I think my blogger wa is back...

So today, blogger thinks it would be okay if I downloaded some pictures! It's a mystery as to why it refuses to work sometimes. Here are the pictures that were originally intended to go with the tool distribution story:

Two of my young friends from the camp help with those hard to reach places in the van.

Simone left her husband Kenney with the sign up list in the camp, then brought back the carpenters about five at a time to collect their tools.

Me with my helpers, Dushan, Eshan, Akila, Sameera and Sashi. While we handed out tools, they taught me the Sinhalese words for sun, moon, east, west, north, south, ocean and several body parts. They drew the line when I tried to count, I'm not sure I completely understood him, but Dushan seemed to be convinced I'd never get it. He was probably right.

Here is the drawing for the generic cart...it's actually easier to follow up close and personal.

I’m just sitting here grinning like an idiot…

Today was the first really big distribution of tools to the carpenters at the Playground camp in Moratuwa. Finally, after all the price checking; visits to Pettah; ordering the bags and tools; sorting the tools; endless interviewing…just…everything! Our old friend, Bongo the Mazda van, came out of semi-retirement to get us and the tools to Moratuwa. It wouldn’t be a day with Bongo without car trouble, so he obligingly crapped out on us on our way to the Molpe temple. It was to be our first stop of the day, but Bongo had other ideas. Once we were underway again, we collectively made the executive decision to bag the temple visit and proceed forthwith to lunch at our favorite Sri Lankan buffet place. Hey, that’s why we get the big bucks! Simone wisely observed that since we were reunited with Bongo for the day, we should only do happy things, like give out tools.
We were able to distribute about forty sets of tools to the various family members in the camp. Our information gathering jaunts served us well and we came with a list of those people we wanted to receive sets of tools. Each set was signed for by either the carpenter him/herself, or a member of their family. We worked closely with the straw boss type leaders of the camp to ensure our efforts would not create a rift or conflict of any kind. You see, it’s difficult to arrive at a camp with something for only some of the survivors. Those who get nothing, feel left out and before we even indicated what we were going to do, we asked if this would present a problem. These are really great folks and they worked it all out amongst themselves. We now plan to follow up with more interviewing and as quickly as possible, help out those in different professions. Some will require more funding than others. For instance, there is a welder in the camp and we need to find out which type of welding he does; arc welding or oxy-acetylene. Either way, the funding needed to bring him up to speed will be greater than what we need for a bicycle repairman. Several of the women could work as seamstresses, and sewing machines are going to be more expensive for us to procure than the tools for a glazier. Our other goal as we move on to these other tradespeople, is to try to foster an atmosphere wherein they are incentivized to teach their trade to a young person in the camp.
The next step is to commission our carpenters to build vendor carts for the dozen plus would be vendors in the camp. These ubiquitous carts all have a basic design and materials list and can be modified with spidled racks to sell toys; tiered shelves for fruit and aluminum sheeting on the base and lights for fish vendors. (In all honesty, some fish vendors would do better without the added illumination.) I drafted plans and will provide the stuff they need directly to the carpenters.
I was trying to put some pictures here, but Blogger appears to be in cahoots with Bongo and has decided that I won't be uploading squat in the way of pictures this evening. Reminds me of something one of my profs once told me, "Don't anthropomorphize computers, they hate it." Whatever. I'll try again later, but it has wiped some of that silly grin off my face.
It was a great day and thanks go to all the volunteers who have come and gone who all helped in one way or another: Chris, Dani, Kyle, Phoebe, Nina, Deana, Dave, Shalina, Shane, (Shane's cousin, damn I wish I could remember his name) Luise, Kenney, Simone, Nikki, Jayantha, Linda, Christina, Maria and especially Lino, our own straw boss.

A Couple of corrections to the Brockport Post story

Volunteer International has no fee for tsunami relief work. The fee schedule is for the interns seeking job placement and work experience. Since the tsunami, the VI office has merely facilitated the work of relief volunteers and rendered local backup. We are here with our own money and paying our own way.

Um...it was a tsunami...not a storm. Understandable since we've got storms on the brain.

It's the "back to work" program not the "back to school" program.

There are internet cafes all over the place, they just don't always work properly.

The astute among you will notice I removed "The Pastor's Story" from the Blog. Short version is, I slept on it and decided it was not really for public consumption since it deals with rather disturbing subject matter. I can send it to you if you wish, just leave a comment or e-mail and I'll do so.

This one’s for you Chris…

My favorite picture of Chris.

