Easing into it

On arrival in Kandy I (being a creature of habit) retraced my steps from last summer to the Expeditor Inn, a friendly, clean and well-run estabilshment on the southern shore of the man-made lake carrying the city's name. It is a magical lake, adding a sense of open space to the otherwise congested capital of the Sri Lankan hill country. Over and around it flocks colourful birds. In it swims the awesome-looking water monitors. On it's promenade awaits predators the arrival of new prey - clever touts spotting a tourists from afar. But these are desperate times for the touts and hawkers of Kandy, and anyone else relying on the tourists for there income here. The tsunami, and in particular the media coverage of it, has done a lot to frighten people from coming, causing them to scratch Sri Lanka off their itineraries, regardless of the fact that only a small portion of the island (although a large part of it's coastline) was directly affected. Far more devastating for many in the tourist industry than the tsunami itself, is the deterring effect it has had on would-be tourists. Even in several of the badly affected areas, there are hotels and guest houses up and running, but noone to cater to. In Kandy, December to April should be peak season. Last year at this time the Expeditor was full and had to turn down arriving tourists who had not booked in advance. Now they have no bookings until mid-February.

There are a number of rumours out there among travellers, one being that this is not a good time to go to Sri Lanka since one will be taking up unnecessary capacity, using resources needed elsewhere and be in the way of relief workers. This is as far as I can tell plain wrong. Sri Lanka has never needed tourism like now. The phase of immediate relief is over and the rebuilding has begun. In order for a sense of normalcy to settle, the return of tourists (especially the independent travellers who support the smaller hotels and guest houses) and the capital they bring, is of paramount importance. So don't be scared. Come to Sri Lanka. This is my appeal to you.

That being said, let's get back to me! Before leaving Colombo I had a meeting with the Lankan anthropologist Malathi de Alwis who gave me good advice and who furthermore agreed that the University of Peradeniya would probably be a good choice of field for me - this mainly because it is a residential campus as opposed to the University of Colombo. I was only too glad, the next day, to get on a train into the hill country. Colombo had little more to offer me it seemed and the cooler climate of the hills seemed tempting. Peradeniya is a fairly small town on the outskirts of Kandy, only a 20 minute and over-crowded bus ride away from the city center. But the effort is worth it. Tourists linger for hours in its well kept botanical gardens (one of the best in south Asia I would think) - a welcome retreat from the roaring noise and exhaust fumes of the city. On my first excursion to the university campus I was pleased to discover that it was almost like an extension of the gardens. It is a spacious, green and peaceful plot of land where buildings don't compete for space but dwell harmoniously in the landscape. Their faded yellow-rusty color betrays their age and gives them a rather ancient feel - a feeling added to by a visible lack of maintenance. But the university, although being the oldest in Sri Lanka, only rounded the age of 60 a couple of years ago, and during it's first 10 years it was located in Colombo while the present campus was being prepared. Initially it was a very successfull institution and grew quickly in size and popularity. However, as more universities were being built, a lack of funding and qualified personel, constant university reforms and student unrest plunged the universities into a deep crises. The 70's and 80's was a turbulent period and many of the leaders of the insurgencies of that time were recruited from campuses such as Peradeniya. This, along with a tradition of violent ragging, made the universities insecure and poorly equipped in the task of educating the younger generation. It seems they are only now recovering, but it is a long process and the universities, Peradeniya included, still face many problems. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The campus was a quit place indeed, with little hinting of a violent past, when I paid it my first visit. This because of is tranquil setting, but also because I had come on a poya day, a buddhist holiday, and certainly a holy day, marked by the full moon. The campus was pretty much deserted except for young couples here and there, on a bench under the shade of a tree (it seems it is completely acceptable for young men and women to show eachother affection in public in Sri Lanka, as opposed to in India, although you will rarely see anyone kiss). I left them to themselves, sending a thought to my girlfriend Silje in Belfast, and went on exploring. I had come to get my bearings straight. To locate a few key buildings. To ease into the fieldwork.

Easing into it is what I'm still trying to do I suppose, after a week in Kandy. I am still living at the Expeditor, having most of my meals there, and making daily excursions to the university. I have talked to a few people there and had a positive discussion with Dr Sumedha Sivamohan, head of the English department. I have yet to talk to the Vice-Chancellor however, and get a formal green light for conducting my research at Peradeniya. And I have yet to find permanent accomodation closer to Peradeniya. I have yet to device a research methodology that I can see deliver the kind of data I want. But I'm moving, although slowly, in the direction of something.

/haakon/in/kandy/

NB! Important notice

An update on the anthropological adventure is just around the corner. This is however a notice to those who want to leave private messages in the guest book. Due to a technical problem I am not able to read these. I therefore encourage you to write emails in stead. The address is haakon.aasprong@gmail.com

/haakon/in/kandy/

Return to Serendib

The Norwegian embassy said I probably wouldn't be able to. They were wrong.
Lonely Planet said it would take about an hour. It took two.

Used as I've become to the slow and often mysterious workings of south-Asian bureacracy, I entered the Department of Immigration, next to Majestic City shopping complex, with a loaded wallet and low expectations. I was there to get a visa extension, but I knew a number of reasons Sri Lankan authorities could use to deny me one, the most probable being the fact that I don't possess a return ticket. "Never mind that" their eyes seemed to whisper, "just give us your money". And then they picked me clean. 160 or so USD changed hands - visas must be big business - but I got my stamp and signature and re-entered daylight feeling like a true winner. I am now an eligable resident of Sri Lanka until July 11 (at which time I will have to do some more extending), and this was immediately celebrated with an iced coffe at Barista, a Starbuck-like affair, and the trendiest of coffee shops in Colombo.

