BEING A LOCAL

Having now been in Sri Lanka for about 15 months, we consider ourselves locals to some degree. Without giving away too many trade secrets, having the resident stamp in your passport ensures that we get some perks of being local without having to change our skin colour. Mostly these are financial gains. For example, hotels generally have two different prices: one for foriegners (what we look like) and one for locals (what we can now say we are). This can make a difference of up to 50% in the price. This price differentiation also extends to entry into nature parks, musuems and zoos. Usually a portion or all of this goes to the tour operator or the local driver that has taken you there.

As "locals" it is nice to go out and be recognised rather than being noticed. Being stared at is quite normal for us when we go out and it is something I have learnt to live with. But recognition is so much better and makes us feel like we are a part of Negombo. We are known around our house and also down on the main road by the beach. This means we are no longer asked if we want to go to the fish markets, Negombo city or have a massage every time we pass a three-wheeler. In fact one Croatian guy we know has started printing t-shirts with that exact slogan. We have even got to know a few of the local beggars so that now they are happy to sit back and wait to see if we have any loose change for them, as we give more often than not. We know and are content in the fact that we will never be free from shouting "Hello" and "Goodbye"halfadozen times to the children living on our street that we pass each day.

However, there are often a few locals that want to offer more than a stare and a quick hello. One such fellow is the security guard where we do our shopping. His job is to ensure no one takes bags into the shop and help the cars reverse safely in the car park, which Prince always protests about as if it is an affront to his driving skills. If he spots us he always comes over and says hello at least four times and a hearty double-handed handshake. He will come over and open doors for us, but as his English is poor he ends up just hovering around, smiling, until we leave. His English may be bad but our Sinhala is not much better (though if I need to know where the fat, black cat was sleeping, he would be the first person I would ask.)

Still, there are still those occasions where we are happy to settle for trips to the pool just to blend in with all the other "Suddas".