2015 July 12: Joyous Reunions and Bittersweet Goodbyes

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

Someone was at our gate. Before I could see who it was, I heard squeals of delight and hearty shouts of greeting.

I ran to witness a joyous reunion.

You see, a couple of weeks after our first trip to the beach where Steve did his PhD research, we went back for another walk along the shore. I suggested to him that maybe we could ask the people who lived nearby if they knew what happened to the villagers who used to live on the beach. We thought we knew what had happened, given the evidence and the news reports, but we wanted to be sure. So, as we were leaving, we passed an old man sitting on the sidewalk outside a nearby hotel. Steve asked him about the villagers, and he responded that he thought some of them were okay. He didn't know where they were or what happened to them, but he thought some of them were okay.

Thus, with that glimmer of hope, we began our search to find Steve's friends.

I asked people as I walked through the streets of Negombo in the early mornings or late evenings if they knew what happened to the people who lived on the beach after the tsunami came. I asked fish truck drivers if they knew what had happened to them. I asked the fishermen along the canal and further along Negombo beach. We asked our driver to help us find them. I received various responses, most indicating that they thought some were okay but had moved 'far inland' and were no longer fishermen. Even our driver indicated that they had moved elsewhere.

But no definitive answers. Except that now we knew that at least some of them had survived.

Last week I again asked our driver if he knew anything, and a couple of days later he told us that some of the villagers might be living in the Tsunami Housing Scheme nearby.

Which took us to Wednesday of this week, when we asked our driver to take us there. As we walked through the complex of four story apartment buildings, Steve listened for any words of Tamil among the many people speaking Sinhala. As we neared the entrance again, he asked someone if they knew if anyone used to live on the beach now lived in the complex.

And someone did.

We were taken to their apartment, where Steve talked with a woman who was just a sixteen year old teenager in 2000-2001. Her mother was not in town, but she said she would let her know that someone was looking for her who thought he knew her.

So there was little question in my mind who had come to our house on Thursday morning as I heard shouts and exclamations of glee and joy and laughter as Steve reunited with his old friend Susila. He spent many hours in her family's house fifteen years ago. When I ran to meet them, I was swept into their arms in huge hugs. She and her daughters were so happy to see Steve and to meet Elanor and me, and she cried when we told her that we thought her whole family had been lost in the tsunami and we were so happy to see that she was okay. She and her daughters then told us what happened on that day and what has happened in their family since.

Susila was fortunate to be in Chilaw - 44 km north - on December 26, 2004. But many other people in the village, including her daughters and other relatives, were on the beach in their humble homes. Pushpa, her daughter, told us how life was just going along as usual on that day...until the police came along with loudspeakers shouting for everyone 'to run for your lives'.

And so, they ran. Part of the warning being broadcast said that a huge wave had already killed thousands of people in southern and eastern Sri Lanka and that there was not a minute to lose. They ran, leaving behind everything they owned, many of them with only the clothes on their backs and their children in their arms. Some only made it as far as the church when the wave struck, and spent many terrified moments praying that they would be safe. The wave crested partly up the brick wall that surrounds the church, flooding as far as the road a couple of hundred metres from the beach, and then receded.

But when they returned to their homes....there was nothing left. Everything had been swept away. Furniture, mementos, clothing, personal items, identification papers, the houses themselves... everything was gone.

Susila rushed back to Negombo from Chilaw, not knowing whether her family was alive or dead. She found them eventually, and was relieved to find her daughters safe even though everything they owned was gone.

When Steve asked about her husband, Ameer, one of the daughters answered, 'He left our mother. He ran off and we haven't heard from him since.' But later, Susila told us that he was in Galle, on the south coast of Sri Lanka, when the tsunami struck, and that neither she, her family nor their friends ever heard from him again. She doesn't talk to her daughters about her husband's likely death and allows them to pretend that he is still alive, because it is easier for them to think he left her than to think about the horror he must have felt as the wave came and everything ended for him.

The local Don Bosco Catholic Church opened its grounds to those who were left homeless by the tsunami. In short order, they and others had built a shelter city consisting of tiny huts, one per family. But living conditions were very crowded and life was very difficult for the people living there, so the Father issued a plea for help. The Italian government responded, and within a year, had built the Housing Scheme for the Tsunami Affected nearby. Susila was issued an apartment there for her, her mother and her daughters.

