FACEBOOK, A HILL AND A BUCKET OF WATER

I've been thinking lately of giving up Facebook. Those who know me well will know that is a big call, not a decision I would take lightly. For about 3 years now, Facebook has been the major contributor to my social life (sad, I know). It has been the invaluable link between me in my world and many of my dear, dear friends back home (and in other parts of the world). It has kept me linked to people I would not want to drift apart from, even if distance does interfere. That being said, there are some pitfalls to Facebook that I'm not sure I am equipped to handle (and, no, I'm not talking about Farmville).

The trouble I have seems to arise whenever I come home late from a particularly long and draining day at work. I'm tired and, looking for a quick pick-me-up, I turn to Facebook hoping for a funny story or to be able to leave a light-hearted comment somewhere. Instead I quickly find myself being discouraged by the amount of criticising, complaining and condemning. We are so archaic because we don't have daylight savings. The shops aren't open early enough, late enough, long enough. We have to work extra shifts. We're so angry because there are stupid people who don't agree with our opinions. Or we're so convinced of our opinions that we'll voice them however and whenever we like. Let's broadcast our uncensored thoughts of whoever has upset us most recently. Where are our tax dollars going? We want more, we haven't got enough, we missed out. We've had a bad day.

But I didn't. I had a great day. I went to work - a three-and-a-half hour drive there and a three-and a-half hour drive back at the end of the day. I can't complain though, because my newest apprentice had an hour on a bus before even getting in the van with us. Then, when we arrive at work we have to walk a slippery path uphill, each of us carrying boxes packed with books and things. Doesn't sound like the makings of a great day to you? Let me explain a little more.

Today I had a meeting at the home of my co-worker, invaluable assistant and friend. I hadn't seen her in nearly a month, so I suppose that was the biggest part of what made it a great day. But, more than that, I love a visit to her house. There is something there that can't be seen in too many places and I would like to try my best to show it to you.

This house, as I've mentioned, is built on the side of a hill. The land was given to people who were unable to buy land elsewhere and some who had lost homes in the tsunami. They've settled up here and made a home of it - a small community. You can't access the houses by road - though the houses on flat ground have good infrastructure and there is a large town not far away. We park the van on a small field at the base of the hill and then have to walk the small path that has been worn into the hillside by those who go and come. It is not a long walk, but it is gravelly, a bit slippery for those of us who may fall a little on the clumsy side of things, and a small challenge if you have to carry things with you in the heat of the day. Still, I love the walk. It reminds me of when I was a kid living in the bush, always running off to go exploring amongst the trees and following the paths I discovered. I miss that.

About halfway along my walk I will pass a plastic tank - like a rainwater tank, only smaller - and a . . . hmmm, I'm not sure I know how to describe it. It is about the size of a small meeting hall but it is only the floor and half-walls in the parts where it has been built into the sides of the hill. I think it is partly tiled and partly concrete. I can't describe it too well because I know what it is and, seeing as most times I've gone past it has had people in it, I usually avert my eyes. Along part of the perimeter of the rectangular construction runs a small ditch with a pipe through which, I'm pretty sure, trickles water from the tank. A small part of the 'hall' is separated by a half wall, with a drain to let water out and a plug to keep it in. I suppose it's a bit like an empty swimming pool. This is a communal bathroom. People living on the hill will come here to bathe and to wash their clothes. (It might be worth pointing out that they don't bathe naked. I avert my eyes because I figure if I had to bathe in an open-air bathroom, I don't think I'd appreciate any old passer-by watching me like I was a TV programme.)

The tank is the community's water supply. The houses don't have running water. They don't have electricity either. Each day they will walk down the hill, fill a bucket and carry it back to the house. At my friend's house they then pour it into a large pot and then return for more. She says it takes three trips to fill the pot. Apparently, after the land was given, the government declared that there was the risk of landslides in the area and that it would be unsuitable to put in water or electricity connections. I have been told that a few attempts have been made, prior to elections, to put water connections in but these attempts have ground to a halt after each election.

At least it is not too long a walk from there up to my friend's house, though the incline does increase at this point. Then up a few steps and you're there! A perfect example of the premise that the most beautiful places take a bit of extra effort to get to. My friend lives here with her mother - her father having passed away years earlier - and other family members live nearby. Whenever I have come, it has been to a house of women - smiling, happy, welcoming women. My friend has clearly learnt from her mother, because both always carry a beautiful, big smile, and it seems to rub off on anyone who walks through the door. It's not an empty house; it's a house of happiness.

