Sri Lanka (Part 2: It Ends in Tragedy)

It Ends in Tragedy-

From staying with (my guy) Raja’s Aunt and Uncle on the tea plantation, Raja and I went to his families home in the north central town of Vavuniya. The whole time he was telling me how excited his wife and kids were that I was coming to stay there and looking forward to meeting me. The property consisted of 2 small square structures, an outhouse and a well. Living there were Raja’s mother, wife and 3 kids, along with Raja’s brother and wife, also with 3 kids. Most have never hung out with a foreigner and some of the kids have never even seen one. Again I was treated like royalty and given my own room and bed while others shared floor space in the tiny kitchen (I had no choice or ability to argue). When I met his kids I was introduced as “Uncle”. The kids greeted me and were predictably standoffish the first day. Kids have a very trusting nature though and just like the last family by the second day I was no longer a stranger, but part of the family. Coming back from the river after swimming/bathing on the second afternoon there was a fight for who got to hold my hand as we walked. I ended up with one on each side. By now I was answering to Uncle as if it was my first name.

The family tree is a different plant in Sri Lanka. What we call a cousin is brother or sister to them and father/mother-in-law is Auntie or Uncle. Auntie or Uncle is also a term of respect for anybody older. Families are very close, as living in the same house 10 deep will do. Raja works and lives 8 hours away by bus in the capital city of Colombo, in order to pay for his eldest sons English lessons. He is only able to come once a month to visit for a few days and his mother and brother help raise his 3 children. His mother is battle tested and has been through a hard life. She lost 2 boys in their adolescence, another in his 30’s and her husband died a few years back. Severe diabetes has caused deterioration and eaten away at her right food that she walks around with wrapped in a plastic bag. She spoke no English, but a few times would limp over with a chair and sit next to me. She was a sweet lady.

I may have never before been so continuously full as I was for the 3 day period I stayed there. As we ate Raja’s wife would stand nearby watching my plate. As soon as it reached anywhere near the 50% mark she would come to the table and scoop more on my plate until it overflowed again, I’d eat some more and she would fill it back up, I’d tell her I was full and it wouldn’t matter. Every time I was to the bursting point and couldn’t fit another grain of rice in my belly I’d have to plea with her to stop. When I finally convinced her I couldn’t take anymore she would clear my plate, bring over an empty bowl and run a pitcher of water over my hand (right hand only) to clean it. This continued for three days…breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Whenever I tried to help do anything it was pointless. I asked to help with dishes once and they laughed at me. They carried my bed, set up my room and brought chairs for me to sit down wherever I was standing. They continued to put me on the phone with people so I could have my standard awkward, hard to understand and nothing to talk about, conversation “ohhh yes, very beautiful family, like Sri Lanka very much, ohhh yes very nice people, very happy, yes yes will come back and visit, thank you, thank you”. I returned the favor one time when I called home for Father’s Day and put Raja’s wife on the phone with my Dad. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, but she told him that she feels like I’m part of the family now and have a home anytime in Sri Lanka.

During the day I would hang out and play with the kids. I taught the girls volleyball and the boys taught me cricket (of which I dominate). I was showing the little girls photos I had on my phone and they became fascinated with the touch screen. I deleted a few suspect pics then I allowed them to play with my iphone while ate. When they retuned my phone it was in disarray and a few applications were deleted. I was never a big fan of twitter anyway.

Originally I was supposed to stay 1 day, which quickly turned into 2. I was all packed up and ready to leave on the 3rd morning when the wife asked me to stay just 1 more day so I could go to the festival with them. My original plan was to visit the city of Anuradhapura which is the former capital and supposed to have some amazing old shit. Though I like old shit, I love festivals and loved staying with the family even more than that. It wasn’t a hard decision, of course I would stay. The festival was at a nearby Hindu temple, so we piled 7 people in the tuk tuk and rolled up to give prayer offerings. I walked around with the family and was given the traditional marks of white, orange and red paints on the forehead that I sported the rest of the day. From the prayer offerings we went to go eat. It was a big open room and everyone sat Indian style on the ground in long rows, men on one side, women on the other. We were handed big banana plant leaves as plates that were placed on the floor, then like an assembly line, servers went down the row dropping food on the leaves; rice, dhal, peppers and crispy bread. The whole while people all along the dining hall are taking notice of the white person and returning warm smiles.

Following lunch we caught the parade which was the most bizarre thing I have ever witnessed. I have seen it before on tv, one of those shows about taboo cultural practices. It was ritual self mutilation. Men would work themselves into frenzied trance states and pierce their bodies, though not talking ears and nose with a needle… There were guys with 8-10 hooks in their backs and people walking behind with ropes tied to them like reins on a horse. Others had big metal rods running through both cheeks while balancing large wooden shrines on their heads as they walked. The pièce de résistance though was the homecoming parade type floats that suspended men by hooks running the length of their backs and down their legs. These floats would swing up and down 10-15 feet causing the man to support his full body weight on every bounce with the metal running through his flesh. Some looked like they were in a true trance, others looked in agonizing pain, one guy looked passed out (or dead) and one guy was smiling at everyone. I can’t imagine anything being more insanely weird. During the festival the whole family would proudly introduce me to their friends. Out of about 20,000 people I was the only foreigner, but I still felt at home with my surrogate Sri Lankan family.

On my final morning at the house there was some type of family feud that erupted between Raja, his brother and mom. I quietly disappeared into the shadows and allowed them to work out the family matters. When I went to go sit down around the corner the kids came over and joined me and had a superglue style tube of henna. Used for temporary tattoos, henna stains your skin for a few days before eventually fading away. They all wrote my name on the inside of their hands to remember me. Looking at their hands they would then spell my name and say it over and over “B.O.B Bob, B.O.B Bob, B.O.B Bob, B.O.B Bob”. I allowed one of the girls to write it on my hand as well, where it still sits bright orange in my palm two days later. Eventually the dispute fizzled out, I said my heartfelt goodbyes, promised to return, and Raja and I took the train 5 hours back to Colombo.

When we got off the train we went to the hangout spot where he took me on the first day to play cards with his crew. When we got there we were met with horrific and deeply tragic news. Raja’s mother was dead. The fight that broke out earlier in the day had been an ongoing sensitive issue that happened to resurface in front of me. Raja’s brother, apparently through the influence of his wife, had been trying to get the deed to the family’s land for a few years. His mother had reached her breaking point and could not take it anymore. Shortly after the fight she drank some type of poison and committed suicide. To say this came as a shock is an ridiculous understatement. I had to fight back tears upon hearing it, as I have to fight back tears now as I write this. Raja went through a whirlwind of emotions and eventually fell to the ground in despair. There were no more trains going back to Vavuniya that night so after composing himself to the best of his ability he went to the bus station to return home grief stricken and angry. I gave him a big hug and reminded him that making sure his children are ok is all that was important. With tears in his eyes he nodded, tried to force a smile and turned to walk away. It was a horrible way to end an idyllic two weeks in Sri Lanka. I had grown close with Raja and felt the loss of the family matriarch who I had stayed with that week and seen earlier that same day. To have had the opportunity to spend time with Raja and his family enough to be affected by her passing is a blessing, as heartbreaking as it may be. And for that I will be forever grateful.

Bob