Found In Ceylon

About a month ago, I was invited via text messaging to Manjula’s son’s first birthday. Manjula is someone who’s tried to be friends with me since last September, but I kept avoiding him, mainly because everyone else told me he was bad news. But as the months went by, I slowly came to see that he really wasn’t such a bad person.

And besides, in Sri Lanka, everyone is someone else’s bad news, honestly!

And so, when he asked me to come to his home on 18 June in the evening, I said sure. Per Sri Lankan custom whenever you are visiting someone’s home, you are required to bring either cake, biscuits, milk and sugar, or a combination of those three. And because it was a birthday party, I picked out three lovely little plastic wind-up ducks with faux feathers. It’s crap that I would have never bought back in America, but with either hot-rod cars or little ducks to choose from in the tiny toy store down the road from the school, I opted for the ducks. Boys don’t play with cars until they’re at least two or three years old, right?

And this is Sri Lanka, so they’ll probably lock up those plastic toys in a glass cabinet along with other plastic toys, stuffed dolls and glass teacups, never to be touched or played with for time immemorial. So I put them in the customary brown bag–gifts are not wrapped in colorful paper but instead presented in either the shopping bag from the store it was purchased at, or in a brown paper bag with the open end stapled together.

When I pulled up to Manjula’s home–it’s actually his wife’s parents’ home, above the general store they own–Munsif and Pradeep were sitting out on the balcony overlooking Hakmana Road, and they waved me into the building. I walked into the main living room and right away, I got this vibe. Something was different.

Maybe it was the metallic foil streamers, taped to the walls, with multicolor “Happy Birthday” printed on them. Maybe it was the Olympus 35mm SLR camera the father (or was he the uncle? Or the father-in-law?) was using to snap shots of the birthday boy? Or was it the Sony camcorder one of the younger men was toying with? Or the souvenir artwork depicting famous San Francisco landmarks?

Then I met Manjula’s wife, Eradhi. Something was off about her. She looked as animated as any Sri Lankan woman, but in a different way. Her shirt didn’t look local, and her flowery skirt reached above her knees. Manjula told her, “This is my friend from America, the one I was telling you about.”

Eradhi signed back to me, “America! I have an older brother and two sisters who live in California, and I grew up in England for a few years myself!”

I looked down at the paper plates and cups that had just been handed out, with one slice of yellow cake on each. The plates and cups were wildly colored with balloons and “Happy Birthday”–you know, standard Western fare.

Munsif gaped at the plates, “I’ve never seen such beautiful plates. And I’ve never seen paper plates before.” He turned to me and asked, “You think I could take one home?”

Eradhi explained to me then that those plates and cups, along with the metallic streamers and the balloons with “WWF” printed on them, were all from America. Her relatives brought them over to Sri Lanka during their last visit.

“So why are you living in Sri Lanka,” I asked Eradhi.

“Because I like and love Sri Lanka more than England or America. Now go try my homemade cake.”

I ate it, and it tasted almost just like a Western cake, not the artificial-tasting cakes with funky icing so common here (although I’ve started to like them–it’s an acquired taste).

“Hey, this is a really good cake!” I told Eradhi.

“Yes, my older sister, that one in America, she taught me the recipe.”

Munsif, who has a good eye for shirts from his job as foreman and shirt designer in the Vogue Garments shirt factory down on Kumaratunga Mawatha, pointed at Eradhi’s shirt and asked, “That’s not from Sri Lanka, is it?”

“Nope, got it from my family in America.”

I asked her if I could look at the label to make sure. She said sure, so I checked. Wet Seal. “Yep, it’s a genuine American brand,” I told Munsif.

“How much do you think it was?” he asked.

“Probably 2,000 rupees.”

“Ooooh.” This is a country where women’s shirts at the high-end stores in Matara cost less than 500 rupees.

The rest of the party proceeded smoothly except for that part where I got a little sick from eating my first beef–as in cow beef–in months, and where I momentarily expressed shock at the sight of men and women shakin’ their stuff together to four large speakers blasting music–American, presumably.