It's a great house - well-kept with a sweet little garden out the front. It's not a shack, they have worked hard and waited patiently to build something suitable. It's not fancy compared to what you might be used to but it's got what is needed. The main room has a table and a comfy place for guests to sit, while a large, open window lets in cheery sunshine and a cooling breeze. There's a kitchen and also, in faith, a bathroom which doubles as a storeroom while waiting for the day when there might be running water. Because they can't build back, right or left - the house is built hard against solid rock - they've built up. Go upstairs and you get a beautiful view looking down from the hill across all the greenery. Words at the back of my mind try to push their way forward - something about 'meek' and 'inheriting the earth'?

We are welcomed in and my friend's mother is soon busy making tea for us all and putting together a meal of cake and bananas. There's more than we all could eat. My friend takes our new worker outside with a bucket of water so she can wash her hands and face and freshen up after our travels. That simple act of hospitality takes on so much more meaning when you realise that it is one-third of their water-holding capacity, one trip down the hill and back, given away so generously, without holding back.

And then it is down to business. I am finally home at about 7pm, tired but satisfied. And then - I should know better, I really should - I look at facebook. I look, and then all the energy that remains in me at the end of a long day seems to be sucked right out. How can we who have so much complain about so little, while those who have so little seem to live with such satisfaction? (Though, don't be fooled; I know full well these are generalisations to which there are definitely exceptions!) Why are we standing in the shower (and a hot shower at that!), whinging about our day, while elsewhere someone is giving away a bucket of their hard-earned water and their smile doesn't waver at all? It doesn't bother me so much that we do it, - we all have moments where we just throw away words - it's just that sometimes I wonder if we even realise that our grievances are so petty. It's not that we get upset, it's that we get upset out of proportion.

Now I'm worried I might be sounding sanctimonious or hypocritical (whinging about whinging) or I might have got you thinking, "Is she talking about me? She's talking about me, isn't she?" No, I'm not talking about you. So I wanted to confess how I have caught myself getting upset out of proportion and tell you about the kick in the pants that I got which I now use to remind myself whenever I start getting upset out of proportion.

I had an early start for work one morning and a two hour drive ahead of me. I hadn't been getting much time off and I was already tired before I left. I was expecting the day to be hot and long and I knew that when I got home I would be expecting an overnight guest. I must confess, I started to get a bit whiny with myself. Oh, how much I do! Oh, how much more I deserve! I just wanted to get things over and done with. (Oh, how bad I feel as I write this confession!)

The people we were going to see had left their home to go and work in a difficult area, helping others. They have been there for several years now. Their work isn't easy but they keep at it. Several times, someone has come along and offered to help them with what they're doing but eventually those people have left again because they found the work too difficult or needed something that provided more financially. As we spoke together, the lady broke into tears. She told of how discouraging it was to have people leave them time after time. She also spoke of how isolating it felt to be struggling with this work alone.

So, as you might imagine, I was hanging my head in shame at right about this point. Here I had been feeling like I was the noble martyr for going out and doing for one day what she was doing every day of her life. How humbling. It threw a whole lot of perspective at me that I thought it might be good to hang on to. Since then, whenever I become tempted to let the things that are irking me get out of proportion, I remember that morning. A bit of perspective makes a world of difference.

What I could hear her yearning for was a sense of being connected, of not being alone. And I suspect part of what is behind the generosity and satisfaction that fills my friend's house is that sense of community looking out for each other. And I suppose our problems do start to blow out of proportion when we lose sight of the wonderful things we do have, like the people around us who support us. One thing I have learnt from Facebook is that even though there are a multitude of things that people can say that can drag us down, and even though there might be a small number of people with something positive to say, just one word from a person like that will lift us higher than any negativity around. I'll take a person like that wherever I can find them and I want to be one of those people. So I suppose, for now, Facebook gets to stay. Besides, I like the games.

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

A WONDERFUL WEEKEND

I have a confession to make. These days it's getting harder to get around to blogging (that's it, that's the confession; I'm sorry, I imagine you were hoping for something juicier). I love writing but it gets hard to find the time to do it and you have to come up with an idea to write about. I'm not even entirely sure that anyone is reading what I write!

