Gihing ennang

I'm really not sure where to begin this particular blog post, but I do know where it is going to end. It ends with me leaving Sri Lanka and, at this very moment, I am not ready. I am neither practically prepared (so much of sorting and packing to do!) nor do I feel mentally or emotionally able to say goodbye just yet.

I guess it's no surprise when I consider just how much has been packed into these past couple of weeks. There was the VSO Final Event marking the end of the entire Mental Health Programme here in Sri Lanka, followed a week later by the 6th Scientific National Congress in Occupational Therapy focusing also on Mental Health. Both were rather grand affairs and involved a huge amount of organisation.

"Hello, this is Oslo calling"

I was particularly involved in the OT Congress. As part of this big bash, I was required to sari-up and sashay back and forth across a stage with my co-compere all day. However, my role wasn't purely aesthetic (although apparently I didn't do too bad on this front..."WoahOW madam" exclaimed one passer-by as I walked along the main road on my way home), I also had to invite various big wigs with tongue-twister names to the podium using, of course, my best Eurovision-esque announcing voice (think Oslo calling, rather than Wogan witterings).

Schmoozing the bigwigs

The bigwigs

Some beautiful banners inexplicably and miraculously
created at the very last minute using the magic of
Sri Lankan time

If this wasn't daunting enough, the planning process was done in true Sri Lankan style. Imagine the London Olympics planning committee starting to draw up the plans for the Olympic park as the athletes strip off their tracksuits to begin a final warm up, and...well, you'll get the idea. Nevertheless, both days went ahead as planned and nothing dreadful happened. In actual fact, they went rather well.

The published article

I feel particularly privileged to have been part of supporting the OT Congress. It really was an amazing achievement for the profession in this country, and it also provided a fantastic platform for them to launch their very first onlne Occupational Therapy Journal. I haven't often blogged about the actual work I'm doing here. So, if you do care to browse, you can see the article I wrote for a national newspaper, find out more about a new group intervention I was involved in, and read about some other stuff I've been up to during my VSO life...not to mention some interesting articles written by some fellow VSO volunteers and OTs in Sri Lanka.

And so, that's the end of the work stuff. But I hope you can understand why I'm not ready. I've barely had time to catch my breath.




Thankfully, I have a holiday to look forward to, squeezed into the final 3 weeks of my VSO placement. After 14 months in Asia, I'm off to Australia for 2 weeks to visit family and explore a tiny part of a big new continent. I am grateful for this trip for so many reasons, not least because it gives me time to pause and take a few deep breaths before I head back to the UK. Don't get me wrong, I am genuinely looking forward to seeing all of my lovely friends and family, and I know that all will be well. Nevertheless, it feels sad, unsettling and a tiny bit daunting to be saying goodbye to the place that has been home for the last 14 months.

And so, as I head to the airport tomorrow morning, I'm grateful to not have to say a proper goodbye. Instead, it's a "gihing ennang" from me. The literal meaning of this commonly used sinhala phrase is "having gone, I will come". It functions as a promise and is used fairly informally when popping out somewhere for a brief while. For example, "I'm just nipping across the road/to the toilet/home. Don't worry, I'll be back...gihing ennang". And it's sometimes used in response to an imploring Sri Lankan "gihing enna", instructing the person to come back....after they have first gone. However, you'll more often hear it translated as a simple "go and come" (e.g. "Shall we meet now itself?" "Ok, but I really need to buy my lunch from the canteen before they run out of my favourite egg rice packets!" "Ok, go and come" "Yes, I will go and come"). You'd be surprised at just how much of going and coming goes on in Sri Lanka!

And so...Dear Sri Lanka, I'm just popping over to Australia for a short while. I fully intend to return. I promise I WILL indeed go and come. Not only do I have a whole host of shit which needs to be scooped up and jammed into too small a suitcase before I head home, but I am really not ready to say my final goodbye...not just yet.