Known as Boscopura ('Bosco City'), this series of block apartment buildings soon became home to families from all over Sri Lanka who were rendered destitute and homeless by the tsunami. Many people have moved on as their circumstances became better, with steady employment and the ability to purchase or rent their own place again. But more than two hundred families still live there, including Susila. Her neat and tidy four room apartment consists of a large kitchen, a small bathroom, two good sized bedrooms with large beds, and front room that is used for entertaining guests, repairing the neighbour's fishing nets, eating, and sleeping. Her family has also grown to include several grandchildren. At least one of her daughters, maybe all of them, were married to abusive men whom they have since divorced, and they live with their mother again. One daughter works overseas, usually in Saudi Arabia, for two years at a time as a domestic servant, and then returns home for one year.

They still have little. And they still are generous and warm and loving and expressive. And happy. They smile a lot. They laugh a lot. They hug a lot. They have been through hell, but they live as though they are in heaven.

And Susila explained that in a way, they are. They feel that they are blessed to have what they have. From a palm frond hut with a sand floor on the beach to an apartment four times the size with running water and electricity - they are in no rush to leave.

Later that evening we were treated to a wonderful reunion supper at their home, with grandmother and mother and daughters and grandchildren, and neighbours wondering why a white family was visiting them wandering in and out. It was truly a wonderful reunion.

And tonight we were invited back for a goodbye supper. It was bittersweet, having just found them after thinking that they had all been swept away and then learning that most of them, at least, were okay, to now have to say goodbye again. From tears of joy on Thursday, to tears of parting tonight.

But it was worth every tear to hear the joy in Steve's voice as he reunited with these beloved friends.

2015 February 19: Remembering the Tsunami of 2004

Lament for the fisherfolk of Sri Lanka

From October 2000 to July 2001, my brother Steve was in northwest coastal Sri Lanka gathering material for a dissertation (Negombo Fishermen’s Tamil: A Case of Contact-Induced Language Change from Sri Lanka, Cornell University, 2004). He worked extensively with the inhabitants of a small, Catholic fishing village a few miles from the city of Negombo. Last night he sent the following e-mail, with permission to publish it here.

The news just gets worse and worse. It appears that most or all of the people who were my research subjects and my friends during my stay in Sri Lanka are dead. Negombo was hit quite hard, and the people whose language and lifestyle I documented lived in frail cadjun [coconut-leaf] huts within meters of the high water mark, on the sands of the beach. They knew nothing but God, family, and fishing, and have not, to my knowledge, dropped bombs on anybody or fought any wars on drugs or mass-produced pornography and land mines; yet they are all apparently dead and we remain. Not only that: I could not have gotten my status-conferring, income-enhancing Ivy League PhD without their help, whereas they got along just fine without mine – yet they are gone and I linger on, PhD and all.

Nor can I take any consolation in their being “human beings just like us,” because they aren’t like us, not at all. They have the same DNA, they have many of the same passions, to be sure. But they also have no comprehension of our wisecracking, self-absorbed cynicism; they are (though it sounds cliche to say it) blessed with a certain childlike absence of guile. They place community above all other things and choose not to trouble themselves with the world’s problems. They do not live their lives in “I can give you 15 minutes of my valuable time” mode, ever. They always treated me like a dignitary and usually insisted on preparing excellent seafood dinners, which they couldn’t afford. There was never any suggestion that they were ashamed of their humble living quarters. Their huts were always clean, and their clothing always neat. I paid to help them build a cistern of their own (an untold luxury) in the sand behind their hut. It consisted merely of a 15-foot deep hole lined with metal, but it gave them fresh water for washing and drinking for the first time, ever. I fancied that, in buying them a well – not to mention a pile of clothing and household goods I got for them right before my departure – I was repaying them in part for helping me achieve my ambition.

Now the well and the household goods, as well as the houses and inhabitants, are probably gone, along with those of tens of thousands of others like them, all alike in their poverty and simplicity, all utterly unlike us. Maybe the old, abominable racial theories are correct, in a perverse and unanticipated way, for there really do seem to be two completely different moieties of the human race: the one, perpetually lapped in comfort, snugly insulated from the brunt of mother nature (most of the time), and able and willing to unleash hellfire and bombnation on the other half at the slightest provocation, real or imagined; the other, perpetually under the yoke of the first, always fodder for the cannons, chaff for the economic downdrafts, grist for the millstones of mother nature.

Anyway, enough hyperbole. Suffice it to say, I’m really bummed about this. Call it survivor’s guilt or whatever, but there can’t be too many people out there who’ve seen their PhD subject matter obliterated.

Steve Bonta
27 December 2004

And so it was with some trepidation that on February 19 Steve led Elanor and me to his friends' fishing village, site of about forty homes on the beach in Negombo. He wanted to see with his own two eyes that it was really gone, but still garnering some small hope that maybe, just maybe, the news reports that said that all beach communities - and the people in them - were lost were wrong.

