In most families, traditions only come to life around the holidays. In my family, the only holiday that has gained any particular tradition over the years has been, ironically, Christmas. As a diasporic family, we never seem to be around each other for any of the other Eids, but have managed to meet up every year around Christmas, with only the occasional exception. Continuing to adapt with the times, our childhood Christmas traditions evolved from Christmas Eve to a Christmas lunch, and from pizza and ice cream (there was other food there, but that’s what we most enjoyed as children) to turkey and wine. The elements that remained are what I would consider the fun-fillers – decorating the tree with the kids, singing a Christmas carol or two (off key, of course), some group games, and presents (you are never too young or too old to get excited about unwrapping a present) – though, granted, these didn’t always take place with my family… and not always in the same country. Nonetheless, tradition reigned, and defined the holiday for me.
So you can understand that nobody batted an eyelid when I was in mid-air, traveling around Eid Al Adha, and nobody was really concerned with my plans for New Year’s eve. Staying in Jaffna for Christmas, however, had somehow set off a chain of events that led to nobody flying home from Christmas, and altering the traditional Christmas lunch altogether. Though I did feel some guilt at having been indirectly behind this, I must confess that I was also a little consoled by the fact that I would not be missing one of OUR Christmases. It was not my first choice to be here for Christmas, but since I was, and since there would not be anything of our usual Christmas taking place, I set out to try to make it as much fun as I could. For me, at least.
I was happy to find that Jaffna and its population of Christians were preparing for a good time (the Hindus and Muslims hardly seemed to notice). My first sign was not the few very plastic looking Christmas trees, the blindingly gauche ornaments, or the frantically blinking lights, but the blow-up Santa dolls that appeared out of every other shop window. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a blow-up Santa doll (at least not one that wasn’t a marketing gimmick, towering over pedestrians) and thought how appropriate the choice was for this rainy season. I wasn’t too far off as they were sold out before I had the chance to lay my hands on one. In the end, I restrained myself from the slippery slope that was the strange variety of Christmas decorations, and stuck to my simple favourite: Christmas lights, which adorned the stretch of windows in my little flat (and have made for a cheery nightlight!).
Next task was to try to pull a Christmas celebration together. To make sure that something did happen on Christmas, I had announced early on that any celebration would take place in my house. The preference among the internationals who were also hanging around for Christmas (and whom I lovingly referred to as ‘the Leftovers’) was to celebrate the eve. And so it was… It took me a minute to realize that Dec 24 was a working day and that I wouldn’t be able to prepare much, and another minute to place an order with a local caterer I had found. By the third minute I was smiling at the thought that this is exactly what I would have done had I been in Beirut, and realized that in this isolated peninsula in the north of the island that is Sri Lanka, I had found ways for Jaffna to meet my own habits!
I was a little concerned as to what would keep two Dutch people, one Tanzanian, one Indian, one Indonesian, one Italian, one German and one Turk-German sufficiently entertained all the way till midnight, but the celebration was grand fun. One of the lowlights was realizing that nobody else had heard (or could sing along to) the 12 Days of Christmas, one of the highlights was finding that we could sing Silent Night in our native languages (I resorted to English), and did so in a rather decent (and touching) choral attempt. There were, thankfully, other highlights – the makeshift presents, the youtube stroll for all sorts of Christmas songs – I no longer recall all of them, but I do know that midnight rolled in without us noticing. We were left with one last part to our Jaffna Christmas experience: midnight mass in Tamil.
We did not arrive in time to see the children carrying in baby Jesus into the manger that dominated the front half of the huge church, and we sadly missed the singing as well. When we arrived, the rather large congregation was just settling in for the sermon, seated in the pews, on the ground and on the stairs in burst of brightly-coloured new clothes, children parents and grandparents were momentarily distracted by us before relegating their full attention to the bishop at the altar. It was sweet, and humbling, and the fact that I could not understand the language meant that I could let my mind wander to what the bishop might be saying, which, to be honest, made it a much more interesting sermon than any other I have attended.
His line of thought lasted much longer than mine, so we soon gave in to our lingual ignorance, hugged each other goodnight, and headed home.
It was a lovely night…
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Picture this...
