Steve often talks about his so-called 'nemesis bird', the one species that no matter how hard he looks, he just cannot see - the Indian pitta. He has spent over two years of his life in India and Sri Lanka, and this bird always eludes him. In this trip, one small newly created national park that we stumbled upon is known for having numerous migratory pittas throughout the winter months...and we arrived one week after they left. Poor Steve.
As for me, I seem to have found my nemesis language.
Growing up, I had no trouble learning French. In university, I took German and Spanish classes, and quickly learned to read and understand those languages, and although I can no longer speak them due to lack of practice, I can still read some German and can usually understand or at least get the gist of written Spanish. I also studied Russian and Italian on my own, and can still read a little of the latter. The three times I lived in northern Canada, I learned basic Inuktitut, some Cree, and a little Chipewyan, and had no trouble learning those. Even today, almost twenty years later, I can often read and understand what my Inuit friends are saying in Inuktitut on Facebook, although I have forgotten most of the language for speaking. (Just last month, for example, I was part of a conversation about walrus meat.) When I was in China I learned enough Mandarin in six weeks to be able to go shopping, order in restaurants, ask directions, read maps and street signs, and (most importantly!) find the restrooms. About a year and a half ago I began doing volunteer work for my church, where I answer the questions that people send in to the main church website. I found that my language experience was very useful, as I am able to understand the questions asked in many languages, and using a translation program, am able to respond in French, Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian, Italian and German. More importantly, perhaps, I am usually able to tell when the machine translation is poorly done, meaning that I have to tweak the answer in English so that it makes sense in the other language.
But Sinhala? Boy. This language just does not stick with me. I have tried phrase books. I have tried several 'Learn Sinhalese' textbooks. I have tried just looking up random words in the dictionary to get me started. Even the text that Steve swears by has been of no use to me...I have read and reread and studied chapter one a dozen times, and every time, it's like I have never seen the words before.
It's been most frustrating.
What is weird about the whole thing is that I have daily conversations with our driver, with him speaking Sinhala and me speaking English. I understand at least the gist, and sometimes more than that, of the sermons and lessons at church. Usually I can join in the conversation (again, in English while they speak Sinhala interspersed with a little English) in the weekly women's meeting.
I have managed, however, to learn a (very) few words. Mostly food related, but hey, at this point I'll take whatever I can get!
So I was pleasantly surprised when I went shopping today and had my first real conversation.
It went like this:
Me: Do you have any batteries?
Clerk: Oh. [Yes]
Me: (shows package of lithium batteries) This kind?
Clerk: (gets package and puts it on the counter) Oh.
Me: How much?
Clerk: 750 rupees.
Me: (raises eyebrows) Okay. (points to package) batteriyah ekak tunsiyah [One battery 300]
Clerk: (waggles head in the decidedly South Asian style that indicates agreement)
Me: mama tunay packages [I (need) three packages]
Clerk: 1800 rupees
Me: But 750 times 3 is 2250 rupees.
Clerk: I know. (smiles and winks at me) But you pay 1800 only.
A savings of 450 rupees for trying a few words in Sinhala. I was pretty pleased with myself.
Showing posts with label Inuktitut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inuktitut. Show all posts
Monday, May 18, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
2015 March 20-21: Foreigners
"Foreigners! Foreigners!"
That's what was being whispered all around Elanor and me when we went with our church women's group to go river bathing on March 5th. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Sinhala, but whispered, nonetheless. Once people realized that we were there with a large group of our friends, and that we were not there to gawk at them like some other foreigners who passed by, we were quickly included in the fun and games, and yes, even the bathing. This is the way I like to travel, fitting in as best we can, joining with our friends in their ways of doing things, learning about their culture by taking part in it.
I don't blame them for their hesitation at the beginning. After all, we could just easily have been like most others, there to gaze at the natives like they were some sort of exotic specimens there to be studied. I have seen similar situations countless times.
