ABDF

August is over, and all our big projects, especially those involving schools, are finished. The last school-based project, barring one (see below) was the fence around the school in Mangikkadu. It was completed a week or so ago, just before the start of school. So yes school is in; it began last Monday, the 7th of September, much to the sorrow of uncounted Sri Lankan kids, and the exhausted relief of their parents.

I am thrilled to announce a brand-new major project at St. Cecilia’s Girls’ School, where we sent all those English-language books last year. Sister Elizabeth, the principal, and one of the most admirable of people I know here, has been asking for our help on expanding and upgrading the school computer lab. In addition, she’s been trying to get a scanner, and multimedia projector system, as well as a computer for the English Library. The cost for all this, even in Sri Lanka, is formidable, and beyond our means; just the 20 computers alone would use up most of our project budget.

But then along came Angela, a graduate of St. Cecilia’s who is now married and living in South Carolina. She had seen our website way back in April or so, and we have been emailing since. She had originally wanted to fund the computer lab project, but then the end of the civil war came, and she and other St. Cecilia’s Sri Lankans living in the States decided instead to help the refugees in the camps in the North. Completely understandable, as the amount of suffering those poor people went through, especially in the final weeks of the war, is unimaginable. However, for various reasons, it’s almost impossible for foreign help to go directly to those people in need; so much so that many international agencies have given up trying, as did eventually Angela and her school chums. It’s unfortunate that the refugees’ loss is our gain, but that is the sad truth. I wish it could have been otherwise, but that’s the reality on the ground here.

We’ve tentatively divided the project into three parts, if only for the sake of clarity and ease of implementation.

Part one will be the English library. There will be one computer put there, with an internet connection. We will also need to get a computer desk for it; currently there are a few tables and chairs, but they are in constant use. As this is a small part of the project, it’ll be easy too finish before I leave for the States.

Second, there are the computers themselves. Currently there are 20 computers, but the average class size ranges between 35 and 40 students. So we will need to buy an additional 20 computers, along with computer desks. Obviously this is the biggest part of the project. I’m getting the estimates now and since it is highly unlikely all the money will be collected and transferred and the computers ordered and shipped and installed before I leave, this part will probably happen when I get back early next year.

Lastly, there are all the misc. aspects of the computer room that need to be addressed before the new computers come in. This includes the projector, the laptop to run it, and the scanner, as well as installing the internet connection box and wiring for the new 20 computers. I can get all of this done before I go, and thus all will be ready for the computers when I come back to Batticaloa.

So thank you Angela! I’m so glad we were able to get it together and start working on this project. And needless to say, Sister Elizabeth is VERY happy.

So other than this new project, the old are pretty much wrapped up, with a few small details of a couple of our minor projects. Whew! It’s been a busy, and good, season!

Not so say things have calmed down significantly; they haven’t.

In terms of the future, I’ve been visiting sites and getting info on projects for next year. My goal is to come back with projects already arranged, so we can jump right in.

For example, our water tanks are very popular, mainly because they are so useful, but too small for the other agencies to be interested in. Last week I went to the village of Thirupperunthurai (try saying THAT ten times fast!) where I saw an entirely ironic and ludicrous solution to their water problem. The local Divisional Secretariat has a water truck to deliver water, but no where to put it. So what do they do? Three times a day, the DS pours 6,000 liters of water into the villages’ open well! Somehow that struck me as ass-backwards, but then what else can they do? It’s creative, at least. Obviously one of our 10,000 liter tanks would be very helpful.

But enough about business.

We’re in the middle of Ramadan, Islam’s month of fasting and sacrifice. I have many Muslim friends here and so I’ve have had lots of opportunity to break fast with them. During Ramadan Muslims forgo all food and water from sunup to sundown, as well as other prohibitions, such a sex during the day. The Muslim calendar is based on the lunar cycle, which means Ramadan can fall anywhere from August to November; this year it happens to be now, during the hottest time of the year in eastern Sri Lanka.

On evening I went to Izzadeen’s house in Kattankudy. We sat in the garden, waiting for the sun to go down. It was an interesting experience. Normally Kattankudy is a bustling, noisy place, but around six o’clock it started to fall silent as everyone went home. By 6:15 it was dead quiet, except for the birds and the breeze in the trees. All eyes were watching the sun inch its way down, and all ears were peeled for the call from the mosque announcing sundown. Then suddenly from the mosque: “Allaaaaaaaaah akbar!” and further prayer. Instantly, everyone leapt up and headed for the table.

I don’t know how fast is broken in the other countries, but in Sri Lanka folks traditionally start with a welcome glass of water, then a couple of dates. Dates are seen as stimulating to the metabolism, which has slowed during the fast. Then there is a bowl or two of conchee, an absolutely delicious porridge made of rice, broth, chilies, and bits of meat and vegetable. I have to get the recipe –it would make a terrific winter soup. Accompanying this are short eats, the delicious Sri Lankan fried bite-sized appetizers.

