Minutes but Worlds Apart

After having talked about it for a while, Stuart and went about exploring the Hantana range yesterday. We both have a beautiful view of it from our houses and it is there, beckoning me every time I catch a bus to and from campus. It is there to catch my eye when I'm on campus too, especially in the morning time when a mystical mist pulls through the pine forests in the hillside. No wonder the first Vice-Chancellor of Peradeniya, Sir Ivor Jennings, stated that the university has the most beautiful environment of any university in the world. I never really contemplated climbing Hantana though, until Stuart said he had gone a good bit up and that it was beautiful.

Apparantly there are a couple of different ways of climbing the Hantanas; from the south, that is Peradeniya and from the north, that is Kandy. Apparantly there are a few different Hantana peaks to climb too, or 7 as one student told me. We went off with no clear idea of which one to conquer, but Stuart, having looked into this, said it would be easiest to go up from the north. He had been told of a road going behind the government hospital and a good bit up the hill to a the Hantana tea estate. Getting started rather late, after first having been to campus, we opted for the easiest version of the easiest route. In other words: we went caught a threewheeler a good bit up into the hillside, and got off just before the estate. Only minutes away from Kandy it was as if we had entered another world. This is the upcountry, conceptually an eternity away from the bright lights of the (not so big) city, with Tamil women bent over tea bushes in just the same way I've seen them bent over tea bushes in so many other estates now. I had no idea I hardly had to leave my doorstep to see this. Must be one of Kandy's best kept secrets.

We strode on upwards, waving to yelling children playing cricket, and dodging overloaded buses going both directions. A stop for refreshing king coconuts and people we met en route, provided ample opportunities for practicing Tamil, something Stuart regretably is much better at than I, explaining why he still has an edge on me. Neither one of us had the necessary proficiency to ask for directions to reach the top, though, so we stuck to the main road figuring it was a good thing as long as it was climbing.

Reaching the National Training Institute (for what??!) we seemed to have come to the road's end, though. That is, we had passed underneath the peak we felt like climbing, and while the road went on we felt we should push for the summit. Acres of tea plants covered the lower part of the hillside, giving away to high grass and forest underneath the peak, and I suggested we should head up through the tea to see if there was a path from there. And so we did, while the sky was turning dark grey, mocking us for not having brought umbrellas. Looking back we enjoyed a spectacular view down a valley to the north.

It seemed a path led from the edge of tea fields into the neighboring forest. Feeling a bit Indiana Jonesy as we followed it in underneath the canopy, we came to a holt in an clear space, surrounded by boulders overgrown with roots, creepers dangling like curtains from the branches above us, adding to the mystical atmosphere of it all. It is the kind of place where one half expects to come across face-painted, bow-carrying men in loin cloths, chanting while performing ancient ritual sacrifices - at least if one has seen a few adventure movies too many. Or if you're a Lord of the Rings-fan; it would have felt very appropriate if Tom Bombadill had come skipping along, singing a song (Tom Bombadill doesn't ring a bell? Read the book you lazy bastard). It was as if the trees were consuming everything, luring us on into the midst of the laberynth, where we in turn would pay for our foolishness being unable to find our way back.

Enough of this mombojombo.

We eventually gave up on finding a way to the top, deciding instead to return another day to push for the summit. And we had no problems finding our way back, although the leaches did their very best to stop us, or maybe they were just wanting to catch a ride to town. Either way, I seem to be popular among the bloodsuckers these days. The walk back to Kandy took us just more than an hour. An hour away, but so far removed.

Speaking of different worlds. Stuart and I live 20 minutes apart, he staying with a Tamil family in the neigborhood immediately adjacent town on the western side of Peradeniya Road. It is an ethnically mixed neighborhood, with the quality of housing varying from simple shacks to large concrete structures. He has a difficult time going anywhere without being "interrogated" by curious neighbors who seem to have no sense of privacy. Compared to this I live in Posh Paradise. Well, the name says it all: "Pichaud Gardens", which I am sure, to most people sound exactly like "Too-pricy-for-you". The men who come to collect our garbage take the opportunity to do some begging, and we are targeted by all kinds of travelling salesmen. It is a neighborhood in which I am sure you do not receive permission to build unless the blueprints contain plans for servants' quarters. A nice place but boring as hell.

