbor called Latheef 37, whose father and grandfather had been traditional healers. He has been practicing his brand of healing since the age of 10.

He said he's never been as busy as now, after the tsunami.

"I have 15 cases that are like this one. I've dealt with worse cases than this. They are all caused by the shock of the tsunami. The tsunami allowed many demons to go inside people. I must get the demons out."

A single bulb lit the room. Villagers laid out fruits, fish, flowers, and incense before him. For three hours, Latheef meticulously wrote symbols on 12 pieces of soft tin the size of a business card, feeling each afterward and reading it as he would braille.

He took a break to eat, and said the job would not be difficult. "In 24 hours, he will be better," Latheef said, fingering rice on his plate. "I expect a complete recovery in three days."

Latheef returned to the hut. Someone lit the incense and he began to chant.

For two more hours, Latheef performed a similar ceremony with Rispiya Fowser in another hut.

He then took Abdul Fowser with him to his village. Latheef said it was the only way to prevent Abdul Fowser from coming in contact with a woman who was menstruating. If that had happened, he said, the spirits would stay inside the fisherman.

A day later, Rispiya Fowser said she felt better, although her eyes darted around the room, and she shifted uneasily at times. "I am confident she is well," said her father.

Three days later, Abdul Fowser returned to his home. His neighbors said he had one major improvement -- when he felt his mood was changing, he would warn those around him. That gave them enough time to tie him down.

John Donnelly can be reached at donnelly@globe.com