Barry Donnelly - 46 Days Adrift. A True Story

As a young bloke growing up in Armidale, my step-dad told me the story about The Little Boy Lost in the bush around Armidale in the nineteen sixties. A massive search was carried out, and miraculously, the little boy was found alive.

Little did I know the same thing would one day happen to me. I would be lost, not in the Australian bush, but in the shark-infested waters of the Pacific, off the island of Kiribati. With my uncle, Koraubara and friend, Taea, we drifted for forty-six days in a four-metre aluminium tinnie , facing the daily threat of death in the perilous waters.

This is the story of those days at sea, and of friends and family who never gave up hope that I, like the little boy lost, would be found alive.

Im about to take you on a trip through my life. Sometimes you may feel like hanging onto the sides, cursing and yelling, or maybe you wont know whether to laugh or cry. My advice is to climb aboard, and be willing to take the rough with the smooth.

Ben Tooki

I am indebted to Neville Yates for his determination that Bens story should be told, and for his continuing steady hand on the tiller, and to Nevilles wife, Robyn, and to Taoati Tooki, Bens mum, who provided invaluable detail with her remarkable story-telling talent. Thanks to Bruce Dawson, and Sean McDonald in L. A. who bounced the first ball. My gratitude also is extended to Karen Donnelly and Bill Robbins for their encouragement and support along the writing road, and finally, to my wife, Wendy who kept reminding me I could do it.

I reserve a special hurrah for Ben and his fellow survivors, who proved that, if you hang on long enough, help, more often than not, arrives.

Barry Donnellys development as a writer owes much to his extensive career as an actor and director. Augmenting a wide experience in Australian theatre, television and films, he worked in London, appearing on the BBC, at the Royal Court Theatre and at the Edinburgh Festival. He also directed the BBC television series, Z Cars. He has written for a number of television series including Patrol Boat and his theatre play Home Brew was also televised.

His novel Boys by the Sea evoking a remarkable portrait of Australian adolescence was published by William Collins in their Imprint series.

January 2005

Theres a storm shapin up; its been gettin to full on all day. It calms down for a bit, and we get ourselves sorted out, start drying off our wet gear, hanging it along the sides of the tinnie. We think everything is okay. Its nine oclock, no moon, and its really dark. We relax, and Taea and me, were talkin away. My uncle, out of the blue, breaks into our conversation, sayin, Shhh! Can you hear that rumbling noise?

We hear the rumbling noise. It sounds like the music of a didgeridoo, a kind of humming sound. So we think, what? Theres no light. Just that bass sound, like goin up and down: Wow!

Wow!

Whats that noise? Its getting louder.

Its comin in our direction!

I lean over one side of the tinnie, trying for more reach, getting more of a feel for the noise. Its coming from my side; there are a couple of quick splashes on my face, followed by one hell of a jolt. The tinnie tilts sharply, hits me hard on the side of the arm, and next minute theres water everywhere. The tinnie starts rising like a piece of matchwood, with Taea goin one way, an Uncle goin in another. The wave grows into a giant bulge in the ocean, lifts us like in an elevator, and then begins to roll forward, not breaking, but bent on delivering us to some kind of eternity. It sucks back on itself suddenly, and turns us into a helter-skelter speedboat. Were three men, goin to a certain death on the mother of all waves, three men in an elevator, riding a boiling mass of water. The wave forms a curled lip in the middle of nowhere, like you find in any strong surf. The wave must be ten metres high. The lip keeps on rising, then suddenly collapses and buries us, rips at us, runs over us, like a train; the tinnie charges down a valley so fast I think my shoulder is busted by the impact. It can only be a freak from the tsunami, a one-off freak we never saw coming. It lasts maybe seconds, but it feels like a lifetime, and the tinnie turns in the air, finishing upside down, with me spinning under the sea.

My sisters in Kiribati are waiting to welcome my Aussie visitors; theyll be ready with garlands, freshly husked green coconuts, ready to drink, plus our transport. Well be heading to the far end of Tarawa, to a village called Betio.

My sister, Tiiba, is married to a Maiana island man named Koraubara Tebaka. Maiana is an island forty kilometres from Tarawa; its where I intend taking my guests. Maiana is unspoiled, and offers more in the traditional Kiribati lifestyle, in housing and culture, and in ways of living. Tarawa, the capital, has developed rapidly; its overcrowded with outer island people looking for jobs, education for their children, the modern life of taxis, buses, saloon cars, pubs, discos, hotels, and the numerous shops and open markets.

Im excited as the plane thumps down on the runway. People of Kiribati have come to watch the new arrivals from over the seas. My sisters will be chattering loudly about their Aussie visitors. In Kiribati, if you have foreigners coming to stay, its a special occasion, a great honour and something to be thoroughly proud of.

I already arranged with my sister Tiiba for Liam, Hannah and her mother to stay with them; her house, belonging to the government, is built of bricks, with three furnished rooms, a toilet and shower, fridge, gas oven, all the things I know Australians are comfortable with. I worry because, being a Kiribatian, I go to the well and scoop water in a pail, pour it over my head, and thats my shower.

Ben will stay with my youngest sister, Tiene. I think of her as my other baby still, even though shes married. I raised her when my mother passed away, leaving a father and six children. Tiene was two years old. I brought her up, along with my old man, Tooki.

Each morning at six, Ill ride my brother-in-laws motorcycle to breakfast with my Aussie guests at Tiibas house, where we can plan what to do for the day. Ill take them on walks, show them the shops, harbour, night clubs, Chinese restaurants, the Royal, an Aussie pub where you meet Australians who are in business, and who want to talk to their Aussie mates. My friends wont be too keen on that; theyll be more into meeting the locals, getting to know their way of life. My mind is elsewhere, counting the days until Bens arrival. Time skips away quickly, and soon were preparing to meet my young man from Australia.

On that day, my Aussie friends and I are near to the airport, at a village named Buota, staying in one of the locally built tourist resorts. My sister Tiene will pick us up and take us to the airport. But things dont turn out as planned. We wait, but theyre late, and I hear the Air Nauru plane flying overhead. I hail a passing bus. Im disappointed because the plane has already landed; Ill miss Ben as he walks down the steps on his way to the terminal building, the moment when everyones eyes focus on the new arrivals. I rush to the new arrivals building and peep through a crack in the wall, trying to get a glimpse of Ben. Im so excited, I start calling his name, Ben! He hears me, and looks around in search of the voice.

Ben has grown tall, over 1.80 metres; hes twenty-one years old, with very fine features. I watch his every movement. Im anxious to meet with him, and take him home. I watch him smile; I think about how hes always shy with me when others are around. Ben has changed a lot, and it breaks my heart, because I keep thinking hell always be with me, be my baby. I never think that now hes grown up hell leave me, and join his peers and friends.