n September 30, in West Sumatra, Indonesia, the ground shook.  Houses and buildings collapsed, people were buried and killed.  Sometimes tragedies just seem far away, but these people aren’t just strangers in a faraway place, I was born with them.  They are the Minangkabau.

Minangkabau means “The Winning Water Buffalo People”.  They call themselves that because legend says that one time they fought another tribe by agreeing to each choose a water buffalo and let them fight it out.  The other tribe chose a big, strong buffalo.  The Minangkabau chose a little baby buffalo with teeny horns. They tied a knife to its horns, and when they let it into the pen with the big buffalo, the baby walked up to it looking for milk.  The knife cut into the big buffalo and killed it.

The Minangkabau are Muslims and there are about five million of them.  They wear hats and have houses that are shaped like the horns of the water buffalo.  They have a matrilineal society, which is very rare throughout the world and means that the names and property of families go to the women instead of the men.  They are known for their spicy food and for being good businessmen.  Many people are still farmers.  They grow rice and cinnamon.  West Sumatra has mountains with rainforests and beaches.

When a 7.6 earthquake hit West Sumatra, over 1,000 people died and over one million buildings were destroyed.  Complete villages disappeared in landslides.  The people who are alive are living in tents and many still aren’t going to school or work because the buildings were destroyed.  My friend’s father is a doctor there.  As he stepped outside for a break, he watched his office collapse behind him.

Relief teams are handing out food, water and medicine.  A close friend told my mom that they have electricity but no running water yet.  The relief organizations are also cleaning up and rebuilding things because most people are poor and can’t pay to rebuild their homes.

My family used to live in Padang and I was born there.  When I came home from the hospital, they had an Indonesian style party to celebrate.  They had a thanksgiving meal and gave out milk to poor families.  The neighborhood kids would wait to play everyday outside our gate.  The big kids loved to carry me around because I was the little blond baby.  We would celebrate holidays with them.  These people have names and faces to me.  They are my neighbors and yours too.  They aren’t in the newspaper anymore and no one really thinks about them, but they still need help and will be recovering for a long time.