Found In Ceylon

This was the last picture I took of Rohana Special School before I left nearly a year ago. It was six o’clock at night, and as usual, the children and matrons were lined up, girls on the left and boys on the right, in front of the school temple. The boys had already placed a lit oil lamp in front of Buddha, while the girls offered a bowl of loose flowers and a cup of incense. Now, at that moment, everyone was standing, either sandals or bare dirt beneath naked feet, hands clasped together in front of the chest in mediation.

During morning assembly, the teachers lead the prayers in sign language while facing the students, but in the evening no one leads the prayer in sign as all eyes are directed towards Lord Buddha. So none of the children quite know what exactly is being said by the matrons.

One hour later, I was sobbing loudly in Fiona’s arms as the three-wheeler sped out of Rohana Special School, boys chasing after it, my heart shattered at the new reality of never seeing the children or my friends again.

I flew to and spent the next few days in Bangkok emotionally barren, dazed by watching the full fury of a now-foreign American Sign Language reveal itself through my best friend Bobby’s hands. I struggled to reconcile the cold stares of urban Thais with the overflowing hospitality of Sri Lankans; the metropolis of Bangkok with the rural Matara district; the gaudy-baroque Buddhist temples with the austere-white Sinhalese dagobas.

While it is impossible to have someone completely understand nine months in Sri Lanka, I have been blessed to receive visits in San Francisco from Anne East and Jenny Jones; maintain regular e-mail contact with Ginette and Sophie, Nerissa and David; endear to family, housemates, and friends who do not shy away whenever I introduce a Sri Lankan idea, drink, or dish; take a consciousness-raising course in Deafhood that has opened my eyes to the causes, processes, and effects of colonialism; and continue contact with many people back in Ceylon via SMS messaging.

I have ached to return since June 24th. Since then, I have moved to San Francisco, settled into a new city with outstanding housemates and have been working as a substitute teacher daily at California School for the Deaf in Fremont. I’ve been accepted to the ASL/Bilingual Education of the Deaf master’s program at University of California, San Diego, and will begin classes in mid-June. My parents have graciously agreed to host me once again (for the third time post-college, if anyone was counting!), and I’m looking forward to staying in San Diego for a long time, but not too thrilled about leaving San Francisco.

Before I do that, though, I’m going back to Sri Lanka for a month! You will find me back in Matara with my favorite children and treasured friends and colleagues from May 14 to June 9th, and then in Hong Kong for two and a half days to hopefully visit Pubodha and the CUHK sign linguistics program.

Unlike last time, I’m not quite sure yet what I will be doing there for four weeks. It certainly isn’t enough time to be teaching/tutoring English and Math. I had some grand ideas and was ready to raise money from all of you dear readers to make it possible, but now I’m rethinking everything and trying to ensure that whatever I do is what they want, not what I imagine they need. I will definitely keep you all updated on what I decide on.

In the meantime, the flights are booked, the travel insurance policy is set, I’m eyeing the Bombay Bazaar store on Valencia Street for some light clothes shopping, and I’m devoured daily by feelings of anticipation, nervousness, and wonderment. I cannot wait to return to Ceylon.

One administrative note: Several months ago, I had to switch to a different mailing list program to keep everyone updated whenever I wrote a new blog post. I lost 64 subscribers (99 down to 32) in the process. If you are one of those people, please sign up again by clicking on this link. After entering your e-mail address and the code, you will get an e-mail with a different link to confirm your subscription. Once you’ve clicked on that, you will be re-added to my subscription list. Be sure to let other people know about this, too!

It was last May when “Hong Kong” suddenly entered our daily Sri Lankan Sign Language vocabulary. I was talking with Naizer, the president of the deaf association in Matara, when he said something about a new five-year scholarship for deaf people to study flowers.

Because agriculture is part of the school curriculum in Sri Lanka, this struck me as not such an odd thing. Still, I pressed: “Flowers?” I also mouthed mala, the Sinhala word for flower.

Realizing my confusion, he shook his head in the very subtle way that says “no,” and fingerspelled H-O-N-G-K-O-N-G.

