THAT'S SO CLICHÈ

Clichѐs. We all know they are trite; that's what makes them, well, clichѐ. Yet, how often do we take these 'one-size-fits-all' expressions and let them direct our actions.

Consider the clichѐ, " I'd rather give a hand up than a hand-out." Now, don't get me wrong, there's a lot of wisdom behind this expression and the original author must have given themselves a pat on the back for their clever play on words. I bet that person is currently wishing s/he had a dollar for every time someone uttered that sentence, but it is worth noting that nobody ever remembers the author of a clichѐ.

Sorry, I digress. When I first moved to Sri Lanka, I heard many different takes on the whole 'hand-outs vs hands up' debate. Modern thought usually falls towards the side of the 'hands up' camp - and for sound reason too. Hand-outs rarely change the world. In fact, I've seen many hand-outs simply go to waste. People would rather use their money on a strategy that will bring about long-lasting change.

And yet, although I'm pretty confident that most people might espouse the 'hands up' philosophy, I've also seen that many are quite quick to jump into the 'hand-out' boat. Well-intentioned foreigners throwing money around to anyone they meet (He's not poor, you silly, he's wearing a sarong because he finds it comfortable!) and encouraging fat, little children to follow you around the street with hands stretched out, calling, "Bon-bon (lollies)". What do you think I am - a vending machine? If you are one of those who are uncomfortable with the behaviour of certain unscrupulous individuals you might meet when travelling overseas, maybe we should first consider the behaviour of uninformed foreigners. What would you do if a stranger came up to you in the streets, insisting they give you $50? I don't know of anyone who gave Kevin Rudd his $1000 back, saying, "It's okay, Kevin. I'm doing all right, thanks. How about you keep the money and put it towards something else."

So are you trying to guess which camp I fall into? I bet you reckon I'm a 'hands up' girl, right? Then consider the following. How helpful is access to education to a child who hasn't eaten this week and is not eating tonight either? Is a man going to be able to fully appreciate an income-generating opportunity if in his mind he is worried about his current medical condition. Income generated next week is not going to buy the medicine he needs today.

Which camp do I fall into? Neither. I've heard the 'hand up' argument used as an excuse to ignore an immediate need; I've seen hand-outs that have produced nothing but an attitude of greed and entitlement. I've seen hand-ups that have changed the way of life for whole families; I've seen smiles of relief, encouragement and hope break upon the faces of people receiving hand-outs, small but timely. Does one size ever really fit all?

Consider this pearl of wisdom: "Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you feed him for a lifetime." So wise. So true. So important. So valuable.

But what if the man lives in the middle of the desert?

What if he can't afford (or find or construct) a fishing rod?

What if his fishing rod breaks?

What if the man is too old or sick to fish?

What if the man is allergic to fish?

What if the fish are being poisoned by the large factory upstream?

What if the man is not a man but a lady? (I know feminists might argue that this shouldn't make a difference but, let's face it, in some societies, it does.)

What if the man is religiously or ethically opposed to fishing?

What if it is raining and the man will not go fishing in the rain?

What if the man just doesn't want to go fishing?

What if he just wants you to keep bringing fish?

The collective wisdom of the ages pats its answers into handy little sayings; we adopt the ones we like and - hey presto! - a clichѐ is born. We say it a few times until it rolls easily off the tongue and then use it as we wish to justify our actions. Of course, the problem is that when the things we say are said without thought, they become meaningless and irrelevant - clichѐ.

One size fits all? I'm sure we'd all be skeptical about that.

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD? TO FETCH A LADDER

Here's a tale of one of our businesses that I've been dying to share with you.

Some of you may remember Winnetha. She was the very first small business we helped start. Originally, she was buying fabric remnants to sew together into pillowcases. She would sell these pillowcases to owners of small local shops. The pillowcases would take some time to make on her foot-powered machine, especially when the fabric remnants were small. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to open the bags of remnants at the factories and she was often disappointed to return home and discover that the bag she had paid for was filled with remnants that were too small even for patchwork pillowcases. And all of this for 20 rupees profit a day.

But Winnetha never complained. In fact, whenever we went to visit her, she had a huge smile on her face and loved to tell us how well the business was going. One day, she got a new opportunity - hemming napkins for hotels and restaurants. This was a great opportunity for her because a supplier bought the napkins to her door and collected them when complete. She did not have to prepare the fabric in any way, she simply needed to hem the fabric squares. She could do these much more quickly than the pillowcases, she didn't need to find buyers and her profit increased dramatically. She was able to buy a motor for her foot-powered machine and then upgrade to an electric machine with more stitching options. And this brings me to the tale of the chickens.

As Winnetha's business began to grow she was able to invest in some laying chickens. These chickens would provide eggs for the household and also some for sale. Darren was visiting her one day and she explained what was involved in caring for the chickens. First she fed them - but she didn't just scatter seed around for them to find, as you might expect. She started calling, "Enna, enna, enna!" (Come, come, come!") and, sure enough, like a litter of well-trained puppies, they came to eat their meal out of a little bowl.

Then Winnetha explained how she needed to put them to bed. You see, Winnetha could not keep her chickens in a standard chicken coop for fear of them being eaten by snakes or mongooses . . . mongeese? . . . mongi? whatever, you get the point. So, to protect them from ending up in that great chicken coop in the sky, these chickens have a great chicken coop in the trees. Suspended from the trees is a cubby house that would make your kids envious, ready and waiting for when the tired little chickies are ready for bed.

