Things that make you go hmmmmm...


Ok, first of all, I know that some of you now have a song running through your heads, and are probably busting a move in your chairs...and now the rest of you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Anyways...

Just some photos I've taken recently that you probably wouldn't see in day to day life back Canada.


Tiny ants devouring a huge, giant cockroach in my retro tiled bathroom. (Actually the mottled look is quite disturbing as with my glasses off, it looks like many cockroaches!) This particular guy was almost as long as my pinky finger.



This sign actually says "Weak bridge drive carefully". Are they serious? Will my careful driving change the fact that I can see the water through the holes in the pavement?!?


A guy with his load of firewood, on his bike. Those of you who've ridden with me, remind me to never again complain about how heavy my bike is!!

This is not a true story, but it could be. Many women we met at the displaced person camps had storied like this. It's also not as timely as I would have wished. Many of the IDPs are being re-settled now and have to deal with other concerns. "What's left of my house?" Are any of my livestock still alive? Where are the mines?
Anyways, just an effort to try to illustrate a little bit of what it may be like for some of our neighbours around the world. There are some other photos on the picasa site to check out. Called IDP photos.

My name is Nirosha, I’m 24. I have three children, aged 5, 4 and 1. I am pregnant. My husband is dead. My home in west Batticaloa has been destroyed by fighting between the government of Sri Lanka and the Tamil Tigers. My husband was killed by a mortar which landed in our field and we fled. My heart is broken and I cannot grieve. We’ve walked in the hot sun now for 4 days. A few times we managed a ride on the back of a tractor and then we’d jolt down the uneven pock marked roads with other people like us…desperate for peace. We left in such a hurry we had only the clothes on our backs, an umbrella for shade and a little rice and dahl. My children and I traveled for 4 days through the jungle and down dusty parched roads through deserted fields. We were accompanied by our friends and neighbours who were just as terrified and frantic as we were. Everyone too preoccupied with their own troubles to notice me carrying my infant and trying to protect my other two young ones.

We passed through registration stations where we were “recorded” but not helped. We past through villages that haven’t seen the violence we have, at least not this time. Some people tried to help with what little they had to share, but there are so many of us walking through their villages and by now I can see the suspicion building in their eyes. “Where are all these people going to live, how long will they push my kids out of school so they have a place to stay, who will feed them?... I don’t blame them but neither is this my fault.

I have flashbacks of the last time I was displaced. (Such a gentle word for this awful trial. Like someone came by and just shifted me to the side a little, hardly affecting me at all…displaced!)

My family was displaced when I was 5. It was terrifying. We left our house and small farm in the night. I was too young to understand what was happening but I remember the long, hot days walking and walking. My parents couldn’t carry me as well as my younger sister so I walked and walked. I lost one sandal somewhere in the jungle and after that I walked through bush and sand, scared of bugs and snakes and everything that moved. I have these fleeting memories of nights spent in the jungle with strange noises all around and lying uncomfortably under a bush or a tree, with nothing to brighten the morning...just more hot, dusty roads and more hours of walking till my feet were blistered and I remember just wanting to lay down and stay there. I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes and the hopelessness in my father’s. I also remember months and months spent in a tent in a camp so hot and so dry and so devoid of shade I really thought I would die.

And now I feel the fear of my mother and the hopelessness of my father. What will become of my children in a camp like that? Will I have enough food to give them? Will they be safe? I’ve heard awful stories about the rebels who take young children away from their families, surely 5 is too young for that. I’m worried about my home. What will happen when I’m gone? Will there be anything left when I return? How will I support my family now that my husband is dead? Who will help me provide for these kids and give them some happy memories?

The Good News.

Yesterday the Sri Lankan Supreme Court ruled that evicting Tamil citizens from Colombo was unconstitutional and a severe human rights violation. The government has not only stopped any further evictions, they are transporting some of the evicted people back to Colombo.

This is very good news in a period where all we're getting here is more and more bad news.

