Gaston's Graffiti

Today I was driven up, and up, and up, until the palm trees gave way to pine trees and we reached Sri Lanka’s tea country. For hours, we drove through an area of mountains that has been completely denuded of its original vegetation, and covered with hedges upon hedges of tea trees.  This area certainly exceeded the size of some small countries, and the whole area looked like a French Chateau garden.

I was only able to take pictures around my hotel today, an old colonial bungalow, but tomorrow I will see much more of this incredibly scenic area.

Here and there in the fields, women dressed in colorful saris swiftly nipped the new leaves off of every bush.  These new leaves are the ones used to brew tea.  None of them minded that I took their picture.  I tried to communicate with one, to understand which leaves she would pluck.  So I pulled out a leaf and gave it to her.  She looked at me as if I had a fried egg on my head, took my leaf and threw it on the ground, along with all the other leaves she already had in her hand.  I don’t know what I did wrong, but I will not interfere in their work again.

Then I returned to my bungalow for “Afternoon Tea”.  I am so jacked up on caffeine now I wonder if I will ever fall asleep.  Tomorrow the Tea Experience continues, so stay tuned.

It’s the tropics, things crawl around.  It’s a simple law of nature.  If it’s not the chipmunks rolling fruits on the roof at 5am, then it’s the chameleons slowly goose-stepping across your path, or bats the size of beagles (if beagles had wings and flew) gliding in the evening sky.  Here are a few Sri Lankan crawly pics of the lizard kind:

This guy was seriously five feet long. It scared the crap out of me!

And here is another crawly.  (Someone called Dawn Deeks should refrain from scrolling any further down.)  This pretty thing comes to pay a visit into the kitchen where I am living every evening.  It is the size of my hand, no joke:

And lastly, a crawly of a different kind.  This scene made my skin crawl… It’s festival season in Sri Lanka, and, Hindus, who are from the minority Tamil population in Sri Lanka (it’s mostly a Buddhist country) see it fit to celebrate by digging giant hooks into their skin and then balancing from a beam over a crowd.  I came upon this scene really unexpectedly.  I stepped off a bus into a procession, and all of a sudden a skewered guy was swinging over my head.  I think I screamed.  The picture is not good, I took it fast, in darkness, and ran away, but you get the idea:

“You can’t wear these shoes”, my friend Lasantha tell me, “it’s going to be too muddy.  Here, take these.”  I drop my hiking shoes, and instead slip my size 10 feet into size 6 sandals with a slightly elevated heel.  I spend the day daintily tiptoeing around Ratnapura, the gem capital of Sri Lanka.

Those who know me well will remember that I have a great interest in rocks, especially the kind that shine and glitter. I like finding treasure, what can I say…

When in conversation I found out that Lasantha comes from Ratnapura, and that his cousin owns a gem mine, I swiftly bullied myself into his vacation days.  After a night at his parent’s house, being fed and waited upon like a king, I hop on the back of his motorcycle in my ill-fitting sandals and we head for the mines.

Considering the mountains surrounding the area, I’m expecting bulldozers, massive trucks and miners eroding the sides of rocky hills.  So why do I need to wear Barbie slippers?  But I’m wrong.  Lasantha points at small thatch and bamboo huts huddled together in the middle of rice paddies, “These are all mines,” he says.  The jewels which kingdoms and empires have fought over for centuries come from a layer of mud deep underground at the foot of Sri Lanka mountainous heart.  These huts shade the pits that burrow into the earth.

We haven’t even come to the end of Lasantha’s street that already a family friend stops us to chat, and she just so happens to be carrying a pocketful of gems.  She is on her way to the dealers, she explains.  Her mine is just a few feet away, so she invites us over.  Water is gushing out from large pipes by the huts.  The miners are pumping groundwater out of the very deep pits, where the gems come from.

At this mine, they give me a brief demonstration of how they get the goods out – pumping mud and gravel from the pits, and then panning the dirt in water to find the glittering rocks.  But they are not ready to let me dive into the mines.  I really want to go down there… for no particular reason, I just want to go!  The pit does look scary tough, about 100-feet straight feet down into darkness.

I pay the owner of the mine the equivalent of 5$ for letting me infringe on her work.  She is surprised.  In exchange, she slips me a large cut garnet.  I don’t even have to search for gems here, people just give them to me.

Later in the day we arrive at Lasantha’s cousin’s mine.  In my itsy-bitsy sandals I skate on the mud like a stilt-walker on ice.  I ditch the footwear and let the mud squish between my toes.  The workers here have finished the underground work for today, and are resting after lunch.  Their mouths are tinted red from the Bethel leaves they constantly chew.  They taunt me in Sinhalese, and even if I don’t understand what they are saying, I can deduce that they are challenging me to go underground.  “Let’s go, I’m ready!” – Lasantha translates for me.  The miners are taken aback, they never expected me to *really* want to plunge in.

