The year in questions

If I were to describe my time in Sri Lanka to you in question form, it would go something like this:

Kaewada? (Did you eat?)

Which country?

Where you going?

Sri Lanka is good, no?

What about your lunch?
You married?

WHY??!!!!!!!

I cannot tell you how many times I am asked these same questions in a typical day. Of course if varies from one day to the next. But to give you some idea, let's just say it is more than I can count on my fingers (and toes), but less times than the number of rotations my ceiling fan makes in any given hour. On average, doing some very quick sums in my head here, I make that somewhere in the region of.......a LOT of times. 

Depending on who is asking and how I am feeling, my response can vary from silence to something a little more informative. And of course, the answers change depending on the time of day and from one encounter to the next. Typically though, my side of the conversation might go something like this:

Ow, Kaewa (yes, I ate)
England
That way *whilst pointing in the opposite direction to the one I'm moving in*
Ow, hari hari hondai, hari lassanaiy (yes, very very good, very beautiful)
There's an egg rice packet with my name on it at the canteen, and I'm on my way there now
Bandala nair (not married)
Dannair (don't know) *looking puzzled, shrugging shoulders*

Regarding the "why", I do at times respond with a genuine attempt to explain just how different things are where I come from.

"Not everyone gets married. The cultural norms and expectations are not the same. You see, it's not that unusual to be 37 and unmarried in the UK, honestly. No, I am not considered to be a total freak back home. Well, not much anyway!"

This is usually met with what appears to be a brief moment of silent contemplation and serious reflection....followed swiftly by some high pitched and hysterical plotting to find me a Sri Lankan husband.

And so, at other times I mix it up a bit; I invent myself a husband in an attempt to dodge that pesky sri lankan "why" and the conspiratorial wedding planners.  Of course, this leads to more questions, but they are questions for which I am prepared with an endless variety of responses.

"He's a doctor/space scientist/dog psychologist/vampire and we have 2/4/6/8 children/bat pups."

By far the simplest thing, however, is simply to let people know that of course I fully intend to get married. It's just that I will to look later, when I get back to the UK. I explain that, unfortunately, things so far have not really gone my way, and then I place the blame squarely and unashamedly at my parents door.

"They just didn't put the effort in. Once my sister was married off, they lost interest. Mind you, I suppose the inauspicious astrological alignment at the time of my birth didn't help matters...""

Sorry folks, it's just easier this way! And at least you can blame the stars.

Superhero flip flops

My Superhero flip flops

My name is Beth and I have a flip flop addiction. I am utterly dependent and really can't get enough. I have gathered quite a collection since my arrival in Sri Lanka. But it seems that however many pairs I acquire, the itch just wont go away. Every time I find myself skulking shame-faced in the flop flip aisle of a local store, I tell myself that just one more pair will be enough; once this particular transaction is complete, I will be thoroughly content. The problem is that true satisfaction seems to allude me; with the purchase of another pair comes a new yearning for more additions to the collection.

Let me explain that every other item of clothing I own doesn't quite feel fit for purpose. This is not for want of trying! I have purchased the best part of two entire (fairly unattractive) wardrobes since my arrival in Sri Lanka. And most of them meet the three essential characteristics that must be achieved to give yourself a fighting chance of not looking like a complete hot sweaty mess. 1  - 100% cotton, to increase the airflow 2 - Tunic style, for extra coverage & 3 - Patterned, to disguise the inescapable sweating. But regardless, I am not happy. Whatever I choose to clothe my body in first thing in the morning, within minutes of leaving the house, I am uncomfortable, irritable and sweaty. These days (much the same as any other days in the life of me) clothes are simply not my friends!

But the flip flop.....oh, the wonderfully functional and uncomplicated flip flop. How I love the flip flop. And surely I can't be alone in this passion of mine, for the beautiful simplicity of the humble flip flop is a truly joyous thing.

Now for the big news. I have recently found myself a pair of extraordinary flip flops. It's still too early to tell for sure, but maybe, just maybe, this will signal the end to my insatiable craving for more. The moment I spotted them in the shop, I was sold. But it wasn't until I actually slipped them on that I realised just how special they are...that I understood that they are, in actual fact, superhero flip flops.