But when we stepped onto the beach...we knew. Instead of the small close-knit fishing village bustling with the work of processing the daily catch and the raising of small children and the daily cooking and cleaning and washing...we were greeted by an open stretch of sand.

Steve was devastated. The people he knew and loved, their humble thatch and palm frond homes much like the one found below, the well that he dug for them in thanks for all of their help so that they would have clean drinking water...all gone.

For video of our visit, please click here.

2015 May 24: Flags In

It's Memorial Day weekend back in the United States, so to commemorate in a small way I created a Sri Lankan inspired traditional American meal. It's nothing compared to the backyard BBQs, camp outs, and picnics back home, but this year, for reasons that follow, I wanted to do a little something even though we are not in the States.

First, I made plain rice. We never know who is going to show up to visit, so I always make a lot of food on Sundays, and rice is quick and easy and filling.

Next, instead of potato salad or baked potatoes, I made the potatoes that we all love, the ones that I bake in the oven with onion and garlic and turmeric and which are always a hit with visitors and even with the readers of our blog who have tried them.

Instead of devilled eggs, I just made boiled eggs. There are two reasons for this. First, mayo goes bad quickly in the heat, so leaving the mayo out of a dish is a prudent thing to do. Second, I suck at peeling eggs. My friend Champika told me to add salt to the water and the eggs will peel perfectly. It works for her.... but my peeled boiled eggs continue to look like someone used power tools on them! I shouldn't be surprised - thirty years later my family still loves to tease me about the time I burned the boiled eggs. 

Finally, I made coleslaw. Steve doesn't like coleslaw - he will eat it if I make it, but he doesn't like it. But me? I love coleslaw. I think it runs in the family. I remember when my brother was younger - he may have been in Grade 3 - and he would ask mom to make coleslaw every night. He could not get enough.

I put a Sri Lankan twist on today's version, however. Here is the recipe:

Put the following into a large bowl:

• 1/2 a shredded purple cabbage
• 1/2 a shredded green cabbage
• 1 very thinly sliced purple onion
• 2 very large grated carrots

In another bowl, mix together:

• 2/3 cup mayonnaise
• 1/4 cup of your favourite white, cider, or white wine vinegar (I used coconut vinegar)
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• 1 teaspoon of salt
• 1 teaspoon of curry powder

Taste and add more salt or curry powder if needed - it will vary depending on the type of vinegar.
Pour over vegetables and mix well.

A friend from church and her twelve year old son came to visit after church, so we shared our simple meal with them. They both loved the coleslaw, and I have to admit that it was pretty good. And hey, if a twelve year old boy likes it, it can't be half bad!

But I digress....

The summer between Grade 11 and Grade 12 I was blessed to have won a speech contest. It was sponsored by the International Order of Oddfellows and Rebekahs, and the grand prize was a bus tour with two hundred seventy other youth from across North America of Ottawa and thirteen states, and four days at the United Nations. The program still exists, and I would highly recommend it. You can learn about the Pilgrimage for Youth by clicking here.

One of the places that we visited was Arlington National Cemetery. I remember walking though the acres and acres of clean white crosses and being overwhelmed by the sense of loss and sacrifice that was represented there. It was truly one of the most memorable experiences of the trip for me. Little did I know about my own connection to this place.

Courtesy http://www.redrosestudio.com/Arlin%20Natl%20Cem.html

On this Memorial Day weekend, I would like to pay tribute to a family member that I learned about recently from my father and his cousin Marjorie Hodgson, who lives in Vermont. In addition to being an avid genealogist, Marjorie continues to paint even though she is now, for all intents and purposes, blind. Normally I reserve such sentiments as those that follow for Canada's Remembrance Day, as can be read about here, but it is fitting that I tell this person's story today.

Sarah Maude Pittman was born December 21, 1896, in Hickman's Harbour, Trinity Bay, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada, to John and Mary "Polly" (nee Blundell) Pittman. She was the third of seven children, and was my father's mother's sister...my great aunt. Maude, as she was known, served in World War I, and somehow made it to the United States where she married Albert Blundon. She and Albert made their home in Somerville, Massachusetts. In August 1927, at age 30, she died while giving birth to their first child, and the babe died just two months later. She was buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

When I saw photos of American soldiers planting flags on each of the four hundred thousand graves in Arlington National Cemetery this past week in their annual Flags In day, I could not help but think that I am so grateful that someone has been remembering this lost member of our family every year. With her emigration to another country, her dying so young, her husband now long gone, her only child passing so soon after her own death, there is no family nearby to lovingly tend her resting place, to remember her as they pass by, or even to simply clear her grave every now and then as those of us who regularly visit cemeteries do just because a grave needs some attention or because the surname is familiar. For eighty eight years her grave has been tended with care and her service during WWI commemorated by groundskeepers and soldiers and perhaps a passing tourist or family members of others buried nearby.