In Pond Inlet, we went to a feast at the community hall shortly after we arrived. We sat on the floor - like everyone else - with a couple that we knew, and sampled the food and tried to blend in. Two other couples stood on the sidelines, sometimes taking pictures, and making comments such as "I can't believe they're eating that", "That looks disgusting", and "People back home are never going to believe that this is what they eat." Pretty soon, we found that we were the only new 'Southerners' or Kablunaq (literally: bushy eyebrows, in reference to the Scottish sailors who first visited the Inuit in modern times) who were being invited to community feasts. (There were a couple of long-term white residents as well.) Others sometimes showed up if they found out about the feasts, game days, and dances, but someone always made sure that we knew about them. Sometimes we would be listening to the local radio station in Inuktitut, would hear our name mixed in among the announcements, and sure enough, within a few minutes we would have received several phone calls and a knock on the door, telling us of some community event.
This was especially apparent after a confrontation at the local 'mall'. I had gone to the Co-op store to get a few things. A woman approached me and said, "I don't think it's very nice of you to make the teachers do so much work!" Confused, I asked what she was talking about. "Your daughter is at our school and her teacher doesn't have the time to teach our children and then to teach your child everything again in English!" I replied, "Well, actually, the teacher is not teaching everything two times. I told her that we wanted Amber to learn Inuktitut, and to not teach her in English." "You want your daughter to learn Inuktitut?" was the incredulous reply. "Your son has to learn English. Why shouldn't my daughter have to learn Inuktitut?" I countered. By the time we left two years later, Amber could read primary books and write journal entries in Inuktitut, using their syllabic alphabet with thirty-nine characters. We found out later that with the exception of two families that were basically life-long residents and a principal's daughter, every other white child in the community had been home-schooled.
In China, I spent the summer in Beijing. Other members in my group traveled around China when our teaching was finished, spending a day here and a few hours there. I stayed in Beijing. Most people spend four hours going through the Forbidden City on the short tour. I spent thirteen hours there over a two day period, and when some of the workers noticed that I was interested in all the little details, they made sure to point things out to me and explain how things were built. At the Summer Palace when I showed an interest in how the ponds were built and other "non-tourist" items, people refused to believe that I was foreigner and could not speak fluent Mandarin, but could not figure out why I was white instead of 'yellow' (their word, not mine). Then they decided that I must be Russian and insisted on speaking Russian to me. I saw things that literally no other white person had seen, such as a small house museum in honour of a famous Chinese writer. In fifty years, I was the only non-Chinese who had visited. I know this because the curator checked the log book while I was inside, a logbook going back to the opening day, and in which every person who had ever visited had signed in with their full name and address. When an old woman that I knew found out the types of places I was seeing and the types of things that I was doing, she and a local teacher we both knew arranged to have me move to a different hotel. Four stars just off Tiananmen Square was not too shabby, especially when it ended up costing me nothing. The hotel was owned by a man whom the teacher had taught English classes to, and when he found out that I was interested in learning about 'real' China and not just 'tourist' China, he refused payment.
When we went to Muthurajawela, we saw a different type of foreigner, the kind that tries to get every last penny out of a people who are already poor. The entry fee at the marsh was about 1000 rupees per person, but about half that amount for children. (It works out to about $7.50 each for a two hour tour, with personal guide, boatman, the boat, and gas. Similar excursions back home typically begin at $50 per person.) When another couple heard that Elanor was getting the child discount, the husband quickly quipped, "Hey, my two kids are children too! They should get the discount, too!" and his two children chimed in. I am sure he was joking, but when you don't speak English well and are used to being taken advantage of, it creates awkward situations, especially when the 'children' in question are obviously in their late teens. It's a difficult situation for people to be in. Do they treat it as a joke? Maybe he's not joking. Do they give the customer the benefit of the doubt? What if he then tells everyone and they demand discounts? Do they say no and perhaps lose that business? Do they say yes and then take a loss for that tour in order to keep the customer happy? Did they actually understand what was said, given that English is a third language for most people?
We see it in the stores, too. We are used to getting charged the tourist price, although some of my regular places now charge me less. At one vegetable stand that I frequent, I used to get charged 100 rupees (76 cents) for a particular vegetable, still only a fraction of what I would pay back home. Then I was charged 50 rupees (38 cents). Two days ago I was charged 30 rupees (23 cents). Another day I bought two dresses - one for Elanor and one for me - for 2400 rupees ($18.18). I knew I was getting charged more, but back home this would have cost me $40 for Elanor's dress alone. At the same time, another couple in the store were haggling over the price of the two dresses they were buying. I stood there at the counter as I listened to them haggle back and forth, trying to get every last rupee they could out of this shop owner. Their dresses started at 2400 rupees, too, and they managed to get it down to 2200. I could have done the same, but honestly, the $1.51 I would have saved was not worth it.
