Sri Lanka Stories... by Gail Belcher 2005

Sri Lanka Stories

The Journey to Kalmunai:
Hello Kitty

Mothers Day began in Colombo, Sri Lanka following three hours of jet lagged sleep. Betty and I had awakened to find ourselves locked into our strange house alone. The man who was allowing us to stay there had left us a note to sat he had gone to church and when he finally returned much later we were freed to continue our journey. Anthony and Charles, the driver, eventually arrived to rescue us from our hostage-taking incident which made us late arriving in Kalmunai.

The journey was quite magical once we left Colombo. Lush green fields, small farms, wonderful little villages clustered along the side of the road selling produce---pineapples, coconuts, jackfruit, cashews, bananas, mangoes---it is the fruit harvest time of the year. In every little village the people were dressed in beautiful clothing. I thought it was because of mothers day. Little did I know that people dress like this every day in Sri Lanka. The animals along the way were a joy to see---cows, chickens, goats, dogs, cats, all cohabiting with the vehicles for their little corner of the road, along with the tuk tuks, carts, tractors, motorbikes, busses, cars and bicycles. The sounds of this place are my favorite thing, however. All manner of engine sounds, bicycle bells dinging, horns honking, cows mooing, goats bleating, dogs barking, children laughing, hindi music playing but, for some reason, I couldn't hear the cats. It was a joyous symphony!

As we drove near to the coast we began to see barbed wire fences, more frequent military checkpoints, signs warning of mines in the fields and evidence of deepening poverty. And then the destruction began---nothing had prepared me for the devastation that this beautiful island has experienced.
It is everywhere. There are no words to describe the power of that tsunami wave. It was dark and sobering and we were exhausted from three days of traveling to this little island paradise.

We were greeted at the door of our aqua blue house by the scrawniest little kitten I have ever seen---she had a tiny little triangular head with giant eyes and a teeny meow. At last I heard the voice of the Sri Lankan cats.
Her name is Kitty-Kitty and I said, "Hello Kitty" and we were home for a month. The house in Kalmunai was warm and welcoming and we settled into our little beds under a bright pink mosquito net for a good night of sleep.

The next morning we wakened to fresh mangoes and eggs straight from the chicken out back---so fresh! We went to the beach for our first look at the tsunami damage accompanied by our translator, Sundar, and one of our counselors, Denash. Sundar, in particular, had lost three familyhomes and seven immediate family members. We went to the area of rubble where his family had been lost to meet his sister and some of her family. The Sri Lankan people go to their land and sit where their homes had beenand mourn the loss of their families, their homes, and their way of life. They are so friendly and open and they all freely share their story of loss with us. It is three and a half months since the tsunami, but much of the rubble and destruction still remain. It is as though the millions of dollars never made it here and it is deeply tragic for the people. I can't imagine what it must be like to still see the reminders of their loss on a daily basis---children's shoes, fabric from women's dresses, human bones, statues from ruined churches and temples, household items, children's schoolbooks, washed out graves, television sets, pieces of coffins---it is so disheartening. I turn to look at the sea and it is tranquil, turquoise blue and beautiful.

The Journey to Kalmunai:
Sari Silk and Uniforms

I thought the destruction on the beaches was the hard part, but I was wrong.
Our next day was my first visit to the schools with our counseling team.
The team is an amazing collection of 10 young women and two young men. They chatter a lot and they love to laugh. Even though some of them are living in camps and have lost homes and family members, they come to our office in impeccable clothing---beautiful, brightly colored saris, bright red and purple finger nails, pretty anklets, bracelets, earrings and rings.
Meanwhile, I look like a total slob with my scruffy creased pants and a tee shirt and a red Canada baseball hat. I am sweating profusely and I have no makeup on---not even lipstick---yes, it's true. Basically I look like something Hello Kitty has just dragged in!