Courtesy http://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/flags-arlington-prepares-memorial-day-n363051

Whether one agrees with war or not, whether one supports war or not, it is important to remember that some of us, our brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins and friends, are willing to put their lives on the line for us and for their country. Please honour them, and my great aunt Maude, by taking a moment to watch this touching short video.

2015 May 20: Poser

I love geckos. We usually have a few around the house. Nothing like our friend Tekla's house, though, where she has counted 22 geckos in one small room! But, we have them nonetheless.

A couple of nights ago I was washing my feet before bedtime, when a newly hatched gecko made its way up the shower wall beside me. They are only about an inch or inch and a half long at this point. It was so newly hatched that it still had not gotten the hang of climbing, and I watched it for a few moments as it worked out the intricacies of coordinating its leg movements while climbing a slippery tile.

Last night I was on my way to bed when I saw the little gecko outside my changing room door. Of course, I grabbed my camera, hoping to get a photo of this little creature, as I had already gotten a great shot of a full-grown gecko when we returned from dining out.

Nope, this photo is not upside down. Geckos can use their claws and the sticky pads on their feet to seemingly defy gravity!

My little gecko was very cooperative. As soon as I snapped one photo, it would move to a new position until I snapped another. I almost felt like I was at a professional photo shoot! Not to mention that I am in love with the macro feature on my camera. Check out my little poser!

2015 May 19: Coconuts and Coconut Milk

Coconuts and coconut milk are staples of Sri Lankan life. Both are used daily in cooking, sambols, raw and even as a seasoning. While it is high in saturated fat, coconut meat and milk has no cholesterol. It is a good source of sodium, potassium and magnesium, three minerals that must be replenished often in this land where perspiration leaches minerals from the body at an alarming rate. It also provides iron, B12, B6 and dietary fibre.

To open a coconut, you just need a thick sharp edge to whack against the middle of the drupe. Any edge will do - just be sure that it is an edge that you don't mind having broken, as coconuts can be very hard! Most people use the back of a thick knife, but even a concrete block or a step will do in a pinch.

One of the rewards of opening your own coconut is that you get to drink the coconut water straight from the shell. You can't get much fresher than this!

To get the meat out, you should use a scraper. There are two basic kinds - one that looks like a citrus juicer that has a crank that you turn, and one that looks like a small bench that you sit on, like this one:

First you scrape along the edges to smooth them out. Then you scrape the middle, turning the coconut slightly after every few scrapes. You know you are done when no meat is left inside the coconut. (Don't worry if there is a little brown from the inside as well.)

At our Sri Lankan New Year celebration, these were our expert coconut scrapers. 

My friend Champika showed me how it is done. If you are good at it, it should take you about two minutes per half coconut, or four minutes total.

Here I am scraping coconut for the first time. 

Needless to say, it took me a lot longer than two minutes!

If you just want coconut meat for recipes or to eat plain, you are finished now. But if you are looking for coconut milk, keep reading....

Coconut milk has got to be one of the easiest things to make. Ever. I am completely serious! All you do is...wash your grated coconut.

Yes, you read that correctly. You wash it.

Take your freshly grated coconut and place it in a bowl. Add a cup of fairly warm water. Mix it around a little. Then squeeze all the water out of it and place it into a second bowl. You can use a cheesecloth if you like, but using your hands also works. This is called thick coconut milk. It is used for desserts and sauces, including curries. It is rich and creamy.

Pour another cup of water over your coconut, and again squeeze out the liquid, reserving the coconut in a third bowl. This is called thin coconut milk. It is used for general cooking and in soups.

Repeat the process one more time. You will end up with a slightly coconut scented or flavoured water. Use this to cook starchy vegetables such as potatoes, yams or manioc.

If you have a food processor or blender you can wash your coconut one more time by blending and then draining the liquid. This liquid can be used the same as the third wash, or use it to thin dishes where the sauce has become too thick.

The meat is then discarded.

If you are going to drink the coconut milk, you should mix the first three washes together.

Of course, canned coconut milk is always an option when cooking. It is usually a mix of the first two washes.