"But how do the chickens reach their treetop bed?" I hear you ask. Well, they need a ladder, of course (silly people, do I need to explain everything?!). As night approaches, Winnetha leans the ladder on the chicken coop, calls the chickens and they climb their way up to bed. Oh, I see . . . wait . . . what?! Yep, that's what I said, folks, these clever little chickens climb their way up the rickety ladder, all by themselves, and happily pop themselves to bed! Now, I admit I had a hard time believing this story when I first heard it. Surely, you mean Winnetha carries them up? No? But how do they stop from themselves from falling off the ladder? Do they hold on with their wings? Hang on, I'm just trying to picture a line of commando chickens climbing their way up the crude ladder. I think these chickens would survive a bootcamp better than I would. They would probably be up the ladder in no time and then could still drop and give me twenty. But after extensive questioning I was assured that this story was completely true - the chickens do indeed climb the ladder unaided and put themselves to bed. And then Winnetha removes the ladder to stop the enemy sneaking up in the dark of the night.

So what happens in the morning? Does Winnetha come and replace the ladder for the chickens to climb on down? The answer, (which is 'no', in case you also were wondering), comes accompanied with looks of amusement at my silliness. They've got wings, they just flap their way down when morning comes. (Of course, silly me!). Well, what is to stop them flapping their way down in the night? I am told they won't do that at night time, they might get eaten. I'm thinking these chickens go to bed better than my children do.

In fact, as Jaymon climbs onto the top bunk to put himself to bed at night, I can't help but think, 'Sure he can do it, but would he be so good if his arms were made of feathers?'.

PS: Darren just reminded me about an important element to this story. So as not to leave you misinformed, I felt the need for this important post-script. If you ever find yourself in Colombo or some other city-region of Sri Lanka and find, with some disappointment, that the chickens do not climb ladders, please do not doubt this story of ladder-climbing chickens. Apparently, only rural chickens are able to climb ladders. It seems that their city-cousins, sadly, cannot include ladder-climbing in their CVs as it does not fall in their skills set. Oh yes, there is a difference between city and country chickens - and it's not just that the city chickens like to spend their time in art galleries and chic little cafes whilst the country chickens prefer to go cow-tipping. City chickens prefer to take the elevator.

LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL

Once again we've been able to enjoy having a few friends around for a visit. It's been great having good company tag along to work with us, pitching and helping out. Sure made my life easier! Thanks :)

HOW MANY SRI LANKANS DOES IT TAKE TO CUT DOWN A TREE?

In the process of getting small businesses off the ground, I see various businesses that are profitable in ways that would not be possible in Australia. Because labour is so cheap here, there are many jobs that would not even be available in Australia.

Sarath has started a business selling firewood to the roof tile factory. They, in turn, use this fuel in the kilns to fire the clay tiles. When I was first given the application it looked like a simple enough concept, or so I thought.

As part of our procedure, Priantha or I conduct an interview to find out more about the family and the business. Now that Priantha has been working with me for six months, I usually send him alone or allow him to lead the interview. He is able to assess the business and he can communicate much more easily.

Once we have all the details I sit down with Hayley, Priantha, Kanchana and sometimes Ronald, our driver, as he was previously a manager for a large business here in Sri Lanka. We discuss the details of the business, if they fall within our criteria and where any problems may lie in the business or their ability to repay the loan.

Sometimes cultural differences and practices become obvious and we need to assess whether the practices make for bad business or if they are just a different way of doing things. To make this judgment, I like to make sure I have a clear understanding of how the business works. In this particular instance, my preconceptions were making it difficult for me to see precisely how the business would work.

I started asking questions to try and work around this impasse. To start off on the right foot, I began with something that I was sure I understood, like the fact that Sarath goes and chops down the tree. I assumed Sarath must want the money to buy a chainsaw. Confidently I put the question out there, and prepared to write down the yes and move on to other details.

"No" was the answer from all the Sri Lankans at the table.

This was going to be a tough day. Wanting to put this behind me, I thought the best way forward was to find out who did cut down the tree.

"The man with the chainsaw," they replied, looking at me as if I really didn't know anything about business.

So I moved on to what I thought was the next obvious idea, getting the wood to the factory.

"Does he want the money to buy a landmaster to take the wood to the factory" I asked undetered.

Once again, the Sri Lankans look at each other, have a quick chat in Sinhala and then reply, "No."

Naturally I wanted to know who does take the wood to the factory. Once again the obvious reply, "The man with the lorry. A landmaster is too small"

Strike two. Wanting to sound like I understood the scenario so far, I gave them a rundown of what I had learnt. So the Chainsaw Man rings Sarath and tells him that he has a tree to cut down. Sarath pays him to chop it down and rings the Lorry Man to come and collect the wood and he pays him. So thats what he wants the money for?"

"No"

"What?! So what does he want the money for?"

At this point everybody is laughing and convinced that I am in no position to be giving out loans.