We head out to our first school and when we arrived, the children cluster around in such an excited and noisy way to say," Hello" and shake my hand and touch my arm that I felt for the very first time in my life that I must be a rock star, although anyone who knows me well knows that I can't carry a tune. The classrooms are spartan and bare. There are no pictures, no books, no play items, no colors. The children are dressed in sparkling white and blue uniforms and they all stand up to greet us and say, "Good morning Maam", in perfect English. The children here are too beautiful for words. As the counselors begin their session, they ask the children, " How many people are still afraid the Tsunami will come again?" They all put up their hands.
This is five months following the tsunami and this is the first time the counseling team have been able to reach this particular group of children---there are 18 schools, 12 different grade levels, and 4 camps that we visit. The numbers of affected children are staggering. I speak to the kids with my translator just to say hello and to comment on what strong, amazing children they are. The counselors explain the tsunami in great detail to the childen, sometimes exploding a plastic bag full of water to demonstrate, and all the children laugh.

When they are asked to show their hands again about whether they are still afraid of the tsunami coming, only one child raises their hand. One of the counselors goes to spend more time with that one child and we continue with our program, which is only possible when the fear has been somewhat dissipated. When I ask the children what some of their favorite things are they say flowers, fruit, cricket, play, laughter, stories, family, skipping---the same things children all over the world say. But when they begin to draw for the first time their pictures of before, during and after the tsunami it is heartbreaking. The counseling team goes around the room talking to the children individually and listening to their stories. There are tears and more tears. We pick some children from each class who seem to be having more difficulty than others and we formulate a smaller group that we will come back to. They will be followed in the long term. This is repeated day in and day out all over the Ampara district of Sri Lanka. These are the bravest children I have ever known and they do their healing with joy and a big smile.

We are also attempting to reach the adolescents, as the team began with the youngest children four months ago. I think our day with our first group of adolescents was the most difficult for me personally.
A 14 year old girl decompensated right before our eyes as she told the story of the loss of her home, her mother, her three sisters and now her father has turned to alcoholism ( which is pretty rare in the Tamil population) and he comes home to their tent in the refugee camp very angry and mean to her and her two younger siblings and he throws things around the tent and the children have to leave and find another tent to go to for the night or they will be hurt or not be able to get any sleep or go to school. The children are very industrious and proud of their schoolwork and want so much to do well on their exams in spite of everything. Her teacher, a lovely middle aged woman in a soft green colored silk sari begins to cry beside her. Her losses have been huge as well. There is no counseling or mental health textbook that tells us how to work with this disaster, so we make it up as we go along. If it comes from our heart and is tempered by our head and the knowledge that we already have, perhaps we can move forward with baby steps and that is what we are doing here.
And so, the bright sari silks swirl amongst the children and their fresh white uniforms and another day of work comes to a close in Kamunai.
( I will have to wait and tell the rest of the story of this day in my next
email)


The Journey to Kalmunai:
The TukTuk Ride to Heaven

I finished my last email message with an addendum that I would finish the story of my day at another time. Here it is! After that very difficult first day hearing the stories of loss from the children, the counseling team asked if I would like to go to a wedding with them and I said sure. They dropped me off at our house and told me to be ready to go in an hour. A quick shower and a change of clothes later Priya arrived at the door to pick me up in a hot pink sari with a black baseball hat to protect her hair doo.
I found out mere seconds later why she was taking care of her hair. She wanted me to sit sidesaddle on the back of her bicycle to take me to our office to meet the others. We must have been quite a sight!
On our arrival at the office the girls had organized a tuktuk ride to the wedding. So all five of us piled into the tiny back seat of a tuktuk to die for---huge speakers behind our seat pumping out loud hindi music, baubles and pompoms and decorations lining the dashboard and front window, psychedelic pictures of Hindu gods lining the entire interior and the wild and crazy streets of Kalmunai to top it all off. As we were swerving along the bumpy roads of downtown, I experienced this sudden moment of pure joy!
It felt like I had died and gone to heaven in a tuktuk full of the laughter and chatter of five young women on their way to a wedding. It is this wild juxtaposition of life and death, joy and sorrow, celebration and pain that is the essence of life here. There is nothing tucked away in neat little packages like there is at home. Everything is woven into one complex fabric of life. You laugh one moment and cry the next and it's all OK.

When we arrived at the home of the bride I was sprinkled with rosewater and a man came to me with a pitcher of water to pour over my hands before I ate.
I promptly made my first social faux pas by putting out both hands. Hindus only eat with their right hand. If there was any question in their minds that I was a foreign usurper at their wedding, it was all now confirmed. I had a bright yellow spot placed in the middle of my forehead next, and I was ready to party.

