Kelly Beth Smith, '06
Outside, the Indian Ocean lay still as the fishermen had retired for the day. The fishing boats were perched up on the sand and they were surrounded by tsunami debris: clothes, food waste, toothbrushes, plastic chairs. You name it and there was probably a small piece of it lying on the beach of Lovigahawaththa. About 100 feet behind the shoreline there was an old cement dorm. The rooms that had once been sufficient lodging for a single medical student were now insufficient houses for families displaced by the tsunami.
Inside one particular room sat John Rose and five Meredith students including myself. We were invited in by a young man with whom Meredith has established a relationship. After properly removing our shoes, we edged tentatively inside completely unprepared for what we were about to see. The room was about half the size of a Meredith dorm room—I'm guessing about eight feet by six feet. Inside were two very small beds and a narrow gap between the two that served as the kitchen, dining room, washroom, and study. The walls were lined with the young man's medical drawings. He aspires to be a doctor and it was obvious by the detail of the drawings that he is serious about achieving this goal.
Curiosity got the best of the neighboring children as they one by one peered into the room. Shy only for a minute, the children smiled widely as they climbed on top of us. The fun really began when we began counting the number of people in the room. The children are all taught English in school and seemed very proud for us to hear. By the time we left there were 22 people in the room. We exchanged names and the kids giggled as they tried to pronounce our foreign and silly sounding names. One bold little girl decided to pull out my ponytail holder and give braid my hair. I laughed uncontrollably as she wedged me between her legs and yanked my head back. Claire, Jessi, Nelly and Erica were having their own adventures with the children. Inside the room everyone was laughing, everyone was having fun, and for a few minutes everyone had forgotten about the tsunami.
Our visit had to end eventually as all things must, and we gave goodbye hugs to the wonderful children and hospitable family. The walk back to the hotel on Monday night was one of the most challenging walks of my young life. There was such joy in the small room, yet as soon as we stepped outside there were painful reminders of poverty and destruction. Wild dogs scampered around in search of food, alcoholic men snuck off for a drink of Arrack, and the waste still lay all around. As we carefully walked through the piles of rubble I caught glimpse of our hotel. The veranda was brightly lit and inviting. I knew the chandeliers inside would be sparkling and the silk pillows on the couches would be properly fluffed and positioned. I walked back to the hotel feeling guilty about the world I was about to enter but also thankful for the comfort and safety.
I began to relax more with each passing minute in the hotel. By the time I had washed up for bed I felt nearly calm. From our hotel window I looked down on the village below and prayed that I would be prepared for the morning when the scenario would be repeated. Last night we gathered together and listened to a speaker from Project Galle talk to us about the importance of not getting emotionally involved with causes such as the tsunami. The walk back to the hotel on Monday night was the beginning of a very long journey for me in which I must find a comfortable balance between guilt, compassion, and objectivity.
Entry 1 - January 1, 2006
We're in route to Nuwara Eliya on the most terrifying bus ride of my life. To say that the roads are all under construction would be an understatement of the highest degree. The roads are narrow and without lane markings. Most of the roads are unpaved and those that are paved would definitely not be considered paved according to U.S. standards. We've been inches from the edge of giant cliffs as our tour bus skillfully dodges oncoming buses, trucks, and tuk tuks (taxis).
The sights along the way are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen and yet also the most tragic. Amidst the cascading waterfalls and illuminated fields of vegetation there are young boys begging for money and old women with no teeth posing as tea pickers to make a dollar.
I don't know what we would do without Upali (our fearless tour guide), Darshi and Nadee (our Sri Lankan translators and guests for the week). They had to explain why we couldn't give the little boy in the yellow shirt five dollars.
His shoulders heaved up and down with exhaustion as he raced from one level of the mountain to another to meet our tour bus. His eyes darted from one window to another looking at no one in particular, and yet looking at each one of us. He looked at us with such desperation and expectancy. Upali offered him 200 rupees for the handful of brightly colored flowers, but the boy turned in down and asked for 500. We were all so confused and sad when Upali climbed back on the bus with money in hand. Why had he not given money to this poor child? Nadee helped explain that it is illegal for Sri Lankans under the age of 14 to sell like this boy had been doing. She was insistent that it was best not to promote unlawfulness, which we would inadvertently be doing by paying him. She also said it would be unsafe to give a child that much money.
It is important to note that 100 rupees is equivalent to about one American dollar. To think that five dollars might put the young boy in danger is disheartening. To think of what the equally impoverished townspeople might do to get the five dollars from him is chilling.
I don't believe I'll ever forget the eyes of that little boy. I hope I don't. For a moment we were all so disappointed when Upali refused to pay the little boy 500 rupees. We were sad for the desperate child and I think if we are honest we'd admit we were also sad because we were not able to help. As the bus to our door sealed shut and the engine grumbled its way up the mountain we were powerless. This is a feeling to which many of us are not accustomed.
As we progress into week two of our Sri Lankan expedition I am curious to see how we will handle the unsettling nature of feeling powerless, yet also so powerful and responsible to help the people around us. Each finished day leaves us feeling more affectionate for the people we meet and the more affection we feel the more compelled we are to help.