Simple pleasures

It's not so long ago that a friend and I found ourselves happily flinging a frisbee back and forth along the water's edge on a sunny tropical beach. Whilst, to the casual onlooker, we may have appeared  fairly cack-handed, clumsy and graceless, in our heads at least, we were effortlessly and brilliantly balletic in our shared acrobatic genius. Sweaty and sated, having given the disc one final spin, we strolled lazily along a line of palm trees whilst passionately extolling the joys of the pastime. The humble frisbee, we agreed, is without question one of life's simple pleasures.

As I reflect on my time in Sri Lanka, it's the simple pleasures that have made it both extraordinarily special and rather unremarkable. Unremarkable, as I think life's simple pleasures are fundamentally the same everywhere, and special, because the treats on offer here all come with a unique Lankan twist. It's definitely these simple pleasures that I will miss most when I come home. And so, let me share just a few of them with you here.

The Vegetable Roti - A pleasingly pocket-sized tasty triangular treat, the vegetable roti has seen me through some tough times, believe me. These hot and handy snacks, carefully folded into neat little origami style parcels by the unsung roti masters of the island, carry untold delights. Bite into the doughy exterior, and you're instantly rewarded with the hot and soggy kick of the spicy potato innards. Get yourself into a sticky situation, and a couple of these weighty bad boys could do a whole lot of damage if lobbed, paper bag and all, in the direction of anyone making a nuisance of themselves (I haven't tried this, but I'm pretty sure it would work!). Yours for just 30 rupees from any roadside hotel, the Lankan equivalent of a mashed potato sandwich...they make me very very happy indeed. I honestly don't know how I will live without them.

The Papaya - Now, this had to go on the list, for the humble papaya too often gets a bad press. So simple, so giving, so pleasing; how can I not fight its corner? If you find the smell a little off-putting, as some people do...then, no matter; Squeeze a little lime over it; slice open a ripe passion fruit, or blend it with banana and fruit juice. You will not be disappointed. Get yourself into a sticky situation and, well, just imagine the damage you could do with a couple of small ones, or even better, a big ripe one! Yours for just 50 - 80 rupees (depending on size), the papaya should not be overlooked. I am already mourning the loss.

The People - There are 3 people of note who deserve mention in this section. They have brought me great joy and made me smile, whilst all sharing something in common...I've exchanged little more than a basic greeting with them and don't even know their real names. To me, they will always be Raccoon Man, Arm Stroking Guard Girl, and The Overjoyed Lady. 

• Raccoon man is a security guard at a nearby residential property. Despite his 12 hour shifts, 7 days (or nights) a week, he is always smiling. He greets me warmly whenever I pass, most commonly with an enthusiastic salute. I have no evidence that raccoons do such things, but there is something about the way he executes this greeting (along with his striking silver eyebrows) which brings to my mind a friendly yet courteous raccoon. 
• Arm Stroking Guard Girl works at the local supermarket. She often arrives at work as I am on my way to the bus stop and never fails to miss an opportunity to stroke my arm. Occasionally she tells me about her "no good" boyfriend and I sigh and offer my sympathies. 
• I pass The Overjoyed Lady perhaps once every 2 weeks as I sweat my way up the driveway to the hospital. She must be in her 70s at least, but always marches towards me with the energy of someone half her age. I don't know who she is or what she does at the hospital, but she always, without fail, looks utterly delighted to see me. Sometimes I am convinced she might spontaneously combust, there is so much of joy on her face. The smile is always accompanied with a long and drawn out high pitched "GOOOOOOD MORNIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!". I love her. 

If I got myself into a sticky situation, I'm pretty sure all three of them would come to my rescue. 

The Great Fruit Bat Escape - This item consists of 2 simple pleasures in one, for I experience this dusk spectacle most often whilst swimming at my pool. I've always intended to try out Saltdean Lido, an open air pool just a couple of miles down the road from me back home, but have never made it there. The great British weather means that the only time it's worth going, all the other idiots and their mothers are there too. Here, however, electric storms aside, it's always a good time for an open air swim. However, the very best time is just before dusk, as thousands of fruit bats fill the sky overhead, flapping their big old bat wings on the way to who knows where. If ever you are in a sticky situation, I'm not sure the bats would help you. But this simple pleasure is free, so you can hardly complain. Fruit bats, I already miss you.

