ABDF

Friday, August 15, 2008

Hi everybody!

As I write this, I am still in Colombo. I return by night train to Batticaloa Monday night. In the meantime I am having a surprisingly good, and productive, time in Colombo.

But I want to catch you up first. When I closed my last dispatch, I had driven up to Colombo from Unawatuna, the small village just outside Galle. I arrived at the Ministry Building, and was told that the next day my friends Minister Sivalingam and Shanthakumar, his personal secretary, were going to take me with them to the southern city of Ratnapura for a few days. OK…

Ratnapura is a fabled city that has been at the center of Sri Lanka’s gem trade since the beginning of history. The Greeks and Romans were getting gems that originated in Ratnapura. In Singhala “Ratna” means gems, and “Pura” means city. Literally “City of Gems” and the town has lived up to the reputation for eons. Diamonds are not found there, but almost every other precious gem: rubies, sapphires, etc. Although politically and culturally part of the Singhalese southern heartland, the district abuts tea country to the north. Thus the district also has some tea plantations and about 10% of the population is Upcountry Tamil.

Minister Sivalingam is one of the heads of the CWC, the Ceylon Worker’s Congress, the oldest and biggest union of Upcountry Tamil estate workers. I went to their May Day rally in Hatton, you will recall. The CWC has been doing a lot of work among the Upcountry Tamils in Ratnapura District, which is holding Parliamentary elections later this month. So the purpose of this trip was to energize and organize the local CWC political machinery towards winning a greater share of the vote. But for me, it was once again a chance to see a new part of Sri Lanka, and an insider’s view that other Westerners never get.

Ratnapura is about 120km (75 miles) south and east of Colombo. The trip normally takes two hours or so, assuming you know where you’re going and don’t get lost, which we did, twice. Actually, we got lost trying to find the place we were lodging at.

The Minister’s immediate party stayed at a place called Hemingford Bungalow, while the rest had less glamorous digs elsewhere. Hemingford is an old restored colonial bungalow sitting atop a high hill at the center of a beautiful estate called Pussella. When you first enter Pussella from the main highway, the road immediately gets narrow, and winds its way through groves of rubber trees along the floor of a long narrow valley. The road gets narrower and into increasing disrepair as you start to ascend one side of the valley. Pretty soon it becomes less than one lane in width. You start to climb and eventually reach a sort of saddle at the top of one ridge. At the top of this ridge is the small estate station of Hemingford. There are maybe 10 small ramshackle structures in all. Its here that the estate workers go to buy provisions such as laundry soap, sugar, sarongs, and all the myriad of daily living necessities. The workers houses themselves dot the plantation fields and groves.

After driving through Hemingford, the road plunges down the other side of the ridge into a longer, even more narrow valley. Across the valley opposite the ridge is a large high hill (or perhaps it’s a small mountain – depends on your definition) on top of which is the bungalow. From the bottom of the valley to the top, the road takes a series of harrowing switchbacks. The bungalow is only 3 km (about 2 miles) distant, but it takes a good 20 minutes or half hour to drive it. The road is tiny, and in extraordinarily poor condition; more than half of it has either been washed out or eroded into giant potholes. Even on the east coast, I have not seen a worse road in Sri Lanka. And on one side is a steep slope upwards, and on the other an equally steep fall. I don’t think an ordinary vehicle could make the climb. And yet people live in the area, and both tuk-tuks and those giant red busses I described in an earlier dispatch ply the road. Oh and logging trucks also pass back and forth. For a brief moment I was tempted to hop on one of the busses some time just to see what it’s like, but the drive in a normal 4WD vehicle was enough to frighten me. And whenever we met a vehicle coming in the opposite direction (we were up and down that road every day for several days – and sometimes at night, too), both we and they would engage in an intricate dance on the edge of the precipice in an effort to created enough space so we could just barely pass each other. Yup, an E-ticket ride for sure.

Suddenly you emerge on the top of the hill, and you arrive at the gates of the bungalow. A stately 50 foot driveway and you’re there. The 360 degree panorama is just breathtaking; fold upon fold of tea green ridges, gaining height into the distance, until they are obscured by the blue-gray haze. Hemingford Station can be glimpsed on the opposite ridge, and the roofs of houses dot the vista below.