So why this Sri Lanka business?
I suspect most of you have heard this at one time or another, but some might not and others might be confused. I am here because it is time for my academical rite of passage. It is time for me to leave the ranks of mere students of anthropology and to become an Anthropologist. What signifies an anthropologist more than anything else? The fieldwork of course! The going off to distant lands with a naive ambition of getting a grasp on the native way of life, while keeping it on an arm's length in order to scrutinize it with the scholar's analytical gaze. Easy enough. 4 years at the university has led to this moment, the climax, after which all that is left is to write up a thesis by the summer of 2006. I should be well prepared. No problem! Piece of cake! But where the hell do I begin?

Sri Lanka was of course my own choice. The two weeks I had here in June 2004 (only briefly attempted relayed to the readers of this blog) left me with a burning desire to return. Sri Lanka seemed to me nothing like the ravaged hell-hole I had read about. Two years of lasting peace between the government army and the Tamil Tiger's guerilla (LTTE) seemed to have given many people some sense of hope and belief in the future again. Everywhere I went I was met with smiles - big smiles - that grew even bigger whenever I revealed my nationality. Especially in the Tamil areas, where the war has taken the most lives and left the deepest scars, Norwegians were considered apostles of peace, one and all, no matter their business on Sri Lanka. OK, I enjoyed that feeling, but that is not why I returned. This island intrigued me. Everything about it did. From it's shape as a teardrop falling from the face of the Indian sub-continent, to the complexity of the conflict the country has struggled with for more than half a century. Calling it a conflict however gives a false impression of the situation. Sri Lanka has been ravaged by many conflicts. And to call this an ethnic struggle is only a partial truth. Ethnicity, race (the social conception of it of course, race as a biological category is non-sense), language, religion, caste and class all play their part in fragmenting this people of nearly 20 million. Let's leave it at that for now. There is no short version of Sri Lankas problems, and the attrocities committed, particularily since 1983, are too horrible for words. How could the smiles I saw last summer cover up such pain? On a personal level this mystery is why I decided to return. On a professional level however, I cannot hope to answer such a profound question. But I can perhaps solve one piece of the puzzle and make a contribution, however small, towards peace.

I have in part spent the previous academic semester composing a project description for the fieldwork at hand. After pondering upon many alternative topics for a thesis, mainly within south-Asian countries, I decided on this: "Taking into account that the university students of today will be well represented among the leaders of tomorrow's Sri Lanka, what ideological baggage do these students take along as they leave campus for life in the 'real world'? What social categories and groups are of biggest importance in the everyday life at the university? How do nationalist ideologies structure interethnic interaction and what arenas exist for non-politicized interaction across social boundaries? How are nationalist ideologies perpetuated on campus?" I could go on, but this questioning is based on the assumption that widespread non-politicized interaction between social categories is necessary to take the edge off stereotypes and to fight xenophobia.

Alright, but then what? This is pretty much where I am today, after five days in the mayhem that is Colombo - the bustling capital of 600 000 to 2 million residents, depending on where you draw it's borders. I have been trying to get in touch with local scholars and organizations while looking for a suitable university to adopt as field site. The scholars are now beginning to respond (I have arranged meetings with local anthropologists on Wednesday and Friday), and I have chosen my university to scrutinize. Noone there knows yet, though. My choice fell on the University of Peradeniya, which is inland, near Kandy, and a predominantly Sinhalese university with a Tamil minority. It is a modern university, while being Sri Lankas oldest, and it is set in fertile, green surroundings (or so it seems from their web site). Challenges ahead of me involve obtaining a permit to be on campus, arranging accomodation on or close to campus (preferably in student quarters), and recruiting a descent sized group of informants with tolerable English skills (my proficiency with the Sinhalese and Tamil languages leaves quite a lot to be desired). Once there, and "fåglarna vet når" as they say in Sweden, the fieldwork proper can begin. There is a good way to go, but fortunately I still have 7 months at my disposal, granting the immigration authorities don't lose their thirst for money.

I'll finish off for now with a few words on the tsunami, the reason I haven't mentioned it earlier being that there is so little to remind me of it here. I keep forgetting it is an issue at all. Colombo was virtually untouched, the exeption being where the wave was channeled into river estuaries. Of course, the city itself being untouched does not mean it's population is. Many houses hoist a white flag, in Buddhism signifying the loss of a loved one. Late one evening, on passing a hindu temple, I talked to an old homeless Tamil man. With teary eyes and a breath that smelled of alcohol, he told me he had lost many of his relatives but that his family was safe. He then thanked me for everything Norway has done in and for Sri Lanka and bowed deep as we said good bye. I left feeling rather small.

Many universities, including the University of Peradeniya, are involved in relief efforts and it is probably in this respect the tsunami may become relevant for my work. I am told there is no imminent risk of epidemics and there is plenty of bottled water available. The Norwegian embassy informed me that all over the country people's immediate needs are met. The tsunami did shake this nation badly, but it is unfortunately a nation that has been shook many a time before. A death toll exceeding 30 000 is still only half of the lives the civil war has claimed over the last 20 years. In the streets of Colombo life goes on more or less as before. Out of necessity. The media are talking about rebuilding and eyes are again set on the future

BTW1: I overheard on the radio today that all coastal towns are to be moved at least 1 km inland - a decission that in itself is worthy of an anthropological study.

BTW2: 'Serendib' was the name given to Sri Lanka by Arab traders at around the 7th century, meaning 'Island of jewels'. This name is the root of the English 'serendipity' - to stumble upon a fortunate discovery. It was later twisted to Ceilao by the Portuguese and Ceylon by the Dutch. Ceylon of course was the official name up until 1972 when it was replaced by 'Sri Lanka'.

/haakon/in/colombo/