Several minutes later, I had a much clearer picture: there was supposedly some scholarship out there that would sponsor five deaf Sri Lankans to study sign language linguistics at an university in Hong Kong for five years. Applications were being completed and submitted; the selection would happen by the end of the month following interviews in Colombo.

Sounds wonderful, right? Yet, the first thought that came in my head was oh my god, a rural deaf Sri Lankan living in the megalopolis that is Hong Kong?

Still, I pushed that thought aside and asked more questions such as: who were the sponsors? Which university? What’s going on there? Why?

Sadly, the only paper Naizer had about the Hong Kong program was in Sinhala and he couldn’t tell me much more than whatever vague information he had already told me. What a great opportunity, it’s all very nice, sure, I said, and I didn’t think too much about it again.

Until two weeks later in the main school building when Chamali, a 11th year student, came up to me in tears. “I want to go to Hong Kong, but they’re not letting me apply!” she said.

I thought she was talking about flowers again. The sign for Hong Kong is the same as the Sri Lankan sign for flower; rather apropos if you look at Hong Kong’s flag. Then I suddenly remembered the scholarship program, and asked her for more information.

“Pubodha and Pasan are applying, but I can’t!”

What an outrageous injustice, I thought. Never mind that I didn’t know what the reason was, but certainly Chamali should have an opportunity to apply. She was bright, sure, perhaps not as intellectually talented as Pubodha or Pasan, but she carried her own and was an incredibly dedicated student.

So, the next morning, in Ginette and my near-daily meeting with Mr. Abeygunawardana, we brought up Chamali’s concerns about Hong Kong. It was quite queer to even talk about this; we had been focusing on far more basic needs such as whiteboards or sign language training for the hostel matrons. To contemplate scholarships in Hong Kong (which felt as far away from Matara as Mars), was a luxury.

Mr. Abeygunawardana explained the situation: he had wanted all four of the top-form 11th year class–Pasan, Pubodha, Sanjeewa, and Chamali–to apply, but he had gotten the information far too late to ask Sanjeewa or Chamali’s families for written permission to travel to Colombo for the interviews. Sanjeewa and Chamali were both residential students and live far away, while Pasan and Pubodha both were day students living in Matara.

Oh, that’s a reasonable explanation, Ginette and I both said, and we moved to the next item on the agenda.

But we thought about this a little more. It wasn’t quite that easy to let Mr. Abeygunawardana off the hook here. I remembered a conversation I had with another student several months earlier where he listed the three richest students at Rohana in order: 1. Pubodha; 2. Pasan; 3. Shans Ahamed. He rattled them off matter-of-factly as if it was no different than the girls’ ranking of each other by who had the longest hair (and if memory serves me right, it was Dilhani and Penshrila leading the hairy pack).

Those richest three students happened to be all day students. And they also were high achievers, both academically and in general. Pasan had an e-mail address! Pubodha had been to a deaf youth leadership camp in Sweden as one of the two Sri Lankan representatives! Shans Ahamed came to school with a new mobile phone every week!

Was there a connection between academic achievement and residential/day school status? Or even a correlation, as I feared, between wealth and academic achievement and opportunity among deaf students in Sri Lanka?

Of course there is. Both Pasan and Pubodha had extra classes after school and very supportive families who wanted them to overcome their deafness and achieve anything at any cost. I thought about Shashini, another well-off student in sixth year who was also really, really smart; she had a computer at home and easily passed all her English tests.

One could argue that wealth in Sri Lanka is a consequence of hard work by individuals, who then pass on those values to their children, turning them into academic overachievers. In that case, why not reward them for their focus and dedication?

But that goes ultimately to the heart of privilege–that some people have a choice that others don’t. And that in a more just world, those people of privilege (whether it’s race privilege, gender privilege, hearing privilege, or more), would stand up for those who do not possess those, and level the playing field despite systematic oppression.