Two of the miners go change into work-clothes, I zip off the bottom of my pants to transform them into shorts, and I pack my camera in a Ziplock back.  My heart is pumping.  The miners attach candles to specially made sticks, which they then wedge between their teeth as they scale down the wall of the pit.  I follow them, holding on to a bamboo pole with both hands, as my feet descend the scaffolding.  3 to 4 feet separate each wrung, and I have to search the emptiness with my bare toes every time to find my next perch.  The further down, the more slippery, and wet, and the more I need to find stable footing before moving.  At the bottom, with a big splash, I jump about 5 feet down into a foot of muddy water.

I’m a bit too big for these timber-lined tunnels.  Even with my back hunched over, and keeping my elbows in, I bump into everything.  I can only see the candlelight, nothing else, which limits my camera work.  I just snap away half-hazardly, as the miners show me their work instruments, and the tunnels from which they extract the gem-bearing mud.  Throughout this 15-minute excursion, groundwater drips on our heads, mosquitos whiz around, and I wobble like a drunkard on the pudding-like floor.  I feel exhilarated.

The climb up is more tricky, and I have to channel my inner-primate to use all four limbs to ascend the walls.  Only when my feet land on the topsoil do I realize that I look like a mud-wrestler.  The miners drag me to a stream where I tread on sharp pebbles against the current, and strip almost naked to wash myself and my clothes.  My camera survived the trip too – it will just need a little scrubbing.

Originally I wanted to mine gems myself, but I decide not to insist.  These miners depend on the jewels to feed their families, so, I would have felt pretty crappy finding a nice gem, next to someone who could be trading it in for food.  But the miners don’t let me leave empty-handed.  They sort through a small plastic container filled with colored stones, and give me rough pieces of spinels, zircons, tourmaline and a tiny gold nugget.

When we get back to Lasantha’s place, I wash myself thoroughly, getting all the clay out from under my toenails, and from behind my ears.  I finally dump my little princess pumps, which served me well, I must say, in the muddy messes we crosses today.  I slip my chunky hiking shoes back on, which now feel, strangely, a bit constraining.

Oh, and we also got kicked out of a tea factory on the same trip… but that is for another post… – Gaston

In Galle, in southern Sri Lanka, victims of police brutality and torture gather together in the Janasansadaya office for a support group meeting.  The participants who have suffered from violence in the past are eager to discuss their experiences.

Manel Manshak’s parents have been in jail for two years now, awaiting a trail.  Since they cannot afford bail, or the services of a lawyer, there is no hope of seeing a judge in the near future.  JusticeMakers Fellow Harshi Perera meets with Manel to see if she can provide them with legal aid:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6-bxdahQVs

While I am editing another story, which will take me a bit if time to put together, I give you rooks and crows for your entertainment. Yes, the big black birds. They are all over Sri Lanka – everywhere, all the time. They are omnipresent, but not as much as dogs… which will be another theme for another blog some other day:

Ramani and Sugath Perera by their new shelter.

Ramani Perera’s house in Panadura, Sri Lanka, seems abandoned.  Daylight shines through holes in the back wall, and the cobwebbed ceiling beams bend under the weight of the corrugated metal roof.  After calling her, Ramani and her son Sugath appear though the green tangle of the yard.  They built a new shelter a bit further back, she says, since this one has become unsafe.  Their new home, though more stable, still holds no luxuries, with a dirt floor, no electricity and no bathroom facilities.  A dog greats visitors by the door, while Ramani extracts a squeaking monkey from a cage near the wooden panel she uses as a bed.  “Its mother abandoned it just after it was born”, she says, “I’ve been raising it for three months, and when it’s big enough, I’ll let it return to the trees.”

Regardless of her humble provenance, Ramani has developed a reputation as an ardent defender of human rights in her area.  Through an organization called Janasansadaya, (The People’s Forum), she has participated in protest actions against the use of torture in Sri Lanka, and has helped to organize seminars to inform her neighbors of their rights.  She has been supporting Janasansadaya’s activities ever since her family needed to turn to them for legal assistance in 2002.

Ramani recounts the ordeal her husband and brother suffered under police custody.

Both her husband and her brother were arrested for trespassing on private land that belonged to a police officer, and drawing water from his well.  At the police station, Ramani claims, officers beat the men with sticks, in the face and on their back.  Both needed medical attention after the assaults, but none was provided.  After they were released on bail, both men suffered long-term consequences from their encounter with the police.  Ramani’s brother, who worked as a coconut harvester, could not climb trees anymore, because of constant dizziness.  Ramani’s husband could not find a job, and the police continued to harass him.  A few months after leaving prison, her brother died as a result of various illnesses.  Ramani is now raising his son.

Stories like these form the daily work of Janasansadaya lawyer Harshi Perera (no family relation to Ramani).  “There is a common perception in Sri Lankan society that criminals deserve poor treatment,” she explains, “and that all detainees are criminals.  However, this is not accurate, since, for example, over half of the prison population is composed of people who are awaiting their trial and have not yet been proven guilty.  Also, 2008 statistics show that 50.3% of Sri Lankan prisoner could have paid a monetary fine instead of being sent to jail.”  Often these pre-trial detainees remain in prison for weeks or months awaiting their court date.  In addition, according to the 2007 UN Special Rapporteur Report on Torture, torture by security forces is widely practiced in Sri Lanka, although prohibited by law.  As a result, regular citizens like Ramani come to Janasansadaya to report cases when the police reacted to petty crime with undue violence.