People notice things like this. As we were leaving the store, the woman stopped me and said, "You didn't bargain." I said, "Did you give me a fair price?" "Oh, yes," she replied, "I give you morning price. Morning price always cheaper. I no make enough money, evening price is higher." I smiled and told her we would be back when we were ready to buy more. She then went over to the cabinet full of purses that Elanor had been eyeing the entire time we were there, pulled out a few and asked Elanor which one was her favourite. When Elanor told her, she presented it to her. I took out my wallet again, and was quickly told by both her and her husband that it was a gift, and that when we come back, we would get the morning price or better even if it was evening.
When we went to the natural area in Kandi, Steve was signing us in at the entry gate and paying the entry fee. He began speaking to the woman in Sinhala and mentioned that we were here for several months. After conversing for several minutes on a variety of subjects including what he was doing in Sri Lanka, she asked him what kind of visa we had. When she found out that we had resident visas, our fee dropped from 600 rupees ($4.55) per person to just 30 rupees (23 cents) each.
A third type of foreigner that we have seen is the type that smacks of the old colonial attitude. When our order came during breakfast in Kandi, the bread was not toasted. We just assumed that there was a miscommunication with the waiter or a misprint in the menu and didn't think anything of it. As we were eating, an older man sat nearby. The waiter approached him and the man started talking. He didn't want anything on the menu, he just wanted toast, orange juice and coffee. The waiter looked unsure and asked again what he wanted, as he pointed to the menu. The man repeated himself, then added, "Is that slow enough for you? Do you understand?" (Remember that while many people here speak English, many do not. That is why in restaurants with menus, you order by pointing at the number next to what you want to order. That way there is no confusion.) The waiter again pointed to the menu, which, incidentally, has a note on the top that tells patrons to "Please order two hours early to avoid disappointment". The man very loudly said, "Get me a manager immediately. Do you understand? I want to talk to your manager immediately, and he better be able to speak English!" The poor waiter ran from the room.
A few minutes later, the manager came in and asked what the problem was. "Your waiter does not speak English. That is the problem. I told him that I just want toast, orange juice and coffee for my breakfast, and he cannot understand that." The manager replied, "No problem, sir. I will bring you some bread..." "Toast," the man interrupted, "I. Want. Toast." "There is a problem, sir. I cannot bring you some toast. Our toaster broke this morning. But I can bring you some nice fresh bread." "Well that doesn't help, does it? Having a broken toaster is not very useful, is it?" "I am very sorry, sir, it just broke this morning." "Can you get a new one?" Silence. After all, it was 7:30 in the morning. "Well?" "I will get you some toast, sir." "That wasn't so hard, then, was it?" was the response.
The kind of foreigner you are while traveling can have a big impact on the way that people treat you. Steve and I have both seen this during our travels separately, and now, together. For both of us, it has led to some amazing experiences as people share their lives with us. For Steve, it has meant being welcomed into homes wherever he has traveled. The last time he was in Sri Lanka, it meant becoming welcomed into a Tamil fishing community as well as his church community. This time, he is garnering respect among the gypsies of Sri Lanka. He met with a family last Friday and Saturday. They were very reluctant at first, and told the tuktuk driver that they couldn't help because they don't speak English. "No problem!" the driver replied. "He speaks Sinhala!" They quickly welcomed Steve into their home, and after a discussion about what his project here actually entails, they are eager to help him because he wants to actually learn about their language and culture. So eager, in fact, that early Sunday morning the father called Steve to find out when he was coming back and to make sure that Steve knew that they want to help him, and that Elanor and I are welcome too.
Looks like Elanor is in for yet another huge culture shock.
We can't wait.
That's what was being whispered all around Elanor and me when we went with our church women's group to go river bathing on March 5th. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Sinhala, but whispered, nonetheless. Once people realized that we were there with a large group of our friends, and that we were not there to gawk at them like some other foreigners who passed by, we were quickly included in the fun and games, and yes, even the bathing. This is the way I like to travel, fitting in as best we can, joining with our friends in their ways of doing things, learning about their culture by taking part in it.
I don't blame them for their hesitation at the beginning. After all, we could just easily have been like most others, there to gaze at the natives like they were some sort of exotic specimens there to be studied. I have seen similar situations countless times.
