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orphanage is an open word

7/20/2013

One of the most look forward to stops of Sri Lanka was the elephant orphanage in Bandaragama.

There are many establishments like this across the island, and they are catered more as a tourist attraction than an adoption facilitator. Still, only a few of us had seen one or two elephants so far, so we were excited.

Walking through the gates, it seemed like a well-funded place with open space for elephants to roam.

The cheeriness was quickly haunted by the sound of chains, though.

Clinking iron swung against an elephant’s side as she strolled passed us. We entered the first pavilion where elephants were chained to the concrete floor, most with stained streams on their faces feeding from their eyes.

The employees shouted or prodded the animals to their posts and collected tips for letting people pet their tired trunks. Overall, the orphans appeared ragged, zapped and barely kept alive.

For a culture that views the elephant as a sacred and precious animal, I figured this was not the typical treatment they received.

As we walked to the other spectacle areas, we were disgusted, some in tears. The elephants danced in their excrement trapped by their chained legs; one of the babies even had two feet chained, crossed together she couldn’t turn around.

Some of the larger ones were trained to carry logs into the pavilion with their trunks. I imagined they could have carried three times as much weight if at their full strength.

The tour ended in the vast field of chopped limber littered in paddies of mud where the herd collected and fed. There was one male elephant who was separated from the rest of the herd in his own area of bushes.

Interesting there was only one grown male.

The family of animals was like dirty ghosts roaming the foggy landscape. If a restless young one ran out of the log bounds, one of the workers would chase it and probe it with a spear contraption.

Disturbed, the group did not want to stay longer.

Before leaving, we used the bathrooms, which were hands down the nicest ones I had used in Sri Lanka. Finding that odd, I looked around and noticed the facilities and lay out of the orphanage were as quality grade as what one would find in a zoo or amusement park in the U.S.

There were also floods of tourists swimming through the place.

There was obvious money flow pouring in, I wondered what minute percentage went to the elephants who were supposedly being rehabilitated there.

Though it was not exactly enjoyable, it was an insight worthy of seeing. What other treasures of Sri Lanka were being exploited to rake in outsider money? It inspired me to my keep eyes open when traveling in this dynamic country and train myself to see what isn’t mean to be noticed.

in the land of kandy and a tooth

7/18/2013

Christmas lights fade like a pulse around the window as Jean Arasanayagam melts into the couch like a wilting red gum drop listening to her daughter read poems in passionate drones.

Dazed by the mood and drunk off the lyrics of words the women were sharing, I jotted down a note in the midst of my quotes from their reading.

“Sri Lanka at Helga’s Folly is a reminder, connector, inspiration of the importance and value of craft and art forms,” I wrote.

It was the first leg of the trip where the void of creative expression was satisfied. The amount of art and muse and personalities swirling around our experience at Helga’s Folly was too stimulating for me to even journal when we had free time.

I was too dazzled by the expressions around me to think of my own.

When you’re residing in a town called Kandy, which used to be the capital of the Kandian Kingdom, it’s hard not to pretend you’re in a lovely wonderland.

The hub of activity near Kandy lake, the dancing rain, the splashed walls of the boutique hotel and the darting colors of tuk-tuks are all a mesmerizing choreography to the melody of the Tooth Temple’s drums and strange horn as we walked the city’s streets.

We were also taken through Sri Lanka’s history through the portal of a dance performance and fire walk. The dancer’s energy, poise and strength filled the stage and had us cheering before the end of each number.

This expressive culture was magnified in our experience at Helga’s Folly, not only for the bizarre décor of the hotel but even the culture of others who were there.

Jane Lillian Vance, a professor at Virginia Tech and intricate artist, was residing at Helga’s upon invitation to finish Helga’s portrait and complete other major pieces as well.

Her studio was beside the front desk, and she always welcomed us in for a peak of the kaleidoscope grandeur she was tediously unraveling on her blank canvases.

Conversations with her left each of us mesmerized, and her paintings exploded to life whether lit by the lone lamp or not.

In the marvel of all these imaginations and with Arasanayagam reading to us in the dim and romantic aura of follys and antlers and dripping candlesticks, I followed her lead and melted my back a little deeper in the couch pillows, sedated by the affect stories and art inject.