However, as I watched people after people hand Manjula and Eradhi large gift boxes wrapped with colorful gift paper, I slowly grew uneasy. Surely they expected a lot more from their esteemed American visitor than three plastic ducks in a brown paper bag? And surely the owner of a general store doesn’t need more milk and sugar?

I was feeling very much like the tables were turned here–that I was the Sri Lankan and they were the Westerners. They barely wagged their heads, even!

I confided in Munsif my gift-envy anxiety and he told me not to worry–how was I supposed to know? I’m still learning, he said.

There is a phrase–often pejorative–used in South Asian circles to describe recent immigrants who haven’t yet acclimatized to Western culture. “Fresh Off the Boat,” or “FOB” for short. Examples of a FOB would be someone who still eats with her fingers, wags his head, or stares at white people–you get the idea.

And I’m starting to wonder if I’ll have my FOB phase for a while.

Last Sunday, a few of us visited the Kudawella Blowhole over near Dickwella. It’s a popular place for foreigners to make a quick stop on their way during their tours around Hambantota District. The churning sea pushes water up a narrow channel and every once in a while it’ll blow through a hole on the top.

While we were sitting on the rocks, admiring the views and awaiting the next water feature, I looked over and saw a white couple sitting across from the crevice, eating their box lunches with both hands. I repeat, both hands. The sight of it was so strange that I had to watch them for a while, turning away oh so occasionally so they wouldn’t suspect something.

I really had forgot that one could eat with both hands, something I’d do every day back home.

And then, of course, I couldn’t resist but poke Amila sitting next to me and say, “Look! They’re eating with both hands!”

“Yes, foreigners, they know nothing,” he scoffed.

I laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Matara Welegoda Colombo Walgama Paramulla Isadeen Town Dondra Dickwella Devinuwara Kamburugamuwa Madiha Polhena Mirissa Akuressa Ahangama Weligama Koggala Habaraduwa Unawatuna Galle Kataragama Hambantota Tissamaharama Embilipitiya Rathgama Hikkaduwa Panadura Mount Lavinia Kollupitiya Batapitiya Elpitiya Batapola Ambalangoda Aluthgama Bentota Beruwela Negombo Ja-Ela Dehiwala Moratuwa Rathmalana Kalutara Katunayaka Dodanduwa Boossa Kosgoda Wadduwa Bambalapitiya Cinnamon Gardens Homagama Kurunegala Baddegama Imaduwa Morawaka Nelluwa Pelawatta Pitigala Deniyaya Tangalle Ambalantota Yala Monaragalla Ratnapura Kandy Pinnawela Peradeniya Ruhunu Hatton Polonnaruwa Sigiriya Dambulla Gampola Matale Ella Badulla Batticaloa Vavuniya Vakarai Pottuvil Ampara Aragam Bay Chilaw Jaffna Trincomalee Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte Anuradhapura Mannar Elephant Pass Yapahuwa Hakmana Kamburupitiya Midigama Weherahena Dalhousie Nuwara Eliya Kiribathgoda Ragama Maradankadawela Puttalam

Beach Road Godakanda Road Anagarika Dharmapala Mawatha Galle Road Senayakaya Road Uswatta Road Old Galle Road Tangalle Road Old Tangalle Road Colombo Road Akuressa Road Hakmana Road Kamburupitiya Road St. Thomas Road Kumaratunga Mawatha Main Street R. De Mel Mawatha Dharmapala Mawatha Telegraph Road A2 Southern Expressway Yehiya Road Sri Sadhithissama Mawatha Polhena Road Rahula Road