The bride and groom must have been very much in love because they were required to stand in 98 degree heat with a humidity of 100 percent, decked out in their layers of formal clothing. That kind of devotion is rare today.
We ate and drank (water that is!) and came home in our little tuktuk to get some sleep to go back to the schools and hear more sad, sad stories.
That is a day in my life in Kalmunai!

The Journey to Kalmunai:
Religion 101

We visited one of the remote camps on Saturday and I played real nurse for a day. I did only a little to help but it was very interesting. We see all manner of things here---lots of cuts that are infected, some fevers, snakebites, injuries from altercations with elephants, skin diseases and everyday problems, but the availability of good fresh food is so abundant, that the people look very healthy. On our way home from the camp we stopped at a picturesque seaside fishing community with a very pretty old lighthouse. We all ran into the water to cool off up to our knees---what a treat for our dirty tired feet. Suddenly as we turned around, an entire big bus full of Muslim children had arrived at the lighthouse for a trip from their Saturday school. There must have been 50 of them all dressed in their little white starched school clothes and little Tamil hats. They were all laughing and waving at us in unison. I walked over to the teacher that was with them, put out my hand to shake and said, " Salaam alaikum ". He must have thought: who is this dirty, wild woman all scruffy and soaking wet in the middle of nowhere speaking Arabic to me? So he started to laugh and I definitely got the feeling he was laughing at me, not with me. All that aside, when he finally contained himself, he shook my dripping hand and said," Alaikum salaam to you madam". We chatted a while. The children were beautiful and delightful and funny. That was my first religious blessing for the holiday.

Our three day Buddhist holiday began with a trip to Batticaloa, a seaport north of Kalmunai. We began the day by delivering some money to an 83 year old man from his daughter in Washington State. She sent it with the American nurse and doctor who are working here. He lived in a little hut in the country and promptly started demonstrating yoga to us and singing it's praises in terms of his own longevity. He calls himself the yoga man and he put his hands on my shoulders, I thought he was about to proclaim some profound truth for me. He turned to this little old yoga woman with him and said as clear as a bell, "This lady is too fat." Sometimes yogic truths are hard to take! That was my second blessing of the weekend!
From his home we went to visit the Catholic Bishop of Sri Lanka, again to deliver American dollars to help him in his work here. He welcomed us to his home and showed us his pictures of himself with the new pope. He had just returned from Rome, having had a private audience. We bowed our heads before leaving and he blessed us in our work here and we all felt a little tingle go down our backs. It felt like he had brought a little papal energy back with him from Rome.
Third Blessing!

We found an amazing childrens' program there called the Butterfly Peace Garden of Batticaloa. We went there to take pictures of butterflies and then we found out that there were no butterflies there---it is a healing program for children of Muslim, Christian and Hindu families that have become estranged from each other over the war years here. The premise is that if you are going to heal the racial and religious rifts of war you need to begin with the children. Essentially it is an art and music and dance therapy centre where they mix the children from the three faiths together. I would love to see this kind of program in Kalmunai as there is a lot of healing that needs to take place here above and beyond the tsunami. I saw lots of beautiful childrens' art work there. That was my fourth blessing---that, and the smiles of the children there.

The next morning, we left bright and very early for our trip to Kandy, the center of Buddhist culture for Sri Lanka. Our driver is a Hindu and we stopped at a small roadside Hindu temple so that Pershand could pray to Ganesh, the Hindu god of traveling. Ganesh is very ornate and has a long trunk on his face similar to an elephant. Elephants are great animals and we felt comforted so I think I received that Hindu blessing indirectly. As we traveled on to Kandy the roads climbed higher and higher into the hills and eventually we arrived at the 17 hairpin turns that took us up the mountain---single lane road, two way traffic, no visibility, no guardrails.
It is an act of faith and we made it. Yes, our 5th blessing was definitely the one from Ganesh.
We went to visit the Temple of the Sacred Tooth in Kandy. Every Buddhist who could possibly make it there had arrived before us. It was a very crowded place! We joined the procession of the faithful to go through the temple with them.