And finally, last but not least...

The Squirrel Highway (a.k.a. my flat) - The squirrel highway is a place the local palm squirrels also like to call home. They love it. So much so, that there are some days I consider asking them to contribute towards the rent. And yet, they entertain me so often that perhaps I should be paying them. Leaping from window ledge to chair arm and then dashing along the bannister (occasionally pausing to sniff around by the kitchen) before making their acrobatic escape through the side door, they don't seem to be concerned about my being there. And so, we live together happily. Apart from when they start squeaking. If I have a spare roti to hand, I am sorely tempted to lob it at them. If I was in a sticky situation, that squirrel squeak (canned and sold as an personal alarm) would be enough to drive anyone away. Squirrels, you are annoying, but I will miss you.  

So....that's it.

As I take my leave from the island in just a few weeks time, I'm fairly sure I'll do so sweaty but sated, content in the knowledge that it's been one heck of a year, full to overflowing with simple pleasures.

Too much of work

Life has got a little hectic. I knew this would happen. After a few months of doing more than my fair share of thumb twiddling and feeling generally frustrated and unmotivated in my work role, things have really picked up. I now find myself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things to be done in the few short weeks left. Add to that the mixture of emotions resulting from the fact that things are coming to an end, and you can only imagine what fun I am to be around!

Thankfully, I am not alone. As the VSO mental health programme draws to an end, we are all feeling it.  Most of my VSO colleagues, and those we work alongside, are looking increasingly tense, tired and cross-eyed right now. One fellow VSOer summed it up for all of us when he recently blogged about his temptation to assume the fetal position. I for one wouldn't hesitate to curl up and join him on the tiles of his rather fancy office (under the fan of course) should he succumb. In true Sri Lankan style, the challenge now is to pack as much big stuff into as small a window as possible. Think it can't possibly fit; that maybe we need more time; that perhaps we should've started earlier? Never fear, in Sri Lanka this is how it's done, and so there is nothing else for it but to knuckle down and crack on whilst trying to limit the emotional outbursts to a minimum.

Whilst it might all feel a little overwhelming, the good news is that it gives me an excuse to share with you one of my favourite Lankanisms. I have mentioned before my love of Sri Lankan English (SLE), and those who have visited from home will confirm that I have picked up a few of the local ways of expressing things. I think it is unavoidable and has often happened without me even noticing. It really does help with making yourself understood. At other times, however, it is quite deliberate, just because I like the way it sounds.

Not only are there a whole host of words and expressions unique to SLE, as well as a particular way of pronouncing things, SLE also has a grammar of its own quite distinct from English as I know it. And there is something quite pleasing about many of these grammatical distinctions. And so, I will end this post by summing up the current state of affairs in perfect SLE**: There is quite simply too much of work and soooo much of emotion!

This I'm sure, along with a few other key phrases, will stick as I return to the UK. I can't imagine there'll be any shortage of opportunities for me to use it as I attempt to adjust to life back in the good old NHS. I am looking forward to catching up with many of you on my return, but its possible you may wish to avoid me and my emotions for a few weeks. However, if you dare and care to join me, I'll be the one curled up on the floor under my desk. If you're lucky, there'll be enough of space for you too.

** certain prepositions are used differently in SLE. The preposition 'of' is used after 'enough' and after 'how much', 'so much' and 'too much': e.g. "Is there enough of salt?" "How much of money do you have?". Taken from A Dictionary of Sri Lankan English by Michael Meyler

A living hell disguised as a tropical paradise

I am very happy to introduce you to my second guest blogger. Over to you Céline...

I don’t like the heat. In that case, why go to Sri Lanka, you might ask? Well, if Beth had been living at the bottom of a volcano, I probably would have gone to the bottom of a volcano. There’s only so much time you can spend without some of your closest and dearest, and I wanted to have a better idea of what she’d experienced for a whole year.

So Sri Lanka is hot, and I’m not very good at being stoic and putting up with even minor discomfort, so my travel companions heard all about my grotesquely swollen body, had to listen to my horrified commentary of every bead of sweat running down my back and to my complaining about having to constantly spray myself with chemicals to keep the sun and mosquitoes from killing me. They all seemed to love the heat and relished the thought of winter sunshine and I honestly don’t think they really understood quite how much I had to put up with.