These flip flops don't just look like the kind of footwear a superhero might wear (they're the same colour as Wonder Woman's fancy boots after all!), but more importantly (and this is their special power) the wearing of them is enough to make me FEEL like a superhero. When I don the flops, I am inexplicably 2 inches taller, utterly invincible and totally immune to all harm. And believe me, in a country where I have proven myself capable of more accident prone buffoonery than Laurel and Hardy, this is no mean feet (cue cymbal, Ba-dum-TSH! Sorry, couldn't resist!).

And so, at least 3 or 4 times a week, I arrive home at the end of a long sweaty day to dump my work bag, grab my ipod, exchange my birkenstocks for the superflops and head out the door to my local pool, a 15 minute walk away. It is during this walk that they truly come into their own. And their heroic work is not done in silence. Nope, they have a soundtrack all of their own. There are a couple of key tunes on this soundtrack, brought to me courtesy of two compilation making friends (thanks ladies!). If you want to get a real insight into the nature of these superflops, you can turn this into an interactive experience by clicking here and starting track number one. If you did just click, try to remain focused. I know it's easy to get distracted by cats playing musical instruments, but there is an alternative video in my world.

The opening seconds are indeed the sound me putting on the supercharged hero-flops....and from here, as the tune continues, the walk begins. I weave my way around the cracked crazy paving and plough, elbows at the ready, through the hectic throng of people at the bus stand. The tune drowns out the rude honking of the buses and accompanies each perfectly timed hop skip and jump as I skilfully dodge the many unexpected hazards in my path; it keeps pace with my feet as I stride confidently across a busy main road, impervious to the speeding trishaws, intrusive stares and crazy heckles.

But the magic of the superflops is at it's greatest (at 2 mins 17secs) as my right foot hovers dangerously over a pile of something freshly steaming and stinking, generously deposited just moments earlier by a local stray dog. Without the superflops, I am in big trouble. But, with them, nothing can touch me. As time pauses momentarily, and the world around me ceases to spin...my whole body is lifted involuntarily up into the air and scooted a couple of paces forward out of harms way, until........BAM, time restarts and, as if nothing extraordinary just happened, my flip flopped feet land securely back on sri lankan soil to continue their journey, without mishap, all the way to the pool.

On the way home, after a refreshing and invigorating swim, the soundtrack is different, cue music, but the magic is the same. I I I I... I'm so tired, but I just wont lose my stride! Come on superflops, don't fail me now! I got to walk on.....

Hanging like a bat

I..(pause for affect)...am flexible and adaptable. I AM flexible and adapatable. I am flexible...(another pause, confident nod of the head and eyebrows raised to stress the point)...AND adaptable! Oh yes I am....which is very lucky, because these are characteristics VSO say a volunteer must possess, and some of the key criteria by which they make a decision about your suitability. See for yourself and visit VSO's "what you need" page if you like. It's right up there second only to self-assurance, which I most definitely have in abundance...I think, although sometimes I'm not so sure. Anyway, who needs self assurance when you have flexibility and adaptability? It really should be placed at the top of that list. Because, boy, does it come in handy! So much so that it has become my mantra.

I find myself muttering it under my breath through gritted teeth on the bus; taking a deep breath and repeating it in my head over and over again in the middle of work meetings; declaring it out loud to myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror whilst home alone. Yep, it's a good one. Try it for yourself. Whenever things seem overwhelming, a little surprising or just plain crazy, give it a go. You'll wonder how you ever managed without it.

Well, my flexibility and adaptability has risen to new heights of late when I agreed to step into the role of bridesmaid at a Sri Lankan wedding. If you read my very special engagement blog post, you'll know this was on the cards. It was quite the event to say the least, and my mantra has been required frequently both in the build up and on the big day itself. I'm not sure I'll be able to do the whole event justice in just one post. So, instead I'll simply share some of my own personal "highlights" with you.