The first time I broke fast, I pigged out on the conchee; it’s that good. That was a mistake. Breaking fast is NOT dinner; that was served, in all it’s Sri Lankan abundance, an hour or two later. I managed to put in a good effort, but…

While on the topic of Islam, I’ve been finding out that some of my friends are Sufi. Sufism, for those who don’t know, is a mystical, internal form of Islam. Scholars believe that it was heavily influenced by Hindu and Buddhist thought; God is seen as a Universal Love principal, and jihad is strictly an internal thing; meditation and ecstatic experience are the way to God and thus practiced. Sort of the Gnostic school of Islam. A famous example of this is the so-called Whirling Dervishes of Turkey. Sufis are entirely moderate, relaxed, and emphasize education in all forms, as well as self-help and improvement. Many Western New-Age types poach aspects of Sufism, and Rumi is a popular Sufi poet in the US. Because of all this many mainstream Muslims don’t regard Sufis as true Muslims and the extremists like the Wahabis in Saudi and the Shias in Iran, actively pursue and persecute them.

Kattankudy is somewhat unique in that there is a strong Wahabi minority that you don’t find in other East Coast towns; there are various reasons for this which I won’t go into here. As a result there is a lot of tension between this hard-line minority and the Sufis, even though Sufism has been a part of Sri Lankan Islam for hundreds of years and is traditional. In fact, last year there was violence between the two, with houses burned and people killed. I mean, as if the Muslim community isn’t facing enough external threat; some folks have to go and create internal divisions in the name of “purity.”

So for my friends, one who literally whispered to me “We’re Sufi,” it was something of an act of courage on their part. I mean, they were, in a sense, outing their whole families to me. An honor for me, and an act of bravery for them. I’ve been asked to meet the Sufi Imam (cleric) and visit their small mosque. I’ve agreed, of course; it should be very interesting.

Since I’m on a religious roll, I might as well tell you that I went to my first Hindu wedding. Well, not one, but two. Since they happened at almost the same time, it’s a good they were both at Mamangam, the big kovil that has that amazing festival every year. So I was able to go back and forth between them.

The ceremony itself takes about two hours, and is very intricate and elaborate. But like Western weddings, the essential participants are the wedding couple, their parents, and the priest. The ceremony is filled with all sorts of symbolism. For example, at one point a plate of dahl (lentils) is mixed with a bowl of rice, symbolizing the union of the couple on a whole bunch of levels (sexual, financial, etc); even down to the shape of plate (man) and bowl (woman). This bowl is passed around to the folks attending, who throw the mixture at the couple during the ceremony (we throw our rice as the couple emerges from the church). At another point, the brides’ father hands a small bundle of fruit and flowers (fertility) wrapped in a betel leaf (luck and wealth, but folded it has a definite female-part appearance) to the groom, who then hands it to his father, symbolizing the transfer of the bride to the husbands’ household. As this is being done, the brides’ mother pours water from a small silver vessel (the body) over he husbands’ hands. He makes a washing motion (as we do in the West, when we wash our hands of something or someone) under the water, signifying his renouncement of any claim over his daughter.

The central event of the wedding is the placing of the thalis around the neck of the bride. A thalis is an especially made necklace of intricately woven gold thread. After the thalis is blessed by the priest in numerous ways, the groom puts it around the brides’ neck, and fastens the clasp in the back. The parallel, of course, is our Western wedding ring. It’s at this point that the crowd throws the rice-and-dahl at the couple, wishing them wealth and children. The couple then stands and the husbands’ family presents her with a new sari, her wedding sari, which she then goes and changes into.

Traditionally, the thalis can never be removed unless one of them should die. In fact, it is a singularly sorrowful moment for the husband should the wife die. For example, if in a hospital, the nurse or doctor will hand the thalis over to the husband, and utter the traditional word “Jewels.” A loving husband will be absolutely crushed. This is akin to our putting the sheet up over the face, only with deep cultural and religious meaning.

When the bride returns in her new sari, she and the husband are garlanded, and then exchange the garlands back and forth three times, eventually ending up with their original garland. I like this, as it seems to show partnership, rather than ownership.

Led by the grooms’ brother, the bride and groom circle the altar seven times holding hands. Each time, the bride pauses and puts her foot on a grindstone, and a ring is placed around a toe (I know, I know, five toes. Some toes get two rings). The bride placing her foot grindstone has obvious symbolism.

Hmmm. I’ve gone into more detail than I had planned, and yet I’ve only just scratched the surface. The weddings were fascinating to watch.