Once again they try to explain it

"Tree person calls Sarath and tells him they have a tree they need removed. Sarath calls the Chainsaw Man and the Guy With The Lorry"

At this point, Hayley, passing through on her way to the biscuit jar, interjects. "Why don't you call the Tree Man, Greg, Chainsaw Man, Bob, and Lorry Guy, Steve." She is an invaluable part of this process, given her skills in giving characters names.

Trying to salvage the situation, I thought that finding out the cost of things would be an easy way to distract them from my previous inability to grasp simple Sri Lankan business.

"First Greg calls Sarath and tells him that he has a tree that needs removing?"

"Yes"

"Wohoo! Great! Now I am getting somewhere. So, how much does Sarath get for chopping down the tree?"

Now I had them looking confused and there was quite a bit of Sinhala discussion going back and forth. Finally they aswered, "Sorry? We don't understand. Sarath has to pay for the tree. That's why he needs the money."

"He pays to chop someone's tree down?"

"Yes."

At this stage we all are laughing. We are amused that the Sri Lankan tree removalist would pay to do his job. The Sri Lankans are amused that Australians would pay to give their tree to someone else. It's all so weird.

Pushing on, I continue in my attempt to clarify the situation. "Sarath pays Greg to remove his tree. Sarath pays Bob to chop down the tree. Sarath loads the wood into Steve's lorry and takes it to the factory, where they pay Sarath and he pays Steve.

"Yes!"

However I was still perplexed. "So why doesn't Sarath cut the tree down himself?" I asked.

More incredulous looks and laughter. "Bob only charges a little money and Sarath does not have the time!"

An hour after we started I decided to leave it there and ask the most important question. "Is it a good business?"

"Yes, it is very good" came the quick reply.

THE WEEKEND THAT WASN'T

Isn't it the way?! When I have time to blog, I have little to blog about. When things are busy and there is much to report, I don't have the time to sit and tell you about them. Well, today I am under the weather and unable to drum up the energy or inspiration for any more administrative tasks, so I am ignoring the waiting tasks and writing to you about my weekend instead.

Friday was Children's Day - if I have understood correctly - and this was the reason for our busy weekend. Despite having taught a class in a nearby town on Friday evening, I was up bright and early on Saturday - a scenario I would normally do my best to avoid. We had been invited as special guests to an Children's Art Exhibition in honour of Children's Day.

Not that the Art Exhibition was bright and early; in fact, it was at a very reasonable hour. It's just that it was a three-hour drive away. However, we were meeting a friend who said he knew a short-cut and that 2 hours would be sufficient. Ah, the Sri Lankan short-cut - we've been fooled before. I am coming to understand that short-cut actually translates to alternative route and there is no guarantee that any time is saved at all. In fact, chances are high that it could take longer.

So, at the designated time, we were still far from the designated venue and, as Darren's mobile is just another thing in the long list of broken appliances/machines in our life of late, we were unable to contact anyone to say we were on our way. Finally, three hours after our trip began, we arrived at the venue with profuse apologies. Next time I will place more confidence in my own sense of time.

The Art Exhibition was a most enjoyable occasion. It started with a presentation of flowers for each of the honoured guests and the lighting of the candles in the brass lamp. This is a tradition that is part of any special event in Sri Lanka. Several candles are placed on an elaborate brass stand and special guests will each light a candle before proceedings begin. After the candles were lit, the children welcomed us and gave a speech to all the guests. Then the special guests were given a tour of the exhibition by the children before it was opened to all the guests for their enjoyment. I find Sri Lankans to be quite artistic, as a general rule, and the standard of work presented was very high.

After we had all perused the artworks, there was a singing competition, followed by a game of musical chairs. There was also a parade of a herd of water buffalo heading down the road in front of the venue, heading for a field to graze in. Okay, that wasn't actually part of the day's program, but it was also a bit of a highlight for me. I enjoyed watching these creatures tramping past but I was also a little anxious, hoping that my children, who were out playing in the nearby field, would have the good sense to get out of the way. They did.

As the day's program drew to a close, there were speeches given to the children by the Sinhala-speaking special guests and then awards for the winners of the art competition and the singing competition. We enjoyed a delicious lunch with our hosts and then it was time to begin the long journey home.

On the way home, Cedric decided he would try a short-cut (you would think we would know better by now!). Goodness knows if this short-cut would have saved us time but it did get us a little lost. I wasn't too bothered. I fell asleep, as I usually do on long drives home, but I was disturbed from time to time by Darren, with his Google maps, and Cedric, with his own plans, debating which roads to follow and which roads to turn down. Unfortunately, all debates became moot when we did finally find our way back to the main road. A large school in that area was having a special parade to celebrate Children's Day. Roads were blocked as children marched down the Colombo Road (the main highway from Negombo to Colombo) on floats, under banners, with displays, holding posters. It was all very lovely, if you weren't all tired and ready for home and wondering if there ever was an end to this parade. The roads became choked with traffic as vehicles tried to edge themselves into pole position for after the parade had passed and the vehicles on the highway tried to maneuvre past the marching children. Finally, we were able to get back on our way home, all thankful that we were heading away from Colombo and not part of the massive queue of standstill traffic trying to make its way in.