They were all carrying very pretty flowers in all colours, the most beautiful of which were the lotus blossoms. They were bringing them to place at the altar. We were traveling as a group of six and it was very difficult to stay together and not to get lost. At one point, the crush of people narrowing onto a stairway became so tight and so huge, I thought we weren't going to make it out alive or uninjured. I think Buddha saw fit to bless us too and we saw the golden Buddha and the golden chamber where the sacred tooth is kept and emerged with an overwhelming desire to drink as much cold coke as possible as quickly as possible, which we did, so I think Buddha saw fit to bless us twice.

Our time in the mountains was amazing---we will never forget it! On our way home, just outside Kalmunai, Pershand stopped at the same little roadside temple to pray to Ganesh. We were all grateful and I somehow believe that we were being watched over by all these gods of all these religions and from all these blessings. In all of this rests our humanity. I think I will just call it my guardian angel for now---my malaika.



The Journey to Kalmunai:
The Teardrop

They call Sri Lanka the teardrop of India---it is, in fact, a teardrop shaped island sitting at the tip of India, 8 degrees from the equator. The heat is something I can't even begin to describe. It just is---how very Zen of me. Last night we had our first big Sri Lankan thunder, lightning and rain storm. It felt to me like millions of tears from the heavens washing this wondrous place clean and fresh and new.

When I began to think of that metaphor it became clearer to me that this is what tears do for us. One day, two little girls arrived on the doorstep of our house dressed in their white school uniforms, carrying red exotic looking flowers that I have never seen before. They spoke no English and Peggy, the nurse from Washington state, and myself, spoke no Tamil. We invited them in and they began to make a paste from the flower and asked us to put out our hands and they decorated both sides of our hands with the red dye. Following this, with our very clumsy sign language and some very broken Tamil and English, we witnessed the story of the girls' losses. The youngest girl said that she had lost her house, her mother and her two younger sisters in the tsunami. She was living in a nearby camp. Her eyes were tearful and Peggy began to cry with her. This child put out both hands to touch Peggy's face and wiped her tears away with her own little hands.
Then she touched the side of her head and touched her shoulder to comfort her. Peggy cried harder and needless to say, by this time, I was crying too.
They don't have Kleenex here and this pure act seemed like something we should learn in North America. We should throw away the tissue boxes and be more comforting---this is one of the most important lessons I have learned from the children here. Just imagine this little seven year old girl teaching us such a beautiful lesson in compassion. The tears do truly wash our faces here.

I came to Sri Lanka and traveled to the center of this teardrop island. I have learned to embrace the teardrops. I believe that at the very centre of these teardrops lies our humanity. I have looked into the centre of the teardrops of the grieving children and they have looked back into mine, and I have a sense that this is where our "godliness rests". I have truly felt the truth in the saying," that the eyes are the mirror of the soul ".
I awakened this morning to the sound of many military helicopters flying very low over our rooftops and felt a little concerned. This remains an unstable country politically. Ron, our doctor from Washington state was running out the door with his hat on and a camera in hand, looking not unlike a foreign journalist on the run to get a good story. It seems that the massive array of security was here because Bill Clinton was arriving by helicopter to survey the damage. He landed in a school playing field at a local school very close to our house, right across the street from our hospital. On Ron's return, the security had been so tight that Ron had talked to many, many policemen for two hours, but never did lay eyes on Bill. He has great photos of the policemen, however. They all want him to send their photos to their police base in Kandy. This is the kind of country Sri Lanka is! You never quite know what to expect!

There have been too many tears here. When the British left Ceylon and the local people changed the name of the island back to it's former name, Sri Lanka, it was because they loved their name. It means The Pearl. It is a pearl, a beautiful treasure, but I think I will always recall it as the teardrop---I must find out the Tamil word for teardrop.


The Journey to Kalmunai:
A Place to Die

In my last few days here in Kalmunai I have been busy tying up loose ends, finishing my teaching, seeing my last group of children at the school, saying goodbye to the counselors, going for tea at numerous homes, and welcoming new people to the team. It is with mixed feelings that I am leaving! I can hardly wait to get home and see everyone again! On the other hand, I have made so many friends here---people who care for you as if you are a member of their family.

