Sri Lanka Journal- Andew and Annette Dey- 1/31/2005
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Links from Andrew and Annette:
Pro Photographer Dixie's web site
Mondo Challenge set up Andrew and Annette's trip.
Unawatuna is the village where they're staying and working
In the north, Andrew and Annette are working with Norwegian People's Aid. NPAID is partnered with the German organization called Arbeiter Samariter Bund.
Bensonwood.com
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Some staff members from the Norwegian organisation NPA (Norwegian Peoples Aid) and the German ASB (Arbeiter Samariter Bund) have asked us to come up to Kilinochchi in the Northern part of Sri Lanka to take a look at their planned shelter building operation. They sent a driver to pick us up and on the northbound road we go at 5am on Monday morning.
After an hour and a half briefing with the NPA manager Luke at their Colombo office, we are rushed back into the Toyota RAV4 to hit the road by half past 10. Luke had mentioned that he has dispatched his fastest driver for us: "If you get too scared, you can tell him to drive slower. If you don't, he will assume that you want to travel as fast as possible."
Very interesting. We'll see how his style compares with the public bus drivers. As we leave Colombo through its endless outskirts, the driver Lingam ("we call him Lingam Schuhmacher" Luke had joked) explains to us that we need to pass the Tamil checkpoint before 5pm, else we won't get through. While we fight our path through the Colombo morning traffic Andrew and I agree that we are not learning too many new tricks from Lingam as far as scaring the other drivers out of the way, accelerating like a Tiger in attack mode, or screeching to a full stop are concerned. I even decide to catch up a bit on sleep and stretch out on the back seat.
After about two hours on the coastal road, we turn inland. This road looks like it has not seen much maintenance during the last few years. In fact, both edges of the road have started to break away, causing most vehicles to drive in the center of the road, and making any encounter with oncoming traffic a somewhat difficult and rather bumpy manoeuvre. Overall the ride has become a lot rougher and I have to give up my outstretched position as it starts to feel like lying on a rather busy trampoline.
Along this road we have stopped at three or four gas stations looking for the high octane gas that this vehicle seemed only to accept for its services. We finally are in luck at a gas station outside of Vavunya. As we approach the “border” checkpoint between the government-controlled area and the “Vanni”—the area controlled by the LTTE (a.k.a. Tamil Tigers), Andrew starts to question our driver about specific Tamil laws and habits. We have heard rumours about the very conservative "Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eemal" who have kept a tight grip on the Northern Areas or Sri Lanka.
“Lingam, in the LTTE zone – are there Singhalese people living as well as Tamils?”
Lingam shakes his head sideways. This could mean yes or no – we have yet to figure out the apparently rather subtle difference between the motions.
“ Yes? And is that a problem?” Andrew presses him further.
Another half head shake from Lingam, this time accompanied by a slightly doubtful expression on his face: “No Singhalese, no problem.”
“ Ah”, Andrew is still hoping for clarification. “You mean there are no Singhalese living in the Vanni area, and that is why there is no problem with them?”
“ Singhalese yes. No problem” is all he can get out of Lingam.
“ Okay.” Andrew has apparently decided to let this case rest for the moment. “I have another question: Is it true that Tamils don’t allow any alcohol drinking?”
“ Tamil can drink,” Lingam assures him, “Tamil Tigers – no alcohol, no cigarettes.”
“… and no sex?” Andrew wants to know.
Lingam is quite clear on this one. He shakes his head and pantomimes firing a pistol with his left hand.
“ Oh, they shoot you, if you have sex,” Andrew interprets for me. “Maybe we better not…”, he adds thoughtfully.
Finally we arrive at the check point where we are sent around to several different positions on the Singhalese side. First a police check of the car inside and out, then another check of passengers. At last the army posts waves us through. “Is that it?” Andrew wants to know. “They were all wearing the same kind of uniform.” We enter into a rather despondent looking area. So called “bunts” – man made earthen works, like levies to hold back a river – are facing the road. Tall barbed-wire fences clad with palm-leaf mats provide visual screening on the other side. The phrase “no man’s land” shoots through my head. This part of the road reminds me of the transit road from Western Germany to Berlin during the Cold War. Five minutes later we arrive at the other end of the check point. Female Tamil soldiers are guarding the entrance gate. Lingam parks the car under a shed roof before he gets out of the car with an impressive pile of important-looking papers that he carries to a small office building.
Two stalls over from ours in the parking shed sits a blond woman in a big white UNICEF Range Rover. It must be well air-conditioned as her elaborate make up shows no sign of wear in spite of the heat. She must have gone through the border procedure quite a few times as she looks rather bored. From the amount of UNICEF vehicles we have seen in the border vicinity they must be involved in some way with the peace-keeping effort. As far as peace is concerned – although a “cease fire” was agreed upon in 2002 and has lasted since—the war is not officially over yet.
After another thorough search of our vehicle’s inner life, including every item that we packed into our bags, Lingam obtains a stamped slip of paper which we hand to one of the guards at the gate. He looks like he might be sixteen. His expression is rather serious but he seems somewhat uncomfortable, judging from the way he is jerking his head around and squinting his eyes at us repeatedly while studying the paper. All three of us look back at him expectantly, vaguely hoping that our entry into the LTTE area is imminent now. This makes him apparently even less comfortable. He looks away and calls on his fellow soldiers to study the piece of paper with him. All three of them proceed to do so diligently. At last the boy with the squinting eyes looks up and waves his hand at the gate, upon which one of his companions lifts the bar to let us pass.
We proceed on the narrow road which is lined by meadows, an occasional ruin of a house, and some temporary looking huts. There are also plenty of warning signs stating “Beware of explosives”. Our travel guide claims an occurrence of about 15 land mine accidents per month in Sri Lanka in 2002. Most mines get detonated by farmers ploughing their fields or children “finding a particularly interesting thing to play with.” Since the “cease fire” the international community has used their leverage to get groups like the NPA’s demining unit installed in the area.
We have heard that both sides of the infamous “Route 9” had been heavily mined – a result of more than two decades of civil war -- but I am somewhat surprised to find that the road itself was apparently not spared. Every couple of hundred metres, big craters in the asphalt and gravel below force us off the road. As I continue to get thrown vertically and sideways into the chassis of the car, I take a firm grip at the door handle in a determined effort to brace myself. This sort of transportation mode can be fun for a little while, but a couple hours into it I am convinced that I am setting myself up for early kidney failure.
Finally we reach the outskirts of Kilinochchi. Many a ruin lines our path, the school looks like an empty bombed out shell – the roof missing, the walls blackened and windowless, - but to my surprise I see (through the window openings) that some of the first floor class rooms are currently occupied by classes of students. The town’s inhabitants seem to be quite used to the view the town presents. They busily move along the shop fronts and across the main street. Bicycles seem to be the prevalent source of transportation around here. The bikers are outnumbering cars and tuk-tuks by far. As we have seen in the South occasionally, one of those black Dutch looking bikes oftentimes carries two people, if not a whole family. The passengers sit on the saddle, the bar, and the “backseat”, and the children mostly on the handle bars.
Dusk is setting as we pass through a large gate. We see several trucks, a “water bowser”(tank truck), and other heavy equipment, as well as about 100 generators covered by a shed roof. A large sign mounted outside the tall fence declares the yard to be occupied by the “Humanitarian Demining Unit”. We have arrived