Reality Check Department

I know I keep saying things are way cheaper over here, case in point:
Janaka and I went to buy 160 pairs of boys’ underwear. We traveled to Maharagama on the outskirts of Colombo. This is where there are seemingly endless stalls and storefronts of vendors selling fabric and clothing.

After a few false starts, and one gentleman who tried to convince me I really needed girls underwear, we located a stall that had boys’ briefs in 100% cotton in every color of the rainbow.
We ran into a slight communication problem when I explained that I wanted only white or light grey briefs because the boys need to wear them under the white pants of their school uniforms. Desperate to fill my order from the stock in his stall, the vendor kept holding up richly colored briefs and saying “nice” to me in an interrogative manner. If I acknowledged that they were indeed “nice” but not what I wanted, he started to pile them up with my order anyway. After a few attempts with my broken Sinhalese, I had to resort to making retching and gagging noises every time he tried to include any of the colors. Thanks to crossed arms; emphatic shaking of my head and one serious feint to leave the stall, he found the items I wanted. He had to check with other vendors and buy a bunch from them, but I ended up with 160 pairs of briefs in the sizes I needed, all light grey.
My mom raised four boys and while I know over the course of our childhood, she bought way more than 160 pairs of briefs, she never bought that many at one time. I got 16 large; 84 medium and 60 small. The entire order cost me the equivalent of $37.13 US. You could probably send a three pack of underwear from Wal-mart to Sri Lanka for less, but not by much. This is the long version of the reality check…things are MUCH less expensive to buy over here.

“Hi honey, I’m home! I gotta tell you about this crazy white broad that bought a crapload of boys underwear from me today!”

I did have a nice long chuckle on my way to the orphanage thinking about my sit-down with Chris Trento. He’s my tax guy and it will be amusing to explain some of the receipts I have. “That’s milk for the Montessori; that’s 10 bags of cement for the orphanage; that’s for toys in the piñatas; that’s for the truck we rented to take clothes to the Tissa orphanage; oh yeah, that’s the 160 pairs of boys underwear…” Many are in Sinhalese and all need to be converted from rupees to dollars. I’m sure he can hardly wait.

There's ALWAYS someone worse off than yourself...

We recently visited the Sri Sugathodaya Asarana Sarana Sewaya (hereafter referred to as the Wellawatte Orphanage, because I can actually pronounce that). It’s a very small strip of land behind a Buddhist temple located on the busiest main road in Colombo. I do not use the word “building” deliberately, because it isn’t. Bordered on one side by a heavily polluted canal; and the other by the butt ends of various shops and auto repair places; most of it is only about an eight to ten feet wide strip of concrete with a cobbled together makeshift roof.

Bunk beds to the left; auto repair shop eight feet away to the right.

This is home to 45 young boys aged three to sixteen, many of whom are orphans as a result of the recent civil war.

We were there shortly after one of the daily cloudbursts that occur this time of year, and the area where the boys sleep was completely soaked and muddied.

Quite a few of the toothbrushes are missing.

The current storage area for school backpacks and shoes.

There is a building project underway that will safely house and shelter these boys, but it is frequently stalled due to lack of funding. The new space is being built just behind the current area in use. It has a long main room and an outer hallway which will have cupboards for the boys as well as tables and chairs to use for study, coloring or games. There is also an enclosed toilet and bathing area and a “sick room” with separate toilet facilities. Below the main building will be the kitchen and cafeteria area. The structure is being built in such a fashion that a second floor can be easily added. This would eventually provide classroom space and a recreational area for the boys but is currently in the distant future due again to lack of funds.

The main bunk area

The space below that will be a kitchen/cafeteria

This is the new building as seen from the current sleeping area. The yellow painted doors to the right are the toilets now in use.
When we sat to talk with the teacher/bookkeeper for the orphanage, she assisted us in putting together a list of some of the more immediate needs for the continued funding of the building and the boys in general.
(100 rps = $1.00)
Cement 12,250 rps (25 bags)
Tiles for kitchen area/downstairs 920 tiles/ 50 rps per tile
1 steel cupboard 6,500 rps
1 gas cylinder 3,600 rps
2 burner gas stove approximately 4,000 rps.
5 Steel bunk bed frames (Niasco Ind. 011-2561367) price unknown
10 mattresses for bunks price unknown
10 pillows
2 clocks

On an average day, it costs 9,000 rps to feed all the boys, broken down as follows:
Breakfast 2,500 rps
Lunch 3,000 rps
Snack 1,000 rps
Dinner 2,500 rps

School Shoes (various sizes) @ 400 rps per pair
The teacher was able to show us a note book with all the boys feet traced out to determine the correct sizes needed.

