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.