As the strands of lights continued to whither then shine, my eyes drifted, and I had a sudden urge to write.

AKkAS AND AMAS

7/16/2013

Shramadana is an awakening through service and is typically done with a group or community, but it is a giving of the self.

Our group Shramadana project in Kabithigollawa was to begin the construction of a roof on the preschool building, repair a road in the village and there was an option to help the women cook the lunch feast.

Though I never turn down an opportunity to bond with and learn from a group of women, especially when food is involved, I was full of energy that day and wanted to help with one of the construction projects.

The rest of the group had similar feelings, however, and only Laura and Shelby were staying to help the women. So, I happily jumped lines and joined the ladies preparing to cook for our group and most of the village. I immediately was in a state of bliss once I realized the opportunity I almost passed up.

The ladies blouses and cotton skirts flittered in the wind, much like their locks of mysterious dark brown hair, as they laid down a tarp in the shade and gathered heaping mounds of rice and coconuts and other bags of local produce or collected herbs.

Some peeled potatoes on rocks, while others sat on stools, which had sharp knives or graters attached to the front. They straddle the stool and mince coconut or shred leaves or cut open fish on the tools in the front part. One elder woman soaked and sifted rice in cold water before steaming it in one of the deep cauldrons warming over kindling fires.

I joined two women in carrying water from a pump to the cooking ground in heavy jugs, which were curved sweetly to rest in the nook of a hip.

I was so happy I thought I would burst or burn from my excitement to be surrounded by generations of Sri Lankan women, dressed in their eclectic patterns, laughing with each other and kissing children as they stumbled into the collective.

There were nearly fifteen women and countless kids and then three of us. We were all sitting or tumbling through the piles of food giggling with each other beneath the shade of the community tree.

Not to mention I was experiencing hands-on how most of the scrumptious dishes we were eating on the island were made. I also never turned down cook’s privilege to taste each dish as it simmered.

After trying multiple tasks, it was obvious my prep skills were not up to par with theirs, so we turned it into a vocab lesson instead.

None of the women spoke English, but I had three Sinhala words to sustain my interaction with them-good, beautiful and tasty.

From there, they pointed to each other and objects and body parts and taught as much as they could.

Everyone was introduced as an akka (sister) or an ama (mother).

Eventually, one woman started to call me her mother. She and I became quite attached as she was my match in the amount of laughter we shared over the simple but sweet things throughout the day.

During tea time, I was talking with Chandima, our Sarvodaya staff leader and big brother type, about how I had changed my mind to be in the “kitchen,” and it had turned out to be one of favorite days of the entire trip.

He said Shramadana is not measured in the type of work done; it is valued as a giving of energy and of the self to others, no matter how that is carried out. People must eat and to make the food for them is just as important as any other responsibility. He also said that even being a positive presence is a type of service to others.

With that, the day continued on in sharing games and dances with the women and kids.

I told my ama that I also had my other ama, my host mother. She exclaimed and hugged me, “Ahhh, two amas!”

Later that evening before we left, my cooking ama gave me an envelope with pictures of her husband and son (giving or showing us pictures of family members became a normal thing).

She said, “no daughter,” then pointed at me smiling, “you, my daughter.”

I could only smile, humbled. I took her hand, and we walked toward the rutted road together.

TRAVELING TOES

7/16/2013

White people stand out on public transportation in Sri Lanka.

While rambling down the coast leaning out the door of the train to take in the culture streaming by, a man came up to us asking our country and where we were going.

It was my first weekend traveling after the group left, and I was with Laura, a volunteer from Canada, and Mason, a volunteer from Japan. We planned to spend the weekend in Galle, and preferred the cheapest and most authentic ways to travel, which are by bus and train.

After the exchange rate, the tickets are basically free.

Wherever we go, people constantly approach us in curiosity asking us questions, sometimes not even knowing English.

So this man is a character, a very nice Sri Lankan middle-aged man who is fluent in English and German on top of his Sinhala. After telling him we were traveling to Galle, he snuffed and said don’t go there. It’s all tourists, and it’s not real Sri Lanka.

He advised we stopped in the town before it, Ambalangoda, and go to the moonstone mine, do a boat ride on the lagoon and check out the turtle hatchery.