Lucky for you (yes, consider your good fortune), every now and then inspiration comes my way. It is hard to find that inspiration when a steady routine guides your days, but when the unexpected or the different drops by, it gives me something to talk about. Last weekend we went away on a trip to Anuradapura. For the first time in quite a while, we found ourselves exploring a place we had never been before. This is the perfect circumstance to discover new wonders all around you. So today's blog is a tribute to the Wonders of my Weekend. I hope you enjoy my WoWs!

WoW #1: The first WoW really deserves to go to how much driving can be packed into my day. We left the house around 7am on Friday and drove out to drop the kids at school. Fifty minutes later we were driving back past the house on our way out to Chilaw, an hour and a half's drive in the other direction. After teaching there for three and a half hours, we drove back, past the house and on to the school to pick up the kids. Then back to the house to collect Darren. An hour later and we're driving through Chilaw again (only an hour this time because we're going through Chilaw town, not heading out to where my class is) and then about another hour further to get to Puttalam. This is as far North as I have been so far. Puttalam was one of the places we went to when we first arrived and I remember being anxious, hoping that we were not getting too close to the war zone. Sigh! The naiveties of youth. But this time we were pressing on further, quite a deal further. Driving on for another three hours, we finally arrived at Anuradapura at 8pm. In all fairness, I believe Cedric deserves the honours of WoW #1. Hail to the bus driver, bus driver man!

WoW #2: On the morning drive to Chilaw, we went past four young blokes standing by the side of the road, waiting for the bus or something. They all wore jeans of matching cut - one in fluorescent pink, one in bright orange, one in deep red and the fourth in royal purple. I would tell you whether or not this was a hip and funky fashion statement but, the truth is, the glare from their trousers rendered visual observations impossible.

WoW #3: Cows on the road are quite commonplace in Sri Lanka. Even so, the sight of an entire herd moseying along at their own pace, quite oblivious of the traffic weaving a way around them, right in Chilaw's town centre is still pretty amusing. These were the temple cows. They don't have owners; they have been donated to the local Buddhist temple so they are allowed to roam free. Luckily for them, the Buddhists don't practice animal sacrifice.

WoW #4: I always find paddy fields pretty WoW - they seem to stretch forever and they look so soft when they're green - but when they give way to surprise you with a reservoir, that's definitely an audible 'WoW!' It's pretty breathtaking to be driving along a long strip of road with no roadsides, only water stretching as far as the eye can see on either side and scattered trees growing up out of the depths.

WoW #5: An eerie WoW, a strip of road lined with house after deserted house - roofless, doorless, windowless, crumbling. Once these were homes, but I was told they had been deserted during the terrors of war, when people did not want to be unprotected in their homes at night. Families had fled to find another place to live. These homes are on the land bordering national park and nature happily moved right on in. Many of the homes are completely filled by greenery as mother nature reclaims her territory. Also on the side of the road are signs warning that this is a place where wild elephants may wander - as if these people didn't have enough to contend with. Further along the road, where there is less cover of national park for enemies to suddenly appear from, homes are still occupied. These houses are surrounded by elephant fences.

WoW #6: Bottles of soft drink for 30 rupee (30 cents)each. I don't really need to say anything more than that, do I? This fellow is now guaranteed that we are going to stop by his simple, dried-mud shop every time we pass. Adding to the WoW factor was sitting out the front of his s hop, enjoying the drinks and the breeze, while my kids played cricket with his kids, waiting for the adults to finish their drinks.

WoW #7: I've said it before, I'll say it again: paddy fields are pretty WoW. Even more so when the sun is setting over them in the most beautiful and iridescent of colours that I've only seen matched once before - by four boys in multi-colour pants standing by the side of the road on the way to Chilaw. Wish I had a photo of this one for you.

WoW #8: Not a bad piece of architecture. Plus, the monkeys hanging around were huge. I think they were on guard duty - when they weren't eating out of the bin.

WoW #9: On Saturday we stopped at a nice hotel for lunch and a swim in the pool. Most hotels will let non-guests use the pool for a small fee and many will even let you use the pool for free if you have lunch at their restaurant. The hotel had beautiful grounds and the pool was massive - and we had it all to ourselves! (Hmm, I better stop telling you all how wonderful Sri Lanka is; I might have to start sharing). I think I was even more impressed with the change rooms and found myself wondering how much they might charge me to bunk in there overnight. Not to say that our guest-house was bad (in fact, it was beautifully clean and looked after), nor that this hotel was so very fantastic (although it was pretty great) - but it had HOT WATER . . . in the change room! . . . and it had a hair dryer. As you can tell, I'm easily impressed.