Dinesh Dimuthu Rukshan Charith Dilshan Dhanushka Namal Darshana Harsha Udaya Sanjeewa Shans Ahamed Prasad Pasindu Ruwan Sudath Pasan Dimuthu Lakmal Sameera Ajith Dharaska Jeewantha Madhuranga Hasintha Tharindu Pradeep Ashan Sampath Milan Ruchira Chaminda Chamil Nishan Rajitha Piyumika Shirantha Priyankara Kumara Ishara Supun Thisara Prasanna Gayan Nazier Mahesh Asanka Naushan Munsif Sishan Mohammed Manjula Akalanka Kasun Thalanka Nihal Siri Shiromi Thilini Gamage Gamini Ajit Nikeshala Hasinthi Chamoda Chani Shashini Bandaranaike Yeshanthi Pubodha Yasoda Kavindi Samanmalee Roshani Iresha Pesrila Sudarshani Sanjeewani Gayasha Sisitha Sisira Champika Renuka Nimasha Irangika Anushika Supuni Edirisinghe Navoda Diluni Dilhani Dilani Anuradha Nayanthara Damayanthi Nadeesha Anojani Disna Kalani Janidha Ranil Radeesha Chamali Chintha Sandya Abeygunawardana Ranatunge Peiris Samarathna Wickramasinghe Nanayakkara Kalum Janaka Madura Niwanthi Udari Anupama Nilmini Upamali Weerasinghe Abeysinghe Lila Chandrika Indika Gunasekera Amila Anoja Rajpakse Chamara Chammi Darshani Thushara Nishantha Philip Suresh Fows Fuward Gihan Shaluka Mana Rana Inoka Nevil Sajee Samantha Sujeewa Lakshiri Upul Wijeratne Surath Rantha Madhurangi Thusharra Siree Nimmi

Dear Ginette’s Mum,

Naushan got bit by a dog!* Adam got locked in the bathroom at Unawatuna!**

Really, Ginette told me that I simply had to say those two things in my next blog, so I’ve obliged.

In Sri Lankan culture, the most important person after the monk is the mother. One of the more common questions children ask me here is, “Mother have?” I respond very positively: “Yes! Mother have!” and your daughter does the same.

Last Friday, the school felicitated Ginette by holding a brief ceremony after school where she was presented with a plaque and gifts from the children and school administration. A few of the older children also gave short speeches.

As an example of the high esteem in which mothers are held (as they should be, anywhere in the world), every one of those older children made sure to mention their great appreciation that Ginette’s mother bravely allowed her to come to Sri Lanka.

And I’d like to do the same here. Ginette’s mum, thank you for letting Ginette come to this country. For a New Zealander, whose country is second in the rankings of “Most Peaceful Country,” and whose foreign ministry deems Sri Lanka as a place of “high” and “extreme risk” and advises “against tourist and non-essential travel”, it must not have been easy on you to have your daughter gallivating (by bus, no less!) around a country that ranks near the bottom of those same rankings. (USA ranks just a few places higher than Sri Lanka, so I’m not really slummin’ all that much).

If I didn’t describe it clearly enough in my last several blog posts, Ginette made an enormous impact on the school–and it even has its own ripple effects spreading out across the Matara district, the deaf association, the Matara business community, and my own volunteer experience.

In fact, it’s easy to split my volunteer stint into two sections–B.G. and A.G. Before Ginette and After Ginette. This isn’t meant to be a self-criticism of my own efficiacy as a solo volunteer, but when I compare September and January, things generally looked pretty much the same. However, if you visited in February and then again right now, you’d see a very different school environment. And no, it’s not all due to Ginette–plenty of other people were involved as well, but she has done most of the hard work, endured most of the frustrations, lost the most sleep, and given up the most time which could have been spent teaching children so she could sit in her almost-daily morning meetings with the principal.

Whiteboards in every single classroom. 5,000 postcards distributed across Sri Lanka and internationally. Gorgeous, visually-simulating learning environments. New display boards in high-traffic areas. New uniforms for the school’s cricket, netball, and volleyball teams. Sign language classes for matrons twice a week. A Sinhala-English dictionary for every pupil. Teachers who are now no longer so afraid to ask for supplies. A completely repainted staircase with visual aids for blind and low-vision pupils and teachers. Regular meetings between school and hostel staff. A calendar with the Sinhala fingerspelt alphabet and 18 common signs hung in a hundred Rohana pupils’ homes. And all of those little things–cards, words of encouragement, lending an ear or eye. Most of all, it’s clear she has truly earned the deepest respect from Mr. Abeygunawardana, the principal.