I walk out onto the street at its first signs of drowsiness - the dusk's sun had not yet totally surrendered to the dark, and all motion seemed to slow down ever so slightly... I turn to cross the street and am caught into the tune of music on wheels. A young couple ride on their bicycle, the lovely lady sits on the crossbar and is guarded by her love's arms as he steers them swiftly onwards, their faces gently lit by a cellphone she holds, gingerly tuning in accompanying music...
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Let me entertain you
There is not much in way of entertainment in Jaffna. As a matter of fact, there is next to nothing: two local restaurants boasting 10 page menus, that really all taste like two dishes, both of which close shortly after 9pm (people are still used to that old curfew and old habits are hard to break). There is one bar-type setting, the only one that serves alcohol (namely beer), and where patrons can plug in their own ipod for music, a bar frequented mainly by internationals, and which, coincidentally, was located at the guest house where I spent my first month here. You can understand that I’m not yet eager to rush back and spend any idle evening there. I might add that these three food and drink settings are outdoors, and the heat and/or the humidity quickly make it uncomfortable to linger too long.
As a step away from this fray, those of us here on our own (translate: internationals as this is a no-family duty station) try to break the lull of daily routine by meeting up for the occasional non-Sri-Lankan dinner or drinks at one of our houses. While I was without a home, I was on the receiving end of a few of these kind invitations, and now that I had finally put together all the main pieces of my flat, I felt it was time that I held a dinner of my own. The exact words in my invitation were “I keep waiting to make sure the flat is in good shape, and have now resolved that it is probably as good as it’s going to get”. The second part is probably what moved them into happily wanting to join “though it will be Halloween, unfortunately, the only scary thing offered will be the couple of dishes that I am attempting to cook for the first time”. Yes, I believe that must have been what tipped them to accept my invitation. My mother would be proud of that magnanimous offer of hospitality.
With those provisos in place for my biggest fears of failure, I set out to put the evening together, so to speak. On the day, I rose early in part so that I would have ample time to do the necessary grocery shopping and cooking, and in part so that I can put my mind at ease that I would be able to find some essential items for the dinner… such as a large pot and a glass casserole dish. In a town like Jaffna, I was pretty sure I would find all the food items I would need for the dinner (I had, after all, fashioned the menu around what could be found in the local produce market), but you can never know if anyone held your desired kitchen ware in stock. Though I was aware I’d need these two items for the only two Lebanese dishes I was making that night, I did not, in truth, have the opportunity to go out looking for them on any earlier day. Which brings us to that morning…
I didn’t want to waste any time walking to town (a good 40 minute stroll one way) so I called the tuc-tuc driver that one of my Sri Lankan colleagues had referred me to. Sri was a lovely older man who was my colleague’s trusted transportation when her husband was too busy to drive her around, the only problem was that he spoke no English. I met Sri and we exchanged phone numbers, he was directed to my building, and we agreed that any time I called, I would just specify a time, and hour, in which I wanted him to arrive, and he would either agree or respond with another time if he could not make it as requested. Thus our phone negotiation would simply be an exchange of numbers on a clock. I must confess that I delighted in the novelty of this type of communication that I didn’t even ask if my colleague knew any other driver who spoke English.
This system with Sri was tested on that morning. The only tiny mishap was that he arrived an hour too early, but then it was easy to communicate through my security guard and instruct him to return later. Sri would turn out to be quite a lifesaver mainly because the skies opened up to buckets of rain as I emerged from my very first shopping stop. It was where I was thrilled to find the glass casserole dish, though I suspected it might be too large for my electric oven, and made sure it was clear in every language that I could return it if that was the case. The fragility of this glass item, and the 4 flimsy wine glasses I had just purchased, now became my obsession as I waded through the quickly flooded street to where Sri was waiting. It poured as I went to the vegetable market, where the sellers became quite amused with my enthusiastic piece-meal increase in the quantities I was buying, fearing as I saw each bunch weighed that it might be too little for dinner (I was wrong, and ended up with stocks and stocks of onions, tomatoes and eggplants for the week to come). It poured as I squished into the store where I gleefully found my pot, and it stopped raining ever so slightly about an hour later as I got back into Sri’s tuc-tuc for the ride home. Perhaps I should mention that, since it was clear skies when I left the house that morning, I had gone through this day with no umbrella, but was happy to report that my new Crocs paid for themselves.