Now, don't think an important weekend like this would let you get away with one appointment. The following day we were up bright and early once more, ready to head another couple of hours in the other direction from home. This time our meeting was being held in a small jungle village. This is the kind that my kids like because they get to go exploring - follow the path one way to rice paddies, the other way to jungle. I thought I would join them for a bit of an explore - partly because it was reminiscent of all the running through the bush that I used to love doing when I was a kid growing up in a small, country town and partly because I thought it would be a good opportunity to impart some of the wisdom I gathered running around in the bush in summer and learning how to avoid snake bite. So, the intrepid explorers can't have gone much further than a few metres into the jungle when they came - almost - face to face with a face-sized spider, hanging face height! Lesson effectively learnt - always keep alert; your eyes open and your wits about you. The intrepid explorers beat a hasty retreat - not too hasty, because lesson 2 was 'don't panic and then step on a snake while you are running away!' - closer to civilisation, but not without a photo first. I felt like such a hero, brave enough to take the photo, but thank goodness for good zoom!

By mid-afternoon, our hosts had an unexpected situation to deal with so we bid a timely adieu and made our way back home again. The place was beginning to look unfamiliar. What do you mean the weekend's over now? Where did it go? Sigh, it's only a week until there's another one. We had a fantastic time with all the things we did, but thank goodness the next weekend is expected to be a lot quieter!

SIGNS OF THE TIMES

WHEN THE AUSSIES COME TO TOWN

We've once again been able to enjoy the good company and helping hands of a group of Aussie helpers. This post is in their honour.

GO FIGURE

Driving from Negombo to Moratuwa - a drive that takes me through the capital - I have discovered that I pass at least 100 people every minute. This count is based upon timing how quickly I can count 100 people. Therefore, it doesn't include passengers in buses nor people in crowds that are too large for me to count as we drive past. Neither is this an average; I discovered that I could easily count 100 people every minute. Based on this, during the five hours of a return journey to Moratuwa, I pass at least 30 000 people.

The drive from Negombo to Yakwila for my Tamil lessons takes me in the opposite direction, out to rural areas. Here I find that it takes me two minutes to pass 100 people (again, discounting buses). This result has been confirmed by repeated tests. Therefore, in the hour and a half that it takes to do a return journey to Yakwila, I pass at least 4 500 people. Not in the vicinity of the previous figure but still rather impressive, considering location.

Both trips produced a tally of around 70 stray dogs. The Yakwila trip tallied around 35 cows, compared to the Moratuwa trip, which tallied around 40. I found it surprising, even given the difference in lengths of the journeys, that there were more cows to be seen driving in the urban areas than in the rural areas. In fact, the cows out Yakwila way were usually in pairs whereas it was the urban areas where I saw herds. Both trips produced sightings of one goat and one cat.

I think these figures show two things. Firstly, population density in Sri Lanka is on a scale that would blow the mind of the untravelled Australian - even in built-up areas, where the population is still readily visible, as compared to Australia, where the population is usually inside vehicles or buildings. In Sri Lanka, you are constantly reminded that you are never alone. I guess that's what you get for fitting a population about the size of Australia's inside a land area about the size of Tasmania. Secondly, I need to find some new past-times to occupy myself during my many long journeys.

WELL, I NEVER . . .

TEN FOODS I HAD NEVER TRIED BEFORE MOVING TO SRI LANKA

1) King Coconut Juice. A very thick, clear liquid; king coconut juice is not the same as coconut milk. It is very filling and I can not drink a whole coconut's worth. It doesn't have a strong flavour but it can take you quite by surprise if, when served in a glass, you thought you were drinking water.

2) Salted Cordial. This must be an acquired taste. The problem is that when you are offered cordial you can never know if it is salted or not. There has been many a time when we have gratefully accepted a drink only to given a salty surprise.

3) Peppered Pineapple. Sri Lankan pineapple has to be the best pineapple in the world. Why on earth they want to pepper it is beyond me!

4) Wattalapan. Wattalapan is a gelatinous pudding, a bit like a creme caramel. It is sweet, brown and nutty. Sri Lankan dessert menus are never very long - dessert is typically fruit salad, perhaps with some icecream - so this traditional dish is a bit of a local celebrity.

5) Kottu Roti. A mix of roti (flat bread), vegetables, chicken and spices, chopped into thin slices by some pretty impressive knife work, cooked on a grill and served in a pile. Yummo! We prefer ours without the bones but we are told that Sri Lankans like to see the chicken bones in the kottu roti so they know the cook isn't tricking them by adding poor chicken meat. The man we buy kottu roti from was so confused by our request for no bones that, for a while, he was sending the bones along to us in another bag so that we could be reassured that we were getting what we paid for.

6) Curried Mango. Not for me, but if you're a fan of mangoes and curries, it might appeal. As with the peppered pineapple, I'm not quite sure why anyone would want to do this to such a delicious piece of fruit.

7) Cream Soda. Not red creaming soda, just creaming soda, this soft drink is a pure sugar hit. Needless to explain then, I love it.

8) Brinjol. A vegetable somewhat akin to a zucchini (which I love) and an eggplant (which I hate). I know a guy who prepares the yummiest brinjol. I'm yet to make him teach me how.

9) Breadfruit. Breadfruit, when cooked and prepared, is a bit like potato. The aforementioned man cooks it with coconut milk and spices to make a very tasty dish. Once again, I'm not in on the secret. Perhaps some cooking lessons are in order. Don't confuse breadfruit with jackfruit, which is a large prickly fruit that looks a bit like durian and is, in my opinion, rather dry and tasteless.

