A Night of Cricket and War

Posted by Alia on Sunday, April 29, 2007

There is nothing like having such a tiny country go to the cricket world cup to build a sense of pride and spirit in Sri Lanka. Everywhere I turned, there were signs pasted on store doors reading "Sri Lankans are winners!" There was a buzz in the air. Every Sri Lankan was sure they would beat Australia. I was a bit dubious, but of course enjoyed being scooped up in the enthusiastic atmosphere.

It all came down to last night. I sat with some friends in a pub watching the match. I still don't know all the rules of cricket but I was less interested in the match and more interested in the boisterous atmosphere, the cheering and dancing, and the funny Indian commercials. Behind the pub stretched a large field, dotted with locals watching the match on a huge projection screen. I decided to pop out back to experience "real" Sri Lanka.

At least 1000 people stood packed together, flags draped around their shoulders or wearing SL jerseys. Many of them had stickers of the Sri Lankan flag plastered across their foreheads. Suddenly, the crowd would errupt in a large cheer and everyone would jump up and down, wave their flags in the air. A group of boys would lift their chairs up over their heads and run through the crowd shaking their chairs in the air. The drums would start and everyone would dance. I was a bit nervous... all of these Sri Lankans in one place: a prime target with the war. But then again, these huge crowds were strewn all over Colombo. What were the chances of being a target? Still, we didn't stay long. Just enough to soak up the atmosphere.

Home again, home again. I passed out. 45 minutes later I woke up. Fireworks. "What?" I thought to myself. "Sri Lanka won?" I was sure Australia was going to win when I left. I started to pass out again. Then there was a loud tik tik tik tik tik tik. Not the typical sound of a firecracker. It was continuous. Machine guns. More flares in the sky. Colombo was being attacked. The guns were only a few streets away. I froze. I was so scared. What should I do? I shook it off. "No, Alia. It's just fire works and people being excited from the match." I was so exhausted I managed to fall back asleep. I kept waking up though. The guns were loud. But were they guns? I have never heard anything like it. I woke up the next morning to my friend shaking me. "Colombo was attacked last night. Did you hear the machine guns? Did you see the flares and rockets being shot into the sky? I think the Sri Lankan army was firing away off of the roof of the hospital just down the road." I had been right. There had been a problem in the
middle of the night. My terror was well grounded. My stomach sunk.

Today there are few people on the roads-- a combination of a late night of cricket and fear of the war. The war is no longer only in the East and North. Last week the airbase was attacked and the SL army shut off the power in all of Colombo so they could shoot at the LTTE planes. We had all sat for hours in darkness. Last night all international flights were rerouted. Planes can't fly in today.

I think I am leaving just in time yet my heart aches at the thought of going. I don't want to go. I don't want to go.... Read more »

sketches of life

Posted by Alia on Friday, April 20, 2007

I feel so behind in my updates... They are all bottled up inside, waiting to be poured out onto paper. I don't know where to begin. Do I tell you about the Sinhala New Year celebrations? Or the little boy with whom I spent a good 20 minutes exchanging funny faces? Or the family who lives on the street corner? Or updates from Ma-Sevana? This email will be a bit of a sketch, painting small images of important moments over my last two weeks.


Sketch 1.
I walk down Galle Road with a friend. We had just finished dinner. In the heart of Colombo I am used to passing beggars, generally small children who are hungry or adults who have some sort of disability. My heart always sinks when I see a new problem. Legs so swollen and lumpy they are as big around as watermelons, attached to a body that is malnourished and wasting away. Massive bumps and oozing sores. Missing limbs are quite common too. At first I gave money. Then I realized that my few rupees would not help these individuals to build capacity in any sense and would be better spent in one lump sum, invested in one individual to develop a meaningful life that can support and uplift those in their sphere of influence as well. Upon this realization I began to avert my eyes. But, I realized that in doing so I was neglecting their humanity. Everyone deserves a smile. I now look and smile, even though it comes at the price of additional begging. In some ways I have become numb to it. But, on this night with my friend on Galle Road, I saw an image that I wont forget.

A happy child with a surprisingly round belly prances excitedly on the street corner, watching as his mother sets out his bed for the night: a small sheet of cardboard. He looks well fed, happy, so content with life. His mother has just enough cardboard for him. She smooths it out carefully. He will sleep there, under the stars, next to the cars. She will sleep there too, next to him, her arm stretching gracefully over him, rubbing his back as he falls asleep. She will sleep on the sidewalk. There is not enough cardboard for them both. Yet, as I walk by, they both smile. They don't ask for money. They are happy. Content. Life is simple but sufficient. I am so overwhelmed in emotion. It hits me when I am about a block further that I want to give them something. But I didn't turn around. Part of me thought I should, part of me thought I shouldn't. I was happy and sad at the same time, a deep emotion that made my heart feel a little heavy but also brought about an appreciation for the simplicity and beauty of love and family. I wont forget them.


