Testing testing one, two three.

Yoga on rooftops---Colombo

It’s humid, and though humidity can do wonders for your complexion and hair—moisturizing, and nourishing, and preserving youthfulness, when combined with hot-hotness and polluted urban centres it can lead to a sticky sweaty dirty existence, and the feeling that you are wallowing in your own sweaty stench. After a long day of solving all of the world’s problems—poverty, pestilence, war, misery, you know the sort, and doing so in the well ventilated, but not air-conditioned room within our former colonial office space, the sticky gets even worse commuting with 1.5-2 million other souls in traffic plagued by diesel fumes and dusty roads. As I have mentioned before the Colombo commuters are great communicators with their horns.

Beep-beep –“I’m behind you.” “I’m beside you” I’m in front of you”

Beep-beep— move out of my way/let me through.

Beep-beep—“hurry up, slow poke”

Beeeeeeep—“I’m a massive bus with too many people get the heck out of the way before I run you over”

Bip bip—“hi, cutie want to talk to me?”

Boop boop—“Look at me I’m driving through an intersection…” and on and on and on.

So imagine if you will, nearly 2 million of us filling the roads and sidewalks of measly little Colombo after the sun has beaten down over the city all day, and though the air is filled with moisture the dust and particles float among us, we are packing our sweaty bodies into buses, tri-shaws, cars, bikes, and some of us are walking. We weave in and out of traffic searching for the quickest way home or to our respective destinations.

Mine is yoga, down Havelock Road and over to Amarasekera Mawatha. It begins around 6 while the sun is still up and the commuters still raging.

I’ve arrived using several modes of transportation, after avoiding death in the streets, and often a bit anxious. Sam (my Australian-born yoga instructor) --her husband waits for us at the garage door reclining barefoot and in his lungi and directs us up the three floors to the rooftop. With each step up I can feel the intensity of the streets falling away down the stairwell. By the time I reach the open rooftop the horns and motors can still be heard, but their effects on me are greatly diminished.

The sun is slipping lower into the sky, painting it pinks and oranges and reds. The crows and daytime birds are vociferously making their way to their evening nesting places. The bats silently head southeast. Our class begins and as I stretch and glide into postures, the noises of the day slow and slip into a mellower evening hush.

The sun dips into the sea, just beyond the rooftop. Dusk passes quickly and by the time we are laying in our savasana postures, the stars have emerged and the moon lights our practice. The busy city has transformed in only a couple of hours and I find my own ‘urban peace’.

Traveling alone is great! But can be exhausting too.

"Ooh la la

Wow.

Hi baby

Nice walk

Nice skirt

Whistle whistle whistle

Uuuugh (grunt)

Grrrrr

How much? Fifty rupees?

Helooo! Hi Madam…

Lookin’ good. Where are you going?"

--- Let's just say, it was a long walk today.

These are only a small sampling of the kinds of greetings I have heard while walking down the street in just about any city I have ever lived in, visited, toured, worked in, or passed through. It has mattered not which continent or country, whether in a posh neighborhood or a slum, village or town. It has not mattered if I was 18 and dressed like a skater boy, or 31 in professional and demure attire. This has been weighing on my mind for some time and the words are only now starting to form. These are unfinished and unpolished thoughts, but they are itching to come out.

Let us get something quite clear. I am no raving beauty. I do not look like a super model. There is nothing particularly awe inspiring about my appearance. Not particularly tall or short. Not particularly large or small. Not particularly hot or ugly. Not particularly young or old. I do not dress provocatively, nor do I wear a niqab. But rarely a day goes by that I haven’t heard at least one of the aforementioned comments/noises/gurgles or grunts.

When I go to a new place I do a little research on appropriate attire and dress accordingly. I walk in well-lit areas, down main thoroughfares. I stay close to the road, and do not lurk in shadows. I walk with friendly confidence.

I know how to get out of a pickle. (I have a quick whit and disarming tone). When I am out alone (which is often) and especially at night, I am constantly aware of who is behind me, to my left or right and just ahead. I also am painfully aware that my >5’3”, >54kg frame is not going to ward off a larger attacker, multiple people, a male, or what have you. In fact I am painfully aware of this. And that sometimes makes living this life exhausting.

