Tsunami - 10 weeks on: Hands across the sea as tourists pitch in

Tony Kopa, known by locals as "the big Maori bloke", is helping the people of Phi Phi rebuild their lives and wants other New Zealanders to join him. Picture / Brett Phibbs

Tony Kopa from Kaikohe won a talent quest the other night. The big Maori with dreadlocks and a bandaged ankle performed a haka and sang Dock of the Bay but changed the words.

His first verse went something like: "Left my home in New Zealand, headed to Koh Phi Phi, had nothing to live for, until I saw the volunteers around me."

The 34-year-old Nga Puhi man was singing on the island paradise that is Phi Phi in Thailand, an hour from the mainland by sea, to an international audience of backpackers.

They are here to clean up tsunami damage. Phi Phi has held a magical allure for backpackers with its isolation, craggy mountains, clear, emerald sea and fine, white sand from well before it was made famous by Hollywood in The Beach.

Now, word of mouth is drawing more and more back on almost every long boat that arrives.

There's Mr Kopa, Australians, Americans, Scandinavians and Thais, of course, those who had shops here and survived the wrath of the big wave.

Because they have no insurance or welfare, the Thais have little choice but to clean up and keep going, even though some are afraid.

There is no Government help to be seen and rumours are flying around the backpackers that the Thai Government is refusing to help because land is privately owned. It wants to force the locals to sell so it can put up luxury resorts, they say.

At a function for travel agents and journalists recently, a Government official was vague on plans for Phi Phi, apart from saying the island would remain a place for relaxing, diving and adventure.

In other parts of tsunami-affected Thailand, the Army is helping to rebuild, but there is no sign of this today at Phi Phi.

If what the backpackers say is true, and some of the locals also say the Government is not helping, then it is a surprise because the destruction was staggering. Two thousand died, including New Zealander Craig Baxter, when water swamped both sides of a flat strip of restaurants, hotels, shops and stalls.

Those that were not built of solid concrete were ripped away. Debris floated far out to sea and much sank to the sea floor.

On a visit soon after the tsunami, we saw concrete buildings packed full of rubble and bodies. The stench was frightful.

But Phi Phi is picking itself up. Destruction is still everywhere, but some shops have been cleared out, washed, painted and are open. A few bars are open, too, and there are plenty of hotels.

The island, in fact, is a hive of activity and at night is beginning to rock again to the sound of partying.

Mr Kopa says he is known as the "big Maori bloke" and has been doing heavy labour and snorkelling, picking up rubbish from the spectacular reefs.

Every day divers and snorkellers get cuts from roofing iron and other undersea hazards. Mr Kopa hurt his ankle this way.

These backpackers may party some nights, but it is partly to help cope with what they are doing.

Says Mr Kopa: "You'll come up and you'll have a bit of corrugated iron, or you'll have some child's jewellery box, or a baby's pair of pants or a shoe. That's when the whole thing becomes reality."

It is okay to be here, he says: "Tell Kiwis to come back. You can have an awesome holiday here. You can reward yourself by actually doing a bit of work, doing a bit of good. It's hands across the sea here."

Two Melbourne brothers, Simon and James Berman, 22 and 23, are a bit hung over from the talent quest the night before. They are having a hair of the dog, drinking "tsunami beer" - the cans are intact but the tops are a bit rusty and need a wipe.

It feels a bit weird to be drinking it, says Simon, but life goes on and they are not just having fun: "Everyone is working their arse off. It's kind of heart-warming to see this kind of human spirit."

Another volunteer says the atmosphere is like MASH, the American television programme set in the Korean War; a mix of insanity, crazy humour and incredible community.

The Australians say there are "disaster tourists", those who visit to see the damage but most end up helping.

No one is sunbathing or swimming despite the hot, hot sun, at least not in the bays near the damage.

Walk along a smashed alleyway of shops and you can't help notice the T-shirts on sale. One has a painted image of a big wave and a woman's crying face. Another has small figures in a swirling wave. It might seem bad taste, but it is also an expression of grief.

They are for sale in one of the shops smashed to pieces and put back together again. The owner is not here but Suma Goff, 41, sits at a nearby dive shop. It is neat and clean while shops are still full of rubble.

She has been able to open because her husband, who was flung against walls by the water but survived, started clearing the shop that very day. She asks us to tell people Phi Phi is not closed.

Baggage trolleys trundle by. It is a relief they no longer transport the dead and are carrying vegetables and supplies instead.

But body parts are still being found. A sign tells volunteers if they find any to cordon the area off.

"They found a bone the other day, it was a kid's bone," says 29-year-old Rebecca Debenport from Arizona, her face shiny with sweat from picking up broken masonry. "They say even if you think it's a chicken bone, mark it because there are still 700 people missing."

* Phi Phi urgently needs experienced divers. Contact Andrew Hewett of Phi Phi Tsunami Dive Camp on the email address below.