Sketch 2.
There is a row of 15 or so boys in front of me. They are crouched over, ready to sprint towards the buns. A string about waste high stretches across the road about 20 feet in front of them. Dangling from the string, about knee high, are 15 buns- one for each boy. The boys' hands are tied behind their backs. The objective is to finish their bun first. They must run to the buns, crouch over and try to eat the bun in front of them as it swings bag and forth and hits them in the face, no hand to steady the string. The whistle blows and the small boys run and slide to their knees. They all have different techniques for stuffing their faces. A whole crown gathers around and laughs. One boy finishes. Another and another. The last one has a bun that has fallen off the string. He is sitting on his knees, crouched over, eating the bun off the ground. The crowd cheers him on. He is almost finished. Done. The game is over. Just one of many for the New Year...


Sketch 3.
Yohan sticks out his tongue. He is about 3 years old, the beautiful son of Arjuna, one of the girls I work with. I stick out my tongue back. He nearly falls over laughing and does it again. Then he starts making other faces-- stretching out his cheeks, pulling on his ears, and closing one eye. I keep mirroring him. Then it my turn. I too make faces and he does his best to copy them, often attempting unsuccessfully and laughing at himself. Then I blow a kiss and he looks surprised and runs behind his mom, peering out slowly and giggling. I have embarrassed him. Our game continues for at least 15 minutes until my cheeks are sore from all the different faces. Exercise for your face. Yohan is precious. He runs over and squeezes my legs and lifts his arms up and jumps up and down. He wants to be held. I pick him up and spin him around and he clings to me. He wont let me put him down. I held him all morning. Every time I come now he runs to the gate. "Alia Miss! Alia Miss!" That's what the girls call me and that's what he calls me too. I often wish I could scoop him up and bring him home. I know that by the time Arjuna is 18 and can give him up for adoption, he will be much too old to be adopted in Sri Lanka. He has a tough road in front of him but such a joyous spirit.


Sketch 4.
Ma-Sevana is boisterous. They are acting more like children than ever. A few girls snuck out at night last week to meet some local boys who had been painting their building earlier that week. They exchanged conversation across the fence before the matron caught them. The matron was horrified but I found the situation slightly amusing. They are teenage girls who never get to see boys. Their security is obviously of tremendous importance. But, I couldn't help but smile to myself at the thought of Roshenara, an incredibly sweet and reserved girl who came at 11 and now just turned 15, sneaking out at 10:30 after the matrons had gone to bed to do something a little rebellious. In some ways, this episode that had all of Sarvodaya concerned made me happy. The girls are alive, alive in flesh and spirit.

Class this week was loud and alive too. The girl's couldn't get enough of the beading. Nirmali, a tiny girl, was especially excited by the long necklaces we are making that can be wrapped around up to 3 times. She held up her finished product eye level and it stretched all the way down to the floor. She giggled. It was as long as her! Other's laughed too.


Things are busier than ever. I am working hard to wrap up my time here. The moments are blurring together with an occasional snapshop captured poignantly between those that have passed. And they will keep coming. It's going to be hard to leave the family I have found here. There have been many special moments.... So many special moments... Thought I'd let you in on a few.
Read more »

NYC to Sri Lanka: Reflections on Distant Worlds

Posted by Alia on Thursday, April 19, 2007

The wheels hit the airport runway. At last, I was home. My face was glued to the small oval window of row 31. The man sitting next to me looked at me and laughed, "first time in Sri Lanka?" he asked. "No. I live here." I replied. "I live here," I repeated in my mind. Yes, this has become my home. My giddiness probably made me look like an anxious American tourist, the kind who has a camera dangling from her neck, ready to snap away at the site of anything new. But, my excitement did
not come from Sri Lanka's unfamiliarity, it came from the refreshing rush of being back in a place that makes me feel more alive than I have ever felt before.

My last trip to the States made me appreciate Sri Lanka in a new way. Somehow, as I walked the streets of New York City, I felt out of place in my own country. I felt for the first time that my passport could actually be lying, that somehow this jungle of tall buildings and asphalt was not my own but rather something foreign to me. Granted, New York is not my home. My farm in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina is my home and is an entirely different world than New York City. But, something about life in the States feels a bit more flat than it used to. Things are so clean, so manicured, so orderly. Everything you could need is at your fingertips. Shops are specialized, they aren't small rickety booths overflowing in every item on the planet, except of course, the one you need. Transportation stays in its own lane. People stay in their own lane too. They each have their own individual lives, speeding down the highway of life. Things don't seem real to me any more. I remember walking into a hotel restaurant. "What kind of water would you like?" I looked at the waitress. 'What kind of water? Clean water please,' I remember thinking. 'I can drink tap water again!' But, the waitress began listing off the types of water they had. What have we progressed to when we can count all the types of water we have available to us on two hands? Some people in the world wouldn't be able to lift one finger when it comes to accessible clean water and here I am trying to decide if I want Evian or Poland Springs. Yes, I was back in the States. It's not that everything about life in the States was horrible. I am very appreciative of consistent power, comfortable temperatures, and washing machines. But, I felt like life barely scratched the surface. I was back to purely verbal exchanges: no more miming with my hands, simplifying my speech, enunciating my words...no more bargaining for a better price or using broken Sinhala. An extra 20 cents with a smile and thank you doesn't carry nearly as much weight in the States. In Sri Lanka, it can make someone's day.