A very close male-friend of mine was complaining to me months ago, about some rather silly girls he has known. He couldn’t understand why, as soon as they got into a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship they immediately started talking about traveling together. He couldn’t see the fun in that. If he wanted to go to exciting places he was much more interested in going at it alone, leaving open the possibility of meeting new and remarkable people you might not if traveling as a couple. I had to agree with him, at the time.

I’ve always liked how much more open to new people you can be when traveling alone, you strike up conversations and take side-trips you never would have considered if you were distracted by the attentions of a boyfriend/girlfriend. You even try harder to speak the local language, as it’s often means to communicating with another human being.

Quite frankly none of the partners I’ve ever had have been willing to travel to the highlands of Ecuador, or the ‘badlands’ of Mexico, or to India, or sailing across the pacific, or even the ‘hood in Miami. So I found myself looking down my nose with my friend at those silly, silly pretty-girls, dependent on a man to provide travel companionship, security, and confirmation that yes, he is your boyfriend.

But then I went to the Mexican/US border and watched “Coyotes” shuttle people past my window and over my rooftop from Nogales, Son to Nogales, AZ, on a nightly basis. And I witnessed the police and border patrol shuffle past me with AK-47s and armored vehicles. And I drove across the desert as fast as possible to make it home before dusk, so I wasn’t caught on the road, alone and in the main drug trafficking corridor in the state of Sonora.

And then I came to Sri Lanka and I know people are curious and will stare at this strange white woman riding the bus, or walking along the sidewalk. I am prepared for this. I am prepared to hear the hoots and the whistles and the propositions. I can deal with the man approaching me from behind on a dark road and striking up a conversation ultimately ending in asking for my Facebook info. I nonchalantly pass the barrage of tri-shaw drivers drinking and snoozing at the entrance of my road, hooting and hollering as I walk home.

I let most of this wash off me like water off a duck. But then I realize when I have finished whatever walk, or bus ride, or even tri-shaw ride and tolerated it all, I am filled with strange and unfamiliar feelings, that I cannot immediately identify…they are anxiety and irritation, and exhaustion. And I finally begin to empathize with these ‘silly girls’ my friend described.

I hate to admit this. I hate it because it goes against how I live my life. I hate it because I don’t want it to be true. I hate it because of the career path I have chosen.

But they’re right.

The silly girls are right.

Sometimes, well…often times, traveling with a male companion can just makes life easier. It makes security less anxiety producing. It makes me clench my stomach less. It makes me grip sharp objects in my pocket less. It decreases propositions and comments. Men ‘accidentally’ bump into me exponentially less. A male companion creates a sort of buffer to the unwanted advances, assumptions of my character, and actual physical intimidation that can make traveling far from home, not unpleasant, or impossible, but at times truly, truly exhausting.

This is not a unique thing to young, white, Western women traveling in ‘non-western’ places. My sisters in Egypt speak volumes on their experiences of street harassment. A friend from grad school is spreading a ‘Stop Street Harassment’ action on Facebook. My sisters in Puttalam and Mannar must limit their economic activity because of a lack of safety after the closure of a major road. Some women choose to wear the niqab just to avoid these experiences in the street. I can really empathize with my niqab wearing sisters these days.

I don’t have any answers. I’m just tired. It’s boring. It’s lame.

Maybe I’ll think of something more insightful in another post.

Election Day and School Cricket Madness

I really did not expect to write quite so much about cricket while here, but it seems to be everywhere I turn. As I walked to work today I passed the D.S. Sanayake Boys College today I witnessed the revelry that accompanies 'old boy school cricket' had spilled into the road and overtaken most of Gregory's Road. I found myself walking through a gauntlet of adolescent boys bedecked in their school colors of yellow and black. They were all polite and proper and completely consumed by chat with their friends on the upcoming game, entirely too distracted to make silly adolescent boy comments to a sole American female walking through the middle of the road. Bands were playing. Cars were thumping stereos. Faces were being painted. Some of the older boys had piled three or four of their friends on a motor bike (not really a motorcycle). They even had a rather unfortunate and miserable looking elephant chained to a parking spot with the school flag draped over his back, underneath the pile of heavy chains used to 'keep them in order'. Many boys had gathered around it and were posing for 'uploadable' photos.