Finally home with my stocks (again, since I had to make a u-turn back to the first store because the casserole dish was indeed too big for my oven), I set out to prepare the food.
I truly wasn’t making anything too complicated, I just wanted to give the others a small taste of Lebanese cooking, so had planned to make ‘moudardara’ (since lentils were in abundance here) and an improvised dish of lightly fried or caramelized vegetables in pomegranate paste. As my guests hailed from various countries, none of them Arabic, I feared that (a) I would make the dishes perfectly, but they wouldn’t like them, or (b) that I would mess up the dishes, or (c) that there wouldn’t be enough food (nothing to do with their tastes or ethnic backgrounds, just a constant fear of mine when I entertain). So, as a backup, I had asked the cleaning lady at our office, who is an excellent cook, to make a large quantity of a Sri Lankan dish that I knew a few of my guests had not tasted before. This helped assuage my fears, and proved an amazing contribution to deflect fear (c) as I ended up with such abundant leftovers, I could have quite easily held another dinner the following day (or two).
All in all, the dinner was a great success. It’s true that I forgot to bring out the juice and soft drinks from the fridge, thinking that I would have the clarity of mind to serve people as they came in (what was I thinking?!), and it’s true that the lentils didn’t quite cook through (who knew I had to soak them the night before and not just for a couple of hours?), and it’s true that we almost ran out of plates (despite the bunch I had borrowed from the office’s kitchen)… but the rest of the food was good, the other drinks were a-plenty, and the company was quite entertaining.
I flopped into bed that night relieved that all had gone relatively well, before I felt a particularly painful crink in my back, and realized that I had absent-mindedly spent the whole day on my feet … my body retaliated and I spent the following day on my back.
Ah well, all for a good cause… and good thing I won’t need to be entertaining again anytime soon!
As a step away from this fray, those of us here on our own (translate: internationals as this is a no-family duty station) try to break the lull of daily routine by meeting up for the occasional non-Sri-Lankan dinner or drinks at one of our houses. While I was without a home, I was on the receiving end of a few of these kind invitations, and now that I had finally put together all the main pieces of my flat, I felt it was time that I held a dinner of my own. The exact words in my invitation were “I keep waiting to make sure the flat is in good shape, and have now resolved that it is probably as good as it’s going to get”. The second part is probably what moved them into happily wanting to join “though it will be Halloween, unfortunately, the only scary thing offered will be the couple of dishes that I am attempting to cook for the first time”. Yes, I believe that must have been what tipped them to accept my invitation. My mother would be proud of that magnanimous offer of hospitality.
With those provisos in place for my biggest fears of failure, I set out to put the evening together, so to speak. On the day, I rose early in part so that I would have ample time to do the necessary grocery shopping and cooking, and in part so that I can put my mind at ease that I would be able to find some essential items for the dinner… such as a large pot and a glass casserole dish. In a town like Jaffna, I was pretty sure I would find all the food items I would need for the dinner (I had, after all, fashioned the menu around what could be found in the local produce market), but you can never know if anyone held your desired kitchen ware in stock. Though I was aware I’d need these two items for the only two Lebanese dishes I was making that night, I did not, in truth, have the opportunity to go out looking for them on any earlier day. Which brings us to that morning…
I didn’t want to waste any time walking to town (a good 40 minute stroll one way) so I called the tuc-tuc driver that one of my Sri Lankan colleagues had referred me to. Sri was a lovely older man who was my colleague’s trusted transportation when her husband was too busy to drive her around, the only problem was that he spoke no English. I met Sri and we exchanged phone numbers, he was directed to my building, and we agreed that any time I called, I would just specify a time, and hour, in which I wanted him to arrive, and he would either agree or respond with another time if he could not make it as requested. Thus our phone negotiation would simply be an exchange of numbers on a clock. I must confess that I delighted in the novelty of this type of communication that I didn’t even ask if my colleague knew any other driver who spoke English.
