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.
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.
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