In Pond Inlet, we went to a feast at the community hall shortly after we arrived. We sat on the floor - like everyone else - with a couple that we knew, and sampled the food and tried to blend in. Two other couples stood on the sidelines, sometimes taking pictures, and making comments such as "I can't believe they're eating that", "That looks disgusting", and "People back home are never going to believe that this is what they eat." Pretty soon, we found that we were the only new 'Southerners' or Kablunaq (literally: bushy eyebrows, in reference to the Scottish sailors who first visited the Inuit in modern times) who were being invited to community feasts. (There were a couple of long-term white residents as well.) Others sometimes showed up if they found out about the feasts, game days, and dances, but someone always made sure that we knew about them. Sometimes we would be listening to the local radio station in Inuktitut, would hear our name mixed in among the announcements, and sure enough, within a few minutes we would have received several phone calls and a knock on the door, telling us of some community event.
This was especially apparent after a confrontation at the local 'mall'. I had gone to the Co-op store to get a few things. A woman approached me and said, "I don't think it's very nice of you to make the teachers do so much work!" Confused, I asked what she was talking about. "Your daughter is at our school and her teacher doesn't have the time to teach our children and then to teach your child everything again in English!" I replied, "Well, actually, the teacher is not teaching everything two times. I told her that we wanted Amber to learn Inuktitut, and to not teach her in English." "You want your daughter to learn Inuktitut?" was the incredulous reply. "Your son has to learn English. Why shouldn't my daughter have to learn Inuktitut?" I countered. By the time we left two years later, Amber could read primary books and write journal entries in Inuktitut, using their syllabic alphabet with thirty-nine characters. We found out later that with the exception of two families that were basically life-long residents and a principal's daughter, every other white child in the community had been home-schooled.
In China, I spent the summer in Beijing. Other members in my group traveled around China when our teaching was finished, spending a day here and a few hours there. I stayed in Beijing. Most people spend four hours going through the Forbidden City on the short tour. I spent thirteen hours there over a two day period, and when some of the workers noticed that I was interested in all the little details, they made sure to point things out to me and explain how things were built. At the Summer Palace when I showed an interest in how the ponds were built and other "non-tourist" items, people refused to believe that I was foreigner and could not speak fluent Mandarin, but could not figure out why I was white instead of 'yellow' (their word, not mine). Then they decided that I must be Russian and insisted on speaking Russian to me. I saw things that literally no other white person had seen, such as a small house museum in honour of a famous Chinese writer. In fifty years, I was the only non-Chinese who had visited. I know this because the curator checked the log book while I was inside, a logbook going back to the opening day, and in which every person who had ever visited had signed in with their full name and address. When an old woman that I knew found out the types of places I was seeing and the types of things that I was doing, she and a local teacher we both knew arranged to have me move to a different hotel. Four stars just off Tiananmen Square was not too shabby, especially when it ended up costing me nothing. The hotel was owned by a man whom the teacher had taught English classes to, and when he found out that I was interested in learning about 'real' China and not just 'tourist' China, he refused payment.
When we went to Muthurajawela, we saw a different type of foreigner, the kind that tries to get every last penny out of a people who are already poor. The entry fee at the marsh was about 1000 rupees per person, but about half that amount for children. (It works out to about $7.50 each for a two hour tour, with personal guide, boatman, the boat, and gas. Similar excursions back home typically begin at $50 per person.) When another couple heard that Elanor was getting the child discount, the husband quickly quipped, "Hey, my two kids are children too! They should get the discount, too!" and his two children chimed in. I am sure he was joking, but when you don't speak English well and are used to being taken advantage of, it creates awkward situations, especially when the 'children' in question are obviously in their late teens. It's a difficult situation for people to be in. Do they treat it as a joke? Maybe he's not joking. Do they give the customer the benefit of the doubt? What if he then tells everyone and they demand discounts? Do they say no and perhaps lose that business? Do they say yes and then take a loss for that tour in order to keep the customer happy? Did they actually understand what was said, given that English is a third language for most people?
We see it in the stores, too. We are used to getting charged the tourist price, although some of my regular places now charge me less. At one vegetable stand that I frequent, I used to get charged 100 rupees (76 cents) for a particular vegetable, still only a fraction of what I would pay back home. Then I was charged 50 rupees (38 cents). Two days ago I was charged 30 rupees (23 cents). Another day I bought two dresses - one for Elanor and one for me - for 2400 rupees ($18.18). I knew I was getting charged more, but back home this would have cost me $40 for Elanor's dress alone. At the same time, another couple in the store were haggling over the price of the two dresses they were buying. I stood there at the counter as I listened to them haggle back and forth, trying to get every last rupee they could out of this shop owner. Their dresses started at 2400 rupees, too, and they managed to get it down to 2200. I could have done the same, but honestly, the $1.51 I would have saved was not worth it.
People notice things like this. As we were leaving the store, the woman stopped me and said, "You didn't bargain." I said, "Did you give me a fair price?" "Oh, yes," she replied, "I give you morning price. Morning price always cheaper. I no make enough money, evening price is higher." I smiled and told her we would be back when we were ready to buy more. She then went over to the cabinet full of purses that Elanor had been eyeing the entire time we were there, pulled out a few and asked Elanor which one was her favourite. When Elanor told her, she presented it to her. I took out my wallet again, and was quickly told by both her and her husband that it was a gift, and that when we come back, we would get the morning price or better even if it was evening.
When we went to the natural area in Kandi, Steve was signing us in at the entry gate and paying the entry fee. He began speaking to the woman in Sinhala and mentioned that we were here for several months. After conversing for several minutes on a variety of subjects including what he was doing in Sri Lanka, she asked him what kind of visa we had. When she found out that we had resident visas, our fee dropped from 600 rupees ($4.55) per person to just 30 rupees (23 cents) each.
A third type of foreigner that we have seen is the type that smacks of the old colonial attitude. When our order came during breakfast in Kandi, the bread was not toasted. We just assumed that there was a miscommunication with the waiter or a misprint in the menu and didn't think anything of it. As we were eating, an older man sat nearby. The waiter approached him and the man started talking. He didn't want anything on the menu, he just wanted toast, orange juice and coffee. The waiter looked unsure and asked again what he wanted, as he pointed to the menu. The man repeated himself, then added, "Is that slow enough for you? Do you understand?" (Remember that while many people here speak English, many do not. That is why in restaurants with menus, you order by pointing at the number next to what you want to order. That way there is no confusion.) The waiter again pointed to the menu, which, incidentally, has a note on the top that tells patrons to "Please order two hours early to avoid disappointment". The man very loudly said, "Get me a manager immediately. Do you understand? I want to talk to your manager immediately, and he better be able to speak English!" The poor waiter ran from the room.
A few minutes later, the manager came in and asked what the problem was. "Your waiter does not speak English. That is the problem. I told him that I just want toast, orange juice and coffee for my breakfast, and he cannot understand that." The manager replied, "No problem, sir. I will bring you some bread..." "Toast," the man interrupted, "I. Want. Toast." "There is a problem, sir. I cannot bring you some toast. Our toaster broke this morning. But I can bring you some nice fresh bread." "Well that doesn't help, does it? Having a broken toaster is not very useful, is it?" "I am very sorry, sir, it just broke this morning." "Can you get a new one?" Silence. After all, it was 7:30 in the morning. "Well?" "I will get you some toast, sir." "That wasn't so hard, then, was it?" was the response.
The kind of foreigner you are while traveling can have a big impact on the way that people treat you. Steve and I have both seen this during our travels separately, and now, together. For both of us, it has led to some amazing experiences as people share their lives with us. For Steve, it has meant being welcomed into homes wherever he has traveled. The last time he was in Sri Lanka, it meant becoming welcomed into a Tamil fishing community as well as his church community. This time, he is garnering respect among the gypsies of Sri Lanka. He met with a family last Friday and Saturday. They were very reluctant at first, and told the tuktuk driver that they couldn't help because they don't speak English. "No problem!" the driver replied. "He speaks Sinhala!" They quickly welcomed Steve into their home, and after a discussion about what his project here actually entails, they are eager to help him because he wants to actually learn about their language and culture. So eager, in fact, that early Sunday morning the father called Steve to find out when he was coming back and to make sure that Steve knew that they want to help him, and that Elanor and I are welcome too.
Looks like Elanor is in for yet another huge culture shock.
We can't wait.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Celebrities
Ever wonder what it feels like to be a celebrity? Today, we found out just what that feels like!
Yellow billed babbler
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.
**********************************************
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
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