Underwear- S-M-L price unknown

Ongoing expenses, maintenance

Wash powder
Toothbrushes
Disinfectant

These are the immediate needs and all items can be purchased here in Sri Lanka for considerably less than in the U.S. or elsewhere. Many of you have already made donations and for that I am very grateful. I know you MUST be suffering from disaster/donor fatigue. Katrina, Rita, Wilma and the earthquakes in Pakistan and India have numbed many of us into a complete stupor. I assure you, aid agencies and NGO's scarcely know where to allocate their resources. I am not asking anyone to donate to this endeavor; it’s only one of millions of causes that are all worthy and deserving of our time and money. Just find it in your heart to help someone, in your own country or elsewhere. Give of yourself; get involved with a literacy program; fundraise for the Kidney Foundation or on your next birthday, request that people make a donation in your name to the charity of your choice. The currency of your involvement and effort will pay huge dividends and has the power to change you forever. Believe me, I know.
I’m days away from getting the VI website on line, so stay tuned for the link. I’m also setting up an online store where items can be purchased that will support our work here. Today, I’m going to Pettah to buy as much boys underwear as I can find…as my brother Doug says, “I’ll take “Things I Never Thought I’d Do” for a thousand, Alex…” I don’t want any of these guys to “go commando” for the Sunday-almost-done-new building-opening ceremony.

Lost In Translation

Actually, it’s “lost without translation”. I’ve just had one of those days when I can’t really get anything accomplished because I don’t have a translator. I want to go to the Molpe Temple to distribute milk and stationary supplies…but I need a translator. I want to go to the Soyasapura/Salusara camp to conclude the mapping interviews…but I need a translator. I want to go to the Divisional Secretariat office to rifle through ration cards…but I need a translator. I want to go to Pettah to negotiate with Mr. Selvaratnum for some items I need for the camps…his English is not too bad, he’s a tool guy and we actually do pretty well miming to each other…but a translator would help. (If I mime a sewing machine, I might end up with a table saw…it could happen)
Days like this can be very frustrating. I ended up just entering stuff into my fledgling database and wondering if I’m spelling these complicated Sinhalese names correctly. I do have a couple of favorites: Jotuiratunalage Jayasiri Pushpukumara and Sirisena Sithmbi Arachchilage. No, I do not know how to pronounce them.
Yesterday was a Poya day and Dani’s Aunt Sunethra invited me over for dinner. She said the magic words: egg hoppers, seeni sambol and jac fruit curry so I dropped what I was doing and got over there. It’s bad form to arrive at a Sri Lankan home without bringing something for your hostess. The real problem is that everything is closed on Poya. My loyal tuk-tuk driver, Roy and I had a real bonding experience trying to find an open bakery so I could buy a cake. After cruising up and down Kirula and Thimbiragasaya roads, we found a place that was open and I ran in to buy something called a “ribbon cake”. I have no idea what makes it a ribbon cake, but one layer is green and another is pink. It tastes okay if you don’t look at it too closely. After telling Sunethra about my quest with Roy, she wrapped up a huge piece and gave it to him when he picked me up.
I had my mom send me all the stuff I need to make a pumpkin pie because Dani is a huge fan of all things pumpkin and has never had pumpkin pie. I have no idea how a person can like pumpkin in the absence of pie, but they do weird things to it here and it’s a lot more squash-like than what we think of as pumpkin. This got us to talking about American food. They decided I would cook them an authentic Thanksgiving meal. I agreed once I found out you can actually get a turkey here.

Minor Digression:
I cut out an article from the paper the other day:
Bird flu found in Turkey’s turkeys
I know avian flu is nothing to laugh about, but this cracked me up.

Here’s the menu so far, feel free to add your suggestions:
Turkey
Stuffing
Mashed Potatoes
Gravy
Cranberry sauce
Cornbread
Greenbean Casserole (I personally don’t care for this and would take suggestions)
Pumpkin Pie
Mincemeat Pie
Pecan Pie (Lino asked me what a pecan was, so I knew I had to make this)

I’ll be kicking Chandra (Aunt Sunethra’s maid/cook) out of her kitchen for the day and I have it on good authority that she is VERY territorial about that particular room. I think I can take her.

Minor Inconveniences

I was scheduled for an eye exam in September. Unfortunately, I’m 8,704 miles away from my local Lenscrafters. (Slightly closer if I went to the one in Henrietta) I really need my eyes checked. I brought along my bifocals, two pairs of reading glasses and my prescription sunglasses. My bifocals, the ones I usually wear all day, are irretrievably scratched up and only good for starting fires. The reading glasses I’ve been schlepping around with me, are each slightly older prescriptions and taking a beating as well. I’m practically living in my prescription sunglasses because it’s pretty bright here. It’s a constant source of amusement for my friends when I get up from reading without taking off my glasses. I always manage to navigate around the office for a few seconds until I ram into a wall or something. Actually, they are pretty good sports and do things like read to me from menus and reset the font on my phone so I can actually see who it is I’m calling before they answer.
I may see an eye doctor here, but he better speak English. I can see it all now,
“Which way is the ‘E’ pointing?”
“That’s an ‘E’?”
“Well no, it’s the Sinhalese symbol that represents our “eh” sound.”
“Of course…that’s clear as mud.”

I’ll see you in December, but I probably won’t recognize you.

My mom, Not in Sri Lanka

If you see this classy lady around town, make sure to wish her a happy birthday. Sure, she’s dressed up for a wedding in this picture, but she pretty much always looks like she just stepped out of a bandbox. Being brought up properly will do that to you. (Yes, she tried with us, but I think she still lies awake at night wondering how she managed to raise a bunch of damn Yankees.) After my rant about the heat a few days ago, my mother helpfully e-mailed me the formula for converting Celsius to Fahrenheit. See, she does have an evil streak. (Who taught that woman how to e-mail???) Mom checks the blog every morning and every evening so feel free to send her birthday wishes in the comment section of this post. No noogies please, but if you want to give her a squeeze from me she might let you. Mom, I sent you something fun for your birthday so I hope you scoot around to all the grandkids on October 8th and have a great day. I love you and miss you, happy birthday and many more happy returns of the day.

Kulture Korner

You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a bakery of some kind here in Sri Lanka. They are everywhere! At first, I was thinking, “Wow, these folks really groove on cakes, bread and pastries, look at all the shops.” Turns out, the average Sri Lankan kitchen doesn’t have an oven. It’s sorta hot here (see below) and the thought of heating up your kitchen to make some brownies or something is really objectionable. Almost everyone buys their baked goods from one of the many local bakeries. Perera & Sons (with outlets all over the city) is the official bakery sponsor of Volunteer International. They make the best chicken roti, even though the spiciness varies from day to day. Before we moved our office, they were right across the street from us. It was a traditional hazing moment for us to send a new volunteer over there with our confusing morning bakery order while clutching a fistful of rupees. Now that we are on Cotta Road, we’re near The Fab. They make the best cakes in Colombo and we often get lampries for breakfast. It took some doing, but I finally found out what’s in a lamprie: ghee rice; curries; sambols and forcemeat (veal) balls all wrapped up and steamed in a huge banana leaf. Originally called “lomprijist”, the name “lampries” is derived from the Dutch and is evidence of their lingering influence here in Sri Lanka. It’s delicious and makes for a great breakfast.

Going to Your "Happy Place" Will Cost You...

The view from the Mount Lavinia Hotel terrace.

Have I mentioned lately how hot it is here? It is. No…really hot. Someone told me today that it was 37 degrees. On the surface, that doesn’t sound so bad... if you’re using the Fahrenheit side of your lizard brain. I do know from the whiney tone of voice used that, yes, just as I suspected, it is indeed hot out today. It reminded me of when Cam and I first moved to Dallas…in the summer…talk about your boneheaded moves! We would drive around and occasionally we’d see one of those time and temperature things. Inevitably, one of us would scream, “It’s 105 degrees out here! Why aren’t these people dead?” We never did figure it out and he traded the dry heat of Texas for the humid heat of Florida. But I digress.
I’ve been here for four months now and from time to time, someone tries to tell me how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit. As with so many of life’s distasteful moments, I find sticking my fingers in my ears and humming real loud usually makes it all go away…until the next time. Look, I’ll learn kilometers, grams, liters and centimeters but I am drawing the line at temperature. I mean honestly, we’re seven degrees north of the freakin’ equator! It's hot! That's a given...I just don't want to know how hot it is. You can only really say two things about the weather here: “Gee, it doesn’t seem quite as hot as it was yesterday.” or “Gee, it’s way hotter than it was yesterday.” That’s about it.
So it’s Sunday and hot and all week I told everyone it was going to be a Mount Lavinia Sunday. That means we go to the Mount Lavinia Hotel and play tourist. The lunch buffet and pool costs 1500 rupees, about 15 USD, and we get to lounge around the pool all day or until we’re burnt to a crisp which ever comes first. Several volunteers ended up at the pool at the Hilton, but since I had told a bunch of others we’d be at the Mount Lavinia, I went there instead of the Hilton. As it happens, no one else showed up and I had a very pleasant day sitting by the pool, plugged into my mp3 player, writing postcards and reading my book. It was a fabulous day in the sun and jumping into the pool to cool off was the best part. As often happens this time of year, late in the day a massive thunderstorm blew in off the Indian Ocean. Rarely have I seen weather systems move as fast as the ones here. I spotted it on the horizon and immediately went to change into dry clothing. As I collected my stuff from the table and the pool boys were hurriedly tucking away the umbrellas, I noticed a family of tourists at the next table. They had just ordered their dinner and were expecting to enjoy it poolside. I told them it might be a good idea to move into the building for dinner since in about three minutes they would be drenched by the storm. Dad said, “But it’s so sunny out and those clouds are so far away.” I shrugged, muttered, “Fine, don’t listen to me, I’ve only been here four months…” and went into the lobby for a cup of tea to enjoy the ensuing mad scramble. Soaked tourists aside, it was one of the most dramatic storms I’ve ever seen, incredible wind and painful, horizontal rain. The rain cooled things down slightly, but it didn’t last.
I think poolside at the Mount Lavinia Hotel is my happy place and worth every rupee.