The bungalow itself is a classic example of British Empire architecture, although I suspect it was actually built in the 1930s. The rooms all have very high ceilings, and are very large. The building had been restored recently, which was nice, but almost no thought or money had been spent on refurbishing the place. For example, in the room that Shanthakumar and I shared, there were two big comfortable beds, a small nightstand and an armoire, but that’s about it. The huge space and the lack furniture and furnishings made it all rather echo-y and sad. The historian in me was upset that such an architectural jewel could be so neglected. It’s too bad, the place has huge potential – give me a million bucks and a year, I’d restore the place to its former glory!

The next few days were filled with tons and tons of driving. Every morning started with eating breakfast and then taking that infernal road out to the main road – a very unpleasant experience first thing in the morning! Then off to Ratnapura town, or Kahawata, or Pelmadulla or Kuruwita or… All the upper echelon of the CWC who could be spared were there, doing campaign work. I had met a lot of them at the May Day rally in Hatton, or in Colombo at the Minister’s office, so it was nice to see folks and get to know them a bit better. At the meetings the rank and file was surprised to see a white guy sitting next to Minister Sivalingam, but after a few words from him or Shanthakumar they would turn and smile at me. I have no idea what they were told.

I also spent a lot of time at the guest house where the non-VIPs were staying, and which functioned as campaign HQ for the district. There I was made much over by Kala and Panvitra, two absolutely stunning young women in their 20s who are coordinators for the women’s branch of the CWC. They were quite eager to flirt and practice English; it was very flattering. I’m afraid I was something of a distraction; at one point Kala and I sat on a bench outside and talked for 2 hours. It was just the two of us alone and probably the first time she’d had a casual conversation with a male in such a context. We both received a lot of ribbing when we went back inside.

In general I had a good time; the camaraderie was infectious even if I didn’t understand a lot of what was being said, and most people, Kala and Panvitra excepted, were too busy to chat more than a few minutes at a time. I did manage to be a little useful; I manned a computer and did stuff for them in English; re-writing, editing, making labels, helping others with formatting and so forth.

Ultimately I was invited to stay as their guest through the election, which is August 23^rd. I would have moved into the second guest house with the campaign staff and lived daily life like they do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t, as I have work in Batti that I’d neglected since Jerry and I drove down to Unawatuna. If I had a bit more time to plan things out, I might have. What a cool thing to participate in; and I bet my Tamil would have improved a lot. Well, maybe next election cycle.

So on Monday (the 11^th) Minster Sivalingam’s party drove back to Colombo, as he had parliamentary business. I drove with Shanthakumar in his vehicle, which broke down about half-way. One of the struts (I think that’s what they’re called) had snapped during one of our trips up and down that horrible road, but we hadn’t noticed the odd noise until we were on the highway. The repair, which was done in a tiny podunk town, took three hours. So by the time we FINALLY reached Colombo, I was right sick of driving.

I spent much of Tuesday helping in the Minister’s office. I wrote some English correspondence on his behalf, as well as helped fill out some visa applications for him and his staff. I mean, it’s the least I could do. Plus it makes me feel useful. Perhaps I ought to be an English writer/editor consultant for him when I’m here; it could easily be done via email from Batticaloa. Hmmm…

So the more and more I come to Colombo, the more and more I like it. As I keep repeating, in-and-of-itself Colombo is a dull town. However, I’m meeting all sorts of fascinating people, and getting to know some of them very well. For example, when here I spend most free afternoons at a place called Barefoot. Barefoot is a famous boutique shop / café. I like to sit in the café courtyard, drink coffee or tea, and read or write. In fact I’m at Barefoot right now, as I write this. Through my US friend Ishka, I’ve come to know the owners, Dominic and Nazreen Sasoni pretty well. And since they are the center of the arts social scene in Colombo, through them I’ve meet all sorts of people; expats and Sri Lankans, artists, politicians, writers, actors, young and old. In Sri Lanka the elite is very elite, but Dom and Naz are exceptionally down to earth folks. In fact when I was in Sri Lanka for the first time, and it was only my second night here, I was invited by a contact to a hoity-toity cocktail party at Barefoot. I had met Naz briefly earlier in the day, and when I arrived at the party not knowing anyone, she came and sat with me and we chatted for over an hour, then she took me around and started to introduce me around. For a stranger this can be a lifesaver. She immediately made me feel very welcome and comfortable, and we’ve been buddies ever since.

So now in Colombo I hang out with what is known as the Barefoot Crowd. And I’m finding out that most of them are smart, creative, interesting, lovely people. And they are very open to this slightly disheveled, unfashionable, un-hip middle aged American living out in the sticks.