And I nearly forgot, they had a double-decker London-style bus filled to the brim with alumni, and older boys waving huge yellow and black flags. We will surely hear their parade later in the morning as they make their way to one of the large cricket grounds just beyond our office...

But...

Today is actually election day, mostly in areas outside of Colombo. Schools were mostly closed across the country yesterday because they serve as polling locations.. Government workers get today off. Some have called on the private sector to get a day off too, but I believe that will be unlikely.

Like I mentioned in the previous post, Sri Lanka is a democracy. Has been since the late '40s. It has a functioning government that is highly centralized. It is also highly prone to familial dynasties. Currently we are in the Rajapaksa Dynasty. With the sitting president, Mahinda Rajapaksa, having appointed three of his brothers to high ranking cabinet positions, not least of which the Ministry of Defense is led by his brother, Basil. His son, all of 23-years-old, has recently won a seat in Parliament and is tapped to follow in his father's footsteps as President, should M. Rajapaksa decide to step down. (In 2008 he managed to change the constitution with the 18th amendment to eliminate term limits)

Almost everyone I have spoken to about the elections has made a funny face, waved their hand and said, 'what's the point, they're all fixed anyway'. One woman with whom I spoke said that her precinct's votes were all lost in the last election, and she had to go through a big process to get them found. It turned her off voting a bit, not to mention the fact that these seem to be the kind of mid-term elections few people get very excited about.

But let us not get too cynical. There are elections today. People will be voting. They may get new Parliamentarians. Then again...it may just remain business as usual, in a democratically maintained Rajapaksa-political dynasty.

On a more serious note-- Post-War Reconciliation

Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission.

So some of you may know that Sri Lanka ended a 26-year civil war almost 2 years ago. It was a nasty, nasty, nasty war. Hundreds of thousands of people lost their lives, property, and livelihoods over its course. In May of 2009 the Government of Sri Lanka dealt the rebel forces, the LTTE, its final blow and claimed victory after killing nearly all of the rebel leadership. This occurred after a final stand that included between 30 and 50,000 Tamil civilians trapped on a string of beach between the LTTE and government forces. It is unclear how many civilian lives were lost in this final battle for victory.

The rebels had fought for an independent Tamil land in the North and East of Sri Lanka. One might make the mistake in saying that the war was an ‘ethnic war’, as the rebels were mostly Tamil, but they would be mistaken. It, like so many civil wars, was about much more than ethnicity: land, resources, language, political representation, all of it, but I cannot get too deeply into the details right now.

The government won. The rebels lost.

Sri Lanka is considered a unified state and the Tamil people of the North and East provinces are Sri Lankans. This is not a country of only Tamil Hindus of the North/East and Sinhalese Buddhist of the rest. It is a diverse nation of Indian Tamils (Plantation –workers), Muslims, Christians, Burghers (Sri Lankan/Dutch), and more. After such a long war, and the severe destruction in the Northern region and the sense of division pervasive in Sri Lankan society calls were made to create some form of reconciliation. This came from international voices, as well as voices within Sri Lanka.

The government of Sri Lanka acquiesced and the president appointed the Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission. The members are respected members of the community, and they held hearings across the country, taking testimony from the public. On the 18 of February they made a stop in the city of Galle, in the southwest of the island. My coworker and I traversed through Friday evening traffic to arrive in Galle late in the evening, to attend the public hearing the following morning.

One of the amazing things about involving the public in a government process is that the ‘public’ is a diverse group. I will not comment on the extent to which democracy has coalesced in Sri Lanka, nor will I state to what extent I believe this process will aid in the reconciliation and peacemaking for the Sri Lankan people. But I will say that one of the things about democracy that I love the most is witnessing its participatory nature.