However, the horrific weather wouldn’t have been enough to go as far as calling Sri Lanka a “living hell” if it hadn’t been for my experience on one particularly terrifying night. You see, I’ve had this recurring nightmare for as long as I can remember, where I’m being chased by the sea, and I’m running for my life, and it creeps closer and closer… and I wake up just before I’m swallowed by the waves. I was of course aware that Sri Lanka had experienced this nightmare eight years earlier, when 35,000 people lost their lives on Boxing Day. So when we put our luggage down in Mirissa, in a lovely guesthouse surrounded by coconut trees 10 yards from the turquoise sea, I tried to push all thoughts of natural disasters from my mind. We spent the day in and out of the sea, playing frisbee and getting burnt shoulders before having dinner on the beach with the gently lapping waves washing up around our table.

That night, I woke up in a panic. I could hear the waves pounding against the shores, in a way that was melodious and hypnotic from within a hammock during the day, but which sounded full of menace and way too much power in the middle of the sweaty night. Added to that our ceiling fan, which was running at full speed and sounded very much like an emergency helicopter, and the fact that I was half-asleep and completely confused as to where I was, and there you have it: my very own personal, nearly 40 year-old nightmare coming true. I had a few minutes of utter terror, before I realised that I was not going to have to run and probably die a painful and lonely death, but those minutes felt like a couple of lifetimes.

I obviously told my travel companions about my traumatic night over breakfast, and hence my “living hell disguised as a tropical paradise” short description of Sri Lanka was born. We cheerfully used it whenever we had the most wonderful food, which was pretty much every meal, whenever we gazed at the lush and stunning landscapes, and whenever Sri Lankans greeted us like old friends. This is a country that has recently gone through many traumas and tragedies, and I’m sure it has been hell on earth for a lot of its inhabitants, but it was also welcoming, gorgeous and fascinating, and I feel privileged to have spent some time there, during the coolest month of the year.

One year: Part three

A year ago today

Eyes blurred and mind foggy from lack of sleep, we touch down at Bandaranayake airport. It is approximately 1:30 pm local time and I am finally in Sri Lanka. However, there's still a chance this might not happen. We've got to get through customs first, and the visa process has been far from smooth up to this point. Thank goodness I prompted VSO to amend their original letter which had recommended I be granted permission to enter "Sierra Leone". Although, is it possible I brought the wrong letter? Did I proof read the replacement properly? What if its not correct? What if we got on the wrong flight and have ended up in a different continent after all? And what if my tired twitchy eye and general nervousness arouses so much suspicion that I am sent packing and back to the UK before getting out of the airport? It might for the best. After all, is this really such a good idea?

"OK, madam....Madam, it is OK!". I am jolted out of my travel-weary imaginings by a nod from the serious looking man at the desk. He is waving me through. He is waggling his head. I'm in. It's happening. There's no going back now! Jaffna Jo and I are greeted by a man with a VSO sign and escorted out into the stifling heat to a waiting van. Once shoes and socks have been discarded in favour of sandals, I immediately turn my attention to worrying about dehydration and dengue fever whilst gazing glassy eyed out of the van at the Colombo city sights.

The day passes in a blur. We are driven to the VSO office and given a welcome pack before being deposited at our guest house across the road. Being the intrepid adventurers that we are, we venture out to Keels. the local supermarket, to buy ourselves fizzy pop and salty nuts before returning to the safety of the guest house for our first home-cooked Sri Lankan meal. After dinner, we watch a couple of geckos chasing their tales around the verandah and I calculate that I have now been awake for approximately 33 hours. My eyes are as bulbous as a gecko's and I am starting to dribble when trying to speak. I figure it's time for bed. And so, for the very first time, I crawl under my mosquito net and onto the tiny bed that will be mine for the next 4 weeks. The mattress appears to have been manufactured for the maximum possible discomfort and stuffed with hundreds of small spiky lizards. The fan is deafening. I feel trapped under the net and am suffocating in this heat. I cannot sleep. Despite the 3 trips I have taken to the bathroom in the last 20 minutes, my bladder taunts me by repeatedly demanding to be emptied. The night appears endless, and one whole year (a full 365 nights away from home!) seems intolerable.