2 months before the big day at home
The bride to be: "oh, I forgot to tell you. The colour of your sari has changed again. It's now green"
Me "Oh really, that's good, I like green. But what shade of green?"
The bride to be: thoughtfully looking around my flat and eventually spotting something, appearing satisfied and pointing toward the kitchen "that sort of green"
Me: twisting round to follow her gaze and find it resting on some unripe bananas in my fruit bowl "...Oh"
The bride to be: "...and the sari jacket is yellow"
Me: "Like a ripe banana?"
The bride to be: "Yes"
Me: "Oh!"

1 week before the big day in a salon down the road 
Beautician/torturer number 1: plucking and threading the eyebrows of a wriggly non-compliant first time foreigner and having great difficulty undertaking the task.
Beautician/torturer number 2: holding the jaw and forehead in a vice like grip whilst pressing her fingertips into the foreigner's eyeball sockets in order (I can only assume?) to gain some leverage and assist beautician/torturer number 1 to continue her work.
Me: whimpering, palms and soles of feet sweating despite the a/c, eyes watering uncontrollably "why did nobody tell me it would hurt so much? Can I go now? Just leave the other one, honestly it's fine"
Beauticians/torturers 1 & 2: ignoring mad mutterings of foreigner and moving onto socket and brow number 2.
Me: continuing to whimper....

On the morning of the big day back in the salon with the beauticians/torturers and a few of their friends

10am
Me: being squeezed into my banana sari jacket and underskirt "is it meant to be so tight that I can't fully inflate my lungs?"
Beautician/torturer number 3: looking slightly concerned, unzips the underskirt a tiny bit and wanders off.
Me: "oh great, thanks!
Beautician/torturer number 3: returning with a safety pin, overlaps the open zip by a couple of inches and secures the underskirt even more tightly with the pin!
Me: lungs deflating involuntarily "pfffff....oh!"

10:23am
Beautician/torturer number 4: backcombing my entire head of hair until it is defying gravity and standing totally upright and away from my head.
Me: "oh"

11am 
Beautician/torturer number 2: trying to dress me in green pearl earrings
Me: "oh, no. You wont be able to do that, they were pierced 20 years ago, and I've not worn any for years"
Beautician/torturer number 2: appearing to lose interest and wandering off
Me: allowing myself a brief smile having won a small victory.

11:15am
Beautician/torturer number 2: fiddling with something near to my left ear.
Me: looking in the mirror and noticing a small pearly thing stuck to my earlobe, then glancing back at my torturer to spot a yellow tube of something in her hand. "Is that superglue?!!!!!!!"
Head Beautician/torturer sounding incredulous and slightly tired of all my chatter "it's not superglue.....it's uhu!"
Me "oh!"

11:36am
Head Beautician/torturer: moving towards me with the make up brush
Me: "I don't want very much make up. I already told Sewandi (the bride to be) and she said that was fine"
Head Beautician/torturer: moving closer with the brush "I know"

11:45am
Head Beautician/torturer: applying a 3rd layer of something very wet and sticky to my face "so, is this the first time you have worn heavy make up?"
Me: "What?" repeating silently to myself "I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable."

12:05pm 
Me: sitting up and seeing the results of my heavy make over in the mirror "OH...MY....GOD!!"
Head beautician/torturer: "You look beautiful."
Me: "@*&£%"
Head beautician/torturer: "This is how we do things in Sri Lanka.We say in Sri Lanka, if you can't stand up straight like this (stands up rigid to demonstrate), you may need to hang upside down like a bat (folds at the waist to demonstrate bat pose)"
Me: "In England we say "when in Rome". Is that what you mean?"
Head beautician/torturer: laughing hysterically and punching me on the shoulder "you are so bad!"
Me: "Oh!" glancing nervously into the mirror and wincing at my reflection "but is that what you mean? Or are you just saying I need to be flexible and adaptable? Because I am trying, honestly."
Head beautician/torturer: continuing to laugh and punch me on the shoulder "you are so silly"
Me: "But really, it is a serious question" muttering quietly under my breath "I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable."
Roomful of beauticians/torturers: Laughing hysterically
Me: Shrugging my shoulders and joining in with the laughter "Ok, well, I'll just try hanging like a bat today then, a very heavily made up bat, but a bat none the less. Lucky I am so very flexible and adaptable!"