10) Kangaroo Meat. We brought some back by request for some friends of ours. They had tried it in Australia and their children had loved it. It wasn't that bad, actually, considering that my mind connects kangaroo meat with the horribly smelly dead animal that my dad once got to feed the dog with. Not the greatest though, a little chewy. I think it was the marinade that I liked. Still, I think it is nicely ironic that my first - and probably only - taste of kangaroo meat was an overseas experience.

THE THONG THEORY

I have a theory that the world is filled with, for lack of a better word, a 'magic' that is all around us, masqueraded in the mundane. I'm not talking magic like sorcery and mysticism, but more a sense of wonderment that we only experience when we allow ourselves to be aware of it. It's nothing fancy or expensive and it rarely announces itself and yet it displays itself every day, right under our very noses. Allow me to illustrate by explaining the 'thong theory'.

First of all, let me be clear that in the Aussie vernacular, 'thong' refers to an item of footwear, not an article of ladies underwear. A significant difference, it is true, so for readers of other nationalities it might be appropriate to read 'slipper' or 'flip-flop' in place of the word 'thong'. Now that we are on the same page, I shall continue. Imagine, if you will, a single thong, marked with the grubby outline of a foot; it is probably old, perhaps even battered. Following the pattern of one of life's phenomena, it finds itself awash at sea. It's origin is unknown; perhaps it has been discarded, perhaps the tides stole it from an evening fisherman. How it got there, however, hardly seems an issue because it's just a thong. It's not an expensive runner or a chic heel; it doesn't even belong to someone's favourite pair of comfortable shoes. When its absence is noticed, if it is even noticed at all, it will probably be replaced without a second thought. It is just an insignificant piece of footwear being tossed about on the vast expanse of the ocean.

Now imagine the journey of this insignificant piece of discarded rubber. It floats over coral reefs, alive with fish of all colours, shapes and sizes. It floats past amazingly oversized whales, a bare speck in comparison. It floats alone in the deepest parts of the ocean, where even few vessels would dare to travel. It experiences the storms of the deeps; is thrown by waves that would inspire fearful awe. It is pushed by gentle breezes over calmer waters. Sharks swim silently beneath and it is unafraid. Dolphins leap playfully about it. It is carried through waters of every hue of blue and green. It allows the waters to push it forwards as, all around, mother tortoises are making their remarkable journey towards the moonlit shores to bury their treasured eggs in the sand. As the light of the rising sun sweeps over the land, the thong is found resting on sands never imprinted by the feet of humans, on a postcard-perfect beach.

In a most unspectacular manner, the thong has undertaken a most spectacular journey and nobody has noticed. It has been where most of us would pay good money to holiday. It has been within touching distance of some of the wonders of nature. It has been to places that most of us will only ever experience from the other side of a television screen. It has faced danger with the courage of a hero and yet will never be given a medal. It has travelled the oceans like a solo yachtsman and yet we will never see its photo in the paper; no ticker tape thrown as it finally reaches shore. Like a great explorer, it has gone where no man has gone before and yet it will not plant a flag and will never have its name recorded in any recount of history. This is the magic of the mundane that many of us miss.

If I were a sci-fi enthusiast I might be able to speak in greater detail about the theories of parallel universes; this idea that there might be innumerable existences for each of us, played out trans-dimensionally. Each of these different worlds play out simultaneously - same actors, different plays - with each world unaware of the existence of the others. Parallel universes aside, perhaps the sci-fi enthusiasts are onto something. Planet Earth is a web of innumerable worlds, soaked in the magic of the mundane. Each world, the story of a connection of people, unfolding in real time, the spectacular wrapped in the unspectacular. Stranger than fiction, truer than a movie, more tangible than live theatre. And the beauty of it? You can write the storyline; you can help develop the characters; you can step on the stage. The magic of the mundane is accessible to anybody and at any time you might suddenly feel it bursting upon you.

Yesterday I was delightfully visited by the magic of the mundane. Like an old thong floating through the ocean (perhaps a scarily appropriate simile), I was privileged to be a front-row spectator to one of life's simple but beautiful stories and to feel the honour of knowing that I was getting to be part of something that most will probably never experience. It was nothing spectacular - in fact, it was an English class. I had gone to visit a friend as she taught an English class to four pre-school teachers. Because she had asked for feedback and advice, I had put myself inconspicuously in the corner of the room so that I could observe without distracting her students.

In the heat of the afternoon, the fan turning faithfully above our heads created a pleasant breeze. In the next room, around 40 pre-schoolers lay in two neat rows on a woven floor mat, napping under the supervision of two of the school's helpers while their teachers became the pupils for an hour. Just outside the door, a small, black dog also enjoyed a mid-afternoon doze. In the custom of Sri Lankan hospitality, one of the ladies bought me tea, a sweet brew with tea leaves that had escaped the strainer sitting in the bottom of the cup and the recognisable flavour of powdered milk. This is the tea that, for some reason, reminds me of my nana and the teacups she used when I was a child and that I realise I now think of as 'real tea'.