We looked it up in our Lonely Planet book and sure enough, there was a wealth of things to do in the seaside town.

He hopped off the train with us, and before heading home, hooked us up with a local tuk-tuk driver who set a local price to escort us to the various places we wanted to go then return to the train station to keep heading to Galle.

Our train ticket was clearance for the day, why not.

Though it was all tourist attractions, we were given local prices for each activity and an unexpected agenda of awesome sight seeing. A few hours later, we were back on the train and amazed by how much we did that was not in the original plan.

We realized the three of us together made a trio of flexible travelers, so any adventure was fair game.

We made it to Galle in the afternoon and were immediately assured we had made the right decision to stop a town earlier.

Galle is an important stop for Sri Lankan history, but I was confused as to where I was. Everything about it felt foreign from the Irish feel of grass plains in between the fort walls or the European architecture of the town. Still, it was breathtaking to walk around the fort.

Galle is an eclectic hub of boutiques, hotels and historical colonial sites all guarded by stonewalls. Our hotel (Thenu Rest, which definitely gets a quick shout out for being amazing and probably the best bargain I will ever get in my life) was prime location inside the old fort and only a block from the lighthouse.

The hotel’s owner asked us our plan for the next day, which was to go to the hot spot beach just down the shore. Much like the man on the train, she shook her head and pointed to Mirissa. She said the bus goes right there, and the beach is bigger and gorgeous. Go there instead.

Validated by Lonely Planet as a sleepy beach town perfect for lazy living and forgetting the world and also somewhat of a secret, we were convinced.

Once again, we were all excited for the plan alteration and hopped the bus and stared at crashing waves the entire ride there.

The Mirissa adventure is one of my favorite of the past two months.

We stumbled out of the bus onto a tiny road in a quiet quaint stretch of town and started walking toward the direction of the coast.

After a few blocks of not seeing beach, we assumed we had chosen the wrong road. We kept strolling, though, figuring we would run into it at some point.

The one-way road was like a creek of tuk-tuks, bicycles, laundry and locals.

We were walking through a small neighborhood, but once we finally saw the shore, we realized we were traversing through a fishing village.

Our nonchalant walk through their hometown clearly puzzled people, but we were welcomed and waved to. We were walking by the shore, but it was not the beach.

It was fishing boat after fishing boat, and the other side of the road was house after house with colorful walls and sunning displays of fresh caught fish. We eventually made it to a massive harbor. The boats were a rustic rainbow of faded coats and chipped wood.

Out of place? Yes. Did we care? Not really. A fishing village and harbor aren’t listed in the guidebook, so it was a pleasant discovery.

We asked the harbor guard where the swimming beach was. He pointed us in the right direction, and we walked down the seemingly deserted road in hopes of a connecting point.

It was a wild walk.

I felt like an explorer in an abandoned paradise where each cabana and coconut tree was all mine.

There was overgrowth choking beautiful houses and gates. Signs for restaurants and hotels were hanging on for life from leaning posts. There were few other souls on the road, but it all seemed alive and breathing, because I could hear the ocean on the other side of the brush.

We creeped down sand paths seeking access to the beach. One took us into the backyard of a local’s house but others mostly led into cabanas under renovation.

Finally, one was larger than the previous, and we saw waves.

Then, like a rescue boat had sited our poor state of beach seeking, a man waved from a porch resting on the sand, waves lapping at its foundation posts, and he welcomed us to Sudewelli Beach Bar.

He could have just said welcome to paradise.

The Sudewelli Beach Bar is a restaurant and cabana stay, and one of few that remains open during the off-season. The staff spends their days this time of year chillin’ at the bar, enjoying the view and welcoming traveling souls like us who are ready to join them.

The open porch restaurant had a great view of the half-moon beach, and the other number of visitors added up to a single digit.

Palm trees danced and shaded the rim of the sand. The water was crystal and crashed in fun tumbles of foam. There was a surfer in the distance, and a Buddhist temple on the hill overlooking it all.

Finding the Mirissa beach gem took much longer than expected, so we were not satisfied with only having an hour at the beach before we needed to head back to catch the afternoon train.

After a few minutes of Debbie-downing though, we all perked up and asked why not just take the bus home? It would take a little longer, but at least we could beach stay as long as we wanted.