Gremlins, monkeys & mischievous spirits

I have a very good friend who has been working for several years as a translator and interpreter. She's highly professional, loves what she does, and seems to earn a decent living doing it. If you know who I'm talking about, or live anywhere within a 10 mile radius of central Brighton, you'll have heard the distinct sound of her blowing her own trumpet. And so she should. She has great hair, is well respected in the linguistic world and has a serious and enthusiastic following in the blogosphere. At least, so she tells me. I've certainly enjoyed talking to her about my encounters with the language barrier whilst in Sri Lanka; the joys of painstakingly clambering over it, cunningly negotiating a way around it, or just clumsily ploughing headlong into it. However, I must also admit to some friendly teasing over the years in view of what appears to be a fairly easy gig. So...you can speak a couple of languages and type a bit! But I mean, really! How hard can it be? In truth she seems to spend more time drinking coffee, lunching, or hanging out at geeks & their games dot com than she does doing actual work. However, my time in Sri Lanka has highlighted just how much skill is required in the trade. So, perhaps the refreshments and games of scrabble are deserved after all! She has been pestering me for some time now to dedicate a blog post to her line of work, so here goes.

I've been working with a couple of the occupational therapists at the hospital to run a group for people who hear voices as part of a mental illness. The group aims to provide a non-judgemental space for people to discuss their experiences and also attempts to normalise them to some extent. The stigma surrounding such things remains shockingly present. And yet, did you know that up to 10% of people across the world have experienced voices; that a number of talented and well-known people past and present have heard voices; that it is not always a sign of mental illness, and that many people can lead meaningful and fulfilling lives despite hearing voices? And, be honest, have you really never heard or seen something that others around you did not? I for one had an unshakable fever-induced belief in the imminent destruction of the world after watching an episode of Knight Rider as a kid. It was one of the most terrifying couple of hours I have ever endured. But that's whole other blog post. The point is, focusing on these experiences purely from a medical perspective is not always helpful. Most importantly, the group teaches new skills to tolerate difficult experiences and encourages individuals to take positive steps towards their values and goals in life.

It's the first time such a group has been run at the hospital and I feel very pleased to be involved in it. I am extremely grateful to my UK and VSO colleagues for providing resources, advice and peer support. Running a group like this is hard work at the best of times, but this has been particularly challenging as I am facilitating the sessions through an interpreter. This is a completely new experience for me and I've been especially glad to know my trumpet blowing friend who has been able to offer me some insider top tips. As funds for interpreters aren't so easy to come by, one of the OT's is stepping into this role. Whilst he is not a professional interpreter, he appears to be taking it in his stride and doing a great job.

In order that we stay as true as possible to the original concepts, we have been having some interesting discussions. One of the most fascinating has involved a long conversation about gremlins. I don't mean the fluffy but evil mogwais from the 1984 film of the same name, but rather gremlins in general; those imaginary mischievous sprites thought to be responsible for unexplained problems. One of the sessions shared by my UK colleague used the metaphor of a gremlin to represent those unwanted experiences we can all have. Participants are asked to imagine their voices are like having a gremlin telling them unpleasant or upsetting things. They are then encouraged to consider how they might manage this irritating visitor. The main point is that we do not have to listen to the gremlin, do what it tells us or believe that what it says. Whilst it is helpful to acknowledge their presence, we can end up giving them power they do not deserve. If we instead refuse to engage with them on any meaningful level, it is possible to put more energy into the things which are important to us.

Are you still following me? I hope so. Well, it turns out that gremlin is not a word or concept that has made it's way into Sri Lankan culture. And so, we were faced with a linguistic quandary. I was rather pleased with my idea of changing it to a monkey. Whilst not invisible, they are certainly mischievous and often unseen. They seem to cause all sorts of problems here in Sri Lanka, be it looting a shop of it's wares or cheekily swiping snacks left out on the balcony. However, this suggestion was met with an unimpressed silence. I was reminded that for many people in Sri Lanka, monkeys have a sacred status. So, that wont do then! Returning to the definition of a gremlin, we went on to discuss sprites, elves, fairies, imps, ghosts and ghouls.