The Tamil people are generous and gracious and they express their gratitude all the time. What they do that I have not experienced anywhere before, is that they make it their happy responsibility to take care of you.
I recollect some amazing memories as I sit here writing. On our trip to Kandy during the Buddhist full moon festival, we were fortunate enough to have a guest house made available to us at no cost whatsoever. We drove into the mountains looking for a place called Galaca. We must have stopped at least ten times as the dirt road became more and more narrow, asking how far is it to this place. Every time the person we were asking would point further up the mountain path---I call it a path because that's what it looked like. Many times we thought we would turn around and go back to Kandy and we were so worried that we would hate the place when we got there.
Finally we arrived at the end of the path on top of the mountain and awaiting us was a beautiful old stone home with a red tile roof and a large charming porch that curved around the outside to maximize our enjoyment of the beauty of the outdoors. This home was surrounded by fruit trees, vegetable gardens and greenhouses full of tomatoes and flowers. A tea plantation rested on the slope just above us. We were greeted by a local family that takes care of the home in the absence of its' owner who lives in Colombo. They asked us what we wanted for dinner and promptly went outside to pick the ingredients from the gardens surrounding the home.

That evening, as we sat on the porch overlooking a valley that must have been the closest thing to paradise that I have ever seen, we heard the Buddhist chanting from the temple in the village just below us. As night fell, the paper moon lanterns were lit outside the homes that dotted the mountain slopes. It was an evening of magic that I feel blessed to be able to take home with me. And that is why I say that Sri Lanka is a perfect place to die.



Journey to Kalmunai:
The Mystery Party

Well, this journey is over---until the next time. The kids gave me more than I ever could have imagined. They sang songs for me---Frere Jacques in English, not French--- they drew amazing pictures for me, they created beautiful quilt squares for me, they played games with me, they wrote sad stories for me, they smiled for photographs for me, they welcomed me to their classrooms, they laughed at my stupid jokes and they talked to me---not in the same language, but we always seemed to understand each other. Would I go back---yes!
Before I stop writing my stories, however, I want to comment on some of the sweet mysteries of life in Sri Lanka. One day during our stay, we received an invitation to a party, written in Tamil. When I asked the bearer of the invitation what kind of a party it was he said it was an anniversary; when I asked how many years they had been married he said fourteen; when I asked who the party was for he said his cousin. Sundar was our trustworthy translator and we said, "Yes, we would love to come."

Peggy and Betty did the shopping for the party gift and bought two pretty tea cups and saucers that Sundar agreed his cousin would like. Ron and I had to ride thirty wild kilometers in a tuk tuk to meet everyone there at the cousin's home. Disheveled, but alive, I asked Sundar again about the nature of the party, and he said it was a birthday party for his fourteen year old cousin---tea cups for a fourteen year old? Oh well! It was a very crowded and festive affair complete with decorations, cute kids and good food. When I asked Sundar where his cousin and her husband were he said, "Inside." He must have been mistaken because inside was a beautiful young woman in a red silk sari, gold jewels, and impeccable makeup. She appeared to be in her twenties. She was standing on a red and gold decorated platform holding exotic flowers, much like the brides I had seen at local weddings. Peggy turned to the father of the young woman and asked him what the party was for and he answered, "We are celebrating her womanhood. She has started her first bleeding."

OK---so we were at a menarche celebration! Now, how did that get lost in the translation? Perhaps our trusted translator wasn't as good as we thought he was---Anniversary? Birthday? Teacups? Maybe there is no word for Menarche Celebration. Come to think of it---there isn't one because we don't have such an event and I don't know what it would be called if there were one. So the true meaning of this occasion was lost in translation! Sundar is still our translator! And we had photos taken with the young woman because that is what she was---a young woman!

A great time was had by all---but the teacups?

Well, Sri Lanka is a tea drinking nation, however, I think this is the first time in my life that I have ever made a contribution to a woman's dowry!

