ABDF

Friday, August 29, 2008

Hi everybody!

The last week or so has been very busy. As you will recall from my last dispatch, I returned to Batti and promptly got a head cold. I’m pretty much over it now; even the residual cough, which always takes me a long time to shake off, has pretty much disappeared.

As I said, I’ve been pretty busy. For one thing, my friend Errol came to town from Canada. (I’m using the past tense because he left Batti this morning.) One of the ABDFs’ missions is to act as a conduit for others to come and run their own projects. This particular case worked extremely well, and I am proud about what we were able to accomplish.

Through the SriLanka Friendship Society, I was able to connect Errol up with several projects which he proved happy to be a part of. The SFS is associated with a boy’s orphanage in Sittandy, which is about 25 km north of Batti. The Illam, as it is commonly called, has been in operation for some 20 years, and has been successful at bringing up the boys to be successes. For example, one boy is now studying at Eastern University (bioscience, I believe) and two others have become teachers. This is remarkable, as Sittandy is a small impoverished village where few people become more than farmers. There are about 40 boys at the Illam right now.

The place has matured to the point where they have become a community center for Sittandy. Now the trustees are looking for ways to make the finances both stable and self-sustaining. This is the point at which Errol enters the picture. I made the appropriate introductions and connections for him and we went to visit the place. The Illam folks actually have business plans (a rarity in Sri Lanka) that are both realistic and do-able. This appealed to Errol who is a self-made businessman, and so he has now funded all the projects, except one which he will try to raise more money for. This includes a sewing center scheme to employ local women who will share their profits with the Illam, and a small computer/IT training center, both of which are already equipped, but have no start-up funds. He also bought an industrial water pump to be used at a coconut farm owned by the Illam, which will both help feed the boys and fund its operations. In addition he is paying for the expansion of their chicken shed, again which will both feed and fund. I’m not sure of the amount of money involved, but it runs into the thousands and thousands of dollars, and I personally am proud to have been the one who was able to arrange for all this aid. And the ABDF should be proud as well.

Additionally, and in a way more importantly, there is a Sittandy boy named Arjunthan who is in very serious trouble. He’s only about 10, I think, but he has degenerative cataracts. His family lives in a shack, and is deeply impoverished. His parents, not understanding the gravity of Arjunthan’s condition, have let things go to the point where he has already lost his left eye irrecoverably. He is just about to loose his right eye as well. Medical treatment is free, but the medicines and lens implant he needs is not, and the $150 his family needs is way beyond their means – it’s probably almost a years’ worth of earnings for them. The SFS was made aware of the situation by the boy’s teacher, and they made me aware, and in turn I, Errol. We visited the boy, and Errol immediately agreed to fund the surgery, which will take place Monday, Sept. 1. With any luck, the boys’ vision will be permanently restored in his right eye. We shall see.

In addition to all this, Errol used other old tsunami days contacts to build three toilets and greatly help two impoverished orphanages in Kokadacholai, in the formerly LTTE occupied area. (Those of you who have seen my pictures from those days might remember the ones of crossing on a tiny overcrowded ferryboat. That was Kokadacholai.)

So I want to publicly thank Errol for his work and money here in Batticaloa. I hope his accomplishments here can be an inspiration to all of you to do what you can to help the people here.

Thank you, Errol!

OK. So a very weird, discomfiting thing happened to me a few days ago. I suppose something like it was bound to happen.

I was riding into town to use the internet. As I was passing through a security barricade, a policeman waved me over. I stopped and waited. Here’s how the conversation went:

He: (Slightly officious, slightly hostile) Hello. Driving without a license!

Me: Hello. (Indicating the traffic around us) Very few people drive here with a license, and (Looking him the eye) I have one.

He: Oh really? Let me see it?

I reach for my pocket and begin to draw it out. He stops me.

He: No, that’s OK. Where are you going?

Me: To the library to use the internet. It’s cheaper than the internet cafés.

He: I want you to stop by the police station on the way back. I want to talk to you.

Me: (Shocked, but not showing it) Oh? Is there something wrong?

You have to understand that the police here have an extremely bad reputation. People don’t even talk with a policeman unless they have to. The police are almost all Singhala and speak only Singhalese, as the government doesn’t trust Tamils to be law enforcement officers. So many people see it as part of an occupying force. Plus some regular policemen are actually intelligence agents. In addition, the police are widely believed to be in league with the TMVP, which is not popular at all among the people in Batti. Remember my friend who was abducted? I will say no more, other than to tell you that NO ONE goes to the police station unless they absolutely must, and I have seen grown men literally tremble with fright at the prospect of going. So you understand my apprehension.

On the other hand, to be fair, not all cops here are corrupt or involved with the militias. Many are just here to do their jobs and be of service. The trick is knowing which kind of cop it is you’re dealing with. And all it takes is a few bad seeds to tarnish the reputation of the whole force, rightly or wrongly.

He: (Suddenly much friendlier) Oh no; I just want to talk. I’m from Bentota (a tourist town on the South Coast) and I like to meet foreigners.

He then proceeded to introduce himself, and even gave me his cell phone number. It turns out he is the Chief Police Inspector for Batticaloa. I agreed to meet him (what else could I do?) after running my errands. So we parted paths.

At the library I tried to call Izzadeen, who seems to know everybody. I wanted to find out what he knows about this guy: Is he legit? Intelligence? Corrupt? Honest? What? Unfortunately I couldn’t get hold of him. So I squared my shoulders, shrugged at fate, and went to the police station.

