KOTA KUALA MUDA: It was a typical year-end for the villagers along the Kota Kuala Muda coast, as they busied themselves helping neighbours host a kenduri (wedding reception feast) during the long school break.
Azmi Murad vividly recalls how Dec 26, 2004, began like any other day, with a bright blue sky and calm seas.
"It was just a normal day, and we were helping at the kenduri as guests began arriving around noon.
But by about 12 noon, a few villagers left to check on strange white lines forming in the sea, several kilometres offshore.
"They said it looked like rolls of cotton from a distance, but we didn't think much of it. We were too busy attending to the guests," said the 59-year-old former factory worker.
An hour later, frantic shouts echoed through the village: large waves were hitting the area. At that time, the word tsunami wasn't even in the villagers' vocabulary.
"Moments later, the waves began crashing into the village. We were swept away.
"It was chaos. I remember grabbing my youngest child, and, with my wife, we ran back to our house."
Wading through muddy floodwaters filled with debris, the family reached their home, where they heard a cousin shouting for them to head to the upper floor.
"Several neighbours followed us to the house. We sat there, shaken to the core. No one knew what was happening," he recalled.
About 15 minutes later, the second, more powerful wave hit.
"The second wave destroyed everything in its path. We could only pray the house wouldn't collapse," Azmi said.
As the waters receded, Marzuki and the others rushed out of the house to find the village in ruins.
"It was like ground zero. The whole village was covered in over a metre of mud. Some houses were torn apart, while cars, motorcycles, and debris were scattered across the land. It was horrific," he said.
His two sons, aged 6 and 8 at the time, had taken shelter at a friend's house in nearby Kampung Paya.
Left with only the clothes on their backs, villagers from 10 coastal settlements were relocated to three schools in Kota Kuala Muda.
"Once we settled down, I realised we had completely forgotten about kakak," Azmi said, referring to the family's pet yellow-crested cockatoo, which had been left on the house's fence that morning.
Marzuki feared that their beloved cockatoo, a gift from his nephew the year before, had perished in the disaster.
"The next morning, I returned to the house. Thankfully, I found it, taking shelter on the ledge of the wooden wall on the upper floor.
I noticed holes in the wall, suggesting it had tried to force its way inside by pecking through the wood."
Azmi smiled as he placed the cockatoo on his left shoulder.
"I'm still not sure how it survived the wave—it couldn't fly. It was a miracle," he said.
Though the cockatoo had survived, Azmi believed it had suffered emotional trauma."He's been upset ever since.
Not long after the tsunami, he began plucking his feathers," Azmi said, pointing to the bird's bare chest.
A visit to the vet confirmed that it was common for birds to pluck their feathers when stressed.
"We may never know what he went through during the tsunami," Azmi said.
"But judging by his behaviour since then, I believe it left a deep emotional scar on him."