Today

Today is a special day. It is my anniversary. I have been in Sri Lanka for exactly one year. I have not only tolerated 365 nights, but have, for the most part, enjoyed it. In fact, I have even chosen to extend by an extra 3 months. So instead of heading home in the midst of winter, as originally planned, I am looking forward to a few more nights under my net. Thankfully I have a more comfortable mattress, and life has been good. Not without its challenges of course. But then, when is it ever?

I slide out of bed determined to make it to the hospital. Those buses will not break me! In actual fact, it turns out that today they are on my side. The 150 bus arrives within 5 minutes of waiting. I expertly wave it down with the required flappety floppety wrist waggle (performed most successfully, I find, if imagining the presence of a disgusting stench in the nearby vicinity); just one of the many abilities I have gained this year in exchange for my own special skills. VSO: Sharing skills, changing lives. This is is what its all about!

Anyway....back to the bus. So, there I am, impressed with my good fortune, about to clamber aboard, when I feel the squelch of something unpleasant underfoot. Some might say this is confirmation of my good luck. However, as I attempt to remove the mess from the sole of my sandal, the 150 starts pulling away and I am forced to run and leap onto the moving bus. For a moment, it's touch and go. But thankfully, I land safely without doing myself any great injury and find a seat by the window where I can stick my head outside to get away from the stink I have brought in with me.

My day at the hospital is a good one. I am busy, but still I find the time to tell as many people as possible that it is my anniversary. They mostly seem fairly unimpressed, and several respond by asking when I am leaving. I don't take it personally. I'm pretty sure they are simply preparing themselves for the emotional wrench.

After a post work swim, I head home for an anniversary skype chat with a certain Jaffnite. But first I must stop off at Keels to pick up some special fizzy lager pop and celebratory nuts. The internet connection is poor, and I have no idea what she is saying. However, it's good enough to allow us to  toast a fantastic year well spent in Sierra Leone and raise our glasses for good times to come, whichever continent we find ourselves on.

Life as we know it? To be continued for a few more weeks. The "one year" mini-blog series? Stand down and rest easy...it is finally over. 

One year: Part two

A year ago today

After 9 months of planning and preparing for a momentous change, and comparing strangely parallel experiences at length with a good friend, this morning I learn that she has gone into labour overnight. Today is a big day for us both as we begin our final journey towards a new life. She will later claim it was more painful for her, but it's probably a close call as this morning I must bid my beloved Boo (the poodle) farewell; it's the only goodbye that pushes me precariously close to uncontrollable sobbing and one which will, tomorrow, be cause for regretful remembering as I wonder, itching and fidgeting under my mosquito net, whether she gave me a surprise parting gift during her excitable licky-faced send off! Nevertheless, I hold it together to see my way through a final goodbye at Pool Valley station in Brighton where close friends turn up unexpectedly to throw nuts at me (snacks for the journey) and push me onto the coach. I am finally on my way, and allow myself a moment to consider that it might actually be a good idea after all, this big adventure I have embarked on. At Heathrow, I meet, for the first time, my travel companion and fellow volunteer, soon to be known as Jaffna Jo. I manage to play it cool for approximately 5 minutes before nervously quizzing her about the contents of her suitcase. I'm pretty sure I see her breathe a sigh of relief as she realises we are sat at least 10 rows apart on the plane for our first flight. And so, we are off. At Dubai, just before our second flight, I receive a final word from my labouring friend who indicates it won't be too long now. As the cabin prepares for take off on route to our final destination, back in the UK baby Kaitlin is making her last preparations for her big entrance into the world. Life as we know it will never be the same again!