By now, a huddle of interested staff had gathered around us. The first suggestion from the group was that of a boothaya. In Sri Lankan culture, there is a strong belief in karma; if someone has been bad in life, they might come back as some kind of spirit. One such spirit is a boothaya, thought to cause trouble to the living but also capable of good deeds. This was therefore dismissed in favour of a yakshia. The yakshia, emerging from the same karmic process, is also a spirit. However, it is considered to be much more problematic and never the source of good deeds. If someone is having difficulties in life, they might attribute them to a yakshia. It seemed to fit. And so this is what we settled on. But not without a certain amount of trepidation on my part.

I was concerned about how the translation might be misunderstood by the group, so much so I considered removing the whole session. I was especially anxious that we might reinforce certain unhelpful beliefs; for example, that mental illness is the result of bad karma and some kind of punishment for bad deeds. This was certainly not the idea! The gremlin was intended purely as a metaphor, a tool to help people understand their inner experiences, and I wasn't totally convinced that the yakshia would be taken in this way. And so, I quizzed and questioned my colleagues and Sri Lankan friends. And then I quizzed them some more. I was reassured again and again that yakshia was a suitable translation and that my concerns were not founded. In the end, I had to trust them.

I'm pleased to report that the session appeared to go well and people seemed to get it. However, this whole experience has made me realise just how much responsibility and power is held by the translator/interpreter and how much trust is placed in them. Perhaps it's not such an easy gig after all! If you are Sri Lankan and reading this, perhaps you have another suggestion? I'd be interested to hear it. If you are a translator or interpreter, hats off to you. Go treat yourself to a fancy lunch and pour yourself another coffee. You deserve it!

My very own teledrama

"How come all these strange things happen only to you?". These are the words I received from a Sri Lankan friend yesterday after I'd texted her about the near riot I had just inadvertently started on a train. Of course, strange things happen to people all of the time. But, she does seem to have a point. I certainly feel like I am experiencing more than my fair share of oddness at the moment!

Before I tell this particular tale, I would first like to reassure all my friends a family back home that I have rarely felt anything but completely safe in Colombo. Apart from the occasional hole and the careering buses, life in Sri Lanka is treating me well. I do get a lot of unwanted attention. But whilst this can be irritating, it has never felt threatening. Nevertheless, harmless or otherwise, I have learnt it is best to ignore any passing male attentions by completely avoiding eye contact and certainly not engaging in conversation (Don't worry, I make up for this by smiling and/or gurning at any passing women or children whenever the opportunity arises). And yesterday's "riot" was certainly a good reminder of why it really is best to stick to this particular strategy.

So, there I was standing on a busy train, sweating quietly and minding my own business, when a man tapped me on the shoulder. He gestured for me to sit down whilst instructing a young girl nearby to vacate her seat. I was fairly happy standing and certainly did not want her to move my account, so I declined the invitation. However, he was insistent and by now the girl had moved. So I sat and thanked both the girl and the man who I had assumed to be her father. By the time I realised this was not the case, it was too late. The man had moved closer and was now standing over me slurring at me in Sinhala. I couldn't catch every word, but I understood enough to know that he was declaring his love for me, suggesting we be "friends" and asking me repeatedly for my phone number and address. I used my best Sinhala to say NO, made it clear that I did not want to talk to him and told him to go away. When this did not work, I decided to show him my "wedding ring" (thanks Becky!) and told him my husband would not be happy. However, he still didn't get the message and continued his requests. Unfortunately for him, he then made the grave error of involving my neighbours. Big mistake! These two particularly fierce looking older women were watching the whole incident intently as if it were some strange new Sri Lankan teledrama, all the while munching on some peanuts. After attempting bizarrely but unsuccessfully to get them to share their snacks with me, he suddenly seemed to lose interest and wandered off to lean precariously out of the open door of the moving carriage.

