Found In Ceylon

A Day In The Life…

By popular demand, here’s a full accounting of an ordinary day for me:

6:00 AM. The alarm wakes me up.

6:32 AM. After exactly eight presses of the snooze button (each push is worth four precious minutes), I get out of bed.

7:00 AM. Following a shower and miscellaneous bathroom tasks, I head to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. It usually consists of two of the following items: corn flakes, Froot Loops, a banana (picked just ten meters away!), an orange, two pieces of toast, and a cup of tea. As breakfast is my only self-served meal, I relish this moment of self-sufficiency.

7:15 AM. Nerissa and David’s son, Sammi, his nanny, Shiromi, and I pile into the car. Ajit takes us over to Rohana by 7:30 AM if he drops me off first; otherwise I’m treated to an exciting rush-hour ride through downtown Matara to Sammi’s school.

7:30 AM. All the boys and girls are lined up, three columns each, in front of the Buddha shrine. They say their morning prayers and sing the national anthem. I do not yet know the English words to either. All the teachers are dressed in saris–how nice

7:35 AM. The children walk in single file to the volleyball court for 15 mins’ calisthetics (in their white uniforms!). After this, as they head back from the volleyball court to the Buddha shrine, also in single file, the head boys and girls look over each student to make sure their appearance is acceptable (Today, I saw one head girl slap another girl’s back–hard–because she had dirty fingernails. They sure don’t mess around.). I take this opportunity to say “good morning” to every student as they walk past.

7:50 AM. School officially begins. The teachers really aren’t too concerned about starting exactly on time, so classroom instruction usually starts around 8:00. I go to the principal’s office to pick up my timetable for the day. Then I go upstairs and find my first class. Usually I have to gather together the students, get them settled down, and then with an ayubowan, instruction begins!

10:30 AM. The bell rings. It’s literally a brass bell in the middle of the second floor; it rings loudly enough to be heard by a few students and, of course, by the teachers. It’s Pasan’s job to ring the bell because it’s nearest his classroom (Grade 9) and he’s the only one in that classroom with a watch. If he forgets, one of the boys from Grade 11, usually Udaya, marches up to him, furiously expresses his displeasure, and rings the bell himself.

It’s tea-time! The school calls this 20-minute break “the interval.” It’s signed “tea.” By then, I’ve taught four English classes at 50 minutes each (although it’s really 40 minutes of effective teaching time). The children head to the mess halls for cups of red tea. While they drink theirs out of metal mugs (I need to ask if those mugs don’t get hot and burn their hands!?), I get mine in a dainty white plaster cup with flower decorations, sometimes with an accompanying saucerpan.

10:50 AM. Back to class. I usually have to shoo some wayward boys back to their classrooms, and collect a few more who might have sneaked away to their dormitory (it’s adjacent to the boys’ mess hall). Attendance may have already been taken, but the boys know they’re playing with fire, because Principal Abeygunawardana sees everything.

1:25 PM. The final bell rings, but by then most of the students have already packed their backpacks, awaiting midday prayers. Soon, music flows through the walls, and everyone stands, hands clasped together, at the windows facing the Buddha shrine. The only exception is Shah Ahmed, who is a Muslim and thus simply stands idly, hands behind his back. While the prayer music plays for about two minutes, there is no interpretation, so I’m not sure if the students even know what they’re listening to.

1:27 PM. School ends. I have taught eight English classes (or seven English classes and one in a different subject if I am assigned to the same class for two periods). I’m usually wiped by then.

1:50 PM. All the day students have left, some in vans, others by bicycle or on foot, and most of the boys have changed out of their uniforms. Interestingly, all the girls wait until after lunch to change.

2:00 PM. Lunch is served. I sit in the boys’ mess hall, although at least once a week I eat with the girls; I’d do it more often except that lunch turns into a staring contest with 30 giggling girls. I eat off my blue “staff” plate while everyone else eats off metal pans, but the food is the same, and oh so delicious. The boys have been wonderful teachers and I now eat effortlessly with my right hand.

2:20 PM. Lunch is done (they eat very fast; there’s no utensils to get in the way). Between then and when I leave the campus, I’ll do a variety of stuff. I play cricket or carrom with the boys, coax the girls out of their dormitory and chat under the covered stage, teach an extra English class, or just sit in the older boys’ floor talking about their three favorite subjects: cricket, America and sex.

4:00 to 5:00 PM. The three-wheeler comes to pick me up around this time. My two regular drivers, Siri and Thusarra, usually take me back home to Pointe Sud, but sometimes I head to Amila’s workplace (Fine Bit Computers) downtown for conversation and informal computer training. The shop is also next to several other shops and banks, so it’s a good time for me to visit the ATM, grab some supplies, or make photocopies (which I haven’t yet, but it’s there!).

4:30 to 6:30 PM. However time I get home, either Gamage or Asanka finds me and hands me a cold lime water drink, and I usually sit in the porch with David and Nerissa, reviewing the day and watching the mindblowing sunset. Thanks to David, whenever I look out at the Indian Ocean, I always tell myself, “there’s nothing between us and Antarctica but salt water.” During this time, I’ll also see what Sammi’s up to, visit Siri and others in the kitchen, or read a few pages.

7:00 PM. Dinner is served. Sammi starts off the meal with a demonstration of his magic talents as he makes the candles blow out just by waving his fingers from afar. In nearly four weeks at Pointe Sud, I’ve only had one dinner I didn’t love, and that was because it had olives in it (gag!). Siri, the cook, is a man of wonderful culinary talents (or I am led to believe) and the food is always delightful. Between the enormous carb-loaded lunch at Rohana and the finger-lickin’ dinner (an oxymoron, because we always, always use utensils at Pointe Sud), I have indeed gained some weight.

9:30 PM. After dinner, I will either return to my book, work on projects, or just do general thinking, and by nine o’clock, the house is closed up and almost dark. If I’m not already asleep by then, I climb into bed, close the mosquito net drapes, and read a few more pages.

Today was, however, not an ordinary day; I left school at 2:00 with fellow volunteers/travelers Matthew, Maurice, Dave, and Monika, plus Dave and Monika’s three visiting friends from England. We took a cruise up the Nilwala River in a fishing boat piloted by two fishermen. We visited a village where a man climbed up a coconut tree, hacked off several coconuts, and handed them to us to drink the thambili. We didn’t see any crocodiles, which was somewhat unfortunate because that was one of the main objectives of this excursion. Nevertheless, it was a welcome change of pace, and the water was remarkably still, creating a perfect reflection of the enormous sunset-stained sky above.

 Print This | Share This |