2015 May 14: You Never Know What You'll Find in the Toilet

On May 14 we visited with our friends Krishan and Tekla for supper. They live in a nice house in...well...some small village that takes a while to get to, especially when it is dark and you don't know where you are going! Not that we mind - we, or I, at least, enjoy seeing every little community and going for rides.

We had a lively time visiting with them, their toddler and Tekla's mother. Tekla is a wonderful cook, and she made an outstanding meal. She once again made the deep-fried eggplant that I love, and we all thought that the curried pumpkin was fantastic.

As we were getting ready to leave, Elanor decided to use the restroom. She came running out and said, "Mom! Bring your camera! There's something in the bathroom you probably should see!"

I cannot tell you how much trepidation I felt at these words - you would not believe the number of times I hear myself saying, "Can we please stop talking about bodily functions?!?!" So, being told there is something in the bathroom I need to see was something I reluctantly agreed to.

Turns out this little guy was hiding under the toilet tank.

Tekla then told us that there are actually two of these little frogs that live in her bathroom - one under each side of the toilet tank. One day she decided she was going to get rid of them, so she caught them and took them far out into the garden and let them go. But, in some bizarre rendition of the Cat Came Back, the frogs came back...if not the very next day, then within a few days. And again took up residence under the toilet tank!

Krishan has also been learning to use the macro feature on his camera, a professional quality one with more bells and whistles than you can dream of. A few nights before we visited, he couldn't sleep, so he scrounged around their house until he found a box, a broomstick handle, some tape, some tin foil, a light bulb, some wires and a few other odds and ends...and made himself a flash! He used his new flash to take this picture of our little bathroom buddy. 

Photo by Krishan Alexsander

Happy New Year!

What's that, you ask? New Year's in April?

Yup! According to Sinhalese astrology, the new year begins when the sun moves from Pisces to Aries, and signals the end of the harvest and the beginning of spring. It is also one of two times a year that the sun shines directly over Sri Lanka.

We began our New Year's celebrations on April 14. We went to our friends Champika and Padmasiri's house in Kochikade for the afternoon.

He is an organic farmer, among other things, and was featured in a television special a few years ago on organic farming techniques. They served us traditional New Years treats, and we toured their property, startling two very large water monitors in the process! Our driver and the elders from our church were also invited in for some true Sri Lankan hospitality.

Elanor and I left with new sandals, gifts from these very generous folks, as well as a bag of fruit that Steve helped to pick, vegetables, and sweets.

It was a wonderful afternoon!

Then, on Saturday the 18th, the local branch of our church had their New Year's celebration. Oh, the fun that we had! The organizers put a lot of effort into making this a huge success. Our day started with Champika and her girls giving Elanor a beautiful traditional Sri Lankan dress that they had made for her.

Believe it or not, Elanor and Piyumi (in the purple dress) are almost the same age. Deshika (in the green dress) is three years older than Elanor.

You can see how much we all enjoyed ourselves throughout the rest of the day by clicking here to watch the video I made.

Fried Dough Odyssey

Growing up, my brother and I loved when mom made homemade bread. If we were lucky, she would save us a little bit of the dough so we could flatten it out between our hands, then fry it in some butter in a pan on the stove. Maybe add a little rhubarb jam or molasses afterwards. Toutons, we called them. So yummy!

Courtesy https://billandpaulinesexcellentadventures.wordpress.com/2012/03/04/dining-dangerously-corner-brook-carnival-cuisine/

Sometimes when we went camping as a family, or when we went camping with the Girl Guides or the Boy Scouts, we would wrap the dough around sticks and roast it over the fire. Smoky mouthwatering goodness, straight from the hot coals to our eager maws.

Courtesy https://erinsdckitchen.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/dough-boys-or-the-dessert-to-end-all-desserts/

These days, mom doesn't make bread in the old bread bowl, but she and dad do use a breadmaker. No stovetop toutons, though. But she does make an incredible onion pudding:

Norma's Onion Pudding
1 cup flour
2 tbsp butter
1/3 cup milk
2 tbsp baking powder
1 medium onion grated
salt
a bit of sugar

Mix flour butter, baking powder, salt and sugar together. Add onion and milk to make a soft dough. Grease pan, cover and boil over water or bake in oven at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Try centre to check that it is done.

Courtesy http://stuffedatthegills.blogspot.com/2014/12/steamed-onion-pudding.html
This one is steamed, but we like it baked better.