The last, and biggest, mystery of all remained a secret, however. How do all the animals and vehicles coexist on the Sri Lankan roadways without endless accidents? It is mass chaos and I never personally saw one accident! I finally asked Kumar, our trusty driver, about the rules of the road or, rather, the absence of any rules of the road. He answered in his usual calm and matter of fact way, "It's simple. You pass the cows around their hind end and the goats at their front end and you can't go wrong." That's Sri Lanka! Did I ever ask for the rationale or did I trust that statement at its' face value? Some mysteries need to be left alone! Goodbye Sri Lanka and thanks for the memories----

Journey to Kalmunai:
A Little Brown Ghost
(among the red flowers)

The first day that I went to the beach in Kalmunai there was something that I neglected to mention--- a woman's dress caught in a barbed wire fence. It caught my eye! It was pale yellow with red flowers, white flowers and green leaves. It looked bright and cheerful in such a devastated place, but I knew it must have a sad story to tell. It was later that I was told by a local person that many people's bodies were found caught in these wire security fences, reminders of the recent war. I walked past that dress many times during my stay in Sri Lanka and every time it seemed to speak to me. I decided that, if it were still there on my last day, I would remove it from the fence and use it for a local children's quilting project.

During my final few days I organized for a group of children that the counseling team were working with to color their handprints on some simple beige muslin squares. We talked about the symbolism of hands waving goodbye, waving hello. I suggested they draw or print whatever they wanted to around their individual handprint. It was an amazing sight! I realized in the first five minutes that I had lost control over the project, as chickens and butterflies and birds and flowers began to appear on their cloth squares.
They took great joy in producing their images for me. I had already explained that I would be sewing them all together to create a quilt, a new concept for them.

Three weeks later, as I was sitting in the comfort of a room in Lion's Bay, Canada, my daughter and I began to put these little works of art together.
It was then that I brought out my most precious piece of cloth, the torn dress fabric from the fence in Kalmunai. We decided to cut into it and produced 15 red rose squares that I placed at the corners of each of the children's works of art. The strips of Sri Lankan batik fabric connected all the roses together; they were then all contained by the dark red border.

I can't begin to communicate how relieved I was when the border was sewn into place and the red roses were in their place of honor---cornerstones for the art of the children.. To me the quilt speaks of a mother's love for her beautiful, creative children---the future of Sri Lanka. There are red flowers in practically every children's square of this project, something I did not plan. I believe that the dress remnant has found a good home. Now the quilt needs to find the same. I have promised the children to return it to the school in Kalmunai where it was born and to hang it in the library where it was created. It is a library with no books! This quilt is dedicated to all the mothers and fathers and children of Sri Lanka who were killed by the tsunami of December 26th, 2004.

The little brown ghost? It is nestled in a tiny corner of the square with the purple hand---the color of courage. How do I know it is a ghost? Because the brave boy who drew it told me. When I asked if the ghost was anyone in particular, he said, "No. It's just a ghost!"


ONE SOLITUDE

There are not two solitudes in SriLanka---only one---and it is the Tamil region of SriLanka. Charles and Anthony and I drove across the island from the! comfort of our Colombo Hotel to Kalmunai. It was quite a magical trip at the beginning---driving through the Sinhalese countryside with it’s lush farms and mountains and jungles. We saw an elephant by the roadside! The villages were lively and happy. As dark began to fall and we reached the east coast, the military presence began to be felt---a very different SriLanka than the one occupied by world aid organizations in May.

The military checkpoints became more and more frequent, the barbed wire was all around us, the special forces units were heavily armed and dressed in camouflage gear, th! e roads were blocked and replaced by almost impassable detours. Close to Kalmunai the very young forces began to look very anxious---a sign to me that they they might become trigger happy at the slightest provocation. The streets were deserted and dark---a curfew was in effect.

Along the way there had been so many other roadside attractions---beautiful little shrines everywhere---more frequent even than the military. There was Ganesh, the Hindu god of the traveller, Budda looking serene and peaceful, sometimes Jesus and sometimes Mary depending on which church you attend, and attractive Musl! im mosques. I turned to Charles and made some innane comment about the religious faiths not practicing the peace and love that they preach. I guess this trip has been Religion 202 for me---a lesson about the differences and not the blessings.

Today is election day and the entire town is closed down. If you are not going to vote you stay home. As we were discussing plans for the kids here in Kalmunai with Anthony, there was the sound of an explosion. Anthony told the counsellors to be calm and that it was probably nothing. A little later one of the school principals came by to tell us that a bomb had exploded in a nearby residentia! l neighbourhood killing one young man and two children and injuring others who had been taken to the hospital next to our house. The news shocked me however, as the principal told us that the man who had been killed was the son of Loga, the local nurse who was part of our team on my trip to Kalmunai in May. I had met her whole family at that time when we had tea in her home. Loga was a part of our daily life in Kalmunai and my heart is aching for her tonight---and for the families of the two children. There have already been too many tears in Kalmunai!