Despite the strange turn of events, I'd still at no point felt unsafe or threatened, just rather irritated and to some extent mildly amused. I'd caught the woman across the aisle throwing a sympathetic and knowing smile in my direction, and the peanut eaters were muttering disapprovingly to my right. Again this was all in Sinhala, but I caught enough to know they thought him a drunk, that what he had said was indeed a "sin"...and then something about me being like a daughter to him (I assumed this was in reference to the age difference rather than our new found closeness!). I waggled my head along with them, whilst wondering exactly what he had said to me. I then added a "what to do?" with a shrug of my shoulders, just for good measure, before pulling a face that I hoped indicated friendly but light hearted agreement. I felt sure that the general mood in the carriage was of a similar nature. So when things quickly began to change, I was caught quite off guard.

The chatter around me suddenly began to increase in volume, a nearby Buddhist monk mentioned the police and another man from further down the carriage approached my new friends and spoke loudly with them. Next thing, two or three more men joined him and surrounded the "drunk", shouting at him. Before I knew it, the shouts had escalated to shoving and they were now slapping him repeatedly in the face. I was already feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but my heart was suddenly in my mouth when one of the men span round, bright red in the face, and shouted angrily "FOREIGNER!" whilst jabbing his finger in my direction! For a very unpleasant second, I was quite convinced they were about to turn on me. This teledrama was getting out of hand! Just as quickly, and with great relief, I understood that was he was in actual fact defending me! "YOU are a foreigner" he again shouted. "THIS is Sri Lanka and WE are Sri Lankan" he continued passionately before pointing at the offender and adding "HE is not a Sri Lankan, THIS is not how we behave!". On that note, and with absolutely no apparent sense of irony, he stopped talking to me, turned back to the man, and continued the physical and verbal assault.

As well as feeling rather shaken up, I also now felt pretty bad! I'd taken a small girl's seat, thought seriously about helping myself to my neighbour's peanuts, and had found myself at the centre of an unexpected incident of mob justice. So, I tried asking them to stop, telling them that for me it was not a problem. But this fell on deaf ears and I quickly realised there was little I could do. Thankfully, at that moment, the train was slowing to a stop at my station and this particular episode of the teledrama was coming to an end. So, without a backwards glance, I wiped the sweat from my brow, grabbed my bag, and hotfooted it out of there!

Roll credits. Tune in next week for another gripping episode!

Just like a pussycat

Question: What's the connection between Lady Di, Shiranthi Rajapaksa (the Sri Lankan president's wife) and a pussycat?

Answer: They all look like me.

Or, to be precise, I look like them. Fact. At least, that's if I am to believe everything I've been told me since my arrival in Sri Lanka.

Yes, it's true. My likeness to the late princess is so remarkable that a member of the public was compelled to stop me in the street and, wide-eyed with disbelief, declare me to be "just like Lady Di". I did ask him if he was thinking of her 80's bouffant stage or the more sleek sophisticated 90's look. But he didn't seem to understand the question. And to be honest, I'm pretty sure I know the answer. I'd just had a swim and my post-pool hair was quite large.

A colleague has provided me with further food for thought by informing me, on more than one occasion, that I am exactly like a simple country girl from the north of India. On learning that I hail from the UK, where in actual fact I live a city, he has been completely dumbfounded. Once recovered from the shock, he has gone on to question my city girl status arguing quite passionately that this cannot be true. After all, I am nothing like Madonna, for example, or Whitney Houston! And that's not all. On seeing some photos of me in my engagement sari, he was keen to note my incredible likeness to the president's wife. Now, if I were to glance wistfully in your direction whilst attempting my most enigmatic smile, and you were to squint a bit (and then a bit more), I'm pretty sure we could agree that the Lady Di comment was understandable. However, me and Shiranthi Rajapaksa? I am more than a little confused. However, I'll take it as a compliment. She was crowned Miss Sri Lanka 1973 after all.