In 1998 my daughter Amber and I moved to Pond Inlet, Nunavut. There we fell in love with bannock. We eagerly waited for special occasions at the school, like Inuit Games Day, where one of the stations that the children rotated through was the refreshment tent. It served hot deep fried bannock, fresh out of the cooking oil. Amber and the other children would gobble it down as fast as it could be made. There was nothing quite like fresh bannock cooked outside and eaten outside.

Courtesy http://ronwassink.blogspot.com/2010/10/deep-fried-bannock.html

I lost my recipe years ago in an unfortunate moving incident. I had a bag that was filled with all my old recipes, some of them irreplaceable as the people who had shared them with me had passed on. My then-husband, thinking he was being helpful, saw the bag sitting in the kitchen and threw it in the dumpster near our townhouse. Before I realized the bag was missing, the dumpster had been emptied. Bye bye recipes.

I recently sent out a plea to my friends in Pond, hoping to replace my bannock recipes.

"For frying, 2 cups of flour, 1tsp baking powder. And salt if you want and 1 cup water mix it up," said Donna Pitseolak-Kublu, who got the recipe from Morty Pitseolak, who was the post-mistress in Pond when we lived there. Get some cooking oil good and hot and drop in pieces of the dough and fry until done. I asked Donna, "And what about the one that you bake? The recipe's almost the same, I think, but maybe has a little sugar in it? and oil?" This is the way that Rebecca Qitsualik, the elder who taught me Inuktitut, made hers. She was an unusual woman, the only Inuit elder at the time who was trilingual in Inuktitut, Innuinaqtung, and English. (Her favourite food was Philadelphia cream cheese, because it tasted just like the baby seal stomach that her parents used to feed her as a child. Think about that the next time you eat a bagel!) Donna replied, "I don't put sugar in mine. I find it too sweet. I remember my late mother Seanna used to use flour, baking powder , salt and little bit of oil and water and she wouldn't use any measuring cup." 

Courtesy of http://shay.la/poached-eggs-smoked-pork-bannock-cage-free/

Incidentally, Donna's mother made my kamiks - traditional boots made from caribou leg skin with the fur attached and an inlaid chevron design of alternating black and white seal fur. They were stunningly beautiful. She also made matching kamiks for the guy I was with at the time, but his had the fur reversed - the main part of the boot was made from sealskin and the design from caribou. She explained that these were wedding kamiks - the man's used a sea animal and a little bit of land animal, while the woman's used a land animal and a little bit of sea animal. This way, the family would always be provided for, because the man would not insult the sea creatures while out on the ice, and the woman would not insult the sea creatures back home on the land.

But, back to the fried dough....

Naomi Tigullaraq, my friend and former teaching colleague at Ulaakjuk School, told me, " I never measure mine, when I'm making one, might give you the wrong measurement. Flour, water, baking powder, lard or oil, and pinch of salt if you want to add some, and some people used milk instead of water."

And my former student Nina Kautaq said, "We just dump everything together."

This reminds of the old Newfoundland cookbook my mother has, which lists the ingredients, and that's it. No step-by-step instructions, no oven temperature, no bake time. Those were things you were expected to know already!

In 2002 I went to China. There we had salted youtiao, long strips of fried dough, with our morning breakfast congee, or rice porridge. In the late afternoon, we might sometimes have a similar dish called tanggao, but shorter and dipped into sugar. Either way, they were yummy. 

"Chinese fried bread". Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chinese_fried_bread.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Chinese_fried_bread.jpg

In 2007, I moved to a Dene community in the Northwest Territories. Again, bannock was heavy on the menu at any cultural or school event. Sometimes they deep-fried it, but just as often they pan-fried it, like Newfoundland toutons.

3 cups flour
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp baking powder
1/3 cup oil
1 1/2 cups water

Mix the dry ingredients together in a bowl. Mix the wet ingredients together in a measuring cup. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and mix together until it forms a ball. Knead on a floured surface until it is no longer sticky, adding a little more flour if necessary. Divide into two or three pieces, depending on the size of your frying pan. Flatten each piece to about 1 inch thickness. Fry in a greased pan on medium heat for about fifteen minutes each side. Serve with jam. 

Courtesy https://mrsmelva.wordpress.com/2010/05/15/our-trip-to-the-rapids/

In 2012 I moved to a Cree community in Manitoba. The Cree people love their bannock! And for good reason - fried or baked, smeared with butter and jam that drips down your face...it doesn't get better than this! 

Elanor and a boy in her grade three class enjoying some fresh bannock.

The remains of the bannock station at cultural days after a class had passed through.

We were invited for supper at a the home of a friend from church a couple of Sundays ago. Well, not exactly their home. Her mother-in-law's home, because it was close to where we lived and they didn't want us to get lost going to their own home, which is apparently in some little village some distance from here.