Dominic had come out to Batti a few weeks ago. He’s a famous art photographer, and he was interested in taking pictures at the Mamangum Kovil festival, which I have mentioned in previous dispatches. Through my Batti contacts I was able to arrange it all for him; the grandfather of my friend Nero (one of the kids I teach at Synergy) is head priest at Manangum and thus Dom and I were accorded the best spots in which to view the ceremonies and other festivities.

So when I got back to Colombo, Dom asked me to a dinner party at his and Nazreen’s house on Wednesday night. It was a faaabulous party. They have a gorgeous house in the Cinnamon Garden district, which is the old colonial residential area. Very expensive and exclusive. The guests were fascinating; two artists, a television actress, a writer, two Japanese ladies who have been family friends of Dom’s for 25 years, a visiting group of three Sikhs from Delhi who are antique dealers (I now have connections in India!), the son of the founder of one of the biggest rubber producers in Sri Lanka, the grandson of Sri Lanka’s first president, etc. You get the picture.

Gulp. Little old, kinda frumpy, me among all these international glitterati types. Thank goodness for my education; I was able to talk with all of them and hold my own. I talked Mughal miniature painting with the Sikh gentlemen; Japanese politics with the ladies, American politics with the rubber heir; I disagreed strongly when one of the artists said that Abstract Expressionism is nothing but egotistical bullpucky; I told the actress about Andy Warhol’s Factory scene; and discussed the difference between Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism with the president’s grandson. Thanks Mom! Thanks Dad!

I haven’t had those sorts of conversations in months and I realize I really do miss them.

They party lasted until three in the morning, and the next day I had the hangover from hell, but it was very worth it.

Since then I met a guy named Amrit, who is the scion of the biggest tea concern in Sri Lanka. I and an American friend, Michael (who I had met at Shangri-La in Unawatuna – you see how it all interconnects?), met him at a sports bar (I know, I know, a sports bar; but we were watching Olympic swimming) called (shudder) Cheers. As we were talking, an interesting idea occurred to us. His company would like to do more to help Sri Lanka, especially the Upcountry Tamils, upon whose backs they make their profits. I had been talking with Michael earlier about a book called “Where There are no Doctors,” a book first published in the 1970s designed to teach local people in isolated areas to deal with medical issues using everyday materials. It’s been translated into a bunch of languages, but as far as I know neither Tamil nor Singhalese. I mentioned the book in terms of some of the villages on the east coast, and how timely medical help is difficult if not impossible for them. Michael said “Wouldn’t it be cool to get this book translated into both languages and distribute it for free in villages to people who can read? They could read the book, learn from it, and teach others.” Hmmm. And then I said to Amrit “Wouldn’t it be great if your company could sponsor this? Then you would be helping, AND be able to get credit for it.” Hmmm.

So next time I go online, I’m gonna look the book up. I seem to remember that they were into translating and printing for free. If so, it might be worth contacting them and maybe coming up with some sort of program to get the knowledge out to those who could use it. And If I can get a big tea company to back it and pay for it…

These sorts of good, plausible ideas have been popping up all the time lately. I’m starting to feel that I don’t have enough time here. But then maybe that’s the point; to line up a lot of good work for next year. But it’s fascinating how I seem to be meeting the right people at the right time and getting the right ideas. Fate? Karma? Luck? Divine Plan? I don’t know, but I sure am grateful!

Saturday, August 16, 2008 (next day)

Well, I have found out that “Where There are no Doctors” has already been translated into both Singhala and Tamil, and I’ve got the contact info. So maybe it can actually work.

I have received some wonderful news. When I first came here I hooked up with several fellow independent volunteers, and we formed a little family. Two of them were Claire and Fiona, the Irish cousins. Naturally I have kept in touch with them over the past few years. Claire sent me a text message, and she’s coming to Batti at the end of September, and will be staying for three weeks. Huzzah! I am so happy about it. She will be arriving just before my birthday, and so can spend it with me. She’ll be living in my house. Hooray!

In addition I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of Errol, my friend from Canada. I mentioned his coming a dispatch or two ago. I’ve lined up several potential projects that will hopefully interest him. He’ll be in Batti on the 23^rd and be there for just over a week.

So even though the time is ending for me to take on new projects, given how long everything takes to finish, it looks like I will still be quite busy being useful.

I still have yet to post my last dispatch, as getting on the internet is more difficult than you might think. So I may post both of these at the same time. Sigh. Oh well.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

B.