Amidst the devastation in north-eastern Japan, work has begun to retrieve the corpses that lie hidden beneath the mud and rubble.

Radio Netherlands Worldwide correspondent Kjeld Duits is following the men charged with this difficult and macabre task.

The disaster area is closed to journalists and photographers because of the danger of new tsunamis. But I manage to find my way there along remote byways, unwatched by police.

What I find looks like a scene from a far-fetched disaster movie. A small group of men in silver jackets and white helmets move slowly through a world of uprooted trees, household belongings and wrecked cars. Sometimes sinking up to their knees, they probe the mud around them with long sticks.
Relatives
The men are fire-fighters hunting for corpses. They work methodically, in near silence, their expressions sombre. Many have family members missing themselves.

“There are various relatives I’ve not been able to contact,” says 41-year-old Sato. “They lived in an area that was destroyed last Friday.” Nevertheless, Sato carries on stoically searching for bodies. The suffering staring him in the face here is perhaps enough to overshadow his own worries.

Mud
The search for bodies in Sendai is a mammoth task. The area affected is vast and difficult to access. Many of the dead lie in water or buried under mud. Many families fleeing the tsunami lost touch with one another. Telephone communication in the disaster area is virtually impossible.

The news gives little cause for hope. Japan is beginning to realise the harsh reality of the disaster.  In nearby Minamisanriku, half of the 10,000 inhabitants are missing. In Rikuzentakata, only 5,900 people out of a population of 23,000 arrived at the evacuation centres.

“I can see no end to our work,” says Sato. “It could take a month to retrieve the bodies.” His younger colleague says nothing. Despite their air of calm, you can feel that the fire-fighters are deeply affected.

Order
Suddenly the unnatural silence is broken. “Tsunami warning!” one of the leaders shouts. “We’ve been ordered to find a high place. And you?” He looks at me enquiringly. I’m only too happy to follow the order too.

The men walk quickly to one of the few houses that remain standing. One of them wades through the water beside the house and suddenly sinks to his waist. He probably isn’t the first to have made this mistake. The man is drenched, yet he doesn’t utter a single expletive.

The men help each other onto the roof. From this vantage point they spot a colleague about a hundred metres away, walking slowly to join them. “He doesn’t seem worried at all,” says one of the fire-fighters in surprise.

Reporting on the tsunami in Aceh in 2004, I also experienced tsunami warnings. Then it was always a false alarm. But you can never be too careful.

Sacred
After about half an hour the radio crackles into life. There’s enough time before the tsunami arrives, we’re told. We’re given permission to climb off the roof and head out of the area.

Fire-fighters in yellow trousers and orange jackets mark the location of two corpses they had found before the alarm was sounded. They write a number on a piece of wood and wrap the naked bodies in blue sheets. They’ll be picked up later, Sato explains.

The men carefully pick their way back towards the motorway, clambering over tree trunks and rubble. Once Sato falls over, but again he doesn’t swear. For the fire-fighters clearing the bodies, this is sacred ground.

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