While Steve has been in typical Sri Lankan homes before, it was my first time. We walked down the long lane through the small Tamil neighbourhood near the beach in Negombo. The front yard was immaculately swept - a chore performed every morning by the woman of the house - and the front door was surrounded by a large beautiful jasmine bush. We entered the small home and sat chatting with our friend for a while. As we chatted, she formed the dough that her mother-in-law had made into flat little rounds, and began frying them. They were delicious.

Then her mother-in-law came home, removed those from the table, and replaced them with ones that she herself had made! Only the best for guests - and while our friend's dough was great, her mother-in-law's was incredible. (It reminded me of my own bread-making experiences with my daughter, Amber. We could follow the exact same recipe, but her bread always tasted better than mine.)

So, now I have eaten the lightest, thinnest fried dough I have ever had. Crispy on the outside, with pockets of warm soft dough inside in some places, bubbles of air in others.


I had four.

Maybe five.

Or six.

Plus the two I had already eaten that were made by our friend.

Now I have to get that recipe!

2015 March 8 and 14: Dambala

Last Sunday, the three of us went to our favourite Sunday Sri Lankan restaurant with our friend Mario. He first introduced us to the restaurant on our first Sunday at church here. He eats there most Sundays, and when Steve asked if the food was good there, his reply was "It's good enough" with a modest tilt of his head.

Boy, was he right! And also wrong.... This little place serves some of the best Sri Lankan food we have eaten anywhere in the past month. Usually we show up and the three ladies who own the place just start bringing us food. Everything is always delicious, and we always leave feeling satisfied with a wonderful meal and for a very modest price. Last time, for example, all-you-can-eat for four people was 705 rupees ($5.38).

One of the dishes that we were served last Sunday was called dambala. Dambala are an absolutely wonderful kind of green bean. It looks like it has four frilly wings, hence the English name 'winged bean'. I first encountered this strange looking vegetable in the grocery store, but having no idea what it was called, did not buy any. Now that I knew what they were, I bought some, and tonight we had homemade winged beans for supper. They tasted just like at the restaurant, just not as spicy.

You can probably use green beans in this recipe, but I would use a French cut bean rather than short cuts - that way, you will get some of the crispy texture that occurs because of the thin wings on the cut winged beans.

Dambala

8 winged beans chopped into 1/2 inch pieces - makes about 4 cups
1 medium red onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
6 curry leaves if you have them
1/2 tsp of red chili flakes - use up to 1 1/2 tsps if you like it spicy!
salt to taste
2 tbsps cooking oil
a little water

Cook the onion and garlic in the oil until translucent. Add the chopped winged beans and curry leaves, stir, cover, and let cook. If the onion or garlic start to get too cooked, add a little water and replace the lid. Stir occasionally. When the beans are almost cooked, add the red chili flakes. Do not replace the lid. Stir until water is evaporated, then add salt to taste and remove from heat. You want the very edges of the beans to be slightly crispy, and the thicker parts to be al dente.

Celebrities

Ever wonder what it feels like to be a celebrity? Today, we found out just what that feels like!

The former Negombo chapel where Steve attended - 12 members the first time he went there in 2000.

Fourteen years ago while studying a dialect of Tamil spoken by the Catholic fishermen of Negombo, Steve attended church here with a very small group of people. He came to love them and they loved him back. Many of them are still friends with him these many years later. And so, today, he anxiously returned to church with these never-forgotten friends, with Elanor and me in tow.

The new Negombo chapel, completed in 2010 - currently housing between 500 and 600 members.

And what a reception it was! There were hugs, there were kisses, there were handshakes, there were pats on the back, there were tears, there were smiles, as word spread throughout the building that Bonta had returned and people came running to greet him. He was given a king's welcome by these wonderful people that he holds so dear.

As the wife of their great friend, I was also warmly welcomed and greeted with the traditional pressing of cheeks, enveloping hugs from the women, and hearty handshakes from the men. One of the men very enthusiastically told me, "You deserve many congratulations for being Steve's wife!" And as I sat in my Sunday School class, I could hear a growing murmur that eventually stopped the lesson until it died down again, as pointing fingers and head nods and whispers of "Bonta's wife! Bonta's wife!" announced my presence to everyone in the room. The excited outpouring of mutual esteem between Steve and his old friends and their families and even the people he had never met but who had heard of him from the others was honestly like nothing I have witnessed before.