I never felt so visible and vulnerable in my life. The police station is located on Trinco Road, the main drag in Batticaloa. The place has a lot of traffic, and shops are crowded together. Tons of people. There is no doubt in my mind that the station is watched, both by the LTTE and the TMVP, and who knows who else. They police know it too, and there are barricades galore surrounding the complex.

To say that I stand out in a crowd is an understatement; 99% of the time I’m the only white guy on the streets and so most people know me, at least by sight. And that last thing I wanted was for people to believe I was friendly with the police, even paying a social call during the day. But what could I do? This guy invited me in for a chat. If he wanted to, he could cause problems for me, so I didn’t want to spurn him outright. So I was caught. You see the dilemma: my reputation here is as a man you can trust with anything. To be seen socializing with the Chief Inspector could put that into jeopardy.

On the other hand, he could be a useful contact in the future. I wonder if I had known him earlier if maybe my friend would have been released quicker and cheaper if I had been able to call the Chief Inspector.

At any rate, I drove up and into the police station. The Inspector was waiting for me outside. (Watching to see if I would just drive by and not stop? I don’t know.) He escorted me to his desk, where we proceeded to have a nice long chat, accompanied by tea and biscuits. He talked about his job, his home town, his family. I talked about America, my family, and tried to avoid talking about my work, as I didn’t want him to interfere with it. I also dropped Minister Sivalingam’s name, as well as a couple other Higher-Ups I know. I wanted to let him know that I’m not some helpless un-connected tourist to be taken advantage of. He seemed duly impressed. Then he suddenly asked me to visit him and his family in Bentota, a request you get frequently here as it is a status symbol to have foreign friends. But then he invited me to go with him when he goes on leave next week. THEN he started talking about us starting up a business together, which would solve my visa issues. He insisted that he could take care of all the details, “no problem,” and that I could trust him.

I’m sure he was sincere, but he doesn’t understand foreigners very well. To a Westerner, “You can trust me,” is the very thing to say to make a Westerner not trust you, especially if you have just met. And to immediately suggest becoming business partners after knowing each other for 20 minutes also raises red flags. I’m sure that was not his intention, but it was the result. I became very non-committal. I was still friendly, but cautious.

And of course it was at this point that Izzadeen finally returned my call. I had avoided giving the Inspector my mobile number, but the jig was up; he realized I have a number, and asked me for it. Since he had already given me his I couldn’t politely refused. I should have thought to turn it off before I went in. Bad timing Izzadeen!

After an hour of chit-chat I made my way out the police station, not knowing what to think, but very anxious. The Inspector, who seemed to be a perfectly nice guy, confused me. Was he just trying to make friends? Was he with Intelligence? Was he trying to take advantage of my presumed wealth to try and go into business? (Westerners are automatically assumed to be millionaires here.) Was it some combination of these things?

When I did talk to Izzadeen, it turned out he knew nothing about the Inspector, but said he would make some inquiries. However, it was his opinion that it was probably a combination of wanting to be friends and wanting to make money in business. I’m inclined to agree, although I still have to be careful just in case.

Oh, and then the Inspector calls me the next day and invites me over for a beer in the evening. I had already made plans, but told him I would call the next day. I didn’t, and he didn’t call me. But I did text him the following morning, and declined his offer to go to Bentota. He called me back, telling me it was OK, that the plan had changed and he was going immediately. I told him to text me when he got back in a week or so. So we’ll see what happens.

As it turned out, I WAS seen going into the police station, and by a couple different people. The Batti grapevine would put CNN to shame. So I had to explain what happened. As I am known as a man you can trust, I am believed. However, I am going to do everything I can to not go there again. If the Inspector wants to have a beer, it’ll have to be after hours, off-site, and out of uniform. And not in any of my usual haunts.

So those were some of the highlights of my week. Now I’ve turned my attention to the banality of paperwork. I’ve caught up on my financial paperwork for July (Sorry Albert – it’s on the way!) and most of my correspondence, including this dispatch.

So now, before I sign off, some updates on past stories:

My friend is now in hiding in Colombo, waiting for the OK to go abroad. I didn’t see him when I was there last, as he hadn’t yet arrived. So I don’t think I’ll be able to see him off. His family is busy tying everything up here in Batti so they can join him. I gave them some cash to use when they arrive in Europe.

The “Where There is No Doctor” book project is going to be more complicated than I’d hoped. None of the contact info for either Singhala or Tamil translations is complete, so I’m having difficulty contacting the folks who did them. I’ve contacted Hesperian Press, who did the original book, for help.

The mobile eye clinic has also run up against a couple bumps. First, my Colombo contact now tells me he was only planning to supply the eyeglass frames for free. Now he says he’d try to arrange for the lenses as well. We’ll see. The local eye surgeon, to whom I was referred to by the local Health Commissioner, told us yesterday that reading glasses are only for old people (I beg to differ) and so didn’t seem at all interested, and more or less refused to put together a team of local eye doctors for us. The Health Commissioner had said she (the surgeon) would put together such a team and conduct the examinations for free. So now I have to go back to HC and ask him for advice. Sigh. This is how these things develop. And lastly, the school superintendent told me that I could not just do one school, but had to do all 40! I informed him that doing one school was just a trial run to see how well it all worked, and that we were doing it for the kids, and if he wanted our help AT ALL we would start with the one school and then see. He quickly backed down and agreed. Sheesh! You’d think that both he and the eye surgeon would be appreciative that anyone cares enough to extend a helping hand to their community. But in this business you have to work around the jerks and keep your eyes on the goal: trying to do good for the people.

Well, that’s life in batty Batti for you!

xoxoxoxoxoxo

B.