Sri Lanka Journal- Andew and Annette Dey: 2/6/2005

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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

Andrew

We have been told by the head of the Tamil Forest Protection Division that if we make a downpayment this morning, we will receive our first truckload of timbers later this afternoon. Tony hands me two stacks of 1,000 rupee notes, each bound by a rubber band. Each stack contains 100 bills, making it one lahk, or 100,000 rupees. As far as I know, 1,000 rupee notes are the highest denomination available here in Sri Lanka. 1,000 rupees equals about ten US dollars. For projects like ours, this lack of large bills means that we are often carrying around big wads of cash. Tony keeps these wads in plastic bags in the cargo pockets of his pants.

Driving south on the A-9, Easan—one of the more personable translators, and a good driver as well—explains the reason for the sorry state of the road. We had assumed that the potholes, dips, and broken asphalt were the result of bombs and mortars from the civil war. Not so.

“The highway was built two years ago, after the cease-fire was signed,” he tells us. “Most of the money came from Japan, through the ADB—the Asian Development Bank. The people hired to build the road did not do good work—they were corrupt. They took the money, but did not build a good road.”

I comment on the universal phenomenon of crooked contractors. Easan swerves to miss a large monkey scampering across the road. He continues:

“Before this road was built, it was just a gravel road, and much smaller. It was dangerous to drive on, because lots of wild animals would cross it. The single elephants—do you call them ‘alien’ elephants?—” I suggest ‘rogue,’ “—they were especially dangerous, because they always want to attack everything.”

Why is that?

“I think they have psychological problems—maybe they left their mothers too young. Do you have dangerous animals in the US?”

The question catches me by surprise, and I have to think for a few moments.

“There are dangerous bears in some parts of the US—grizzly bears. But not where we live.”

Eventually we arrive at the regional Forest Protection Division office where we are to make our downpayment. A path leads through a grove of banana trees to the small building where the office is located. The path is bordered on each side by a line of spent 6” diameter mortar shells that have been planted upside down.

Inside the dark office, I see the usual posters glorifying various Tamil Tiger war heroes. One of them features “Mr. P,” the leader of the Tigers. After lengthy discussions about timber cost and availability, during which we are told that we can expect at least one truckload of timbers per day, I hand over the two lakhs. As the Forest Protection officer counts the two hundred bills, I wonder how much more efficient business in Sri Lanka would be if the government was to print notes worth, say, twenty US dollars.

From the office, we head to one of the timber depots where our first truckload of timbers is apparently being loaded. It is not easy to find. We turn off the A-9 and travel for about forty-five minutes on small, bumpy gravel roads. The landscape is forest, scrub brush, and rice paddies. We see people working in the paddies, cutting rice with sickles and piling the stalks into tall mounds to dry. The houses that we pass are mostly low, windowless huts with simple frames and palm-frond walls and roofing. The transitional shelters that we are building for the displaced coastal families are larger, and more substantial.

We finally arrive at the timber depot on the outskirts of a small village. Small-diameter timbers are stacked vertically against a huge banyan tree. I have trouble distinguishing these timbers from the many vertical shoots of the banyan tree. Larger diameter timbers are stacked in neat piles. I am pleased to see that our truck is half loaded.

I wander around the banyan tree and see a large square pit over which a pole shed with metal roofing has been constructed. A five-foot long hand-saw is on a log next to the pit. Behind the pit, an elderly man is seated cross-legged on the ground, filing the teeth on another long saw blade. I have read about pit saws—Eric Sloan’s books on early Americana come to mind—but had not imagined that they are still in use. Without electrical power, however—and none of the Vanni is on the grid—any mechanical saw would have to be powered by gas or diesel. In the local calculus of cost and availability, cheap labor wins.

The truck driver assures us that he will deliver the timbers later that afternoon. I don’t envy his drive; it will probably take two to three hours. We rattle and roll our way back to the A-9, and head north to the transit camp sites.

We find Roy at the first of the three camps where we will be building shelters, and update him on the status of the timbers. Will the carpenters be able to start work tomorrow?

“They say that tomorrow is a bad day to start building the houses,” he tells us with a wry grin. How’s that? “Because of the horoscope.” I have read about the local art of divination, as it relates to housebuilding. “Workers will start the day after tomorrow.” Apparently there is nothing more to be said on the subject. We console ourselves with the thought that the extra day will give us more time to gather materials and lay out shelter locations.