Ramani is afraid the roof of her house might soon collapse.

With the help of a lawyer provided by Janasansadaya, Ramani still fights in court for justice, even after her husband passed away five years ago.  She is not ready to rest until the judge acknowledges that the police officers who assaulted her relatives committed a crime.  “Because I am a woman, I feel that police officers and court officials try to intimidate me sometimes.  But I will continue to fight courageously until the end.”  And pointing up at the roof of her house, she adds: “But right now I need to find a way to stabilize this house.  I don’t want it to fall on our heads during our sleep.

Ramini Perera and her son Sugath

Here is a bit of substance – a humble little clip about the work of my friend Harshi here in Sri Lanka, to spread information about human rights.

And, a bit of color… a few random pics from the last few days in Sri Lanka, that have nothing in common with each other, except the pretty colors. – Gaston

Did you know that Buddha’s tooth is in Sri Lanka? In a town called Kandy, where I am spending the weekend, a massive temple supposedly houses the tooth of the Enlightened One, and this relic has become not only an object of devotion, but also a symbol of Sri Lankan Statehood. Every July/August in Kandy, in the month of Esala, 10-day long festivities, the largest and most important in the  country, celebrate this dental antiquity, with lavish parades called the Peraheras. Last night I witnessed the sixth perahera, and tonight, i’ll see the seventh. Every one, and all guide books too, say that the festivities really starts hitting a crescendo at the seventh parade… Well last night was no sleeper either – what a show! Here are some pics from Kandy’s celebrations:

The quality of a perahera is measured by the number of elephants. Everyday more elephants get added until the culmination on the 10th parade. In all temples around town, keepers are busy feeding their animals, and scrubbing them clean with coconut husks.  Others workers fuss over the electrifying costumes for the nighttime parade.

Already 10 hours before the parade (no exaggeration) people start lining the parade route. Sri Lankans see attendance at the perahera as a pilgrimage each Buddhist should make at least once. As I am writing this, it is 4pm, the parade will start around 8pm, but already at 10/11am this morning the sidewalks were full of people.  I can barely hear myself think in my fifth floor room.

The parade starts with kids swinging whips and others playing with way too much fire. Then come dancers and musicians. All is lit by burning coconut shells, carried in small wire buckets on top of tall poles. For a photographer, even if the subject is mesmerizing, it’s a technical nightmare to take pictures of this parade – mixed light sources, very low light, lots of movement and, I was not able, nor allowed, to move from my chair. As the parade starts and until it stops, the police and army make sure everyone stays seated, because of the hazard of the fire torches and the hundreds of elephants.

The further the parade advances, the more elephants there are, and the more decked out they become. They all wear elaborate costumes of silk and velvet, with sequins, pearls and tons of electric lights. I liked the blue ones the most.

So tonight there will be more elephants, more fire, more music and more pictures! – Gaston

We squeeze into a small room, where magenta colored curtains change the light to pink as it filters in. By the door, a small alter to the Buddha, surrounded by offerings, hangs at head-level. A few cutout pictures of Sri Lanka’s president, Mahinda Rajapaksa, share the wall with Hindu deities and more representations of the Buddha. “Are we already in the prison?” I ask. “No”, said a woman who introduces herself as the Gate-Keeper, “these are the quarters for the women’s prison’s guards.”

On our first day of working together, International Bridges to Justice (IBJ) Fellow, lawyer H.M. Harshi Chitrangi Perera (in white) and I arrive at the women’s ward of the Welikada Prison in Colombo. Harshi is meeting with Gate-Keeper Shashikala (in yellow) to lay down the foundation of her fellowship project – selecting five imprisoned women, in pre-trial situation, to offer them legal aid. Because of her work, in charge of the inmates comings and goings, Shashikala is well positioned to assist Harshi in selecting these aid recipients.

Harshi emphasizes her main guiding principle, these women must come from a severely disadvantaged economic background, to the extent that they could not otherwise afford bail, or legal council. Because they cannot pay for a lawyer, some women are remanded in jail for months, sometimes years, while their case is under investigation. Harshi also hopes to help at least one inmate who is imprisoned with a child, as over 30 children live at Welikada with their mothers.

While Welikada Prison women’s ward was designed to hold a maximum of 300 prisoners, it now holds approximately 600. They sleep on the floor, they lack access to safe drinking water, disease is rife and pre-trial detainees share common premises with convicted criminals. Harshi wants to remedy these lacks, and often abuses, in the Sri Lankan legal system, and help inmates who don’t deserve to live in these conditions return home.

For Shashikala and her colleagues, the guards’ spartan but clean quarters still hold some of the comforts of home. Pink and blue mosquito nets, fringed with lacy decorations, hang from the ceiling, plastic roses sit next to a television set, and pictures or stuffed toys individualize the tight space each guard holds around her bunk-bed. Shashikala will be working the night shift for the next few days, and by the end of week, she will come back to Harshi with a list of women needing support. And so the work begins… – Gaston