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.

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!

So what the heck are you doing?

I get this question a lot...

There is no such thing as a typical day in the office. Sometimes, it looks like this:

Chris: “resting his eyes” waiting for a vendor to call back.
Kavi: Writing back to a potential volunteer (actually working)
Kyle: Eating a vegetable roti

Sometimes, it looks like this:

New volunteers: Shane, Luise, Shalina and Dave making their bones by sorting carpentry tools into the canvas bags.

Later that same day, they sorted out four kilos of nails into parcels of 50, wrapped in newspaper, one for each of the bags. By the end of the day, they hated this project…and possibly me as well.

Now that the tools are here and sorted, we need to be certain our information is up to date. This means going back to the camps to re-interview to see how many of the people are working as well as finding out if the needs have changed.

The good news is there aren’t many men in the camp during this day visit and that means most have found work. Many of the men on the original list as carpenters have found work as casual laborers and are most likely making less than they would if they had their own tools. We are currently working out a contract for them to sign so they can pay us back (an extremely nominal amount) to avoid the handout mentality and for the workers to retain some sense of dignity.
The bad news is, that in speaking to the women in the camp, almost all tell us they themselves have no skills. One woman after another told us that they had no way to contribute to the household. After some probing questions, almost every one of them alluded to their ability to sew, cook, weave, clean, do fine needle work or all of the above. Some expressed interest in fruit selling or being some other type of vendor. It’s bad news because they do not see these skills as valuable. The mere suggestion that their expertise could be put to use to better their lives and add to their family income is nothing short of culture shock for them.
My fondest wish for my remaining time here is to work with these women and formulate some type of cooperative venture wherein they can work from the camps (while keeping an eye on the kids) creating textile items and cooking to order and set some of them up as vendors of these items and services. I would also like to connect some of the younger women with some job training programs that we could pay for with donations. Right now, their only paradigm is to hook up with a man and make babies. Not that there’s anything wrong with that mind you, it’s just that I think it might be a good idea to not be a child anymore yourself before you raise a bunch of your own kids. I've seen enough pregnant teen-agers to last me several lifetimes. I have no illusions about changing or “westernizing” the socio-economic structure of these women’s lives, I wouldn't want to. I suppose I’d just like them to know they do have choices and opportunities if they wish to seize them…and if they don’t, fine, but their daughters should be encouraged to do so.
Well, that’s wandering pretty far afield of what the heck we are doing… The well was dug in Tissa, the one for the orphanage. Apparently it isn’t quite straight down and they can’t get the five inch submersible pump down far enough to be useful. We’re waiting for a four inch pump to come in. They are out of stock. Of course. Chris leaves on Thursday and is incredibly frustrated that this project won’t be done before he returns to England.
As soon as I finish this update, I’m writing a follow-up on the grant proposal to the Kandy Rotary. “Show Me The Money!” Actually, it will be a little more involved and eloquent than that. I hope. I did finish the Pastor's story of how the orphanage was founded and why. It's not great literature by any stretch, but I found it an interesting and difficult task to express the depth of emotion and affection we all have for Pastor Dayaratne, his wife and all the children.
We will be spending several days in the army warehouse (a story in itself) to collect a bunch of clothes and household items for some needy families in Batticoloa. The warehouse is in the old railyard and is the location for many of the items donated from around the world. It's under the direct control of the Sri Lankan army and one of our volunteers worked there right after the tsunami. She made friends with the Grand Pooh Bah General's wife (I never did get the "rank" thing down) and we have shamelessly exploited that relationship to acquire clothing and needs for various camps in Moratuwa. It's hot and ickky, but the families in Batticoloa need almost everything we can pull out of there. The army will provide trucks and deliver the items to the designated families. As it stands, we don’t have to accompany them, but they would like us to do so. I would love to see that part of the country, but the continued unrest makes the trip unlikely. I'll probably stay home and finish plumbing the outhouses for the Montessori school at the Molpe Buddhist Temple. Ah, the thrill! The glamour! The exhilaration!

Another good excuse to update the blog...