Even though he left us here in Sri Lanka a couple of weeks ago to return for his last year at University, we still feel Chris Irwin’s presence. Chris has many accomplishments to his credit during his time here with VI: The land speed record for a round trip to Thissamaharama in a “dodgy” van; (hereafter referred to as “Bongo”); possibly the world record for the most chicken roti eaten at one sitting; ironically compensating a bicyclist and motorcycle rider on two different occasions for hitting him while he was driving; (this earned Chris the nickname “pay as you go bike magnet”) and showing miraculous restraint in not bitch slapping a particular member of the local religious community who pretty much deserved it.

Chris is an excellent driver. One needs to be here in Colombo, as the traffic is in my opinion one of Dante’s circles of hell. As I recall, it's the first level of the seventh circle, but it’s been a while since I read The Inferno. Chris is one of those safely reckless drivers and whenever we had a new volunteer in the van with us cringing at the near misses and trying to casually look around for the seat belts, (there are none) I would always say, “Relax, you’re safe as in your mothers’ arms!” Sometimes after a close call I’d shout out, “White man driving!” or “Sorry, we’re not from around here.” Chris, you’ll be happy to know that during my short stint driving Bongo in your absence, I completed the hat trick and sent a third biker ass over tea kettle on Elvitagala Mawatha. (He came out of nowhere just like always) Thus ending my career driving in Colombo, he was okay and yes…I fully compensated him.

Chris was instrumental in getting the well dug at the orphanage in Tissa as alluded to earlier in the blog. I went in person today to the pump place to speak with our old friend there about the infamous backordered submersible pump. It is now backordered for an additional 4-6 weeks. I made my (now patented) “bitterly disappointed” face and mentioned how sad it was the ORPHANS didn’t have a ready supply of water; how great it would be if his guys in Hambantota could get a temporary refurbished pump to help out the ORPHANS; and that I’m sure all the ORPHANS would be really grateful. You know the drill, he toddled off to the owner and said ORPHANS a few times and now they are installing a temporary pump until the elusive backordered one arrives. Like I always say, baby steps toward immortality. It’s not the final solution, but it is a temporary one. Just wanted to keep you abreast of goings on here and tell you I really miss you, ya big lug!

Pleasantville…NOT!

Today, we spent much of our day at the Office of the Divisional Secretariat for Moratuwa. Now that the army has pulled out of their role as supervisors in the refugee camps, the civil authority has taken over. You know what that means. More paperwork! We were informed that we needed an official letter with the signature and stamp of the Divisional Secretariat in order to gain access to the camps. This involved us providing them with a detailed schedule of our expected camp visits; a complete list of our volunteers and a meticulous accounting of our anticipated activities.
True to form, it’s some of the greatest fiction ever written. Newer volunteers were aghast at the audacity of putting down the names of current and past volunteers: Ben Dover; Cody Pendant; Duane Pipes; Emma Wroids; Faye Slift; Helen Back; Justin Case…you get the picture. Why you may ask? Simple, I take perverse pleasure in knowing that somewhere in Sri Lanka, tucked into a file that will never again see the light of day, is a list of funny names that no one here will ever “get”. What can I say? The TV here is crap.
We got our Official Letter. One other requirement was sussing out the Older Lady In The Office That Knows Everything. You know who I’m talking about. There is always one woman in every office, everywhere in the world that is the only one that does any real work and knows where everything is. We went in; we found her; we got the letter and we got out without leaving anyone behind.
We ventured on to the camp at Koralawella Mawatha where we did some more interviewing and Dave was hell-bent to play cricket with the kids. It’s an odd game that appears to go on forever and is punctuated by exuberant displays of delight as a result of weirdly unrelated incidents. I don’t get it. I actually think I understand rugby better…but that might have been the beer.

Amusing Rugby Anecdote #1:
While watching my first rugby match, Colombo vs. Kandy (allegedly a very heated rivalry) the players warmed up in their undershirts. When the Kandy team trotted out onto the field for the game they had their jerseys on and after seeing the backs of about four of them I commented, “Wow! Check it out! They’ve all got the same last name!” How was I to know that “Singer” was their sponser? Now, whenever I have a clueless moment, my fellow volunteers say to me, “Yes, and I’m sure Mrs. Singer is very proud.” I hate them sometimes.

Amusing Rugby Anecdote #2:
The real problem with this anecdote is that no one except my friend Dani and I find it funny. We were watching another match one day with Chris and Kyle (I forgot who was playing, but suffice it to say, Dani and I were both bored out of our minds) One team had those jerseys with the wide black and yellow horizontal stripes, and I murmured sarcastically under my breath, “I love it when they dress like little bees.” See, not funny. But it makes Dani giggle every time I say it.

