This weekend I've only just begun to understand what TS Eliot meant and yet it seems to be inbred within Sri Lankans. Let me explain ....
This Thursday we set off on a four-day "Harmony Development Council" Trip to the North East of Sri Lanka along with about 70 fellow Council Members. The trip was the brainchild of an NGO called Business for Peace Alliance (BPA) who are focused on, as the name suggests, undertaking conflict transformation through private individuals doing business with each other. The idea for this specific event was to bring representatives from Chambers of Commerce in the Singhala-majority South of the country to meet with representatives from Chambers in the Muslim- and Tamil-majority East of the country to meet, become friends, and share ideas to bring more harmony to the country. As the BPA rightly say, although officially there is peace in Sri Lanka, there certainly isn't yet harmony amongst the different communities.
On Thursday I have to admit I met the bus at 0600 with dread. Knowing that I had an 18 hour bus trip ahead of me that day, and seeing the drums that were being loaded onto the bus, I knew I was in for a raucous ride. We started out with 10 representatives from Galle and, as we travelled north, this mushroomed into about 70 people from the different Chambers and the BPA across two buses. Fortunately this included Sam and Sarah, 2 fellow VSO volunteers, who are both working with the BPA; I was extremely grateful for their moral support throughout the trip. The music started early in the morning and percussion developed as the day went on from a drum, to bottles, boxes and all parts of the bus that make a noise when banged becoming the orchestra. Having grown up with Dad's rule when travelling "stop every 3 hours for a break", I found it rather frustrating that we'd often stop after only 45 mins from the last stop to either have tea with someone's relative at their house, to stop to buy booze, or to view a reservoir. It wasn't until the last day (whilst on the 15 hour return journey) that I realised that the issue is probably more with us Westerners. We're focused on arriving and will huff and puff through a journey trying to make it pass as quickly as possible with our ipods stuck in our ears, or a book firmly in our hands, or lulled to sleep by the boredom. Sri Lankans, rather, know that the journey is going to be a long one so settle in with their music, their nibbles, and their smiles and are quite happy to elongate the trip as long as is necessary to make as many stops as all participants want to make. I think there is something to learn from that.
Day 1, 2 and 4 were almost entirely driving (48 hours in all across the 3 days!) in order to achieve the focus which was getting to Trincomalee, or Trinco for short. Trinco came to fame for its deep water harbour which made it a tempting prize for the Portuguese, Dutch and finally Brits. More recently, however, this history has been overshadowed by the civil war which began in 1983. It became a flashpoint for ethnic tensions thanks to its population which is almost evenly divided between Tamil, Muslim and Singhalese communities. It hit home to me how difficult it must be to have lived in the area first when we stopped at a beach south of Trinco. Beautiful white sands dotted with colourful fishing boats flanking a warm blue sea with no humans cluttering the view stretched before us as far as the eye could see. We ate our rice and curry using our hands (as all meals are done in Sri Lanka) and, it wasn't until we headed back to the bus, that we were told that it was good we hadn't walked further because there are still landmines in this area. (Thanks for telling us after the fact!!). The beach was a major fighting ground between the government and the LTTE as it was used as a key point to smuggle firearms from the North to the East by the Tamil Tigers.
A little further north, the road met a river and the only way across was via a rickety rope ferry (see photo). Here the bridge, like most in the East, had been bombed during the civil war. The Chinese are currently building a new crossing which is supposed to be ready in 3 months. In some respects that will be a shame because the ferry is a stark reminder of the history that none of us would want repeated. I doubt the bus driver would agree, however, as he clearly thought that he'd lose his livelihood as the front and rear of the bus scrapped, like finger nails down a blackboard, both going on and off the ferry.
What brought the horrors of living in the East to life most starkly for me, however, was the visit to a Tamil village that had been scheduled. The ladies of the village described to us how many of them had lost their sons and husbands during the fighting, both as active cadre, and through kidnapping to become child soldiers within the Tamil Tigers. Many of them left the area and waited in India until things started to improve. This was the case after the 2002 ceasefire. Although this was rarely followed by either party, many families returned to the area in 2003 and 2004 only to be decimated by the Tsunami in Dec 2004. 50% of the people in the village we visited died. The families are slowly rebuilding their lives based on the predominantly fisheries-based economy in the area. Many children don't get beyond O-Levels, however, because the standard of teaching is mostly poor with badly trained and under-paid teachers who focus their efforts on private tuition after school to the richer children.
Despite the stark realities of the trip, there were lots of laughs to be had by all. One morning camp fires were lit and the whole group got down to preparing our breakfast and lunch for the day. Vast vats of rice and curry were prepared along with some nibbles for those with a sweet tooth. One of the delicacies during the New Year period that recently passed is oil cakes which, as the name suggests, are made from a sugary dough that is deep-fried. I managed to get the whole cooking to grind to a halt when I tried my had at a couple of these. The trick is to poke the cake with a stick to create what can best be described as a nipple on the top. Unfortunately, after 3 attempts, I only achieved 1 decent nipple much to the hilarity of the on-lookers.
Each night during the trip we slept on raffia mats on the floor of halls with all the women in one room and all the men in the other. Despite the lateness of each night (around the camp fire with multiple bottles of Arrack, the local hooch, being consumed) the women would get up at 5am each morning. This is what they do everyday at home so I guess their body clocks are predisposed to it. They must have thought us extremely slovenly as we slept in until 6.15am. At least it meant they were all done in the showers by the time we were up. It does take the women a while to get into their saris and put coconut oil through their waist-length hair. Our "don't care what you look like" approach is a little quicker!
How much harmony was developed, I couldn't tell you, but based on the harmony of the singing and drumming on the way home, I'd say the trip "did what it said on the tin". I was glad to see my bed when I got home, though, I can tell you!! Until next time, keep well, have fun during the election this week, and drop me a line if you've got a spare moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment