5 Months Post-Tsunami In Search of a Village to Build a Preschool

This is a repost of an article we wrote for Sarvodaya after the Tsunami of 2005. We are considering a return to Sri Lanka next fall, which prompted me to dig out this piece. We miss Sarvodaya and our friends there and hope the civil war stabilizes so that we feel comfortable making the trip.

Someone asked me today why I write this stuff. I feel compelled.

Our Mission

We were making our first trip to Sri Lanka in 3 and 6 years, respectively, to see our friends at Sarvodaya and to find a tsunami impacted village that needed a preschool—the heart of the Sarvodaya village development process. The International Student Association at the Louisiana State University (where Rich is a professor and I am an adjunct) under the student leadership of Francisco Aguilar a former volunteer for Sarvodaya, with the support of Virginia Grenier at the LSU International Hospitality Foundation had raised over $5,800 through a series of concerts to build a preschool; these monies were generously matched by our friend Rick Brooks at SHARE in Madison, Wisconsin for an additional $3,500. Thus, we had enough money, we were told, for possibly two preschools, depending on whether we had to construct them outright or whether they simply needed repair and reconstruction.

Before we embarked on our trip, Sarvodaya Headquarters had determined that the Matara District was the tsunami-impacted area that needed our help. We learned that what would have been a relatively simple task before the tsunami—determining which village in which to build a preschool—was a multifaceted and complex task in post-tsunami Sri Lanka.

Traveling on Galle Road

We left for Matara under the care of Vinya’s driver, “Mutu” to see where the preschool was to be built, or if a village had not been identified, to choose the most appropriate village in which to build. Traveling on the coastal road (Galle Road) the devastation was still apparent, the majority of which appeared to be around the City of Galle itself. Houses and other structures were totally ripped from their foundations, with partial cement walls standing to mark the place where the structures had been. In other instances, nothing was left except rubble or garbage strewn on the ground.

‘Temporary housing’ in the form of tent cities were scattered amidst the broken cement, each of a different color and with various emblems depending on the donor. They looked hot. Sometimes mixed in with the tents were ‘semi-temporary housing’ units about half the size of a small U.S. bedroom, of rough, crooked lumber without window coverings, running water or plumbing. They looked like my children constructed them and didn’t look like they could house a family for any length of time. From time to time, Mutu would say “tsunami” and sweep his hand dramatically over the terrain to indicate where a particularly bad stretch of devastation had occurred.

Brightly colored boats were strewn in various broken states on the sand and land, with remnants of nets draping what was left of the boat or bunched in a pile on the sand. The boats looked strangely beautiful even though they were in pieces. The devastation was oddly uneven.We would drive past rubble the size of pebbles and shortly thereafter we would see a stretch housing along the beach that appeared untouched. Individuals were busy mending walls of structures along the road with whatever materials they could find. Toward the District of Matara, however, the tsunami devastation appeared to be less severe, and that there was a greater organized repair effort underway. Mr. Senerath told and retold stories of Buddha statues, shrines and stupas that were untouched by the tsunami, some right next to great piles of wreckage, and about dogs that alerted their owners and retreated inland before the tsunami struck.

We stopped abruptly beside a USAID tent city, where Subasena from Sarvodaya Headquarters was standing waiting for us. He informed us that our hotel, located high on a hill was spared (the Matara District Center does not have housing available and many hotels along the beach were destroyed) and that “H.M. Nelson,” the District Coordinator was waiting for us at the District Center.

The Matara District Center

We came to the Matara District Center and Nelson and Ninsanke (from the legal aid unit, who assists with the effort to reproduce lost documentation such as birth certificates, other identification and land deeds) awaited us with welcoming smiles. In the middle of the property were stakes laid out to mark the place where the new district center would be located (partially funded by Sarvodaya USA). On each side of the construction site were buildings that were being rehabilitated from tsunami damage. In the rear were debris and a tent filled with salvaged preschool supplies. Nelson took us into an office in the building behind the preschool (which had a newly painted mural of children on the side), where we sat down to a tropical fruit drink to look at pictures of the post-tsunami district center. The room where we sat was filled with water to the ceiling and all computers and supplies had been destroyed. In limited English, Nelson tried to explain to us how he’d been swept away by the wave but managed to survive by hanging onto the roof and door frame, how the preschool children were not inside the preschool that morning at 8:00 because it was a holiday, that 5 districts were affected, and that 27 of the impacted villages were within the Matara District. He then escorted us to the Pearl Cliff Hotel, where we were staying, in what has to be the highest piece of land in the area, and which undoubtedly is tsunami-proof.

Village Reconnaissance

The next morning we met with Nelson and our translator, Mr. Senerath, a retired government official, who led us through villages along the shoreline in the Matara District that had been severely damaged by the tsunami. We visited with the Shramadana Society Members in each village, who recounted the number of dead, wounded and the impacted structures and businesses in their village. Intermittently during our visits, Nelson relayed to us the dry rations, tents, medicines and books that Sarvodaya had distributed, and future plans to construct latrines and houses, and to provide counseling for women and children.

Kottagoda Village

The first person that we met was Samadhi Maheshica, the Society President of Kottagoda. She told us that out of 400 families in the village, 34 people had died (3 or 4 children, and the rest elderly) and 255 families had been affected. Sixty-two houses were fully and 192 houses were partially damaged. Most of the fisherfolk (the word they used to describe the fishing community) lost their boats and fishing supplies. The government granted the affected families 5,000 Rupees a month (or approximately $50) for two months, and a one-time allocation of 2,500 Rupees (or approximately $25) for kitchen utensils. Rations of 375 Rupees (or $3.75) a week per person were apparently still being distributed by a foreign agency, with about a third consisting of food stuffs (cheese, milk) and the remainder being distributed in currency.

Samadhi said that most of the people now had semi-permanent structures, yet, they were uncertain about when or whether they would get permanent houses because their destroyed homes were within the 100 meter zone from the coast that the government had declared could not be used for dwellings. Thus, they were in limbo, stuck in either temporary structures or living with relatives, waiting for other lands to be located by the government on which they could build, if they only had the money to do so….

We were told that many villagers escaped with only “what was on their backs.” They did not have medical supplies or physicians. People from several outside villages located in-land came to help with the clean-up in Shramadana or Sarvodaya work-camp efforts. The society president suddenly pointed out a young man that had appeared in front of us, who, he recounted, had lost a 2 month old child to “the wave.” He stood with his other child, of maybe two years, that they found stuck in the “V” of a tree root. Instinctively, I looked to see if the child appeared traumatized. Unfortunately he wouldn’t come near me, (all Sri Lankan children are traumatized by me—without exception they cry) so I couldn’t tell.

The town’s preschool had been damaged, and was outside the 100 meter zone. The preschool teacher, Gnaanawathie, said that she continued to teach even without a preschool although many of the children had left to go to schools in other areas. We wondered how they knew who would continue to be located in the village, what would be the structure of their Society (as a number of officers appeared to have lost their houses) and what children would come back to the preschool with the land situation as it stood.

Our translator said that the government had appointed a special officer for the disbursement of lands, and had changed the onerous land laws so that property transfers could be facilitated more quickly, but he added, “That takes time.” We encountered a “strike” against the government that closed Galle Road, which indicated to us that displaced people thought that time had run out.

Sudawella Village

In the village of Sudawella we were taken to meet the Secretary of the Shramadana Society, Vimla Abesuria. She recounted how Holcim Cement Company had donated cement, and in partnership with Sarvodaya, was constructing houses, which lowered the cost of building due to cement shortages (construction costs have gone up at least 2 times and of course there are stories of gouging). Society members and Nelson took us to a hilltop “neighborhood” where Sarvodaya was building houses for those who had the funds to purchase land there, which was a part of a larger project to build 42 houses in Matara (for which the Matara District has funding for 24). Notice that I said that the people who were building these donated buildings were people who had the money to buy property. Many villagers do not have such funds and are therefore left waiting for the government to act and allot land. So, the neediest suffer most.

The people that were “given” these houses were chosen by the Sarvodaya Shramadana Society in the village, based on criteria such as character, need, ability to purchase land and willingness to contribute to the construction process. Additional features such as red brick or more square footage had to be subsidized by the recipient. Apparently, there had been a lot of controversy and clucking about the people that were chosen. Therefore, the decision of the Society was carefully made, and was reviewed and approved by the District Coordinator. The houses that dotted the hillside—each at different stages of development—were designed by an architect for Sarvodaya. They were 500 square feet in size, were generally made out of cement blocks, had wood window trim and clay tile roofs, and seemed to fit organically within the area’s geography. Each home varied just enough in design, some with multiple roof lines or varied window frames. They appeared to be built so that there would be running water, several bedrooms, and a room with a place for a cooking fire.

We went back to the Society president’s house, which had been partially destroyed along with 20 other homes (30 totally destroyed). A cadre of family and friends gathered around us to tell us that most of the villagers (280 out of 390) lived within the 100 meter zone, and were therefore unsure about where to go or how to proceed. The Society president made it clear that she no longer wanted to live close to the water, a sentiment she said was shared by nearly all of the people in her village. You would never have known that these people lost so much, as we laughed and they recounted their stories. “What to do?” she asked (fortunately, a rhetorical question in Sri Lanka).

Five boats were partially damaged and had been repaired, and another 7 large boats were fully damaged. Rather than focus on the boat situation, people were dismayed about the fishing net situation! Most of their fishing nets had been washed away. They therefore couldn’t fish for income (instead they were living on the WHO ration of 375 Rupees a month) nor could they provide their families with food—fish was a main staple of their diet. Each boat employed 6 people, thus not only were they unable to provide for themselves, they were unable to provide for their 6 additional families. We quickly ascertained that there were 30 boats in that village, and that each boat needed at a minimum 10 nets a boat (roughly ½ the usual number), 5 or so small nets at 6,000 Rupees each, and 5 or so large nets for 7,000 Rupees each. Thus, outfitting each boat in that town with the minimum of nets would be 65,000 Rupees (or about $650), which times 30 boats equaled close to $20,000 US.

Gandara Village

In the village of Gandara we met Gunawaite, the Sarvodaya Village Bank Manager, who proudly showed us her wall chart of their bank’s progress since it opened in 1999. They currently had 1071 members, 11,000,000 Rupees in savings, offered loans of 1 Lak maximum (100,000 Rupees), offered 15% interest on savings, and charged 20% interest on loans. So far so good I thought, until we were told that during the month of December Gunawaite had given 3, 1 Lak business loans to people who lost their homes and fishing boats in the tsunami. Obviously, they can’t make payments. She said that these people come to the bank from time to time and say, “some day we will pay you back.” The benefit of a village bank is that people are given loans at least partially based on their character, so she knows that they are good people, but good people in an impossible situation. A grace period of three months was granted, but now, people had to pay the interest on their loans monthly. She said that she would still give them business loans so that they could rebuild their businesses, but I wondered how many people would be willing to take on a loan when they couldn’t pay back the somewhat large one they already had. We sweated profusely as we all laughed, while we tried to jump start their ceiling fan, ate dohdol (a sweet desert of coconut oil, treacle and wheat flower) and sweet, fat, short bananas, tasted their sambol of Maldives Fish (that I mispronounced “moldy fish”—which garnered more laughter) and drank hot tea with milk.

Kiralavella Village

In the village of Kiralavella we were met by the bank manager, Djap Nandaweithie and the Society President, Nanda Sudasinghe. The mood in the village was grim. As we stood just inside the village bank, one by one, villagers appeared and surrounded us. Several fishermen looked vacantly in our direction. None smiled. Their Society had been relatively developed: they had conducted Shramadana camps, nutrition programs, health clinics, Lamaze courses, children’s programs, and had a bank that had been in operation since 1990 with 629 members. The tsunami virtually wiped out their village. All but 3 families lived within the 100 meter zone. One hundred and ninety families (190) were affected by the tsunami, all of them fisher folk. Five houses had been fully and 42 houses had been partially damaged; twenty five people had lost all of their household goods. All told, 35 large and small boats had been destroyed. Engines were smashed—they had repaired 14, and dismantled another 5 for repair. Again, no one had nets and therefore there was no way for families to earn a living. Coir pits (a secondary income source from which mostly women make brooms and rope to sell) dug close to the shoreline were covered with rocks and soil and were therefore unusable. Divers lost their gems. Pit toilets destroyed by sea water, were dirty and unusable.

Kapparatota North and South, Divisions of Weligama District

The Society members in the villages of Kapparatota North and South recounted that a full 58 houses had been partially or fully destroyed, 15 within the 100 meter zone, out of 997 families directly or indirectly affected. Although the story in this village seemed so much better than in others, dissension amongst villagers was slowing the structural and emotional recovery process. Some people within the 100 meter zone wanted to stay and rebuild, and some wanted to leave. “What would the government do to those who wanted to stay?” someone asked. “How could the government take people from their land?” someone else retorted. “I don’t think they will do it,” another person commented. The preschool had been fully damaged but another organization was reconstructing it.

Talalla South—A Village Ready for a Preschool

We arrived at Talalla South and were greeted by the Society Secretary, S.D. Punyawaithe, the Treasurer, Adjanta Edinsinghe and the Bank Manager, M.D. Paduma. In the background we could hear Buddhist chanting. This was a very large village of 1,056 families, and a total population of 5,820. Seventy three families were affected by the tsunami, 284 had lost their jobs, 55 homes were fully and partially damaged, and 11 people died. Forty boats needed nets, 50 toilets needed constructing (families were sharing toilets), water was contaminated and wells needed to be built. The majority of men were fisherfolk, and women were coir workers. A considerable number had homes inside the 100 meter zone (350) and all agreed that they wanted to relocate inland, that they wanted to remain together as a village, and they had a plan to do so. Collectively, the displaced landowners had asked the government for apartments rather than houses: Less land would be required on which to place the construction, and well-built apartments were high off the ground and therefore out of reach of the water if such an event were to happen again, away from the beach anyway.

It was at that moment that we looked at each other and realized we had finally found a village “ready” for a preschool, if indeed they needed one.

They did not have a Sarvodaya preschool, although a Buddhist Monk had given them a piece of land that would house the 50 or so children that would attend. We immediately headed over to the monk’s compound, met him (Rathmalkekitiye Sirinanda) and saw where the preschool would be constructed (over where an existing well stood) and where the playground would be located (surrounding a Bodhi tree). It was the perfect match. We were poised to give money and support for building a preschool, and in Talalla South we had a village that we knew would stay together, that needed a preschool and that already had the foundation practically laid for one. We were exhausted, hot and sweaty and ready to rest.

Lessons Learned

We learned some important lessons on this trip: A “permanent
building” such as a preschool may have to be followed by or built along with meeting other needs. If we had not been sent by our donors to specifically build a preschool, there were other items that screamed to us to be addressed also, particularly in the villages that were the most severely impacted. Counseling programs for tsunami-impacted villages, families and children need to be, and in fact are being initiated by Sarvodaya, alongside bricks and mortar projects. Toilets, wells and coir pits that were contaminated by sea water and debris, need to be reconstructed, built or cleaned. Land, private or governmental, requires locating or purchasing. Houses need constructing. Boats demand to be repaired and nets to be purchased.

‘Integrated development’ is the gold standard, and we saw first-hand why the Sarvodaya model works so well to realize it. ‘Development’ is best engineered by the villages and villagers who have the most intimate knowledge of their situation. ‘Outsiders’, even well-meaning ones (like us), just don’t know enough.

Adventure of a Lifetime: The Magic that is Sri Lanka

Buddhist Temple

This is a copy of a journal post I wrote during my first visit to Sri Lanka in the several months spanning 1999 and 2000 of the Christian calendar. A friend urged me to post it as a record to my children that their mother is more than just a suburban housewife. But, most likely they will just think that I'm crazy, which, upon reflection, is actually my choice of the two. It was also prompted by a discussion on Open Salon about the Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement, and my friends and experiences there. As I said to Deb, "Magic happens to me everytime I go to Sri Lanka." The truth is that it's more about mysticism and a connection to those who have a connection with the Divine, than about magic. It's about time for more magic and mysticism. I guess I'm "homesick" for Sri Lanka. It's been since 2005.


Celebrating January 1, 2000 in Sri Lanka


Momo brought the message from Dr. Ari that I was to be at his place at 8:45 in the morning to be ready to leave for Anuradhapura. He changed the time from 1:00 so that he could make it to his appointment to kiss the Bodhi tree before evening, and so that I could get to the district center to start my research. So, I got myself to bed by 1:30 a.m. after sad phone calls from mom and dad and Richard and the kids, and after stuffing my things into a backpack while gathering extra toilet paper from Karun-aka, and winding up my mosquito netting.

On the morning of the 1st I got up too early, to an unusually great Canteen breakfast of kiri bat or milk rice. Milk rice is served on all auspicious occasions, the first day of the New Year being one. Served with it are a delicious concoction of shaved coconut with peppers and hot onions, called polsambol. I then walked over to the guardhouse where Dr Ari was waiting. He shepherded me to his home and insisted that I have ANOTHER breakfast, as he was supposed to wait for a visitor (I being the only visitor there) to eat the first bite of food on the first day of the New Year for good luck. Realizing how historic this was, I ate again-- another great breakfast of kiri bat. We waited around his house for a very long time while people from inside and outside of Sarvodaya came to prostrate themselves before him and wish him their respect on the New Year. Literally, people brought beetle leaves in their hands, and placed themselves on their knees, on the floor in front of him, head down, arms outstretched in front of them in prayer. I spoke to his wife, Neetha-aka, who from time to time was the receiver of such prostrations herself.

FINALLY, we left his house only to get in his vehicle, and drive about a half a mile to Chardika’s house, who is his eldest daughter. She was sick, sick with some sort of asthma-- so sick that it worried me to look at her. Dr. Ari gave her a speech about plugging into the healing energy and told her that she was one of the reasons he was going to Anuradhapura (“too many doctors in the family… they need to be totally vegetarian and meditate to health”). She prostrated herself in front of him as we walked out the door to the garden and out to the car.

We then got in the car and drove another mile to Vishva Lekha, the Sarvodaya printing press, where there were probably a hundred people waiting for Dr. Ari to begin the “family gathering.” After several long speeches, the longest by Dr. Ari about Christ and the significance of the year 2000, we went upstairs to eat even more food. I couldn’t eat another bite but could manage to drink more tea. More prostrations. After staying there for another hour or so, we picked up two of his best friends-- Susiri, his friend who runs the Vishva Lekha press, and Dharma the retired principal of the boy’s school where he used to teach-- and headed out to what I supposed would be Ahuradhapura (although at this point I wasn’t sure where we were going to end up).

I fell asleep in the back seat of the car, in spite of Dr. Ari trying to talk to me. I awoke to Dr. Ari the race car driver. He was accelerating and breaking around vehicles, cows, bicycles, people on foot and tri-shaws, yelling back to me “Denese, I’m testing out the machine! But don’t worry I am protected by the gods!” I was pretty sure that if anyone was protected it was he, although I didn’t know how many folks on the road would be safe if he kept up the erratic driving.

A place of repose for farmers

I was so full and possibly car sick that I couldn’t possibly think of food, but Dr. Ari kept saying, “Denese is sooooo hungry.” So, finally we stopped under the shade of a forest of beautiful old trees in a protected area, and ate a boxed lunch (actually the rice, curries and chutneys are wrapped in saran wrap-- a substitute for banana leaves-- then wrapped in newspaper and placed in a picnic type box. The newspaper wrapping keeps the food warm). We got back in the car and Susiri and I slept again for an hour and a half until we were almost to Anuradhapura, some 200 miles from where we started out, which because of the road conditions in Sri Lanka is like driving 400 plus miles.

Terraced fields

We arrived at the District Center to Winsor’s and Thalatha’s house, which is inside the iron gates of the Anuradhapura District Center. It is a lovely landscaped place, where luscious flowers surround the house and where the beds outside appear “swept.” Fat buds from the pink poinsettia trees dripped over the doorway, and clay pots loaded with red, chocolate and orange anthuriums were strewn on the ground in the front yard. Interspersed around them were small containers filled to the brim with different sizes of ferns and bright, delicate flowers.

I tip toed around the plants and inside the house where we had tea and fruit. Then we were whisked off to see the Bodhi tree-- but not before Winsor made sure that I had my passport. I was in Dr. Ari’s car, and Winsor led the way in his white Mitsubishi truck through numerous military checkpoints guarded by men and women soldiers who were carrying some pretty serious looking guns, wearing camouflage-gear with flack jackets--complete with grenade belts encircling their waists. Each of these soldiers was sitting or standing around black and red 10X6X6 foot corrugated metal huts, all of which were hidden from our initial view behind big black, white and yellow striped oil drums that had, what else, flowers planted on top!

Rain forest

Apparently most people walk to the tree. However, because of Dr. Ari’s stature they arranged for him to have a pass and we were allowed to drive to the center of the ruins, even side-stepping most of the check points and searches. Five years ago the LTTE massacred 300 pilgrims there on a holy day, with this guard structure being the result. Finally, we hit the end of the road and got out of the car, barefoot, walking to several stations where we were searched, the guys at the “man’s” side and me at the “woman’s” side. Finally, we entered through the main gate, where we were thoroughly searched—breast and groin pats-- again at an inner chamber, usually in a hut or enclosed room with a ratty curtain hanging at the doors to shield the room from outside view.

Buddha in Recline

We then headed straight to a wroght iron “tree” of many little cups that were to be filled with a bottle of amaretto colored oil we brought. In each of these, we placed little wicks that we lit (the Singhala version of the votive candle at the Vatican) but only after Dr. Ari told me to “touch the bottle of oil” as he poured it in the little containers. Not knowing what to do, I said a prayer each time I touched the bottle. We meditated and prayed, and as I looked around I saw gray monkeys sitting stoically on top of the 2500-year-old ruins in back of us, some with their young in their laps. Then, Dr. Ari lit a hand full of incense. He gave one bunch to me and pointed to where I should place it. Following directions, and with great effort, I stuck probably 20 sticks of incense, one-by-one in the brass containers filled with sand awaiting such gifts.

After running past the candles and through a gate, I finally caught up with Dr. Ari, after which, we walked up the stairs to the Bodhi tree entrance. One of the district employees then offered me a tray of white, thick-budded lotus flowers, one of which I took. I walked up to an altar filled with flowers and prayed with my head down, hands in prayer with the flower in them above my head, and deposited the flower in an offering to their Lord Buddha. Just as when I was in the Vatican, my eyes filled with tears. We then sat and meditated. After a time, we left and went to another vantage-point farther away from the masses of people but facing the Bodhi tree, and meditated again. From time-to-time people would recognize Dr. Ari and would prostrate themselves before him.

Fishermen

We went to another alter, inside a building with a very large and colorful Buddha sitting in a meditative posture, and offered more flowers, which were promptly arranged according to color and type by attendants (different colors going to different locales). We finally left the center of the Bodhi tree and went to the head monk’s dwelling to offer gifts. When he didn’t come, Dr. Ari abruptly got up and left, leaving the gifts on a table. We exited the ruins without incident, driving past smiling guards carrying big machine guns.

We came back to Winsor’s house to more tea, and then Dr. Ari suddenly looked at me and in his high pitched voice, said, “are you going to come and see the show?” So, I said, “why not?” and I got in his blue car with he and his buddies and went several kilometers to a monk’s house who always helps Dr. Ari usher in the New Year. We showed up at this house and this smiling monk met us—and like all monks in Sri Lanka-- he was bald and dressed in an ochre colored man’s sari-type garment, called a Seeu’ra, reserved for Buddhist religious devotees. He was very jolly and laughing and told Dr. Ari that he woke-up that morning knowing that Dr. Ari would come. At that point he said he cleared his calendar and asked that the evening be left free for us.

Water Lilies

He showed us into his cement home, painted many colors—blue, yellow, red and white-- with carvings outside around the door itself, on the stoop (carved out of stone) and on the walls. He showed us into a room with six white plastic lawn chairs against the wall, two of which had pink satin pillows decorated with semi precious gems on them, and he sat and chatted for quite a long while. Generally Dr. Ari didn’t translate for me until something of merit came up, or until there was something he wanted me to know. For example, he said that this monk said that the Bodhi tree used to be guarded by many gods and that he felt their presence whenever he went to the Bodhi tree. But, now with the military presence there, the protection of the gods had gone. He said that the gods still come to places where normal people worship, but no longer to the Bodhi tree.