This system with Sri was tested on that morning. The only tiny mishap was that he arrived an hour too early, but then it was easy to communicate through my security guard and instruct him to return later. Sri would turn out to be quite a lifesaver mainly because the skies opened up to buckets of rain as I emerged from my very first shopping stop. It was where I was thrilled to find the glass casserole dish, though I suspected it might be too large for my electric oven, and made sure it was clear in every language that I could return it if that was the case. The fragility of this glass item, and the 4 flimsy wine glasses I had just purchased, now became my obsession as I waded through the quickly flooded street to where Sri was waiting. It poured as I went to the vegetable market, where the sellers became quite amused with my enthusiastic piece-meal increase in the quantities I was buying, fearing as I saw each bunch weighed that it might be too little for dinner (I was wrong, and ended up with stocks and stocks of onions, tomatoes and eggplants for the week to come). It poured as I squished into the store where I gleefully found my pot, and it stopped raining ever so slightly about an hour later as I got back into Sri’s tuc-tuc for the ride home. Perhaps I should mention that, since it was clear skies when I left the house that morning, I had gone through this day with no umbrella, but was happy to report that my new Crocs paid for themselves.
Finally home with my stocks (again, since I had to make a u-turn back to the first store because the casserole dish was indeed too big for my oven), I set out to prepare the food.
I truly wasn’t making anything too complicated, I just wanted to give the others a small taste of Lebanese cooking, so had planned to make ‘moudardara’ (since lentils were in abundance here) and an improvised dish of lightly fried or caramelized vegetables in pomegranate paste. As my guests hailed from various countries, none of them Arabic, I feared that (a) I would make the dishes perfectly, but they wouldn’t like them, or (b) that I would mess up the dishes, or (c) that there wouldn’t be enough food (nothing to do with their tastes or ethnic backgrounds, just a constant fear of mine when I entertain). So, as a backup, I had asked the cleaning lady at our office, who is an excellent cook, to make a large quantity of a Sri Lankan dish that I knew a few of my guests had not tasted before. This helped assuage my fears, and proved an amazing contribution to deflect fear (c) as I ended up with such abundant leftovers, I could have quite easily held another dinner the following day (or two).
All in all, the dinner was a great success. It’s true that I forgot to bring out the juice and soft drinks from the fridge, thinking that I would have the clarity of mind to serve people as they came in (what was I thinking?!), and it’s true that the lentils didn’t quite cook through (who knew I had to soak them the night before and not just for a couple of hours?), and it’s true that we almost ran out of plates (despite the bunch I had borrowed from the office’s kitchen)… but the rest of the food was good, the other drinks were a-plenty, and the company was quite entertaining.
I flopped into bed that night relieved that all had gone relatively well, before I felt a particularly painful crink in my back, and realized that I had absent-mindedly spent the whole day on my feet … my body retaliated and I spent the following day on my back.
Ah well, all for a good cause… and good thing I won’t need to be entertaining again anytime soon!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Welcome to My Humble Abode
Sipping my morning coffee on the balcony of my third-storey Jaffna flat, I look out onto a few red-thatched rooftops, a small grove of tall coconut trees bearing crows on their swingy branches, a chipmunk skillfully scurrying along the triangular rooftops, and a handful of dragonflies circling atop all sorts of tall green vegetation that frames my vista… I have been doing this on any morning that the weather allows it, before the humidity, or heat, or insects drive me indoors for cover. I am doing this now as I write this – welcome to my humble abode.
This quaint little Jaffna flat – the first housing option I saw when I first got here, and one that I resisted till I could find no better alternative – became the bain of my existence as I negotiated the rent, cash advance option, furniture (including my beloved air-conditioner) and, more importantly, completion date. I would feel my heart sink every morning as I walked to work, past my flat, and would look up to find that there were still no windows, or that the walls weren’t painted yet, and would try to banish thoughts of how much more work was still required on the inside. After much delay, the flat was completed in record time by the last card I had left “I will be homeless in 3 days if I don’t have the flat to move into”. This last plea to my landlord was mostly true (I had already extended my stay at the guest house more than once, and knew there would soon be no room for me), but also emotional more than logistical – I needed to unpack and move in once and for all. And so, the flat was suddenly abuzz with activity, with diligent, hapless skilled workers simultaneously working on their specific craft in every room for three days straight, and I was handed the keys at the end of the third day. I was finally home.
I was so excited to finally be in my own place that I didn’t notice that, though I had purchased cleaning supplies and plates, I had overlooked getting mugs (for my morning coffee) or toilet paper! But with the same momentum of my flat’s work crew, I would nip out during lunch hours to buy the missing bits and pieces, including a refrigerator and a washing machine, all of which were delivered and installed on the same day because, hey, we’re in Jaffna!