Finally...the cat. Well, there is a patient at the hospital who, for several months now, has taken a particular interest in my strange looks. She regularly tells me that I look "just like a pussycat" whilst grinning from ear to ear and occasionally stroking my face. Sometimes, however, I am "more like a monkey". On the monkey days she seems decidedly unimpressed with me and tends to keep her distance. I am yet to work out whether there is any discernible change in my appearance, behaviour, general mood or manner which can explain the switch from cat to monkey and back again, but it remains a mystery to me. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing her and have, more than once, found myself responding to her decision with an impromptu purr, hoot or monkey scream. She is always very appreciative.

So, consider yourself forewarned and don't be surprised if you don't recognise me when you next see me. However, you'll more than likely hear me coming. Or failing that, you'll know it's me by my Lady Di locks and Miss World crown. Life really is very strange.

Falling down a hole

Last night I fell down a hole as I was attempting to get into a trishaw. This sort of thing has happened before more times than I care to remember; a flip flop slip, a slight twist of the ankle, and an occasional stumble. It is one of the perils of my daily life in Sri Lanka. But this was a momentous hole and I disappeared down it as if I might never be seen again.

I didn't see it coming and, before I knew it, was thigh deep down an enormous drain. I had no time to yelp, swear or shout "AIYOOOOOOOO!". And yet, in that split second of falling, it seems I had time enough to think about a number of things all at once.  I reflected on the perils of simply walking along the side of the road in Colombo, the clumsiness I had displayed over the course of the week so far and just how inevitable my falling seemed to be; I thought about how eye-poppingly novel and entertaining it must be for those around me to observe the spectacle of a falling foreigner and imagined the story being told and retold in homes around the city later that evening and for many months to come; And I wondered whether someone might be kind enough to follow me in and help me out if I did indeed fall so far that I could only crane my neck and howl for help from several feet down.

Once in the hole, I considered whether I really did need my left hip all that much after all, and if it was essential that my right knee face forward in order for me to continue my journey; I also wondered whether I should inform the trishaw driver of my intended destination whilst still inside the hole, or wait until I had hauled myself out of it before doing so. As it was (who knows why!!!) I opted for the former, shouting up at him from a couple of feet down as he giggled nervously at the foolish foreigner. Thankfully, he understood me first time and knew the place where I wanted to go. So, there was no point in remaining where I was for a moment longer. As I clambered up and out of my predicament and into the trishaw, I allowed myself some indulgent and soul soothing swearing (I can actually do this in Sinhala now if required, but went for some old favourites as I fear the former are a little too shocking to utter out loud anywhere but in the safety of my own home).

In the trishaw, we zipped and zig zagged through the chaotic evening traffic towards a friend who would first give me a hug and then hand me a beer, before laughing long and hard at my misfortune. On route, I nursed my wounded pride, examined my bruises and bravely fought back the tears. I was alright really. My knee seemed to be facing the right direction and my hip was still in one piece.

As the night wore on and the beer began to do it's job, I thought further about the unexpected tumble I had taken. How it had been such a shock. It had taken my breath away and my feet from under me without warning. It had been painful and uncomfortable and for a split second I had wondered Is it really all worth it? What am I doing here? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY? Perhaps it was just the beer, but I returned home with this particular blog post written in my mind.

You see, people often ask what life is like in Sri Lanka; they want to know all about the VSO experience, and sometimes ask whether I ever regret my decision to come. It's always difficult to know what to say, how to sum it all up or do it justice. Well, I hope this small tale of woe will help me to do just that.

It is a wonderful experience. It really is. I feel incredibly lucky to be here and there are so many moments where I have to pinch myself to check this is really happening. The work is sometimes hard, yes. But it's always interesting and often rewarding .  However, it's also true to say that there also many moments of falling down that metaphorical hole. Suddenly, without warning and often when you think things are going well; the unexpected happens, the ground opens up and you find yourself flailing around wondering where you are and how on earth you found yourself in this position. Life can suddenly look bleak and you really do question whether it really is all worth it.

However, whilst these moments can happen quite often, they rarely last too long. Thankfully, it seems I am always able to clamber out of the hole eventually, dust myself off and carry on. And so, to answer the last question. Do I ever regret it? I can answer that emphatically and without hesitation with a no! That is, apart from when I'm thigh deep down a hole.