Our experiences as volunteers in southwestern Sri Lanka have been so rich, and so abundant, that volumes could be written about all that has transpired within this one month. Words on the page will always fail to capture the multi-sensory, surprising, and even sublime aspects of all that we have seen on the “Island of Gems”.To envision Palana West is to imagine a place of wonder, and of challenge to one’s perception. To really describe this locale requires all the senses – the morning dawn alighting on the prow of the fishermen’s canoes, the soft rustle of a warm breeze amid the palm leaves, which yogis here compare to the divine breath of Vishnu, the scent of sea-brine mixed with the fumes of innumerable motorbikes, with a hint of lotus aroma wafting from an offering bouquet at the Buddhist temple, the morning clarion call of the muezzin summoning the faithful to prayer at the mosque, and the patter of monsoon rainfall on a tin roof. So rich is the experience here, that in my attempt to capture it I will adapt the style of the Sri Lankan novelist Martin Wikramasinge, and that of the Sanskrit narratives which inspired him.
That is, to relate what has passed as a series of impressions, or vignettes.

Of Curlicues and Cultural Clues

In the first week I began to study the Sinhala alphabet. At first impression, the ‘Brahmani’ script of the Sinhalese language appears like a swirling mélange of spirals, loops, and curlicues; a challenge to decipher, but intriguing. Most public signage in Sri Lanka is trilingual, in the three official languages of Sinhala, Tamil, and English. Acquiring the Brahmani alphabet is not immediately obligatory for the Western traveler. Signs are readable, and phrasebooks are transliterated in Roman letters. One of the most common signs, in fact, is a swirl of Sinhala script with the words ‘LEARN ENGLISH’ legible in bold capitals.

As volunteers we are teaching English to both the preschool teachers at the DUCK school and the parents of its students. Seemingly everyone here wants to learn English, and almost everyone knows English to some degree. With Sri Lankan people expending such an effort to speak my language, I wanted to support equality by learning theirs. Learning Sinhala is a ‘linguistic handshake’ of sorts. I learn the language of the Sri Lanka as they learn mine, and we approach each other half-way, as equals.

Under the tutelage of the preschool teacher Rasika, I began to learn the 54 letters (akuru) of the Sinhala alphabet, as well numerous vowel marks (pili). The experience has been humbling. I was learning to read and write a new language in the same way as I learned English as a child. In fact, I was practicing handwriting out of the same orthography book used by the five-year-olds in the preschool . It was a step outside of my capacity and comfort zone, to be a beginner again, and to empathise with how millions struggle to acquire English out of necessity, or cultural imposition.

Gradually, swirl by curlicue, I learned the basic characters. At this point, my surroundings became clearer. I could, slowly, read the signs on stores, roads, and train stations. By the end of this week, I had, with much help from teachers and students at the school, transliterated a children’s book into Roman letters and read it to the class, in my own oddly-accented Sinhala. It became a pleasure to walk down the streets of Colombo or Weligama, and see what formerly looked like inscrutable scribbles become clear prose. My perceptions of what had previously seemed so filled with ‘other-ness’ gained a new clarity.

Learning the Sinhala alphabet could be seen as a metaphor for our adaptation as volunteers to life in Sri Lanka. At first, impressions of awe and confusion evolve into a sense of clarity, understanding, and purpose. By taking time to go outside a cultural safe zone, one becomes more deeply immersed.

While visiting the World Heritage Site of the Temple of the Tooth in the medieval city of Kandy I learned the reason for the ‘swirliness’
of the Sinhala script. Early documents in Sri Lanka were written on ola, or dried palm fronds, which are delicate and easily split when a stylus draws a straight line. By writing on a curve, adapting one’s approach, this delicate medium can last for centuries.

We had another experience with ola at the preschool. The teachers came up with the great idea of building a playhouse outside the school. The roof would be made of cadjan, or interwoven palm fronds. The teachers taught us with patience how to weave the fronds together like a basket, and bore with me as I mis-wove and split the fronds many times until I got the technique right. The individual fronds split with the slightest effort. Yet interwoven cadjan roofs can last for ages, even when the fronds have dried to brown, and the delicate fronds come together into a weave of strength.

The society of the Tsunami-affected areas is like these palm fronds, delicate and frayed. The destruction of housing and infrastructure by the Wave, unemployment, lack of tourism in the economy, lasting emotional trauma from the devastation surround us. Nevertheless, like a roof of cadjan, each delicate frond of the community, neighbors supporting neighbours, comes together into a bond of strength that has sustained the Sri Lankan people over these past three difficult years, and throughout all the struggles of their tumultuous history.

Fair Trade for Sri Lankan workers

A recent BBC documentary, “The Human Footprint,” stated that the average Briton will drink tens of thousands of cups of tea in his or her lifetime. Tea is ubiquitous for many of us from breakfast onwards. But as we drink our Earl Grey or English Breakfast, do we pause to think where this tea came from?

It is probable that the tea in your morning cup came from Sri Lanka.
This island was the major tea producer of the British Empire, and exports the best tea in the world. Much of the profit from this enterprise, however, does not return to those responsible for producing this tea, the workers who pick it over long hours in the hot sun. As we sip our ‘cuppa’ let us pause to question. ‘Who picked this tea?’ ‘Was he or she paid a fair and living wage?’ ‘Do the profits from this tea benefit the community that produced it?’ ‘Was this agriculture conducted under safe and sustainable conditions?’ The same goes for textiles. It is also probable that the tag on the clothing you are wearing says ‘Made in Sri Lanka.’ What are the conditions in the factory where that garment was sewn?

Sri Lanka abounds in appealing resources. Delicious tea, coconuts, clothing, artwork, handicrafts, fruit are among some of this nation’s fine products. Unfortunately in the aftermath of the Tsunami and with the continual conflict between the government and the LTTE, unemployment is very high. Shops filled with magnificent handicrafts stand empty of customers, as tourists avoid the island due to bad press from the conflict. There are workers producing excellent goods, without a market to sell them. Many are looking for work, and unemployment drives many Sri Lankan women to the Middle East to work as domestics. Sustainable solutions must be implemented in order to rebuild the economy in the post-Tsunami situation, and to provide employment with dignity and justice.

As a positive step in this direction I have been researching and making contacts about establishing Fair Trade in our region. Fair Trade is international business conducted on an ethical and sustainable basis. The ‘Fair Trade’ mark on a product such as bananas ensures the consumer that this produce was made under fair and equitable conditions. Independent auditors monitor the farms and factories producing Fair Trade goods to ensure the human rights of workers are respected.

Fair Trade goods produced in the developing world are marketed in Europe and North America through a network of Fair Trade stores, such as the stores at St. Nicholas’ Church and St. John’s College in Durham. Increasingly, equitable products are also available in major supermarkets.

Coastal Southwestern Sri Lanka has great potential for Fair Trade.
Artwork and handicrafts, wanting for a market due to the lack of tourists, could be sold in the West. The artisans would be guaranteed a fair price for their works. This region also produces delicious produce, such as coconuts and guava, which could be exported. Fair Trade agriculture would provide employment, jobs that pay a living wage, so that workers can save and develop their communities.

Currently I am conducting research and talking with community members and NGOs about the possibility of Fair Trade. This research will continue when I return to Durham, where I will look for equitable importers who potentially could be interested in importing Sri Lankan goods.