TROUBLE IN PARADISE

The recurring sound of gunshots throughout the day has driven me to a mildly hypomanic state. I feel the overwhelming desire to comment on the humour of our journey here.

I recall that when Charles and I were traveling in South Africa at the time of the White referendum vote, we were constantly befuddled at how everything worked backwards--! --the water even went down the drain inth opposite direction. In this township in eastern Sri Lanka it is quite different-----it just doesn’t work at all.

The little family-run hotel that we are staying in is a case in point. The SuperStar Hotel-----yes Super Star-----is the Sri Lankan version of Faulty Towers, the British comedy series starring John Cleese. h On our first night here we arrived around midnight having been delayed by so many military checkpoints and detours. The gates were locked for the night and we had to honk our horn, shake the metal gate, yell loudly, flash our headlights, raise all the dogs in the neighourhood and generally be as obnoxious as possible.We asked for a room with a double bed and were cheerfully escorted to a spartan room with two double beds and a single bed.

Our first morning we asked for coffee and they brought us a tiny empty bottle of instant Nescafe with some lukewarm water. We asked for bread and they said, “Sorry sir, we have no bread.” When we asked what they did have for breakfast they said “Stringhoppers sir.” Now, we are in a very foreign place and ,to us ,the breakfast sounded like skinny grasshoppers, so we chose not to eat.

That! evening we returned to the SuperStar for dinner. When we asked what they had for dinner they said, ” Fried Rice.” When we asked what else they had, they said, ”Fried Rice with chicken and Fried Rice with fish”. When we asked whether they had anything else, they said, “Yes, we have Fried Rice with p rawns.” We decided on fried rice with prawns and they returned moments later to say, ”Sorry sir, we have no prawns.” I said I would have chicken and Charles said he would have fish. When dinner arrived we each had a giant pile of fried rice. Mine tasted like fish and Charles’ tasted like fish, although we could find no chicken or fish in either.&n! bsp; I ate two spoonfuls.

We had laundry that needed washing and there is a washig machine here. When we asked if we could do laundry, they said, “Sorry sir there is no water.” Our telephone doesn’t work. Our lights go out quite regularly---thank heaven we brought a flashlight! Charles has become the great brown hunter of mosquitoes in our room---I think we kept the whole hotel up last night whacking the ceiling and walls with wet towels and rubber thongs.

Did I mention, however, that we are the only guests in the hotel?
There were two Chinese couples who were tourists from Hong Kong who were staying here two nights ago---go figure! I know it sounds like we do a lot of communicating with these people, but, honestly, we have decided that they don’t understand a single word we have spoken since we have arrived here.

Charles just went downstairs to use the telephone because if you remember we only have a mock telephone in our room. He called Anthony to find out how to use the adaptor to get the antiquated laptop to work. On his return, Charles says there are six people watching a cricket match on television between Soth Africa and India, broadcast in Tamil. He also reports that there is one baby salamander and an army of mosquitoes lined up outside our room, waiting to come in.
Did he find out how to use the adaptor---it’s really quite simple.
You put two prongs in the bottom two holes on the wall and you put a ballpoint pen in the large top hole and the whole thing works.
Oops! I see sparks coming from the ball point pen. “Annie, annie, can you hear me?” I shake Charles and we both laugh.

The final irony in all of this---our sweet young translator, Mercy, asks if we are comfortable in our hotel. We answer, “Yes.” She replies, “That is good. It is the fine! st hotel in all of Kalmunai.”


HAPPY AS CLAMS


“ Love consists of this: that two solitudes reach out and greet and touch and protect one another---”
Yeats?
Two Solitudes
( from the Canadian novel about the tensions between French and English society in the 1930s---can’t remember all the details or the exact quote but the concept keeps coming to my fading mind---I loved this book---early Canlit)

Part 1 Day 1
Charles and I have spent our first day in SriLanka at the posh Mount Lavinia Hotel south of Colombo. I have been seduced by this island again. It is an island drunk with the nectar and buzz of all things living---the rolling of the sea, the depth of the colours, the tintillating spices of the food and the intoxicating scent of plumeria on our pillows as we fall into a deep, delicious sleep---the sleep of children.