This is why I was excited to be back in Sri Lanka. I stepped off the plane and I realized that life is alive here (just as it should be!). I engage all my senses, every emotion I have ever had. It is rich and full to the brim. Oddly enough, I was excited to be back in the overwhelming traffic, excited to smell the burning trash, excited to be haggled. Every ounce of life engages me so fully, sometimes with extreme highs, other times extreme lows. My life is sinusoidal. It's amplitude is so much greater here in Sri Lanka. In the US, one might not even see it as a sin wave... the ups and downs are so small it is nearly a straight line, contained as everyone would want them to be, trying to dilute the occasional inconsistency. I am back to crying at least once a week and in the next moment laughing and smiling with a sincerity I have never known. It is absolutely wonderful.

Yes, I am home in Sri Lanka. And, more importantly, Sri Lanka has helped me to feel at home in myself and my interactions with the world. I have a new self-awareness and appreciation for life. I know more about who I am, the rhythms of my life, and those of the world. I know what I love. Life is absolutely precious and intensely beautiful. Read more »

"My. Dad. Gone." --Damayanthi

Posted by Alia on Wednesday, April 04, 2007

"My. Dad. Gone."
I didn't know what Damayanthi was talking about. But, I knew something was off... her eyes were watery in class today.

Damayanthi is one of my biggest helpers. She always stays late after workshops to help me put everything away. She has a meticulous sense of organization and just enough bossiness to get everyone to help clean up and take care of things. She organizes the beads in the cupboard, neatly rearranging things I think are fine to make them even more organized. She loves helping to teach the other girls and every time I see her she looks at me and tells me I am her best friend. My heart melts when she says that. Her best friend. A photo of me, her, and her gorgeous chubby baby is framed next to her bed. Her baby is the bossy one. She's also the one with a big smile that makes everyone else smile around her. Despite the fact that she is a bit younger than some of the other toddlers, she still pushes the older boys around. Damayanthi always walks me to the gate before I leave, carrying her chubby daughter on her hip and calling "good luck!" over and over as I pass through. That seems to be her favorite saying in English-- a cheerful phrase of optimism. Damayanthi is one of the lucky girls who will get to return to live with her mother, her mother happily taking her baby in as well. Her mother is one of the only mothers who visits Ma-Sevana.

After asking a matron what was wrong and hearing Damayanthi was "sick," I took her sniffling and watery eyes to be the cold that several seem to have. I didn't realize that more was going on in Damayanthi's life. 30 minutes of beading and she was all smiles, showing off her necklace to the girls around her. That's when she tried to tell me what was going on. But, I still couldn't understand. Damni, a wonderful girl who helps with the workshops and translates for me wasn't there today. Damayanthi first told me she was going home in a few weeks. She looked happy. Then she told me that her father was gone. I thought she meant that he had been put in jail which would allow her to go home. But, a few hours later when I met with the counselor, I found out that her father was not the man who raped her. I also found out some horrible news...Damayanthi's father passed away last weekend. The funeral took place immediately. Sarvodaya tried to make accommodations for Damayanthi to go to the funeral but the probation office was closed for a holiday. They couldn't get the approval to take her back to her home village. Damayanthi missed her own father's funeral last weekend. Can you imagine? She hasn't seen him in years and she missed the opportunity to say goodbye.

"My. Dad. Gone." I wont forget her words. I know I say this over and over again, but I find it unbelievable what these girls go through. Life is so intense for them and therefore life is so intense at Ma-Sevana. We all feel each other's joys and pains. The walls and gate around the home trap them in.

Damayanthi will likely return home in three weeks. She wants to continue beading and to teach others around her in her home community. I am working on building a system that will provide her with supplies monthly and am going to try to visit her before I return to the US. I met with the counselor today about follow up visits when the girls return home. There is no system in place right now and no funding to hire a vehicle to run the check-ups. Another thing to add to my list. It is essential that we follow up with these girls, that those individuals who take them into their home know that they are responsible for treating them respectfully, and for the girls to know that there are people out there who care about them and who they can turn to if need be.

It's hot here now. I returned yesterday after a week in the US and found it unusually hot and humid. The trees are in full bloom, flowers dotting the roads. I can feel a shift in the seasons just in the last week. We have several new girls in Ma-Sevana. They were delighted to receive their own boxes of beads today and caught on quite quickly to making jewelry. It's amazing how different it feels here having been gone just a week. We are changing seasons with a new intensity of heat and torrential downpours of rain at night. The seasons of Ma-Sevana are also changing faster than ever, especially for Damayanthi. But I know with her strength, courage, and optimistic outlook, she will pull through. Read more »