People involved in community organizations, lawyers, public servants, academics, all gave their evidence. Women who’d lost their husbands and were being forced to move from their homes testified. Carpenters outlining incredibly complex arguments against current actions the government is taking against minority groups. Local lawyers outlining their belief in educating children in both Tamil and Sinhala…. Mothers who’d sacrificed all of their sons to the military gave testimony. Business owners who’d lost their shops in riots years ago, gave testimony. For hours we sat listening to the horrors people had experienced during the war. And this was only one hearing.

The international community continues to call for independent investigations into war crimes on the part of both the LTTE and the Sri Lankan government. Building a sustainable and lasting peace is a long complex process, which Sri Lanka is only beginning to scratch the surface.

I’m grateful to bear witness to at least one component of it.

A tidbit on Ethel again

After I’ve finished a day drinking tea, reading about theories on post-conflict development, arguing over cricket, and filling my belly with super-spicy rice and curry, I usually walk home. It takes about 22-25 minutes (which is why I stopped taking the bus, that takes at least 30 minutes, and I don’t show up any less sweaty). Upon my arrival Ethel is usually either in the kitchen or watching some TV. She asks me how my day was and frequently asks if I’ve eaten my dinner. On more than one occasion she has spent a few hours in her little kitchen brewing some lovely sundry up. I count myself lucky when she’s made string hoppers from scratch or a deep dark brown beef curry that is so rich you don’t even mind your lips burning for another hour after your done. She makes dhal that is so complete you’d forget it was a boring old yellow lentil. And then there are the days she’s planning a lunch or cooking for her family…oh lord! That means she has either made a cake or brownies. Oh my, oh me oh my, where did she get the recipe for those brownies!

Development or Sport? I'll take both please, with a side of riata

It is the cricket world cup, if you haven’t picked up on a bit of a theme in this blog, or you haven’t turned on a television in the Eastern hemisphere, or you are in South Asia and have been living in a cave you might have missed this. But the women in my office have not!

I work in a research center (as I may have mentioned) dedicated to examining poverty, development, and society. It is a female-majority work place. It is a Sri Lankan (Sinhalese and Tamil and Muslim) mostly workplace. There are 2 English women and me, who make up the non-Sri Lankan population. Lunch is a mixture of analyzing the merits various research strategies and their impact on the centre's ability to influence long-term development policy and arguing over which team performed better in the previous days’ ICC World Cup match.

And arguing we do well.

Is there more grace in a Test match than in a 50-overs match? What is the best approach to analyzing poverty? Why does the Australian team suck? (because they slighted the Sri Lankan team and there is no arguing with a Sri Lankan on these grounds, it is fact) How is India looking? Where the hell did Malinga learn to bowl a ball like that? Who had to play cricket in gym class and who hated versus loved it. (The older English lady hated it, a few youngish Sri Lankan women didn’t mind and at least 4 Sri Lankan women L-O-V-E-D it.) Do we want to use a quantitative approach to the next project or qualitative?

Our conversation really never strays far from development/politics and cricket. In fact sometimes they are happening simultaneously and interwoven…ly. Everyone has equally strong opinions on both, and are equally quick to laugh about both.

During lunch we sit in long tables with red rice and spicy dhal and fish or chicken or veggie curries of the hottest variety. I’m not joking even the native Sri Lankans reach for the cooling creaminess of raita or curd (yogurt). Most of us eat with our fingers, I’m telling you the food does taste better that way. We eat and chat and laugh or sometimes sit quietly on the veranda for about 30 minutes. Then we all take our plates to the kitchen, where the Kitchen Goddesses are tidying up, and we all wash our plates and hands. Our Kitchen Goddesses have been here since the place started and treat a lot of the researchers and policy officers like their nieces and nephews.

Then it’s back upstairs for more reading, and analyzing, project planning and computing, and I suspect for more than a few, a little live streaming of the latest game, which always starts around 2:30 in the afternoon. We'll all watch the highlights of the game that evening and be refueled for tomorrow's lunch-time analysis.