Being Apolitical…

…is not easy for me, it drives me to these internal rants. They are very persuasive and intelligent internal rants and I will keep them that way for now, (though being internal, they are not nearly as satisfying as if I wrote them down for you to “enjoy”.) Part of your job when you work for an INGO (international non governmental organization…and a good part of the song about the farmer and his dog!) is staying neutral. It’s vital, and as there are always two sides to a story, it’s not really that hard, except sometimes it is. So I thought I’d post this for your thinking pleasure without any of my own thoughts or comments. Of course there’s background to it as always but you’re all smart enough to realize that, I’m sure. Check out the following article http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/COL267809.htm and read the following response from the international community.

Open Letter to President Mahinda Rajapakse to stop the expulsion of Tamils from Colombo


Honorable Mahinda Rajapakse,
President of Sri Lanka

On receiving reports of the expulsion of Tamils from various locations in
Colombo this morning, June 7 2007, members of our organizations visited
the Wellawatte, Pettah and Peliyagoda areas and spoke to various persons
who had been affected by the process and the police in the area. This
move is directly attributed to the statement made by the IGP on the 1st
of June, claiming that Tamil people cannot remain in Colombo without a
valid reason. On May 31 Tamils from the North and East residing in lodges
in Pettah were forced to leave, as lodge owners were reportedly
instructed by the police to not to shelter people from the North and East
who had no "valid reasons" for being in Colombo.

According to the information we have received, in an operation that
commenced in the early hours of the morning, police and army officers
visited various lodges occupied predominantly by Tamils in Colombo and
forcibly removed Tamils from these guesthouses. In several instances,
eyewitnesses reported that these were not from the local police stations.

Hundreds of Tamils from the Northern and Eastern Provinces, who had been
staying in Colombo for a range of reasons were forcibly loaded onto buses
and taken to Peliyagoda. A Police Officer at the Peliyagoda Police
reported that at least 8 buses with approximately 50 people in a bus left
Peliyagoda. Later today, we heard that the IGP had clarified to the party
leaders meeting in the parliament that 6 buses had left for Vavuniya, 1
bus to Batticaloa and 1 bus to Trincomalee. At 8.30am in the morning, an
officer at the Wellawatte Police reported that 3 buses with approximately
60 people left for Trincomalee and that they would be sent to Jaffna by
ship. Later on in the day, the Wellawatte Police reported a figure of 83.
However, as of now, there is no confirmation of the numbers of people who
were put on the buses, nor of their names.

Many of the lodge managers, and remaining inmates, complained to us that
people were given less than half an hour to pack all their belongings and
board the CTB buses that were parked outside these lodges. They were also
not told their exact destination, only that the return to their homes was
being 'arranged'.

The criteria for their expulsion seemed to be determined arbitrarily by
the police and army. Even in some cases where lodgers were able to
explain their presence in Colombo to establish their bona fides, they
were told that Tamils who were not permanent residents of Colombo had no
right to be in Colombo and had to leave. According to a senior official
at the Wellawatte Police, the criteria for determining return was: those
who wished to return but did not have the funds to do so; those who had
no rationale for remaining in Colombo; and those who said they were
remaining in Colombo out of fear.

The Police claimed that they were simply assisting Tamils return to their
home towns, and that they had come to know about these desires during
checking carried out. The reports from residents, owners and staff of
lodges, eye witnesses to the expulsion however are in complete contrast
to these accounts. People were forced to leave, even those who were in
Colombo for health reasons and were not fit to travel.

While we are full cognizant of the current security situation and the
need to maintain close surveillance of the city and its environs, in
terms of the human rights principles that guide us in our work as human
rights defenders, we are convinced that the above process is NOT capable
of guaranteeing security and rather creates further polarization between
the different ethnic communities that share this island, and heightens
the sense of marginalization and alienation of Tamil people of this
country.

We reaffirm the principle enshrined in the Constitution of Sri Lanka
guarantees all Sri Lankans the right to choose their own residence
(temporary or permanent), and freedom of movement and maintain that what
has taken place in Colombo today is a flagrant violation of this
principle, and a disgrace to humanity.

We call on you, as our head of State, to take all steps available to call
an immediate halt to this practice, and to offer facilities of return to
Colombo to anyone who has been forcibly removed from Colombo in this
process.