That is why I am delighted she came–because she made a difference. I have learned a lot about hard work from your daughter. How things that can be done today really should be done today, not tomorrow. How making a simple list of things to do can be a most effective organization tool. How to know when there are some things that can’t really be discussed any further, and things that can still be changed, still be tweaked. How not to say no to a good idea at first just because it seems a little too hard. How to be resourceful with what you have. How to work like tomorrow’s your last day, and make the biggest impact today. It’s ironic that, in this unpaid volunteer experience, I’ve learned from Ginette how to be a much better paid employee back in the West.

She has helped me make a better, more complete and satisfactory contribution to the school. Because she came, I can now leave Sri Lanka knowing that I accomplished a lot.

You’ve raised a delightful, strong, and confident woman–someone that you and Ginette’s dad have much to be very, very proud of. This is a woman who doesn’t mind my bathroom humor, doesn’t mind hours-long bus rides through sweeping hillsides, doesn’t mind taking a day off if it means re-energizing yourself, doesn’t mind interpreting for me a thousand times every day, doesn’t mind talking in five languages simultaneously (that’s Sinhala, English, Sri Lankan Sign Language, British Sign Language, and New Zealand Sign Language), doesn’t mind poking fun at my father’s accent, doesn’t mind telling a deaf person exactly how to make the music for the school video sound just right, doesn’t mind playing hide-and-seek with a stuffed monkey in a posh hotel in Colombo at two in the morning.

I have truly enjoyed my last four months as your daughter’s friend, partner, co-worker, and housemate. We haven’t been apart for more than three hours since last February (aside from a solo trip to Galle I took one morning last month; and even then we were constantly in touch via text messaging). I’m thrilled she’s finally going back home–this is a place she speaks of so often I’ve had dreams of roaming the Taranaki hillsides dotted with dairy cows.

But it’s also very strange that she’s not here anymore. I feel as if my engine’s suddenly disappeared–but I’m not worried, because I made sure to learn from her example while she was here. I have my own mega to-do list, and I know that if there’s anything I can do right now, I should do it, and definitely not wait until tomorrow.

Because of Ginette, I now tell everyone who is considering becoming a volunteer in a foreign country: “if you can avoid it, don’t volunteer alone.” It’s hard enough being in a country all by yourself without a clue how things work here and there. Having a buddy there helps, big time.

But I’d also like to say that every volunteer should be so lucky as to have a partner like Ginette.

Ginette’s mum, you have my deepest gratitude. Thank you. I’m really going to miss that girl (pictured below in front of the airport not less than 12 hours ago).

* We learned only recently that Muslims in Sri Lanka don’t keep dogs as pets. In fact, they try to avoid them as much as possible. We’d protest, saying dogs were harmless. But Munsif said he was bit by a dog when he was 18. Fluke accident, we thought. Except that after Ginette’s farewell dinner last Friday night, Naushan, another Muslim friend, was stumbling in the dark across the street with three Sinhalese Buddhist men, looking for their bicycles. He, out of four men, happened to be the one to step onto a dog and get bitten by him. Poor him!!

** In our hotel room in Unawatuna last Saturday night, I closed the door to do my business, but afterwards, it wouldn’t open. I was stuck in there for about five minutes before I was freed. No big deal, except Ginette automatically started yelling through the door that help was on the way, forgetting that I couldn’t really hear anything, much less through a wooden door.

I leave Sri Lanka on 24 June.

It’s hard to describe the feelings I have about this–but the children are quite upfront about it. “Sad,” they sign. I keep responding the same way: “Not now. Forget about 24 June. Don’t think about that just yet.” It doesn’t quite validate their feelings, but it keeps the lump in my throat from growing larger.

And instead of dwelling on when we leave–Sophie left last Tuesday; Anne leaves today; Ginette in about one week and I in about three weeks–we try to work even harder. Second chances can happen in Sri Lanka–just ask Sophie, who just had hers, or Fiona, our newest volunteer who’s staying in the country for the sixth time. But they come at a price–not just the price of a long-haul return flight–but the price of knowing that any future visit is probably going to be much shorter than your first visit, and much more like a holiday than a gap year.