Plan changed. Easy-going group of volunteers are happy.

The Sudewelli crew spoiled us with lunch, fresh juices and free wifi, let us keep our stuff their while we swam, let us hang out after then even shower before we headed out.

The Sudewelli slogan is “Come a visitor, leave a friend,” and their hospitability and atmosphere embodied that holistically.

The bus ride home marked the end of a treasured weekend. Two days of morphing plans and suggestions from locals, which all molded an unforgettable adventure in the Sri Lankan south.

As foreign faces crowded the bus, I felt a little less like a tourist and more like a gypsy carrying parts of the island around with me.

At least that’s how my toes felt as they caressed sand from Mirissa in between their crevices.

sharing the village experience

7/16/2013

We knew it was the first time our village had hosted foreign students in homestays, but it was after the group left that I learned it was the first homestay program Sarvodaya had tried.

With a new group arriving next week from Wisconsin, the international unit asked me to prepare some advice for the students before they moved into their village homes for four days. When writing the tips for them, I included some of my own reflections, which I thought would be another fun post for the Sri Lankan homestay experience.

*****

Living in a village is an experience that will challenge you but also reward you with cultural insight and an immeasurable change within yourself.

Overall, the villagers are selflessly hospitable, eager to learn about you and also proud to have you in their home. They are generous people who work hard for their community and are reliant on each other. As introductions are made, you will quickly feel as though you are part of the family.

The little interactions are the most special when engaging with the villagers. We advise looking for the small moments and opportunities to be together and learn from each other.

The language barrier may seem like a hindrance at first, but the more time you dedicate to trying to communicate, the faster you will develop inside jokes with them, ones that don’t need a language to translate.

“Actions speak louder than words” is key advice when there’s no common language. Showing interest in what they do and having a willingness to learn will naturally build relationships.

The kids picked up new games very quickly, loved to dance and never seemed to get tired. Getting to know them and seeing certain children become attached to members of our group was one of our favorite parts.

One aspect of living in the village we encountered so you may as well is the staring and the pampering.

Many of our host families would have us sit down in the living room or on the porch then suddenly their family and friends were at the house just watching as we sat.

This happened continuously in various situations. It’s best to exercise patience and understanding that they are just as curious in your presence as you are in their lifestyle and culture.

By pampering I mean they continuously showered us with hospitality, but it was to the point we didn’t feel like we were able to contribute or interact in the hands-on way we desired.

We learned, however, to just break the mold and work with them anyways. If you show a genuine interest and eagerness to work or connect, this is what I’ve observed of the Sri Lankan culture overall, then they will return with complete acceptance and offer you tasks.

We only stayed in the village half as long as your group will, yet the day we had to say goodbye was a difficult detachment. There may be hardships in the adjustment or confusion in translation, but by the end you reflect on the strong bonds you developed together and you find letting go much harder than expected.

Goodbye is also difficult, because there is no phrase in Sinhala that means, “I will miss you.”

Much like many of the charades acts you will go through when talking, though, you will try to find a way to express your gratitude for the experience and openness they provided.

Really the main advice I would give for the village homestays are probably aspects you each already possess since you signed up for this journey.

Having an open mind and enjoying the immersion in a contrasting culture will ensure your village stay is an adventure of the self and a cherished experience of your group collectively.

Aayu-bowan!

INTERNATIONAL FAMILY

7/15/2013

I’ll be honest, we were nervous about the homestays in Sri Lanka.

But just like the feeling of adoption with my Moroccan family, Carla and I once again felt like the new daughters with our comforting Sri Lankan family in the village of Kabithigollawa.

Our host father spoke some English; he and his oldest daughter were our family translators during the visit. Our family talks were limited to few words, but they still mounted to a lot of laughter.

The younger daughter was outgoing by nature but shy around us. She always had a friend over.

Our host mother smiled more than any person I’ve witnessed. We played a lot of charades with her to get messages across, which was a common sight in all of the village activities.

The house was colorful; the furniture was beautiful woodwork; newts and frogs were active on the walls while we slumbered; it took two days for us to figure out the “always on” button on the fan instead of restarting it every hour; the shower and open toilet were a small walk out back; our mother cooked food over fire not a stove; there were two young pet cats; we traveled in the family “tuk-tuk;” our host father did special training in Pakistan during his military service; the village is located in the dry zone of the country, which tested our ability to sleep in the heat.