After the ceremonies, both parties had banquets. I put in an appearance at both to be polite, and I ate at one of them, but given that it was hot and I was tired, and that the banquets were on opposite sides of town, I felt it silly to keep going back and forth. So I went home.

I will give one more interesting wedding-related cultural detail before I move on. Well, two, really. First, Hindus do not traditionally do wedding rings, so with a man, it’s difficult to tell if he is married or not, although EVERYONE gets married, so if a man is 30 years or older, you can assume he’s married. It’s easy with women; look for the thalis. Additionally, many Hindu women place a small streak of red paste (lipstick works well, apparently) at the top of the forehead, right under the part in their hair. I need not go into the obvious symbolism of this.

So as you can see, between projects, Ramadan and wedding nuptials, it’s been pretty busy here. But the excitement doesn’t end there. Oh, no, it certainly doesn’t.

Last week I was sitting with my friend Sivashathan (Shanthan for short) waiting to get a shave at my local barber shop. It was around 11:30 in the morning or so, when all of a sudden: BLAM!!!!!!! and then the ground shook and an airwave concussion hit us. Dead silence, while we all looked at each other. Then we all went outside to see a black cloud mushrooming up from the direction of Kallady. The entire street had stopped and was watching. I waited to hear the sirens going at the police posts, as that’s what happened last time I was around to witness a bombing. No sirens. Then Shathan turned to me and said “It wasn’t an attack. If it was an attack,” he explained, “there would be all sorts of shooting going on.” Suman, my barber, nodded in agreement. “Not attack,” he stated.

There is an army base in Kallady and occasionally they explode old ordinance, or stuff like mines and bombs they find. The later was the case; they were detonating a bomb they had found somewhere. I found this out later in the afternoon. So everything was OK. But it was a sobering reminder that until very, very recently, this town was an active war zone; it’s an easy thing to forget. I managed to get two great pictures of the mushroom cloud rising over the road.

The second exciting and panic-inducing event was the botched Tsunami Early Warning Test last Thursday, the 10th. The papers had announced that the new warning towers would be tested on the 19th, so you can see the first problem. Second, no one I talked to knew where these towers were. Turns out that there are three in the District: one in Kallady, about a mile or so from my house, one in Kalmuai (technically in Ampara District but on the border), about 35km (20 miles) to the south, and at Passakudah, about the same distance north.

I have to tell you that almost no one lives in the Passakudah area; just a couple hamlets. So why did they put the tower there, instead of in a densely populated coastal region like Kattankudy? I’ll tell you. Before the war Passakudah was famous as a beach for swimming. I’ve written about it in the past, and it is one of the most beautiful beaches in Sri Lanka. Now the war is over, there are plans to develop Passakudah with five star tourist hotels. In fact, they’ve already started fencing off parts of it, which is crime in my mind. So THAT’S why there is a tower there, rather than where local people live. It’s a matter of priorities.

My first though is “if you don’t live within earshot of the siren, which is the majority of folks, how are you going too know?” Then “are they gonna put up more towers?” I hope so, otherwise the majority of people here are truly… well, you know.

So last Thursday morning I was on the roof, hanging my laundry on the line. Suddenly, from a distance, I faintly hear “Beep. Beep. Beep,” and then an announcement in garbled Tamil. More beeping, then another announcement in Sinhala. Repeat again, but this time in English; a very proper English lady’s voice telling me in a pleasant conversational tone that there is a tsunami warning.

I was a bit confused, having read the article in the paper. It wasn’t the 19th. So I went down to my floor, and got my camera. You never know.

I might add here that my house is about a mile from the beach; during the 2004 tsunami, the wave was only three feet deep by the time it got here. But it did roll a van off the bridge at the far end (seaward) of the lagoon across the street, depositing it in front of my house, and killing an entire family, except on little girl.

Needless to say, the entire neighborhood was out on the street, confused in that stunned inactive sort of way people have when something shocking happens. Most people do not read newspapers, so I was the only one who knew about the testing on the 19th. I couldn’t tell you if any of this was announced on radio or TV.

After 15 minutes or so, there was a new set of sirens and announcements. Straining to hear, I could just barely make out “This has been a test. There is no tsunami threat…”

So if your question is if the tower worked, then yes, it did. Did the test work? No. Few people knew about the testing and it was done on a different day than was publicized. Those that could hear it were largely either confused or panicked. The vast majority of folks within the tsunami zone had no idea there was even a test, or towers even, and in the event of a real tsunami last week they would have been taken without warning. Clearly many more towers are needed along with a better education and publicity effort.

So, my dear readers, that’s been life in Batticaloa the last week or so.

B.

This entry was posted on Monday, September 14th, 2009 at 1:14 am and is filed under Letter from Batticaloa. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.