Sincerely yours,

Center for Human Rights and Development (CHRD)
Center for Policy Alternatives (CPA)
Free Media Movement (FMM)
INFORM Human Rights Documentation Center (INFORM)
Institute of Human Rights (IHR)
International Movement against
All forms of Racial Discrimination (IMADR)
Law & Society Trust (LST)
Rights Now (RN)

7th June 2007

Fist of all, the answer is 12. Scott has electrocuted himself about 12 times in one day. On to other ways to injure yourself.

Surfing A-bay.

Finally, I’m learning to surf. 10 years ago when I started snowboarding I said that I’d learn to surf one day, and while I can’t say that I have learned, at least the process has begun.

We headed down to Arugam Bay last weekend (known locally to the surfers as “A-Bay”…so much cooler) for some surf lessons. It’s a really cool place, not much there if you’re not planning on surfing but apparently it’s one of the top ten surf breaks in the world. Not, I think, where we surfed, but in the main bay. There’s this great break, called “the Point” (original!) with consistent 1-2m waves that break parallel to the beach and close in, though over a rocky reef. It looked pretty intimidating to us beginners, especially as there were these really great surfers who would get on a wave and ride it well, but with seemingly no thought for who might be in their way. I saw so many people almost get run over, and I knew that for sure I would lack the skill to get out of the way.

Anyway, we talked to the Sri Lankan brothers that own the surf shack on the point about lessons and they we like “oh yeah, no problem, is easy, we go out, I push you, you surf!” They live in this little shack with more boards than beds, one guitar, a bongo drum and a poster of Bob Marley. I commented on the sweet setup and got this reply, “oh yeah, is nice, we play a little…smoke a little…surf a little…” but this guy just didn’t look the part, he was a tiny Sri Lankan man wearing a shorty sarong, with short, neat hair. I just couldn’t learn to surf from a guy who looked like that! And I was nervous about the Point still. So we checked around at some of the other surf shops in town and found out that there were other, easier places to surf and much more authentic looking surf instructors with a really cool surf jeep. So we set up some lessons and headed off in the very cool old landrover for…the Peanut Farm! (It’s like skiing something called “Field of Daisies” or “Easiest Way Down” or climbing at “the School Yard”) Anyways, I found out later that there actually was a peanut farm there, it’s not named that because it’s so easy. But I still would’ve preferred something cooler sounding. Oh well, I guess Peanut Farm is better than “Smash up your body on the reef of death!” or some such name.

So, blah blah, long intro…I LOVE SURFING. I’m totally addicted, though really not good at all. If I have my way though, I have 11 more surfing days planned before we leave, which could be 22 surf sessions or 60 plus hours in the water. Surely by that time I’ll be able to call myself a surfer.

The surf night turned into a huge gong show (not surprisingly considering I was involved as were bad roads and trishaws.) The drive to the beach was down an old rutted track through the jungle, much like driving through sand dunes and small creeks. Another couple of Canadians, also beginners were coming out, with their surf teachers in a trishaw. Not surprisingly the trishaw broke down on the way there, but finally made it. On the way back however, the thing broke down for good. So…we decided to tow it with the behemoth we were riding in. Things went surprisingly smoothly for awhile, the rope breaking only once every 5 mins. And then, our jeep broke down. So before we knew it, the guys were out of the truck, pulling out the seats and floor boards to get at the gear box. Apparently, when you put it in reverse too quickly, it jams. So…we sat on the road for about half and hour, watching the full moon rise over the lagoon and listening to elephants snorting in the background, while the guys tinkered with the truck. It was one of those situations where you find yourself thinking “Yeah right…there’s no way they’ll fix this thing.” Yet, everyone is optimistic and eventually…they fixed it! So then we set off down the slightly less bumpy off road track…still towing a trishaw. The rope snapped so many times that eventually they decided it would be better for the guy in the trishaw to just hold it! Which he did for another 20 mins, I can’t believe his arm didn’t fall off, but there you have it. We made it back about 7:30, had some absolutely delicious spaghetti and went immediately to bed!

Can’t wait to do it again…