The only problem we really had was the staring.

They always asked us to “come” then “sit.” We were in constant transition from room to room and convinced they thought we couldn’t stand for longer than a few minutes. This was entertaining until the entire family and some friends were at the house encircling us with stares and bouts of Sinhala.

Looking back, I understand they were curious. Just like we were there taking pictures of their lifestyle, they were trying to capture all they could of us. We were the first foreigners to stay in their village; I would be staring too.

In the moment, though, it was awkward.

The morning after our first night with our families was an energized exchange of our various experiences.

From what we heard, Carla and I had a whole new appreciation for our family. They let us shower on our own; they didn’t cook unimaginable amounts of food and expected us to consume it all; they relatively kept house visitors to low numbers; and we had pets.

It seemed there was a wide range of family differences within the one village.

We were limited in time spent bonding with our host families, because we had a busy schedule and had to leave the village unexpectedly a day early. When saying goodbye though, there was enough attachment and admiration to make it an emotional sending off.

Regardless of how much you can say to each other or the contrast of cultures you come from, there is an irreplaceable gratitude to any family who houses you, feeds you, lets you wash and selflessly opens their home for your stay and for your comfort. That moment revealed how special and rare the chance for this experience was, yet how normal our family made it feel.

That sense of reassurance, I learned, needs no language.

SRI LANKA'S WORD

7/15/2013

The waves of Mirissa had prepared a lesson for me.

As I waded alone into the current churning against the island’s boarder, I was given an insight to the Sri Lankan people. I had already observed they are proud of and quite connected to their land, but it was then I realized just how much they reflect the nature of their surroundings.

After three weeks touring the country, I had chosen the word “fluid” to describe the lifestyle and mindset of the Sri Lankan culture.

Fluid not only because of the sway of women’s skirts or the dancing palm trees but even the flow of traffic and groups of people on the street seem to drift as one. Fluid because of the thousands of stories and cultures weaved in and out of this island’s history. Fluid in the sense there is constant change yet the people adapt to whatever streams toward them.

I reflected on a lecture by author and historian Sinharaja Tammita-Delgoda who said people’s worldviews are molded by their landscape. The geography in which they live shapes the frame of mind in which they think.

For example, those who live in vast plane areas reach for far horizons and are limitless in where they can go or what they can achieve. People who live surrounded by mountains may have guarded or narrowed vision, because they are accustomed to walls protecting everything they need in their place.

As the waves lapped over me one after another, I used Tammita-Delgoda’s model to unwrap Sri Lanka.

Even people who live in the hill country or the central districts can still relate to the repetitive drumming of waves against the country’s outline since the beginning of its time.

These currents have ushered in multiple outsiders who influenced the nation greatly. As each new wave of people, religions, conquerors or visitors filter in, the people of Sri Lanka have adapted to and internalized in their own way.

Like their surrounding coastline, they have sustained endless monsoons in their history and remain as steadfast and beautiful as ever.

With each new day I live in this breathtaking country, I notice the unshakable walls of culture that protect this nation.

Tammita-Delgoda said geography persists even as the world keeps changing.

I believe Sri Lankans persist with the change just as strong and bold as their own land has endured for thousands of years against floods, both of water and of outsiders.

sustaining the movement

7/3/2013

Sarvodaya, Awakening of All, has sustained for 50 years and claims its power to reside in the spirit of its people and what they believe.

As Sri Lanka’s largest NGO, Sarvodaya’s efforts reach 15,000 villages with 34 district centers scattered to all points of the country. This organization has been the backbone of Sri Lanka through years of recovery, civil war and now rapid development.

The organization began in one village as an education program to teach communities how to create their own progress and develop from within. It has since expanded and now is the umbrella organization for numerous projects and movements to put the power in the peoples’ hands for change.

Rooted in Buddhism and Ghandian thought, Sarvodaya aims to not only focus on economic development of the society but also a progressive change toward self-reliance within communities and to live with a holistic approach to every aspect of life.

Sarvodaya’s founder, Dr. A.T. Ariyaratne, is still an active president for the organization though he is beyond what most of us would consider retirement age.