There wasn’t much Ginette or I could do in this situation, however, and when Pubodha was ultimately selected as one of the five students to go to Hong Kong, we congratulated her with all our hearts on her incredible achievement. I just couldn’t help but wonder: was she picked because she was smart, or because she was smart and rich? And I’m purposely neglecting the question of class and caste in Sri Lanka, simply because I know nothing about that.

There’s a similar a tortured proposition in any deaf community whenever a hearing person is picked over other deaf people for a position. The question always is: Was it because she was more qualified? Or becaus she was qualified and hearing?

Pubodha left for Hong Kong last November, skipping the Rohana graduation and the O/L exams and becoming the first Rohana student to study overseas. And since then, I’ve always wondered how she was doing in such a foreign place. The only time I have heard from her is a short e-mail last December saying, “it is so cold.” Hong Kong may be one of the hottest places Americans could visit, but apparently it’s cold to a Sri Lankan!

Then Sri Lanka reaffirmed its identity as a place of serendipity when I sat down for lunch with my friend Minoru who was visiting from Rochester. After ten years in the United States and earning both a bachelor’s and master’s degree at RIT, he is going back to his native Japan this summer. I was delighted to see him one more time in San Francisco before he left.

As we slurped down soba at a Japantown restaurant, he said with a slight knowing smirk, “So, I wanted to ask you about Sri Lanka and Hong Kong.” My mind reeled right there. A Japanese who’s been living in upstate New York for eight years is asking me about Sri Lanka and Hong Kong?

“I know all about it,” he said. He went on to explain that it is part of the Asia-Pacific Sign Linguistics Research and Training Program funded by the Nippon Foundation, housed by the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK), and led by Dr. Gladys Tang and Dr. James Woodward, an American sign language linguistics professor who used to teach at Gallaudet University.

The ultimate goal of the program is to encourage the growth and study of indigenous sign languages in the region by training qualified Deaf people to develop sign language materials. Indonesia and Sri Lanka are the pilot countries.

And he even found this YouTube video:

And Pubodha’s in there (she’s standing all the way at the very right during the first panning shot of the students). What an achievement for her!

It’s incredible to finally learn about this program from such an unlikely person in such an unlikely place. Connections in the Deaf world knows no bounds, and once again, I am reminded that while Sri Lanka may fade in the background from time to time, this country never abandons you.

Today was a pretty cool day in America. For the first time ever, a black man (or perhaps more accurately, a non-white man) won a state election. Now it’s starting to feel like we’re in the 21st century, guys.

But today also brings sad news. Sri Lanka’s government–specifically, its prime minister and cabinet–voted to withdraw from its 2002 cease-fire agreement with the LTTE. Then again, if you followed the political climate in Sri Lanka at all while I was there, you’d know that there hasn’t really been a cease-fire for years. In recent months, fighting and bombings have intensified. At the same time, they have remained confined to Colombo, the country’s biggest city, and the conflict zones in the north and the east.

I don’t think many people realize that I stayed for nine months in a country that has been racked by civil war for nearly a quarter-century. It’s easy to assume from that statement alone that I encountered killings and bombings on a first-person basis…when I really didn’t. Not once.

Except for one week where my sister Liz and I traveled around, I stayed almost exclusively in the south of Sri Lanka. That includes Matara, Galle, Kataragama, Hikkaduwa, Akuressa, Unawatuna. It’s the safest zone in the country. The second safest would be in the central highlands like Kandy, Adam’s Peak, Polonnaruwa, Dambulla, Sigiriya–those places where Liz and I went.

Not once did I seriously fear for my life or thought I was entering a mortally dangerous territory.

That’s not to say it was all roses and honey while I was there. Less than a month after I arrived in Matara for the first time, the LTTE executed a stunning attack on Galle’s naval port, killing one soldier. While the battle itself was considerably one-sided (these were grenade-throwing rebels in powerboats going up against military battleships and destroyers), its intent was psychological, and it worked. The first LTTE attack in the South in recent memory terrified everybody across the region. The principal had to give a short speech to the students, many from Galle, to calm them down and quell rumors. Hotel bookings fell briefly but dramatically in the southern beach towns. Thankfully, the Galle attack was the only one nearby.