Oh yeah, Pleasantville… sometimes being here is like stepping back into the fifties. Be honest with yourself, when was the last time you saw ANYONE use carbon paper? It’s a way of life around here. It’s like we moved on to the sixties and sent all our office furniture and accoutrements to Sri Lanka. There are of course modern offices with copiers and computers and printers and such, it’s just that it’ll be another couple of decades before it trickles down to municipal offices and the like.

Hurricane Katrina

I take it all back. Earlier on, during the horrific rains that inundated Mumbai India, I was critical of the lapse in planning and infrastructure that allowed so many to perish. It would seem that the U.S. government can turn a natural disaster into an even bigger cluster. Many people have editorialized about this issue far better than I ever could. My friend, Sue Hughes, sent me an editorial by Maureen Dowd of the New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/03/opinion/03dowd.html

My friend, Deana Hmoud, was in Sri Lanka for her brothers wedding when the tsunami struck and on September 2nd added this to her blog:
http://deanasworld.blogspot.com/

My brother Dave does intake and advisement stuff for the Monroe County Department of Human Services in New York. (read: a thankless job) He dashed off a very quick e-mail to me to say, “Come home we need you here.” Apparently they were inundated with folks from New Orleans that got out ahead of the storm seeking food and emergency shelter. Before the scope of the devastation reached me, I glibly wrote back, “Sure, how many pinatas do you need? We’ll get right on it.”
I apologize. I, like so many other Americans, naturally thought that in the post 9/11 world of “homeland security” we would have contingency plans in place for a disaster like this.
I don’t want to beat a dead horse, I’m sure there is 24/7 coverage of this in the U.S. (now) Oh, and just for the record, on the “refugee” debate, a refugee is someone seeking refuge. Why are we wasting our breath on nomenclature?
Just let me close by saying every average American that does anything to relieve the pain and suffering of a survivor of Katrina; Dave, for helping the IDPs (Internally Displaced Persons); Andy Johnson for going to Biloxi with his chain saw; Sue Mayne for being a gentle, sympathetic, caring voice on the phone for insurance policy holders; you are my heros.

The “We Can’t Have Anything Nice” Department

Spammers are evil and should be destroyed. Apparently, when you list your blog for anyone to see…anyone can see it. Duh. Well, I’ve started getting these unsolicited “comments” from people trying to sell me things: Don’t need any Viagra, thanks…or companionship for that matter…I also no longer own a house that needs refinancing.
I hate it when one person spoils it for everybody. Now you can leave a comment on the blog, but you need to log in a user name and repeat back to blogger the weird word as shown in the funhouse mirror thing. I love getting the comments and the folks at blogger will never bug you.
So, with the hit counter edging toward 900, who the heck are you people anyway? Leave a comment, even if you meant to look up “snakes of the amazon” (see, now that I entered that, they will all come here by accident) My bad.

Kulture Korner

There is this very hinky affectation that all native Sri Lankans have, I call it the “Bobble Head”. You know those weird little bobble head dolls they give away at baseball games? I guess they’re collectables, but don’t go by me. Anyway, from a very early age, Sri Lankans are instructed in the fine art of bobbling. It’s neither a nod nor a shake, rather both done at the same time. Try it…it’s really hard! Think about doing both things at once with your head while keeping your nose in sort of the same place. It essentially means, “Yes” “Okay” “I’m Listening” “Please Continue…” It’s often misconstrued by westerners, new to Sri Lanka as, “No way Jose!” If it’s done with enough vigor, “Yo Mama!”

I’m trying to get my friend Kenney to teach me, but he can’t do it at all if he’s trying, so it has to be totally subconscious. (I ask him anyway, because he blushes and starts laughing) Janaka, my favorite tuk-tuk driver, is a master of the bobble. He is trying to teach me in exchange for me coaching him with his English. So far, he can say: “Damn Skippy”; (it sounds like Dan Skibby when Janaka says it) “Outstanding” (owstanind) and we’re currently working on “Yah, Sure, Youbetcha, Snookums,” done with a Minnesota-nice accent. For two people that can’t really communicate with each other, we sure do have a great time. I wish I could paste a video onto the blog, so you could see the bobble heads in all their glory as well as their natural habitat.

Janaka, tuk-tuk driver extraordinaire, Ph.d. in Head Bobbling...Damn Skippy!