Buddhist Stupa

We had tea and bananas, without the monk ever looking at me. We then went upstairs to an area outside of a small room where the doorway was decorated with ceremonial fans, brass objects and colored lights. It looked like Christmas. We prostrated ourselves outside the room, and then sat in a meditation posture, Dr. Ari’s two friends to my left, me at the center rear and Dr. Ari at the center front. Inside the little room the monk chanted and arranged flowers near the brass vases and urns on the floor, and lit white candles along a ledge on the wall in front of 28, 12-inch-high brass Buddhas that were symmetrically arranged there. He turned on more colored lights and sat down in front of Dr. Ari, who was at the forefront of our ceremony. The monk handed him a section of a long piece of twine. The monk unwrapped the twine from around a polished wooden handle that was attached to the top of the doorway at one end, and which was held by the monk at the other end. After arranging the twine he began a religious ceremony, where he would chant something and then Dr. Ari and his friends would answer (I thought of our Episcopalian ceremony, “and also with you”). The twine, I found out later was supposed to give Dr. Ari a multiplied dose of protection from the blessing. I didn’t know enough to chant so I held my head down and my hands up. This lasted about an hour and a half. Incense was lit. More candles were lit. More flowers were distributed. Sometimes chanting led into sermons.

Mountains in the Mist

After the monk left the little room ahead of us to join us in the outer sanctum, he picked up an urn of water, which he poured into Dr. Ari’s hands, which then Dr. Ari drank and poured over himself. Before I had a chance to think-- “Please no standing water!-- he poured the water into my hands, which I drank and washed over my face, arms and hair. Dr. Ari and the monk reserved water in their hands and in an urn, respectively, and came outside and sprinkled the water over Dr. Ari’s car, inside and outside.

When the ceremony was over, we went outside in the rear yard to his Bodhi tree, which he said was placed there through some miracle (bird) after he arranged a special place for it. The tree was surrounded by a cement structure, which was decorated by flowers and plastic leis. We then filled clay pots 12 times with water from an outside faucet and gave the pots to Dr. Ari who fed the water to the tree while saying prayers. The monk then lit small square candles around the Bodhi tree, and placed white flower offerings, and offerings of food and fruit-- which Dr. Ari had me “touch”-- on the ledge of the cement structure encircling the tree. He lit incense, which he placed by the root of the tree, and we again sat and he chanted, as Dr. Ari and Winsor and his assistant responded to him.

Lord Buddha at the Sarvodaya Peace Center

Finally, we came outside to the entrance area of his house. Dr. Ari had told me in the car on the ride over that this monk has been telling him his future for the last 19 years. He said that he had never been wrong. He said that he had saved his life when he was being stalked by the Premadassa regime. When he was on their hit list, he came up to Anuradhapura to talk to this monk, and the monk literally wouldn’t let Dr. Ari go anywhere alone. He led him in his separate vehicle, and at one point the military shot at the monk’s car, at which point, the monk got out of the car and approached the soldiers who acted as though they had made some sort of mistake. He said that one year the monk, channeling another entity, was particularly angry with him for visiting sites and removing people’s severed hands that were on display as a warning from the LTTE. Although Dr. Ari had not told the monk of these activities, the monk raged, “why did you do something that I should be doing? You are protected unless you continue doing such stupid things!” Then the monk hit him three times over the head with the staff he carries under his left armpit (like General Patton). Dr. Ari says, under other circumstances these blows would have killed him. He said that some political leaders, namely Premadassa, had tried to secure the monk’s help for personal aims, but that this monk only does good and not evil. Dr. Ari also said that in 1992, he wasn’t sure he was going to survive Premadassa’s death threats, and he asked the monk what course of action to take for the New Year. The monk told him to leave the country as much as possible until after May 1st , when he could come home safely. So, Dr. Ari accepted as many engagements abroad as possible. On May 1st Dr. Ari came home, which was the very day that President Premadassa was killed.

Buddha in many poses

Back to the monk: The monk approached another small brightly colored cement building directly across from the entrance to his home, decorated with urns, incense, and three gods, Krishna, Vishnu and Ganesh. He went in. Dr. Ari and his friends crammed in the narrow doorway and I sat directly behind them on the steps. There were two women directly behind me below the steps, probably the monk’s sister and niece. At one point everyone prostrated themselves and the women motioned for me to “get down!” I did. At one point I was praying, head down, hands outstretched, and one woman motioned for me to “look!” I did. The monk was shaking a brass device wrapped around his left hand, filled with little pebbles--which sounded like a moracca or tambourine-- and he was chanting. His head was gyrating in what looked like a 180-degree swivel, back and forth, back and forth. He was in a trance. His facial features were contorted so that he looked unlike the happy smiling monk I had seen just minutes before. He was still laughing, but in a different way, and in a different voice. He then talked to Dr. Ari for around an hour, with the only sounds being uttered by Dr. Ari being “Oooh-wuu” (or “yes”). Several different characters came through this monk, one of which was supposed to be the God Krishna.

Much of what the monk said I can’t repeat either in written or verbal form. I am sworn to secrecy. However, I can say that Dr. Ari is supposed to continue with his present course of action, meditating around Sri Lanka and especially in the conflict zones until he has ¾ of the population behind him. The monk said that Dr. Ari shouldn’t align himself with anyone, or place himself at odds with anyone. But, that by his actions, he will lead his people to peace. He also said that Vishva Neketan will be a successful international peace center.

After he had finished with Dr. Ari, one of his incarnations took many limes in his hands and blessed them. He then started handing them to everyone. Dr. Ari motioned for me to come forward and I took a lime. We kept it in one hand, then the other, placed it over our chests, on our stomachs, over one knee and then the other, and over our toes. He then took the limes back and cut them in half and placed them in a bowl. He then took a piece of white string and cut a length of the string by burning it with a candle. He wrapped the string around Dr. Ari’s wrist, tied it and cut it again (the second cut is to cut away the evil spirits from your body for the New Year) and blessed it. Then he did the same blessing with another length of string for me, then for Dr. Ari’s two friends. Finally the monk came out of his trance. I am to leave the string on my wrist until it falls off and it will protect me through the year. I’ve now decided that Rich can come to Sri Lanka as I have enough protection for the whole family.

Rocky Cliffs

Before we left we chatted, the monk’s sister and niece trying to feed me AGAIN. I finally declined food! Then he told fortunes by looking at our palms (he said Dr. Ari would be in the presence of many wild women… and I was hoping he wasn’t thinking of westerners!). Finally, he told my fortune after Dr. Ari thrust my right hand up to his face. He said that although I come from a rich country and I have many things, I am not a person who is much impressed by “things.” He said that I was going to become a very spiritual person. And that I would develop my spirituality to a point beyond even those people born into Buddhism.

We talked more and left, but only after I paid my respects again (on the floor, head down, arms outstretched).

These photographs were not taken during my New Year's adventure. I refuse to take pictures of people worshiping, and I don't take pictures of soldiers/guards/armaments mostly because I would rather keep my camera. Rich took these at another time.

If you're wondering what this post has to do with the 'everyday life of a woman from the NW living in the Deep South', the answer is, well, almost everything. If I hadn't been dragged here by my husband and been forced to remain, which resulted in an early mid-life crisis and a semi-nervous breakdown, which then led me to rethink what I was going to do with my life, I would have never become re-involved with the Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement and Dr. Ariyaratne, or newly acquainted with Sarvodaya USA, and Charlie Joiner (and his friends at Nature's Spirit), who offered me a place on this trip as a part of a Kellogg grant he helped to secure on spirituality, sustainability and community, which then led to this experience. There is no doubt in my mind that Louisiana and Sarvodaya are deeply interrelated parts of my life. How did I first come to know Sarvodaya and Dr. Ariyaratne? At 21, I was studying 'social development' in Vermont, and 'found' some of his writings. They were really the only exciting concepts I found related to international social development. And when I wrote to him, now 30 years ago, he wrote back!