With people like Sophie and Anne here, along with Ginette’s heroic efforts to slowly transform the school, I’m busier than ever. Both a sign language dictionary and a website need to be finished in the next three weeks, along with smaller assorted projects. This week has been the blooming of our efforts to introduce whiteboards–the entire school is now using 24 brand-new whiteboards (which can flip over to be blackboards) on wheeled stands. Coinciding with Anne’s second training–”Active Teaching, Active Learning,” and a renaissance in visual learning environment design (in other words, educational posters everywhere!), the school has never looked better or the teaching more creative and effective.

Things are changing, and I feel it. It’s exhilarating. Matrons are taking sign language classes; teachers now regularly ask for help (although it usually involves one of us paying for something–like laminating a chart–which we try not to do) or access to the library; the principal and manager agree to leadership changes or new, regularly scheduled important meetings.

And it all has to happen at the very end of Ginette’s and my volunteer terms. I suppose it could be constructed as “ending on a high note,” but it’s not that easy because, just when things feel like they’re happening, I have to leave. Will our new processes and ideas that we’ve introduced continue to bloom in our absence?

We’ve tried to make sure our projects are sustainable and gradual; for example, the activity board or care plan ideas were scrapped when we realized the matrons weren’t yet ready to take on responsibility for scheduling after-school programs or closely tracking their charges’ well-being yet. Performances review forms, which we had almost completed designing, were put on hold when it was suggested the administration needed more time to understand their own roles before critiquing their staff performance.

But will the students remember to wash their new whiteboards daily with those water-filled spray bottles we provided? Will the principal still meet with the matrons at 9:30am every Thursday? Will Sophie’s new library book-borrowing system still function when managed just by the librarian and head prefects? Will the Rohana postcards still be given to every visitor?

Obviously, there are no answers to these questions, at least not yet, and instead, as my stay in Sri Lanka draws to an end, I want to experience as much as possible on this island–Anuradhapura! Arugam Bay! Ahangama!–but also to spend equally as many quiet afternoons chatting with school children or teaching them how to express themselves in English.

Which is why it is mystifying when I meet people in Sri Lanka who don’t appear very interested in Sri Lanka. There was this USAID couple from New Jersey who, after going with Ginette and me on a scuba dive, had lunch with us at the Beach Inns. Ginette and I had ordered bread and fish curry, and the woman pointed at the bowl of fish curry, asking, “is that fish curry?”

They had been living in Sri Lanka for 18 months. Eighteen months and they still don’t know what fish curry looks like. Fish curry is as recognizable in Sri Lanka as french fries are in America. Even more stupefying was her next question, “is that spicy?” Um, duh, yes.

Then there was this Belgian man who was munching on devilled fish in the Blue Corals’ front eating area as Sophie, Ginette, and I descended upon it with packets of chicken kotthu, food brought off the street after a long day’s work. As we dug with our hands into the hot mixture of chopped rotti and vegetable, we learned that the Belgian had been living in Matara for two months and hadn’t eaten with his right hand yet.

How do you live in Sri Lanka for 18 months and not know what fish curry is, or for two months and haven’t eaten with your hands yet? It almost seems like a conscious act on their part to avoid these parts of Sri Lankan culture and instead cling to their Western customs.

I’m certainly in no position to judge them–certainly, they must have their reasons–but it’s a damn shame.

Because with every meal you eat with your hand, with every Sinhala word you learn, with every home you visit, with every poya day and temple visit, your heart swells to accommodate the spectrum of feelings–the joy of unconditional familial love; the pain of want and poverty–that is uniquely Sinhalese, Sri Lankan, and South Asian.

To be in Sri Lanka and not experience this–well, why come? But I catch myself just as I say this–because the USAID couple, for example, has helped build schools and other super stuff. It’s better that they’re here and making a difference and not in some government office back in Washington.

But still, if you’re here–grab it, for god’s sake! I’m so happy I have, and so sorry I can’t grab enough to quench my thirst for one more taste, one more visit, one more conversation, one more village, or one more swim. Or one more difference made.