It has been a few weeks now, and my “I could do this or that…” engine is slowly whirring to a halt as I realize that the place has all the basics it needs, including a few aesthetic touches courtesy of lightweight artisana items that traveled with me from Lebanon, and a few small purchases from here. Besides, I like the clean minimalistic look, which is softened by the canary yellow painted walls (the bedrooms are a warm matt pistachio green)… and this perfectly offsets the garishly-patterned brown sofa set provided as part of my rent agreement. In comparison, I was almost grateful that the landlord opted for a plastic dining room set (nevertheless a wee ornate and heavy-duty).
After a few days here, I no longer noticed how small the bathroom was, which was what had propelled me to look for other houses at the beginning, and soon I also adjusted to the kitchen sink placed in the corner of the counter, rather than at its centre, and the gas cooker that had only two settings (high and higher). After a few days, I found the optimal setting for the AC and ceiling fans, which maintained a soft cool draft through these few rooms. The only thing, it seems that I have yet to get accustomed to is the myriad of switches lined up for the grid of lights scattered on the ceiling and in the corners, inside and outside, of every type; neon tubes, ceiling globe, soft yellow ‘goblet’, and so on. I wish I could recognize a pattern in the assignment of switches, and I wish I could find a simple way to tag them, but I fear that code would be too convoluted to be practical as there simply is no pattern. On a good day, I hit the right switch on the second try. On other days, I wonder how much fun my neighbours are having as they watch my outdoor and indoor lights turn on and off as I hunt for the right switch.
I guess that will be one way I’ll be known in the neighbourhood…
This quaint little Jaffna flat – the first housing option I saw when I first got here, and one that I resisted till I could find no better alternative – became the bain of my existence as I negotiated the rent, cash advance option, furniture (including my beloved air-conditioner) and, more importantly, completion date. I would feel my heart sink every morning as I walked to work, past my flat, and would look up to find that there were still no windows, or that the walls weren’t painted yet, and would try to banish thoughts of how much more work was still required on the inside. After much delay, the flat was completed in record time by the last card I had left “I will be homeless in 3 days if I don’t have the flat to move into”. This last plea to my landlord was mostly true (I had already extended my stay at the guest house more than once, and knew there would soon be no room for me), but also emotional more than logistical – I needed to unpack and move in once and for all. And so, the flat was suddenly abuzz with activity, with diligent, hapless skilled workers simultaneously working on their specific craft in every room for three days straight, and I was handed the keys at the end of the third day. I was finally home.
I was so excited to finally be in my own place that I didn’t notice that, though I had purchased cleaning supplies and plates, I had overlooked getting mugs (for my morning coffee) or toilet paper! But with the same momentum of my flat’s work crew, I would nip out during lunch hours to buy the missing bits and pieces, including a refrigerator and a washing machine, all of which were delivered and installed on the same day because, hey, we’re in Jaffna!
It has been a few weeks now, and my “I could do this or that…” engine is slowly whirring to a halt as I realize that the place has all the basics it needs, including a few aesthetic touches courtesy of lightweight artisana items that traveled with me from Lebanon, and a few small purchases from here. Besides, I like the clean minimalistic look, which is softened by the canary yellow painted walls (the bedrooms are a warm matt pistachio green)… and this perfectly offsets the garishly-patterned brown sofa set provided as part of my rent agreement. In comparison, I was almost grateful that the landlord opted for a plastic dining room set (nevertheless a wee ornate and heavy-duty).
After a few days here, I no longer noticed how small the bathroom was, which was what had propelled me to look for other houses at the beginning, and soon I also adjusted to the kitchen sink placed in the corner of the counter, rather than at its centre, and the gas cooker that had only two settings (high and higher). After a few days, I found the optimal setting for the AC and ceiling fans, which maintained a soft cool draft through these few rooms. The only thing, it seems that I have yet to get accustomed to is the myriad of switches lined up for the grid of lights scattered on the ceiling and in the corners, inside and outside, of every type; neon tubes, ceiling globe, soft yellow ‘goblet’, and so on. I wish I could recognize a pattern in the assignment of switches, and I wish I could find a simple way to tag them, but I fear that code would be too convoluted to be practical as there simply is no pattern. On a good day, I hit the right switch on the second try. On other days, I wonder how much fun my neighbours are having as they watch my outdoor and indoor lights turn on and off as I hunt for the right switch.
