Well it’s been a while! Another year has passed at University, which means it’s time for my next adventure. And this time I’m in…
Well, you can probably guess from the title of my next blog:
To find out more, click on the link just above, and just as before you are very welcome to follow me, quiz me on any aspect of my travels, and enjoy the next couple of months of blog posts!
Great to be back online 🙂
This gallery contains 9 photos.
My first task of the morning was to head out to a village near Thirrukovil, to the Centre for Peace Building and Reconciliation. It wasn’t easy to find, as it was in a little building concealed by palm trees, but … Continue reading
Earlier on last week Chamila asked if I’d like to go to her house. I couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking, but I was keen regardless. The next day she had asked again, and asked if ‘Baba G’ would come too, so I spoke to Baba G about it and we checked with Mrs G, and were given the go-ahead. Just so long as Sunday was a day-off, we could go (with a driver and security, of course). There were a couple of moments when we thought we wouldn’t be able to do it, because managers were debating whether or not to make Sunday a day off or not due to a fast approaching shipment. But, thankfully, Sunday was kept as a day off, so at about 8:30am, Baba G and I set off for a little village called Wawinna.
I just kept exclaiming on the way what a beautiful area it is. It really is. Little villages lines the road, as I described in an earlier post, with houses often made of little more than wattle and daub with large leaves for the roof. The river seems to be the most popular place to go to bathe and to wash clothes. Little old tractors can be seen all over the place, as subsistence farming is the primary form of employment here. On the many little lakes and reservoirs, clusters of blue wooden rowing boats can be seen decorating the water’s edge, whilst cormorants stretch their wings from their perches on rocks and branches, undisturbed and unhurried. Village life here is quaint, as Baba G described it, but I’m trying to get past this disconnected view of it and understand the real people who live here, and the real lives that are unfolding around me. It’s all too easy to see it all as one magical, rural fairy-tale that is somewhat distant from real life; detached from politics, from economics, from the urban society. It may be detached in some ways, but even whilst we were in Chamila’s house, the family made a point of turning on the television for us to see. Electricity may not be available to everyone, but Chamila is now the main income-earner in the family, and with the money she brings in, purchases that may seem luxury to others in nearby communities have become an important part of the everyday weave of life for her family.
The driveway to Chamila’s house, which is behind me in this shot: a white bungalow, with cylindrical pillars supporting the front porch area.
When we arrived, we were swiftly served breakfast – milk rice and chutney, and biscuits and cake. All very tasty, and so much was heaped onto my plate that I was pretty full by the time they finally started listening to my refusals of more. The whole family was there; Father, mother, sister, brother, and a cousin, and later we were joined by more family members, who I think were just there because of the novelty of having a white guest. One little boy was running around and hiding behind the curtains, and each time I made eye contact with him, he would disappear in a whirl of curtain. Baba G assured me that it was very likely that this was the first time the younger generation of Chamila’s family had ever met a white person.
Senanayaka Reservoir, behind Inginiyagala Dam – part of the Gal Oya National Park
After browsing through some family photo albums (which Baba G says are like the equivalent of UK coffee table books), we headed off to nearby Inginiyagala Dam. This is a Dam built by the British 60 or 70 years ago, holding a vast reservoir behind it. We slowly walked along the top of it in the roasting sunlight, taking in the views and taking lots of pictures. Being from England, I always feel the need to make the most of sunshine, no matter how hot it is, but the other two girls, and the driver and security, were all a little less pleased than I to be out in the sunshine I think. Although Chamila did a very good job of hiding it, when she spotted a discarded plaid hankie on the floor she instantly appropriated to discreetly dab her forehead. The reservoir behind the dam is beautiful, and is part of a National Park. There was even a lone wild elephant, contentedly bathing itself nearby, and there were countless butterflies, weightlessly dancing around the grasses, both of which I was thrilled about.
A very content elephant.