Part 2 Day 2
We have had lunch beside the sea. We are sitting on the pool deck of our hotel following a refreshing swim. We are chatting about litle things. A cracking noise breaks the stillness of the moment. It is a sound repeated again and again.

We all try to ignore it. We want this bliss to continue. The unmistakable sound of gunshots continues and we all begin to look along the beach towards the city. We see smoke. It is coming from the Tamil suburb of Colombo. It looks like the smoke from an explosion and the gunfire continues. It is a harsh reminder that there is an election in two days and that the Sinhalese and the Tamils have been at war for over twenty years. Theirs is an uncertain peace. Today we are in Sinhalese territory. Tomorrow we will travel across the island into the poverty of Tamil territory. Peace is elusive. Life is fragile. This is truly an island of two solitudes.


PS. I am reminded that only yesterday I wrote an email home to Canada. I signed it---” Happy as clams in paradise.” It is a tenuous paradise.


SriLankan Hoop Dreams

Dreams are a wonderful thing---they come in all shapes and sizes. We thought that basketball in SriLanka was a pipedream but we were wrong. It was probably Charles’ wildest dream that he would conduct a basketball clinic in Kalmunai!

It all started when Reverend Brother Stephen Matthew, the principal of Carmel Fatima school decided to show Charles and I the school basketball court. It was covered with sand and full of potholes with two aging wooden backboards and no nets. All things are possible! The next day we drove to Batticaloa with the priest in his long white robes to visit the bishop. The bishop was a good natured soul who wanted to see the Kalmunai boys beat the St. Michael’s boys at Batticaloa. These Batti boys are the reigning champions although it is difficult to understand who else they have ever played against. It seems that St. Michael’s has the only other basketball court in eastern SriLanka. In any case the bishop blessed us and sent us on our way.

We went next to visit the famous St. Michael’s school and the sports coach showed us their courts. These weren’t just courts---they had an entire stadium with custom backboards, real stands and a digital scoreboard. Apparently, one of the Jesuit priests at this school many moons ago was an American from Pennsylvania who is famous for introducing the game to the island. Not to be put off by this kind ! of competitive display, Charles and the priest went to a tiny sports store to buy nets and basketballs.

The first practice was hilarious. The nets we bought didn’t fit because they were net ball nets (which the girls play) and they are smaller, although the sealed package clearly stated they were basketball nets. Now we got out the netball nets that were too big for the netball hoops and they were the right size for the basketball hoops, but the hoops didn’t have any hooks for the nets to attach to, so the sports coach sent one of the boys to get some skotch tape. He climbed up on a rickety student’s chair on top of a rickety stud! ent’s desk and proceeded to skotch tape the net to the hoop.

And then the boys showed up! They were the cutest little 9 and 10 year olds in their little school uniforms and many of them had bare feet, the skinniest little brown legs I have ever seen and they all had crooked ties and shirt tails hanging out and big smiles on their faces , although they did look a little frightened of Charles. The practice was a sort of disorganized confusion as Charles told them what to do in English and the school coach translated into Tamil with his limited knowledge of English and Charles complete inability to speak even one word of Tamil. I wish I! had it on film. The boys were so incoordinated, happily bumping into each other, laughing, balls were bouncing off their heads and mayhem was everywhere. Before the session was over however, they had figured out how to line up and imitate Charles and that that the object of the game was to throw the ball in the basket, not at each other. This led to an unfortunate incident when one of the boys actually hit the hoop with his ball and the backboard, the hoop and the net came tumbling down off the pole. Luckily not one child was hurt and a big laugh was shared by all.

So, now they have a basketball court with one hoop and potholes full ! of puddles and 20 little boys with big dreams of someday beating St. Michael’s, but hope springs eternal in this amazing place. Twenty four boys came out to the next practice. When we mentioned that they were beginning to look like young Michael Jordans, they said, “ Who is Michael Jordan?”
I love these kids! Such are the hoop dreams of post tsunami Kalmunai, SriLanka. After all we do have the bishop’s blessings---