It has been getting harder to keep up with the blogging lately. Partly, this is because we have much more of a routine now and more things to keep us busy throughout the days. The other reason is that as our eyes become accustomed to the sights around us and as the things we do become part of the norm, it becomes harder to think of what to tell you about.
So, seeing as I had decided that it had been far too long since I had posted an entry, I found myself trawling through our multitude of photos, looking for something that might spark my imagination - a photo that might give me a springboard to dive into a post about Sri Lanka or our life here. Almost despairing of finding the 'right' photo, I came across my street achee.
Achee used to sit everyday at the statue erected to St. Anthony. All through the intense heat of the day, she would sit there. When she got tired, she would lay on the hard tiles and sleep. The traffic roared around past her all day long, throwing noise and dust her way. The devout would pass her to kiss St. Anthony's feet or offer a prayer; the kind might give her some coins. When the rain came, she might cross the busy road for shelter on the other side. Thankfully, there were times when kind strangers would help her across, as this is a main road and Achee had very little sight left. I have no idea where she went to at night.
We got to pass Achee every week day as we took the kids to school. I soon found myself checking every time we passed St. Anthony's statue, to see if she was there and how she was looking. To me, she became 'my street achee' (Achee is Sinhala for grandma). Grandmas should be sitting in a comfy chair at home, with a good meal and lots of love. They should not be sitting, day after day, on the hard ground as the rest of the world rushes on their way. From time to time I would take her a loaf of bread or a lunch packet. I figured that bread was good because she could eat some and save the rest for later. I used to have to shout, "Achee . . . Achee . . . parn, parn (bread, bread)" and put the loaf in her hands. I would help her take the elastic band off the loaf - that required a bit too much co-ordination for dim eyes and elderly fingers. Once I tried to find out how old she was. She told me 108. Although it would be possible, I had my doubts. Still, whatever her age, I am amazed at her durability, living day after day that way.
I found myself worrying more and more about street Achee. It would horrify me to think that if my grandma was sitting there, that nobody would help her. I began to look into getting her into an aged care home. We found one that was free, for old people who might find themselves in similar circumstances, but unfortunately it was full. Sadly, the other few required expenses beyond my grasp. Still, it gave me a bit of an interesting insight into life in Sri Lankan nursing homes. Thank goodness for those beautiful people taking such care of those coming to the end of their lives.
Now, I really don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own trumpet here. In reality, I'm sad to say that what I did for my street Achee was barely anything at all. It may have come to your attention that throughout this post I have refered to Achee in the past tense. I can't actually tell you of her fate. One day, she simply was not there and we did not see her again. Prince and I hypothesised. Perhaps some kindly people took her and were able to get her into a home. Perhaps she took ill and was taken to a government hospital for treatment. Still, although these were comforting 'perhapses', we both knew that the odds were more likely that she had died. It has been months now, and with nobody able to tell us what became of Street Achee we can only assume that on her time on earth was finally up.
I still find myself checking St. Anthony's statue whenever we drive past. Maybe, just maybe, she'll return and there will be another chance to get her into a home, where she might die in a warm bed with a full tummy. Opportunities can be so fleeting. Yet, the slow learner that I am, I am still learning how to take them while they are there. So this blog is written in loving memory of my street Achee. May nobody die unnoticed.
22/9/09: A Happy Postscript
I have recently been told that Street Achee is still alive. Prince did some investigations and discovered that Street Achee has been moved to a home for elders. The story behind it seems to be that some of the local worshipers at St. Anthony's statue complained to their priest. They did not appreciate the smell that accompanied Street Achee (and, in particular, her use of the shrine area as a latrine). The priest got together and spoke with the village head (although 'village' is hardly an apt description of our area, we have been told that each area of Sri Lanka still falls heavily under the influence of village heads) and it was arranged for Street Achee to be moved into a home. Hooray for worshipers with delicate noses!
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