WoW #10: Having Sunday lunch at a friend's place just outside of Anuradapura. This lunch invitation was the reason we found ourselves exploring Anuradapura for the weekend. I believe we invited ourselves. Glad we did too. First the boys enjoyed a game of cricket with some neighbourhood kids. Then our hosts showed us to a table set up in a breezy place under the shade of a large jak tree, laden with jakfruit, spread with a traditional Sri Lankan feast. I don't think a fancy restaurant could do better. An awesome meal with awesome company. And I still got to stop and visit my new friend with the 30 rupee soft drinks on the way home.

WoW #11: (Why stop at 10?!). We were not the only ones travelling North for the weekend. A Catholic church up around Puttalam way was celebrating a large festival that weekend and many people from all around the island were travelling up to enjoy the weekends festivities. It was easy to identify them. They were the ones in the vans crammed with family members, with the load of camping necessities - like mats, plastic chairs and cooking pots - tied to the roof. Anyway, as we came back into Chilaw at the end of the weekend, we drove across a bridge over a large river. I have never seen so many people in a river. This was clearly the place to stop when everyone has just had enough of driving. The river bank was dotted with vans in the places where people had decided to stop, set up a circle of chairs and enjoy a bit of a picnic and a play in the river. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun I just wanted to stop and join them. Unfortunately for us - and I don't think I would have convinced Darren anyway - we needed to get ourselves home.

So that was my Weekend of Wonders. I just love finding delight in the simple things of life that can still make you say WoW!

THE NIGHT OF THE POLECAT

This month is proving to be a month of anniversaries and celebrations. The most recent was last night, celebrating the good news of the birth of my fourth niece. Almost upon us is the 10th birthday of our eldest son, growing up so quickly. Almost forgotten was our 14th wedding anniversary, trying to slip by unnoticed amongst the New Year season and the upcoming birthdays and yet cherished more than the rest. And, nestled inauspiciously in the midst of all this, the third anniversary of our arrival in Sri Lanka.

As we embark on our fourth year in Sri Lanka, I think it is reasonable to say that there is little that surprises us anymore. Our eyes have grown accustomed to the sights that would make a newcomer point and exclaim in wonder and amazement. No, we're not really surprised by the number of people on that motorbike. We barely notice the enormity of the coconut collection defying the laws of physics to remain piled in the back of that truck. These days we're lucky if the kids even bother to look out the window when someone spots an elephant by the side of the road.

So it was quite delightful when, last Friday night, we experienced the excitement of another quirky 'first' in Sri Lanka, that reminded us once again that we are indeed living in a land of adventure. It all started with the sound of tremendous crashing and shattering at about 10:30pm. I had been painting in a room that I have turned into a little studio and Darren was reading in the bedroom. Wondering what Darren could have dropped and smashed so very badly, I entered the bedroom only to find him staring questioningly at me.

"So you didn't do it, then?" I asked.

"No. I thought it was you." The kids had long been asleep in bed, so we made our way downstairs to investigate.

Once downstairs, it was quite obvious what had been broken. One of the ceiling squares lay smashed all over the dining room floor and we could peer up into the roof cavity through the hole where once it was. The next question was, what caused it to fall.

My immediate concern was that somebody may have been trying to break into the house, and yet I knew full well that our ceiling would not support any person, not even a child, who might try to walk over it. They would not have made the distance and they would be lying, rather uncomfortably, alongside the shattered pieces of tile. Still, I wanted the comforting reassurance of hearing my husband and protector telling me that there was no way this could have been done by an intruder.

Before I had even finished the question, we heard noises coming from the study. Not only had we had intruders, but they were at large in our house. Now, this would be scary at the best of times, but this was 10:30 at night. I was wearing a simple beach dress, that to any Sri Lankan would be considered a bathing dress, worn when showering. Darren, having retired for the night, was clad only in his boxer shorts. Not the type of attire that one would want to face a potential attacker in. Yet my fearless husband, hero of the hour, pressed onward to face our foe.