I guess that will be one way I’ll be known in the neighbourhood…
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A few of my favourite things… Tuneful response!
Sent to me by a friend in response to the previous posting - too funny not to share!
Shiny white teeth with dark chocolate complexion
high heels on bikes whiz in every direction
foods oh so spicy that your tongue will sting
these are a few of my favorite things
(sri lanka, sri lanka, sri lanka, sri lanka --to the waltz rhythm of the strings)
full moon's a day off and no one's complaining
after one cookie the poor kid's refraining
worn out morning wall by evening in bling
these are a few of my favorite things
when the pace slows
when the fan blows
when camps drain the tap
I list by mass email my favorite things
and then i go take a nap
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A few of my favourite things…
In the weeks since I landed in Sri Lanka, I have been writing about my various observations of what I considered different and/or eccentric. I think it’s time I also shared some of my favourite things about Sri Lanka, the thoughts of which normally just make me smile.
1. This really is Smiling Lanka
A few days before I traveled here, a friend sent me an article about Sri Lanka being rated as one of the happier countries in the world. I’m not sure yet if the population here would agree, but I have chosen to take on the article’s phrase of ‘Smiling Lanka’ – people here have some of the brightest and sweetest smiles. And the smiles always come as something of a surprise, contrasting a previously staid/serious expression. Let me also add something that may seem racist in our new-age realm of political correctness, but let me emphasize that it is truly being expressed in admiration: most Sri Lankans I have met, especially up here in Jaffna, have a dark chocolaty brown complexion, and when they smile, it shines through, and their eyes just sparkle. It really is a happy smile.
2. Helmets, handbags and high heels
It seems that, in a country where there is still much gender discrimination, women have picked some battles, and won. Women, young and old(er), can be seen decked out in their finest saris, whizzing around town on their motorbikes. They may be subjected to harsher social rules and such in their daily lives (gender based violence being somewhat prevalent), but I love that this doesn’t come in the way of their bright red motorbikes, and there is no question about women having access to this basic practical transportation solution. You go girlfriends!!!
3. Poverty has bred good manners
I have already been to a few activities with children from areas that are underserved/underprivileged (insert euphemism for poverty here), and I love that these children are always perfectly combed, that they find ways to entertain themselves as they wait for things to happen that might interest them, and that when the ‘Cookie Lady’ comes out with her tray of cookies, they only ever take one.
It is highly possible that these children barely have two meals a day, and they only ever take one cookie, and never come back for more. Those kind of good manners humble me.
4. This place is clean, clean, clean!
When I told a Sri Lankan I’d met at the office in Colombo that I was coming to Jaffna, the only thing he said to distinguish them from others on the island was that they were very clean. He was right. Just to give you an idea: we provide water to the IDP camps in Jaffna, and had to actually cut the supply off for a few hours a day because people were running through the water at twice the speed… because they were showering three times a day. In the interest of having enough water to last through the days, we had to cut it off for a few hours each day, restricting their showers to just two a day.
In the villages, you walk barefoot into homes and some offices, and you do so with some comfort knowing (and feeling) that the floors are constantly being swept, because here everything has an air of having just been cleaned, and for the all the heat and humidity, people smell sweet throughout the day.
5. Things happen in one day… well, most things.
Picture this: I’m walking to work in the morning and I notice a house’s outside wall has had its colour worn out, which is especially noticeable on the posts of the gate and the little statuettes on top. As I walk back from work at the end of the day, the wall has been painted and decorated (the halves leading up to the gate are painted green and white in large checkered boxes) and the gate posts have been manicured back into their original design. This was all one coat, I suspect it might be worn out again by the same time next year, but I loved the one day transformation.
6. Poya day
I have now learned all about Poya day, the one day a month of the full moon, which the Buddhist tradition signifies as a day of celebration and worship. (If you want to learn more about it, check out: http://www.mysrilanka.com/travel/lanka/festivals/POSON.HTM) This also translates into the simple fact that we get a day off every month. If you’re wondering how our organisation agreed to such a thing, apparently a very smart deal was struck: staff agreed to work 15 minutes extra every day to be able to be granted their Poya days. In Jaffna, where practically nobody is Buddhist and the days have no particular religious or other significance, they do the same and take the day off. These are people after my own heart… And even though, as expats, we still need to have some presence in the office on that day to ‘hold down the fort’, I bring you back to the basic point: one day off every month! Score!!
