Eyes Wide Open

It's been an interesting couple of days, to say the least. In the last week I've gotten a bigger glimpse of the world outside my bubble than I've ever seen before, and I do honestly believe I'm waking up to smell the coffee now, in the realisation that I am one very lucky person.

Let's start with my first revelation. Last Wednesday, I attended a research study on behalf of one of my clients. The research called for a team of us to go outside Colombo and visit families belonging to the SEC 'E' market (households that earn less than Rs.5,000/- per month) and find out about their lifestyles. To begin with, the mere thought of an entire family living on less than 5k a month - the same amount I'd probably spend on one night out or a pair of shoes - was an eye opener. We all know they're out there... we've seen them on documentaries and news features... but trust me, you will never EVER really understand or sympathize until you've been in their homes, and seen it for yourself. What truly humbles you is the realisation that it could very well have been you in their shoes... because there isn't a single thing different between you and them as human beings.

These were familes that defied every rose-coloured notion I had of what poverty is all about. I was never really affected to the core by someone's else's squalour until I went on that research, and sat with five of these families. The houses (if they could be called 'houses') were barely standing wooden/mud pens, with plastic roofs, that did not and could not stand against rains or wind. It broke my heart to see them so eagerly welcome me as their honoured guest, by offering me the one unbroken plastic chair they had. There was no furniture to speak of, save the odd make-shift wooden rack or table that singularly served as a 'closet', ornament cabinet, kitchen utensil cupboard, food storage facility and dining table, all in one. Looking around made me realise the triviality of us Colombo-ites making a dance about painting our houses for Christmas, when these people didn't seem to have the money to build themselves sustainable walls to begin with.

As I sat and talked with the five women whose homes these were, I found myself wanting to cry on several occassions. The level of education on basic things like family planning was appalling. Each respondent was no more than 25 years old, but had a minimum of four children to feed. Our research task was to investigate what comrpomises these people had had to make in their household shopping and family's nutrition as a result of recent inflation in the country. What a redundant exercise that was! These people had no idea about nutrition to begin with, and shopping was considered an indulgent luxury. Their understand of health was making sure their kids weren't hungry all the time, and if that meant feeding them rocks to fill them up, so be it. It broke my heart. To the clusters of children surrounding me in every household, I was something of a god, in my clean clothes and make-up. I could barely control the tears when one mother begged me to take her 12 year old daughter back to Colombo with me, and let her work in my house in exchange for food and a bed.

What struck me more was how resilient you become when you know nothing more than abject poverty. All these women, inaddition to being mums of four to five kids, were also the sole breadwinners of their families, having had the misfortune of being married to lethargic and drunken baboons for husbands, whose sole purpose in life is to throw the little money the family makes into drinking their fill until they're ready to stagger home and beat the shit out of their wives and kids. Not one of the husbands I was introduced to did so much as lift a finger to go out and find themselves work. Instead, their long-suffering wives wake up at 3 am to boil grams, make stringhoppers or porrige to hopefully sell on the roadside, in order to feed and clothe their children. It's a pathetic, but very real life that almost 20% of Sri Lanka's women lead. And yet, with all this, they smile. I may have sat there on those plastic chairs, gasping in horror at what I deemed was a 'plight', but to these women it was life as it had always been. There was such an air of dignity and acceptance in the manner they spoke with me, that it was truly humbling. Their children may have been dressed in tatters, but they wore brighter smiles than toothpaste commercials. And what's more, I also found that the poorer you are, the bigger your heart is, for all these impoverished families had opened their homes to dogs and cats, who seemed to be lovingly looked after.

The research experience left me frustrated at the system, aching to help, and infinitely grateful to the Lord for blessing me with so much that I take for granted way too often.

My second revelation came in a different format, which was a larger number of young people of my age. 64 to be precise. A few friends and I took up a offer from the Jaffna Centre for Performing Arts, to travel to Wennappuwa on Saturday and conduct a four-hour drama workshop with students from the north and south. At first, my mind was boggled with hesitation and fear of what we'd have to deal with, considering the political sensitivities that would certainly arise from mixing up ethnic groups from such far corners of the island. We were forewarned that most of these participants came from the centre of war-torn areas, and had a humongous load of personal baggage that we should be considerate enough to avoid. None of them would be fluent in English, and so the workshop would have to be conducted triligually too. With much trepidation and nervous jokes about losing our lives in the course of the day, we headed off to the venue.

The workshop was incredible. It was the one event I wish the bastards in government and the LTTE had witnessed, for here were 64 adults born in racist environments, who'd been brainwashed to hate each other because of race, getting along like long-lost friends. Although they didn't speak each others' language, there was never a moment of confusion or resentment at the lack of communication. They came together in the love for theatre, and I watched them work with each other in a way that even we dont as a drama group. And the talent was awe-inspiring. There was such truth in everything they did, and they were superb without knowing it... absolute raw talent. To think that 95% of these people would never have the opportunities that I'd had to take their art onto the main stage was truly saddening.

Once more, I was struck by how priviledged my life was, through the various drama exercises we did with them. We asked them to do group work and dramatize personal stories, and there was the predominant theme of war and militarization coming out. When they improvised home living, they'd squat on the imaginary toilet 'hole', and wash clothes in a river on a stone. Whilst one of our team members mimed 'bathing' by turning on a shower, the participants drew water from the well instead. Our differences were also quite obvious to the eye - whilst my team was so much healthier and happier looking, these students had rough living written all over their thin faces. It was a hard slap in the face, and a real kick off my pedestal. Amazingly, none of my previous concerns about working with these students even made an appearance through the entire programme, and I truly enjoyed marvelling at the font of talent I saw that day.

This Chirstmas has been one helluva eye-opening experience for me... I've been given two opportunities to understand the many blessings showered on me, and how incredibly lucky I am to lead the life that I do. I can't believe just a week ago, I was bitching about being broke and how absurdly stressful life was. I must've been mad, coz my life's a walk in a very lush park, in comparison to those I witnessed in the last four days.

So perhaps I should share a bit, eh?