So I sit under the gentle beat of the fan, drinking my 'real tea' and watching the young ladies at the table and the young lady who is teaching them. As this is a beginner class, there is a lot of Sinhala spoken, punctuated by the familiarity of English. The students seem to have learnt their early lessons well and, although they seem a little anxious about possibly making mistakes while I'm in the room, they also seem to be thoroughly enjoying their lessons. The young lady furthest from me seems to have had some previous exposure to the English language and comes across as the most confident. She is thoroughly amused when she confuses the words 'horse' and 'house'. The second student seems to be the least confident, compensating with all sorts of jokes and merriment. I wonder if she realises how difficult a task learning a new language is, and how very well she is doing. The third student enjoys the speaking and listening tasks and I am impressed by her command of expression in her voice.

The student closest to me is the quietest. She is not distracted by the merriment around her. She quickly and competently finishes her work so that the teacher may mark it while the others are still writing. I know that she is the sister of the second student and I contemplate the marked difference between the two. One is surprisingly tall for a Sri Lankan, while the other is pocket-sized. One has talked and laughed without ceasing throughout the class, while the other has not spoken an unnecessary word. One approaches her learning with humour, the other with quiet dedication. There is something comfortable in these observations; an awareness that even in different worlds there are common elements -familiar personalities, familiar relationships that connect them, familiar similarities and differences between us. And bringing them all together, the teacher, patiently instructing them and creating opportunities for them to realise their success. I am impressed by her teaching skills; she leads them confidently and has a lovely disposition that makes her students at ease.

I know I risk boring you with a rather mundane description of four students and their teacher but I'm wondering if my words allow you to see through the description to what I actually had the privilege of witnessing. I got to experience the magic of the mundane. None of the other ladies in that room would have thought there was anything spectacular about that class - not the room, not the tea, not the fan or sleeping dog or children. For them, it was all quite normal. But I got to enjoy the magic of another world, quite different to what I am used to. I got to see the story of five women unfolding before me - to bear witness to their joy and to their friendship. I had the honour of knowing that this was a story that I have been able to be a small part of and I know that this is a story that will tie into the stories of the children sleeping in the next room and the two women caring for them. These stories will continue to grow out from there, growing and spreading into an intricate network of stories. And that, my friends, is the thong theory at work - recognising the magic of the mundane and being part of the spectacular unspectacular.

GETTING AROUND

Once, in our early days here in Lanka, we showed Prince around our hometown using Google maps. During our virtual tour he was to ask us, "Where are all the people?" What he noticed about our suburban and city streets was the absence of action that is characteristic of Sri Lankan streets. He was wondering if people were asked to stay inside while these photographs were taken.

The contrast between the streets of Sri Lanka and those of Australia is substantial. Right now, the Colombo/Negombo road will be alive with people about their business - a weaving, honking, zooming assortment of vehicles with a side-serving of pedestrians and generous sprinkling of cyclists - and most of the streets spreading off like a series of arteries are not all that different.

Of course, the side streets are free of buses - probably the most common form of transportation. The buses are, I suspect, a little like me - susceptible to the wear-and-tear of their environment and older in appearance than they are in actuality. Red buses are government buses and white buses are privately run. Smaller coach buses are also privately run and, for a slightly more expensive ticket, offer the luxury of air-conditioning. There seems to be no passenger limit for buses and it is not unusual to see several people hanging out the doors of an over-crowded bus, hanging tightly to each other and trusting that the one closest to the bus will not let go. It may not come as a surprise then that we know of 3 people that have had falls from buses (in fact, it may surprise you that we do not know of more). However, one did fall while talking on his mobile so I suppose an awareness of the hazards of talking on the phone while travelling may have prevented this accident - it's not just for drivers, it seems.

The other form of public transportation is three-wheeling. Three-wheelers are those little vehicles common to many Asian countries but known by a variety of names: becak, bemo, tuk-tuk, (motorised) rickshaw and the like. In Sri Lanka, these mostly come in red, green or beige, with the occasional blue ones. These are able to transport, it seems, 4 or 5 adults or extra if there are children involved. Also, shopping, goods to be sold at market, fish of any size and shape, dogs both large and small, timber, whipper snippers or anything else you would like to move. Three-wheelers mostly try to cling to the sides of the road as their engines are no match for cars, trucks and buses and neither are their chassis, but this is not a hard-and-fast rule and these little smarties on wheels are not afraid to weave in and out of the traffic as necessary. Best to try and avoid being a passenger in a three-wheeler during rain though as visiblity is very limited once the side-flaps are pulled down.

If you don't want to send your kids to school in a three-wheeler, a school van is another option. There are a plethora of vans to be found on Sri Lankan roads at any point during the day and they are commonly used for school or factory transport, as well as driving lessons. I think it may be impossible to limit the number of people you can fit inside a van, especially when you're dealing with children - they're so small. In the morning vans full of white school uniforms, red hair ribbons, sleepy faces, cheeky grins and small, waving hands can be found all over the place. Oh, and point of note, I think it is a fact that people who travel in vans are super cool ;)

The wealthier and those who enjoy a house with car access will probably own a car. Big, black, shiny 4WD seem to be the status symbol here (although other colours are also acceptable). Government ministers drive these, often with a convoy of military bodyguards ahead and behind. They don't yet know that the super-cool people travel in vans.