7. The food!
Sri Lankan food has been described as the hottest food of the South East Asian cuisines. I will happily confirm that, although I am constantly told that the food I am being offered has been tamed to a fraction of the usual spices. I would also like to go on record as saying that this is one of the more delectable cuisines I have had the pleasure to explore. My main problem is that I cannot describe any of the dishes to you as I frequently don’t know what I’m eating. I can usually make out that it’s vegetable, meat, chicken or fish, but that’s about it. I won’t know what to order at a restaurant from just the menu, I won’t know what to say to another Sri Lankan when praising their cuisine (or asking for a recipe), and one of the reasons why this doesn’t really bother me is because I have liked everything I have tried so far. And since I hardly expect to be able to cook any of my dishes here (where olive oil is sold in 250gr. Bottles – enough said!) it is such a comfort to know that I can blindly spend the year trying out a continuous array of dishes.
8. The calm… the calm…
I say this without a hint of irony or sarcasm: the slow pace, the lack of public activity, the quiet, it is all just so… calming! The heat no doubt contributes to this as well, and it contributes to the ease with which I transition into sweet afternoon naps while reading a good book, underneath a softly lapping fan and a cooling air-conditioner. And since there’s nothing else happening anywhere, nothing I need to consider or feel guilty about missing, these naps are ever so sweeter.
And the earlier the days end (and they wind down quickly after the sun sets), the earlier they start. So you slowly crawl into bed close to 10pm without a hint of the stress that used to keep me alert till midnight, feeling you’ve lived a full, long day, and that there was nothing else you could have done today but didn’t. That alone is a pretty calming thought.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Cohabitating with the bugs
There is a lush, deep, green quality to the landscape in Sri Lanka. Though Jaffna has sandy and rocky patches, the green, where it exists, is staidly present and striking. I know nothing about gardening or agriculture, but presume that part of this lush quality comes from the humidity, that seems to contain the atmosphere in pockets, nurturing a slow, full growth of foliage.
One friend, who had previously visited Sri Lanka, told me to imagine all the greenery I had ever seen in the UK, US and Lebanon, combine it, multiply it, and then I would approximate what I might see in Sri Lanka. I think he was referring to the central parts of Sri Lanka, but still, he wasn’t too far off.
What nobody ever points out, however, is that this glorious manifestation of nature does not only involve foliage, but does, quite naturally, come with an assortment of bugs, and birds, and bugs, and chipmunks, and bugs, and frogs, and did I mention the bugs?? The birds and geckos and others can sometimes create a disruptive cacophony, but are amusing for the most part. The bugs, however, are a different story. They are so ever present that I have already begun to normalize to the situation, assuming at any point in time that if I feel an itch or a tickle that it is not a fallen hair, it is not a loose string from my clothing, it is not a figment of my imagination – it is, quite simply, a bug of some sort. And acting as normal does, I no longer attempt to flail said arm or wave the bug away, a simple and effective flick or slap rids me of the insect once and for all. (I spend a lot of my time washing my hands…) I also no longer look too closely to figure out what has given me this bite or that (a true city girl, I only ever recognize the mosquitoes’) but rather marvel at how they found a path between my skin and clothing to manage that bite. Yes, I am quite easily entertained.
These bugs so belong here that they seem rather comfortable in their existence; they don’t move any faster as our footsteps and swooping hands approach, they’re just not easily scared. This brought on a happy realization: that for all the environmental speak against insecticides, over-construction spoiling natural habitats, and such, I was finally in a place where the insects faaaaar outnumbered us, and where they had their own places to live and thrive that were just as nice as mine. Thus with the playing ground equalized, I could fight back with all I’ve got! I was now free to cohabitate with the bugs armed with my insect repellent, mosquito net, house spray, and VAPE! I was free to build fences and trenches, set up traps, free to run generators, and seal all my doors and windows shut as I blast my air conditioner. Indeed, with the playing ground leveled, all was now fair in my own little war. You may say that I used to do this before – true, but not without a hint of guilt and shame at the luxury of it all. Now, these same actions come with a clear sense of guilt-free entitlement.
I can live with that!
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