As I cowered in the corner, I heard him say, "It's just a cat," followed by, "No it's not, it's a really, big . . . "

Now, the only word I could expect to follow this was 'rat' and I was considering if I would want to see a rat so large that it could be mistaken for a cat when Darren concluded his summary of the situation with, "Actually, I don't know what it is."

Peering into the unlit study, I could see a large, furry creature with an unusually pointy nose and a long, thick tail. My immediate thoughts were, "Well, it's a possum. Oh hang on, we're not in Australia right now. Are there any possums in Sri Lanka?" Darren flicked on the light and the creature hid itself behind our curtains, furry tail hanging down like a rope. He laughed (Darren, not the creature) and said, "Well, he's done a big poo on your desk." Aw man!

We decided that it must be a mongoose, as that was the only furry Sri Lankan creature that we knew that might be mistaken for a possum. The only times we've ever seen a mongoose have been when we were driving and we've seen one streak across the road (no, not in the same way it might if it were at a televised sporting event!). At those speeds and distances, it is difficult to get a good look at a mongoose, so we weren't really sure what a mongoose looks like. Still, the creature needed to be identified. A friend of ours who has lived in Sri Lanka longer than us was later able to correct us and told us that what we had come across was a polecat. Thanks to the wonders of Google, we learnt that it was actually a civet - a common palm civet, to be precise; polecats being more of a European critter - but that the name 'polecat' was still the name they usually went by.

So now that we had assessed the situation - big critter in study; big pooh on desk - the question was what to do now. We shut the door to the study to prevent escape (the polecat's, not ours) and to buy us some thinking time. On the other side of the study is a door that leads to the front yard. We figured the thing to do would be to open that door and shepherd the polecat out that way. Unfortunately, being late, we had already locked this door and we could not unlock it from the outside. One of us (being Darren, of course) was going to have to enter the room with the polecat, unlock the door and then convince the polecat to exit it. Having no experience with polecats, we had to base our plan of action on the next closest thing somewhat within our range of experience - moving a possum. Not that we have ever had to move a possum either, but I hear those things can get quite feisty and scratchy, given the inclination. Darren thought that changing into more polecat-removing attire before any further action should be the next step.

Minutes later, Darren reappeared downstairs, looking ready for a game of basketball. It's extremely rare that we wear shoes and socks around here but Darren wasn't about to risk a polecat nibbling on his toes. He grabbed a towel and my laundry bucket. I was a little anxious that any mission involving a polecat, a towel and a laundry bucket was destined to finish in disaster so, before Darren opened the door and crossed the point of no return, I called, "Wait!" I mean, this is a time for a camera.

Minutes later, I reappeared downstairs, trusty camera in hand. Right, now we're ready. Slowly, we opened the door and assessed the scene. The polecat was now hanging upside down - or rather, I think he had somehow braced himself - between the wall and my desk. We took a few snaps and then I positioned myself bravely up on a chair while Darren unlocked and opened the front door.

Now it was 'do or die'; now was the time to co-erce the wild, untamed beast of nature back to the wilds from whence it had come. Darren backed away from the door and, docilely, the wild beast trundled obligingly through and off into the night.

Darren assessed the situation with, "I think he's not quite right."

"Well, he did just fall from the ceiling," I replied, hoping that civet concussion doesn't take long to shake off.

Of course, this simply left 'Operation Clean-up' to be done. Naturally, Darren declared that, seeing as he had been the brave hero to face the beast, 'Operation Clean-up' was my responsibility. And, let's face it, she who owns the computer desk is always going to be the one most desirous that it is free from pooh. So, armed with paper towels and plastic bags and disinfectants and buckets and mops, I went into battle. I quickly noticed that I could follow the flight of the polecat, if I had wanted, for the poor, frightened creature had left a trail of pooh behind him as he went.

"I think he's not quite right," I called to Darren, who had made a rapid retreat from the study.

"Well, he did just fall from the ceiling," Darren called back.

Then from outside we could hear the sound of scuffling up the drain pipe and shuffling in the roof. I guess he's okay then.

The next morning, Jaymon woke up and saw the hole in the ceiling. "I think I've found where the roof has been leaking," he reported.

"That's not where the water's been leaking," and we told him about the large furry creature that had fallen down from there in the night.

He looked at us dubiously. "Are you tricking?"

Thank goodness for photographic evidence.

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.