His passion for the movement carries him through nations for conferences and engagements, but he still grounds himself in interpersonal communication with the people of his country.

According to his son Dr. Vinya Ariyaratne, who is now the secretary general of the organization, even though communication has expanded with new technology, his father has instilled a strong network between communities by talking and meeting with them face to face.

This hand-on approach to communication not only reflects the organization’s outreach morals, it also exemplifies the tie it has with the people.

To summarize the work and accomplishments Sarvodaya has achieved would be impossible. The extensiveness of this NGO is mind blowing, so I am interested to see as much as I can of the inner workings of a successful and sustaining non-profit.

I encourage you to read more about the organization and its leaders and hope the spirit found within this movement can somehow reach any developments within your own awakening whether of the self or of all.

A PLACE IN MY MIND

7/2/2013

Before my nomadic experience, when I told people I was going to three countries most replies were, “Oh! So you’re going to be just like the girl in ‘Eat, Pray, Love.’”

I knew our itinerary would not be similar or anything close to her experiences, however it challenged me to think of a title for each country if I was to write my own world tour in three words.

This is harder than it sounds.

What I’ve learned though is when we travel or reflect on any set time in our lives, we do tend to create a general statement of how we remember it.

I’ve especially done this with Turkey. I was in search for lessons or a shift inside me while there, but I couldn’t it feel at the time. In the moment, I thought I was void of transformation, but in memory, most of Turkey was an essential prologue and preparation for what would happen in Sri Lanka.

We do this with memory.

When I read through my journal entries of the trip, I’m immediately time traveled into those exact feelings. I can relive the impact it had momentarily.

Then my memory’s mold replaces that sensation.

I recognize this is the fault of my blog posts, because I’m writing about these events in reflection instead of with the thoughts of the moment. It depends on which you prefer, but I think it’s critical to have a mixture of both.

Since each country impacted me wave after wave on a daily basis, I have multiple associations with each place. Yet, I still crave a small phrase for my experience there.

The reason I think it’s important to find a general explanation for each (maybe why we do it naturally) is I’m searching for an overstatement of how I want to preserve those places in my mind.

How I relate to it through my memories will also influence how I share those stories with others. When I return home, I’ll want to craft an overarching narrative to tell others so not to bore them with the details.

Traveling has a way of shedding old skin and exposing new. I left parts of myself in each country but also unearthed dynamics that I did not know were in me.

Even if I were to label those distinct metamorphoses, I would hate to have to summarize them in three words.

THE TAPESTRY OF GOVERNANCE

7/2/2013

I still have problems with governance, because the word just resonates “government” in my head, which is something that I don’t find interest in.

I learned there are times, however, when a response to government is a form of governance itself.

I considered ourselves blessed, no placed with grand planning of some being to have been in Turkey in the window of twelve days in which the Taksim protests were happening.

Walking amongst passionate but peaceful protestors was the most invigorating and real event of my week in Turkey.

I think it’s because all that was happening in the snow globe of madness around me as we snaked through thousands of protestors and flapping Turkish flags struck me to a nervous core.

Taksim captured a portion of the country who identified with Ataturk yet declared the government, who also claims Ataturk, as being too conservative. They also believe the government is directed toward economic success through Western appeal instead of putting money and power in the hands of the Turks in a way that would improve their social, financial and cultural values unique to themselves.

This aspect of the situation ties in the second half of the keyline title, which is globalization. As our world’s boundaries fizzle out, there is a growing revolt to somehow stop up the flood of influences so cultures and nations can refocus on their own needs instead of playing keeping up with the Jones’ with the West.

So bringing it all together, my change of thinking resonates within government as a living organism within the society.

As politicians pass policies, people respond and then those who oppose the responders respond, such as our boat tour guide calling the Taksim protestors stupid. It all rolls into a cause and effect tangle, which I now see as governance.

As these actions and reactions occur within and without the official governmental buildings, it’s all a ripple in the globalizing tapestry of nations as they begin to interweave both in thinking, goals, and success measurements.

In my eyes, government is no longer the formal and official. It’s an all in one, and it’s tumbling within globalizing systems.

**Excerpt from my “Last Words” assignment after the trip. Governance is one of our keylines for analyzing and studying the 21st century.