More common family transport, however, is the motorcycle. Motorbikes are practical if your house doesn't have car access and, at least while the children are younger, you can fit the whole family on there. For a while, apparently, the government passed a law to limit the number of people allowed on a motorbike but when an overwhelming number of indignant families asked, "How are we supposed to travel now?" the government changed its mind. Still, adults are supposed to wear a helmet and it is illegal to keep your mobile phone wedged inside your helmet so you can take calls while riding.

But we can't all be lucky enough to have a motorbike, so there is still always the trusty bicycle. You can't really fit your whole family on the bike but it is usual for there to be two or three people on the bike. Unless, of course, you're on your way to market with your goods strapped on the back. Or you can walk. Few places have footpaths, though, so it's best to stick close to the side of the road. Or, if you are lucky, you might be able to catch a ride in the back of a truck. The rule with trucks, as with three-wheelers, is the more decorated the vehicle, the better it is.

And for those travelling long distances, there is always the train. With open windows and open doors, the trains offer a better ventilated and usually less crowded alternative to bus travel. Word of advice from Darren (who has travelled to the East Coast via rail): it is best for the unseasoned traveller to take a cushion as the seating is rather firm.

So, you see, there are many ways for you to travel around Sri Lanka. You can pick your fancy - just try and avoid the ambulances.

'TIS THE SEASON

Here on the West Coast of Sri Lanka we are heading into our rainy season, which runs from May to August. It has marked its arrival with heavy rain, growling skies and intimidating tropical thunderstorms. Sunday night was particularly bad. The perpetual rumblings of thunder had me dreaming that I was in a war zone. The rain was torrential and by yesterday (Monday) morning, with no sign of letting up, many roads were underwater.

Still, life goes on so we set out to take the kids to school as usual. At least with all the rain, there was a lot less traffic about. Only those who had to be out, were out. Yet there were still many to be seen braving it on foot or riding their bikes, holding an umbrella in one hand. I'm not sure how many would manage to see the morning out without being drenched by spray created from vehicles passing through the puddles that now consumed most of the road. We drove past one girls' school where the students were all removing their shoes and socks to wade through knee-high water to reach the school grounds. At one place, we navigated a piece of flooded road while two men, perhaps father and son, watched on from the threshold of their simple home, stranded by a moat of water around their house.

By careful navigation we managed to avoid the flooded streets and make it to the school. However, once there, the thoughts that had been gathering in my mind were confirmed. The school was closed for the day so we turned for home. However, Prince is on holidays so this was our first day with Cedric driving. Cedric was not confident with the roads I had navigated him down to get to the school and wanted to go home via the more direct route. This road tends to be chaotic in the mornings at the best of times but I was happy to let him make the choice.

Sure enough, a large portion of the road was flooded and vehicles from both directions were doing their best to navigate the waters. We were about to turn around and go back (which would be no mean feat as there were now vehicles hedged in behind us) when a man wading out of the waters got our attention. He was carrying an umbrella and wearing nothing but a short sarong and a motorbike helmet (well, that would get your attention!). My immediate thought was, "It must be bad. He seems to have lost his motorbike and taken off all his wet clothes." Yet, somehow I don't think that is what happened (though I can not tell you why he was wandering around the flooded streets wearing a motorbike helmet). Anyway, he seemed to have taken it upon himself to direct the traffic and he convinced Cedric that he would make it through the waters. And he was right. With the sound of water sloshing outside the doors, we took on the giant puddle and won, driving off with Cedric saying, "He was a good man. He was a very good man."

We made it home to surprise Daddy with two energetic little boys with a day off school. It also happened to be the day we had chosen to resume our English/computing classes after 6 weeks in Australia. We were barely expecting to get a class, considering the weather but we were pleasantly surprised. One of the students was coming from a town which had not had any rain yet so she was unaware that there might have been a problem but two who had to catch the bus from South of Colombo had a bus ride that extended to 6 hours through the flooded streets to come to class. The rain eased off throughout the day but returned by evening. Reports were coming in that if the rain didn't stop, Colombo would be losing power as the power stations were almost submerged.

With hopes of better weather, we sent the kids off to school today. However, the rain returned and at lunchtime we received a call asking us to collect the children as the school had to close once again. So Darren went out to face the rain and the roads. It was to be almost three hours before he was to return. Almost every road between home and the school was flooded and choked with vehicles trying to navigate the waters. To add to the situation, adjacent to the school is a factory which was sending all its workers home due to the conditions. In the meantime, the sky was throwing down everything that it had and we now had a river rushing down our driveway, through our yard and back out to our neighbour's property. My phone was able to receive calls but I could not ring out so I was worrying about what had happened to my family. Thankfully, a call from Darren early on had alerted me that this would not be an easy trip and I knew a friend of mine was also waiting on her children to get home from school. Still, it was with great relief that I finally saw the van coming down the drive, right at the point where I couldn't keep anxiety at bay much longer and I was pondering my next move.

At the moment, the rain has ceased and there are no outbursts from the sky; no thunder - either in deafening bursts or subtle rumblings - and no sky-splitting flashes of lightning. There are just the frogs, singing in froggy chorus; a deep bass complimented by a croaky alto with a somewhat syncopated rhythm. There are undoubtedly people trying to find a good place to sleep in flooded homes and hoping that the rain will hold out long enough for mattresses and other things to dry. We'll see how the weather goes tomorrow and perhaps make a call to the school office before deciding whether we'll try sending the kids to school tomorrow. But for now, I'll enjoy the peace, be thankful that my family is safe at home with the kids snug in dry beds and be grateful that all I need to deal with the leaks in my roof is a strategically placed bucket or two.

CLASS IS IN

One of the things we are trying to do while we are here is to give people who can not attend English classes (either because they can't afford them or because of distance) greater opportunity to develop English skills. We want to train and assist volunteers with reasonable English skills to be able to share these skills with others, with the aim of having English programs running in impoverished or rural areas. This will open more career opportunities for the students than what is available to those without any skills in English.

After a year of developing a program for volunteers to use, we have finally been able to begin training our first group of volunteers. We have three volunteers who have been meeting on Saturdays to learn how to share English skills with others in creative ways. They are also learning teaching/classroom techniques. Although this is a small start, we are hoping that it will grow into big things. They have only a few Saturdays left of their training program and then we will assist them in getting their own classes started. The classes will be started as a result of generous donations, but a manageable (read 'small') student fee will allow these classes to continue in a self sufficient manner.

From little things, big things grow.

GIGGLES

Those of you who know us well will know how much we both like a good laugh. We both tend to see the funny side of things (maybe because of the way that we look at them). So, today I thought I might share a couple of things that have caused some giggles.

:) I asked one of my students to translate the sentence, "Ohu kakul mace miladi garnava" (He is buying socks) into English. As she worked through trying to form this into an English sentence (tricky work when you consider that English and Sinhala have very different sentence structures), the word 'chicken' kept coming up. We were all a little confused and then it dawned on us all at once. 'Kakul mace' are socks and 'Kukul mas' is chicken meat. A good giggle for the class. One thing's for sure, I will not be sending her to buy me socks! I'm just relieved that it's not just me who says silly things with Sinhala.

:D English class is a great place for a giggle. The students can always be counted on to say something amusing. If your day needs brightening, just show them a picture and ask, "What is this?" My favourite terminology to date includes the 'teafork' (an implement that makes putting sugar in your tea a difficult task) and 'shoe noodles' (for the pasta fanatic who needs to tie their shoes).

:P At lunch recently, one of our students opened his lunch parcel and exclaimed happily, "I told my wife to put minnows in and she did. She is such a good wife; she listens to what I say." In walks another of our students and she says, "You've got my lunch!" So he gives it back, looks in his actual lunch parcel and says, "She didn't give me any minnows. She gave me prawns. I told her I don't like prawns." I guess it's an easy mistake when you all bring your lunch wrapped in a banana leaf.

:} We spent last weekend in Colombo, with many appointments to keep. When we arrived back home on Sunday afternoon we were all ready for a nap. How can you tell? Because instead of telling Brenton to "Get the gate", Darren instructed his son to "Eat the goat".

Have a happy day!

UPCOMING ELECTIONS

We are now a week away from the upcoming presidential elections. Although we aim for political neutrality in our blog, I think it would be remiss of us to not to make note of some of the ways we have seen this event affecting life around us.

The most obvious indication that election fever is in the air is the plethora of photos of the president that you will see as you travel around Sri Lanka. The roadsides are swathed in images of the president; from the giant figures of him striding across billboards to the lines of posters of his smiling face, if you came to Sri Lanka not knowing who the president is, it would not take you long to find out.

Another way that the impending election is affecting daily life in Sri Lanka is that the cost of many goods has been reduced. Recently, when I received more than the expected amount of change for my bread I assumed they had made a mistake. I tried to do the right thing and return the extra five rupee (five cents), but they assured me that bread was now only Rs. 75. My Sinhala was insufficient to try and find out why without causing confusion, so I walked away with my extra five rupee and a clean conscience. Prince was able to tell me later, that the cost of bread has been dropped because of the election. Fuel is also cheaper as well as some other goods. (On the other hand, the cost of a roast chicken is now significantly higher as we face something of a chicken shortage. Chickens are being directed to Jaffna as part of the rebuilding process after the war (which is not to say that chickens are rebuilding Jaffna, just that the people are getting to eat them!). Although it is not pleasant watching the price of roast chickens go ever upward, I feel satisfied now that I know that it is because the chickens are going to those who need them more. I don't think this is election related, but I thought it was an interesting side note.)

The promise of an election has also brought about travel disruptions. Buses have been pulled from their usual routes to be used to transport people to rallies and public political events, meaning that travel plans have become increasingly uncertain for those relying on buses. Roads have been closed for these events or for the president (or those associated with him) as he travels. This can cause significant delays in travel as Sri Lankan roads are very busy and often only have one route between towns.

Lastly, you can tell an election is on its way by the patches of blue and green. The major political parties are identified by a colour and a picture; one is represented by the colour blue and a picture of a leaf, the other by the colour green and a picture of a swan. As you travel around Sri Lanka you will occasionally pass through areas of support for one party or the other. Blue or green ribbons (depending on the political allegiance) will festoon a group of houses and other nearby structures. Unfortunately, these allegiances can often become manifest in hostility towards supporters of the opposite party, which can lead to fighting. Yesterday we learnt that two people had died as a result of violence stemming from political differences.

So in one week's time we should know who won: the blue guy or the green guy. Here's hoping that bread still costs Rs. 75 in two weeks time.