Today

This morning, I am not shivering as I wake up. I had the good sense to put the fan on its lowest setting last night, wore my long pyjamas to bed and wrapped myself securely in my sheet. Even so, the thought of a thin summer duvet does not seem completely ridiculous. I contemplate pressing snooze for a third time but decide against it remembering my 9am meeting. I must get myself to the hospital and so, for the 365th consecutive day (give or take a few night's away from Sri Lanka), I scramble out from under my mosquito net to begin the day. Today, I am determined to avoid any unnecessary shocks and decide to leave the mosquitoes to their own devices. I'm feeling pretty upbeat. Look at me, living in Sri Lanka, for a whole year! Life is pretty good. I am sooo flexible and adaptable. However, within 30 minutes of leaving the house I am pacing, swearing and sweating at the bus stand. Where is the 150 bus? Why has it not come? A small bearded man stops to make random chat, smiling enthusiastically whilst asking and answering his own question "how are you I'm fine!". He doesn't seem to notice my grumpiness and wanders off, apparently happy despite the one-sided conversation. After one hour of waiting and several phone conversations with colleagues at the hospital (they reassure me the 150 is not on strike today) my head is about to implode and I finally admit that my flexibility and adaptability have their limits. Thankfully, at that very moment, I hear a shout from across the road and see my fellow volunteer and good friend, from now on known as Swivel Hips Joao, doing a little dance for me. As well as making a spectacle of himself, and scaring a passing stray dog, he is also reminding me that Tuesday night is Bollywood night, the evening when we both get a step closer to realising our Bollywood dreams. Until then, I decide it's time to retreat to the VSO office and instead work from there for the day. Whilst on route, I calculate that I can attend 9 more classes before leaving Sri Lanka. More than enough time to perfect the steps. As long as I avoid looking at myself in the mirror during the class, anything is possible. And if Bollywood wont have me, I'm pretty sure Brighton will welcome me home and appreciate my new dancefloor prowess...maybe. Life as you know it will never be the same again!

To be continued (...maybe)

One year: Part one

1 year ago today

I spend the day high on adrenaline and sick with nervous excitement as I spin in chaotic circles around my room, packing, weighing, emptying and repacking my belongings ahead of the big trip. At regular intervals I find myself standing stock still, wide-eyed and delirious, gazing stupidly at my feet. As the contents of my case dwindles to meet the airline's criteria, the tension in my jaw and shoulders grows. Phone calls are received only to ensure that visitors understand that they are NOT welcome. I am far too busy swinging wildly between utter hysteria and a disconcerting calm to concentrate on being sociable or civil. And anyway, I've said my goodbyes and have the company of Boo and Chewy, my two favourite poodles, to listen to my nonsensical chit chat and join me in any last minute squeaks of terror (mainly me and Boo. Chewy is far too cool for such silliness!). Eventually, once the case is shut and Boo and I are all squeaked out (for now), I take myself to bed for one last sleepless night of nightmarish imaginings of the sweaty misery that undoubtedly lies ahead. 


Today

Today I wake to find myself shivering. An unusual sensation these days. But I tell no lie. December is typically the most pleasant month of the year weatherwise. Add to that a whole lot of mistimed and confused monsoon rains this year and it's not so hot. Don't get me wrong, it's still close to 30 degrees, but the humidity is actually bearable, not so nightmarish after all! 

Today is a national holiday on account of Thai Pongal, a Hindu thanksgiving and harvest festival to worship the sun god. However, I am due at work and need to get going. So, I jump out of bed, happy to see the sun shining and ready to give thanks for the harvest in my own special way, my usual breakfast of a fresh papaya and banana smoothie, followed by homemade muesli with curd and kithul honey. Having showered and dressed, I inadvertently electrocute myself with the tennis racket shaped mosquito swatter whilst trying to kill the little blighter that has just bitten me. The charge is surprisingly strong, but, no harm done, I feel a little more alert and, as the day progresses, I'm sure I am being more productive as a result. Having pretty much single-handedly (well, not quite) planned and organised an entire (well, sort of) national Occupational Therapy conference scheduled for March (HELP! It's not enough TIME!!!!!!!!!!!) I return home. My pool is shut today, so I can't swim. Instead I turn my attention to my next blog post, pour myself a well earned G&T and start typing.

to be continued (maybe...)