Once I’d had enough of taking photos and skipping around in the sunshine, we headed to the car (much to Baba G’s relief) and then onto another section of the dam (at which Baba G’s relief dissipated somewhat). We didn’t spend so long here, but gazed down at the large concrete structure, and Chamila told stories of how when the waters are high, local children come to play and try to catch the fish. The story took a darker turn when she told us that one small boy was swept away not so long ago, because the water coming through can just be so powerful that the small children don’t stand much of a chance against it if they fall in. It’s another beautiful spot though, and it’s remarkable to see just how much the water level changes according to the season. During rainy season, apparently the waters come so high that it even pours over the dam.
We went back to Chamila’s house for an early lunch. Despite not being very hungry after breakfast, my plate was piles high again, with rice and dahl and potato and fish and pickle and poppadoms. All delicious, and each time I refused more I was told ‘chota, chota!’ – ‘just a little, just a little’. All these littles added up to a lot, and I think I was practically waddling by the end of it. I can’t believe how much weight I’m putting on here! The combination of great food and hot weather and limited exercise has not paid my body shape any favours! After lunch, I had time to ask a few questions for my research in an informal interview with the whole family, with Baba G acting as translator and research assistant. I won’t type up the whole thing now, but the same messages of there being no problems between Sinhalese and Tamil people were repeated, and it was very obvious that there is no mixing of the ethnicities in everyday community life. But, the father did hint that there had been some Tamils working in the area a while ago, but that they had left due to underlying tensions. Just as in my interview with Bandula Sir, this hinting at previous underlying tensions snagged my attention; I want to know more about it, but it seems to be so far from the surface, and so vague, that it’s really hard to pin down what exactly the sentiment is, and whenever I try to ask further, I just hear again that there are no problems between Tamil and Sinhalese, and that there never were.
I really am thrilled to have had the opportunity to visit one of the workers’ houses. And I’m very touched that Chamila invited me. It helps to gain an understanding of family dynamics, and also just to catch a glimpse of just some of the threads that make up the fabric of daily life in rural Sri Lanka.
Ampara clock tower in evening sunlight.
For the first week in Ampara I would walk to and from the factory, which was bliss. Hot, but bliss. After the 3pm tea break, I would watch the glow outside gradually turn from white, to yellow, to orange, as the languid sun slowly settled herself into a bed of darkening greenery. It would be by her pinkish-orange glow that I would make my way back to the house, always pausing to look at the sunset across the lake.
People had told me that the rains came in September, but I wasn’t expecting nature to be quite so obedient to the calendar. Yesterday afternoon, after having returned from Chamila’s house (more on this in a post soon), I took a nap and woke up to loud thunder claps. I went outside to see Rocky, the shy guard dog, and together we sat and watched the sky darkening, and listened as both the thunder and the bird calls grew louder. And then, the rain started. Just a little, but it has arrived.
Today, the sun didn’t get to warm Ampara in the evening with her fiery hues. She peeped mildly through bronzed clouds, but now it’s the rain’s turn to grace Ampara with its presence.
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This means it’s probably for the best that I’m no longer walking to and from the factory. At the end of last week a couple of men decided it would be a great idea to follow me back in their white car. I think they were just curious, but still, when they stopped their car in the dead-end street that I’m staying down, and when one man then got out to try to talk to me, I certainly wasn’t terribly talkative in return. The guards at the house were already out on the street, so I just continued past the car and walked through the gate shrugging my shoulders in an ‘I don’t know who they are’ kind of way.
I learnt later that the men weren’t from Ampara – they’d just heard that there was a white girl in town so had come to investigate. I certainly haven’t seen any other white people in the area, and I suppose by walking the same route every day I was bound to attract attention. It just shows how quickly word spreads!
I had wanted to go for a walk by the lake that evening to watch the sunset, but there was no way I was being allowed out of the house after that. I was riled, to say the least – just by following me in a car the men had effectively removed a certain degree of my freedom, and had taken my last chance for a sunset walk by the lake. I am now being driven everywhere, but thankfully Padman, the driver, seems to be finding the whole thing fairly amusing, which sits well with me; I think he gets me, and my enjoyment of walking. I just have to remember that despite my relatively unfazed attitude towards this sort of thing, if something were to happen to me, Family G would never hear the end of it. As I keep being reminded, ‘This is not England’.
Sri Lanka: A Research Project 