I’m at home, resting my knee after going white water rafting on Sunday. We rafted on a grade 3 part of the Kelani river in Kitagula. Since it’s pretty much impossible to take pictures while rafting (unless, of course, you have a death wish or helmet cam) you’ll just have to watch the film, Bridge on the River Kwai. All the exteriors for the film were shot on this location in 1957 when Sri Lanka was still known as Ceylon. It is the most incredible place I’ve been so far, adjectives that come to mind are: steamy; tropical; dense; lush; verdant and downright primordial. It’s the kind of setting, that if you were there alone, you could actually believe you were the only person on earth.
Good for me I wasn’t alone. The entire week prior, my fellow volunteers expended an inordinate amount of time convincing me to go with them. I explained that having seen the destructive force of the tsunami, I’m just not a big fan of fast moving water…okay… I fear it. Someone said, “There’s a technical term for that phobia, isn’t there?” I said, “Yeah, ‘drowning’.” Chris promised me that nothing bad would happen to me. He is one of those extreme sport type of guys and actually teaches people how to do weird stuff like this. He is about to finish his degree in Geography and Outdoor Recreation at his “Uni” in Liverpool. I then tried the fallback position of, “My insurance doesn’t cover this adventure kind of stuff.” I got nowhere fast with that one.
So I went. Armed with a Personal Floatation Device (I am forever going to spell that out and capitalize it) a helmet that did nothing for my hairdo and my prescription sunglasses attached to me with croakies, we climbed aboard. Once we bridged the communication gap with our guide: “Right side forward; left side back…relax.” (I can’t tell my right from my left without pretending to eat) we were off. It was very beautiful and relaxing for about seven minutes and if my constant chant of, “Iwillnotdrown, Iwillnotdrown, Iwillnotdrown,” bothered any of my fellow paddlers, they didn’t let on.
We were soaked by the first set of rapids and stopped about halfway to swim a bit. Then we went through the most intense rapids of the course. It was thrilling and we all came out the other side whooping and laughing. We came upon one of the final, and by all reports, most benign sets of rapids, when the other side of the raft bumped into a rock and I flipped right out into the river. I swallowed a little water but somehow hung onto my paddle. It was actually while getting back into the boat (sometime later) that I smacked my knee against a rock. True to his word, Chris didn’t let anything bad (worse?) happen to me. He jumped right in with a couple of the guides to fish me out.
Swollen knee aside, we all had a really great time. Afterwards, there was a buffet lunch at the nearby hotel where we ate like we all had hollow legs.

Maria after lunch, looks too tired to drive home.

Chris and Dani are about to fall asleep too.

Meanwhile, Kyle (I could eat...) Pinjuv contemplates a fourth trip to the buffet table.

Kulture Korner: (a new feature to the blog)

How to tell if a Brit and an American are sharing a kitchen…

How to tell if the Brit in question, is in fact an Irishman...

Holy Matrimony! Three Updates In One Day!

I would be remiss to wander off the blog today without mention of the wedding I attended last weekend. Fellow volunteers, Simone Gardner and Kenney Wijesinghe got married last Sunday in a beautiful Buddhist ceremony. Here’s the happy couple:
They had intended to get married this past January, but Sri Lanka was so hard hit by the tsunami that their plans went on hold. For the past couple of months, Simone has been living with Kenney and his family here in Colombo. Kenney’s mom was getting increasingly distressed by their lack of haste in rescheduling their wedding…apparently she stopped feeding them. Drastic yes, but she elicited the desired response. They threw together a lovely wedding in about three weeks and during that time were being fed once again by Mrs. Wijesinghe. All the VI family chipped in and we booked them a lovely suite at the Taj Hotel for the weekend of the wedding. It worked out great since Simone had two of her brothers over from Australia and they too were staying at the Taj. Many of the women wore Saree’s (don’t…every joke, every pun done to death, believe me) and several guys wore sarongs. We had a great time and were all happy to be there for our wonderful, relatively new friends, Kenney and Simone.

Lakshman Kadirgamar

On our way back to Colombo, late at night on August 12th, we were stopped at military checkpoints. Apparently, the Foreign Minister of Sri Lanka; Lakshman Kadirgamar; had been assassinated only an hour or so earlier and anyone on the road in Colombo was considered a “person of interest”. The president, Chandrika Kumaratunga, declared a nationwide state of emergency that remains in effect a week later. There have been sporadic violent incidents in the north and east and Colombo has been plastered with posters, some inciting further acts of insurrection while most are simply tributes to the slain foreign minister and exhortations for peace to prevail. We have bookmarked and check in often with the American Embassy and British High Commission websites. There are many brave people here and around the world working to insure the peace here in Sri Lanka, join me in sending good vibes their way. I have found the Sri Lankan people to be completely charming and deferential to a fault to westerners. We are pretty much carrying on with business as usual; not jaywalking; helping little old ladies across the street; producing our passports when asked; stimulating the local economy and doing everything the guys in uniform tell us to. We'll be just fine.