What else happened? There were a few bombings of military trucks at or near bases, mostly in Anuradhapura and Colombo. A big LTTE convoy boat was shelled and sunk about 100 miles off the coast of Matara by vigilant government forces. A few parliamentarians were assassinated; the President’s brother (also the Defense Minister) narrowly escaped a bomb attack in Colombo. International diplomats were killed in Batticaloa

All attacks have been confined to military or political targets–with one exception. I think it was in March when a suicide bomber blew up a southbound Colombo-Matara bus full of ordinary people. That bus is the most commonly traveled line in the southwest–I’ve ridden that route many, many times to get to Galle, Unawatuna, Hikkaduwa, or Colombo. Nerissa asked that I avoid riding on buses for a few weeks following that bombing near Aluthgama, so that was a little dicey.

And then there’s, of course, the nighttime LTTE air raid on the military base whose same runway is also used by Sri Lanka’s international airport north of Colombo. The attack was notable because it represented the first time worldwide that a terrorist group had successfully acquired air power. It was stunning and caught the government forces by surprise. For weeks after that, the runway was closed at night, forcing the airlines to shuffle their schedules to daytime-only flights. It only reopened for night departures and arrivals a week before I left Sri Lanka. It had an impact even in Matara; Ginette, Fiona, and I were trying to get school team uniforms made, but the supply of our preferred fabric quickly dried up due to fewer airplanes bringing in imports from other countries. I did wonder about the remote possibility that the airport could be closed all the time; if so, I would have been stranded in Sri Lanka.

And since then, as I said, the violence has increased, and now the cease-fire has been officially voided. Still, I wouldn’t be deterred from a return trip to Sri Lanka. I get daily news updates via Google and from what I’ve read, I would feel safe going back tomorrow if I could. It’s all a matter of knowing where you’re headed and what you’re doing. Stick to the south, the beaches, and the tourist attractions central highlands, and you’ll be fine. It’s more sensible to be afraid of getting into a vehicle crash on the busy roads–a typical feature of South Asia–than being blown up by a LTTE suicide bomber.

I know my friends back in Sri Lanka are fine–Matara and the south are safe. I’m just sad and disappointed that an ethnic conflict that has taken 70,000 lives shows no sign of slowing down; it, in fact, seems to be accelerating. Is it too audacious to hope for peace in Sri Lanka someday?

Remember my two blogs about graduation last December? (1. Run-Up To Graduation. 2. The Class of 2006.)

Well, a few weeks ago, I awoke with a start, realizing that graduation was once again just around the corner. And this time, I was 10,000 miles away. Despite all the hard work I put into the ceremony last year (printing the diplomas and getting the gowns made), I was certain that without some reminding, the school would likely completely forget about this occasion like they did before I came to Sri Lanka.

So I quickly sent off an e-mail to David, asking him to remind Mr. Abeygunawardana about graduation. The gowns were inside a large pink plastic bag locked up in one of the gray cabinets in the principal’s office, a monk should probably be called to attend, I could print out diplomas, laminate them, and mail them to the school, and the parents should be notified well in advance so they can make the trip to Matara.

Lo and behold, a week later, David responds with incredible news. Mr. Abeygunawardana and the school have already set everything up–the diplomas are ready; the parents have been notified; the gowns have been found. No foreigner’s finger was lifted in the making of this production.

Wow. Some things do continue after the foreigner has left. Sustainability does happen. I’m so happy. And without further ado, here are a couple photos from the December 7 ceremony:

Sandya, Chamali, Pasan, Jeewaka Gayan, Sanjeewa.

Sandya, Sanjeewa, Pasan, Mr. Abeygunawardana (Principal), Jeewaka Gayan, Chamali.

These photos thrill me to no end because it’s the very first time I’ve seen anyone from the school since I left nearly six months ago. It’s so good to see their faces again. I’m a bit puzzled because Dilhani was supposed to graduate as well, but she’s not in the pictures. Hmm.

Best of luck to the Class of 2007 on their O/L exams this week!