I attended Sunday School in Sinhalese, with some explanations of the discussions being provided in English. But, one of my talents is being able to understand, even if only in small and simple ways, what others are saying when they speak in other languages, and this experience was no different. Between the anglicized words found in Sinhala, the scripture references, the study guide, and the brief explanations of what others were saying, I had no trouble following the gist of the lesson after just a few minutes, and then helped an older woman visiting Sri Lanka from Finland to follow the gist of the lesson as well. She, by her own admission, does not speak English very well, but between the sections I was pointing out to her in my English language scriptures, the very simple summaries of what the teacher said, and some pantomime, she was also able to follow the lesson. She and her husband came here to meet a girl whose schooling they have sponsored since she was young. This young woman is about to graduate from university in Europe, and they came to celebrate this tremendous accomplishment with her.

Elanor experienced some culture shock as the day passed by. We told her that we were guests in this country, and that as guests, we needed to make sure that we respect the language, culture, and customs of the people here. Part of this includes her attending her Sunday School (Primary) classes in Sinhala, not English. We want her to learn some Sinhalese while we are here. She is a little anxious about that, but I explained to her that we believe she can do it. After all, her step-sister Amber learned Inuktitut when she and I lived among the Inuit for two years in northern Canada, and there is no reason why she can't do the same here in Sri Lanka.

After church we were treated to lunch by one of Steve's closest friends here at a roadside open air restaurant usually frequented by locals found not far from the chapel. Served family style and all-you-can-eat, we feasted on basmati rice, curried manioc, onion pickle, jackfruit mash, thin noodles with carrots, a grilled mackerel-like fish with spiced gravy, barbecue chicken, and tiny dried fish with coconut shreds. Total cost? 1108 Sri Lankan rupees - about $8.65 total for all four of us.

Sri Lanka is, in many respects, a third-world country. There is a lot of garbage everywhere you look. Mangy dogs roam free. Street vendors and small sidewalk boutiques line every available space in some places. We paid less than a dollar for the same adaptor we could have bought at Walmart back home for $12. Our hotel costs about $35 per night. Yesterday our tuktuk driver spent close to an hour taking us to downtown Negombo so we could buy adaptors, fruit, and anti-histamines for Elanor, and it cost us 600 rupees - $4.70. A beggar came into our church today looking for 10 rupees - 7 cents - to buy rice.

But don't let any of the above fool you. These people are generous and kind and good-hearted. They are modest, well-kept, and dress well - skirts and blouses or dresses or traditional attire for the women, dress shirts and slacks or wraps and well-shined shoes for the men. Even the few locals that we have seen wearing our typical Western leisure clothing look nothing like Westerners do in Western clothing - nothing is dirty, frayed, offensive, immodest, baggy. At the beach last night there were throngs and throngs of people of all ages enjoying the sand, the ocean, the beachside Valentine's Day concert / political rally, with nary a bikini in sight. The only immodestly dressed people we saw were two European men wearing speedos, one American woman wearing a one piece swimsuit that would be considered completely modest back home, and two fisherman who stripped to their underwear and dove into the warm waves to clean away the results of their day's labours before they headed home.

And their spirit is unquenchable. We met a woman at church today with the brightest smile, the most loving eyes, the most welcoming words...and yet her story is one that would have broken most people. She was originally from the south of Sri Lanka, but came to Negombo after the 2004 tsunami as a refugee. For three months she looked for her youngest son, who had been washed out to sea by those terrible waves. For three months this mother never gave up hope. And when she finally began to despair of ever seeing her son again, she found some church members here in Negombo who told her to keep having faith and helped her to look for him. And, beyond all miracles, she found him. She had been a devout Buddhist her entire life, but became a member of our church after experiencing the love and care and compassion and help of the members here. In her words, "For everyone around the world, tsunamis are terrible problems. But for me, our tsunami was a blessing, a wonderful blessing in my life, because it brought me here, where I could be with these good people." A man whom Steve has known for a long time here grew up as the son of the leader of another church here in Sri Lanka. He had been granted a full scholarship to study medicine at one of the best medical schools in India, but gave it all up to be here with these members.

As I heard life story after life story - all told with cheerful faces with no regrets - it struck me that while we were given the royal treatment, these people were the real celebrities. Celebrities inspire awe and humility in us, a desire to want what they have and to be like them. If I can learn to be half as joyful, half as hopeful, half as optimistic as these good people, I will consider myself to be very blessed indeed.

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A few more sights from today....

No idea what kind of tree this flower grows on, but each flower lasts for only one day before it falls to the ground with a loud whump that is audible from our balcony three stories above!

  Yellow billed babbler

Cattle egrets