For some though, a street is just a street - always fraught with danger. A stray dog in our road had a litter of puppies recently. They have been all over the place the last few days, yupping excitedly as I walk by. But what is a dog's life worth? Coming down to Peradeniya Road today to catch a bus to town, one of the puppies was lying remarkably still in a pool of it's own blood, it's head smashed in. Disturbing to see, but not as disturbing as the one I saw in the side of the road, coming home from Batticaloa last week, still kicking but unable to move. People see, shrug and go on with their business. What can you do? A dog is just a dog. Strays don't last long anyway. These are the harsh realities of life we are so sheltered from in the Western world. A world apart.

/haakon/

Back from Bloody Batti...

I was going to write about my recent trip to Batticaloa. I would have been bitchin' about the baking sun, ghostly invisible mosquitos, a heat rash, a broken watch and a caput mobile phone. Before I got around to writing the entry, though... tada! it was Vesak.

Vesak, yet another religious holiday, is the celebration of Buddha's birth, enlightenment and death. Well.. maybe they celebrate the first two and commemorate the latter. Anyway, I decided that in stead of writing about Batti, I would bitch about being alone during the holiday. I was alone because all my local friends' numbers are stored on the phone, and only there. The phone not working, I could only hope to meet one of them by coincidence, roaming the streets.

So I made sure to visit the downtown Cargills supermarket every day- sometimes several times a day. Jill and I have a way of stumbling upon eachother in the checkout counter there. It must have happened.. what? ...at least 4 times. I have a difficult time walking past Cargills without going in, anyway. Maybe it is the western consumer in me, taking control. That my sense of persistance is reliant on a neverending supply of commodities. That the beer, biscuits and peanut butter I buy is in fact an umbelical cord reaching back to Europe. Who knows? I know I didn't meet Jill or anyone else in there, though.

But then, Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the Vesak-lanterns by the lakefront, for as long as I could take.... Hm.. Timeout! I should take time to explain for you non-Lankans that a big part of Vesak is the traditional decorating of homes and public spaces with lanterns of various colours, sizes and shapes, some of them with undeniable artistic qualities, others.. ehm.. a bit tacky. I don't know about this, but I suppose the lanterns symbolize enlightenment. Makes sense, doesn't it? On the lake promenade a number of stalls had been erected, each stall for a separate lantern, and here people had unleashed their creative energies, competing in creating the most mind-blowing piece. Some of the lanterns, equipped with electromotors, were rotating, donning flashing lights, reminding me of robots or UFOs from 70s sci-fi movies. Others included figures of buddhist monks and Buddhas, or models of the Dalada Maligawa (Kandy's "Temple of the Tooth" where a tooth relic from Buddha is said to be kept). Some lanterns were huge and bulky - others done with exquisit detail, showing off intricate carvings and fancy shadow play. Some lanterns were just... uhm... tacky.

Alright, back to the story: Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the lanterns by the lake, for as long as I could take, I felt an urge for pizza. Pizza Hut-pizza is by no means a favorite of mine, but in Kandy one can't be picky when it comes to pizzas... or italian food... or foreign food at all. (I have seen a resturant called Milano, although a dingy and deserted interior has prevented me from giving it a go). Standing outside Pizza Hut I pondered wether to take away or to go in. The, for Kandy, uncharacteristic crowds made me take refuge inside. Lucky decission, for who did I meet there but Re(sri)becca and her friend Jeremy! A happy coincidence, in deed. Just the company I needed. And as if that was not enough Gavin and his girlfriend Christine arrived a few minutes afterwards. Vesak was saved, but I would have to find a new approach to writing about it.

Wednesday things were beginning to return to normal for me. The mosquitobites were itching less, though marginally, and I had picked up my mobile after having it repaired, (the display needed to be changed) a job that was quickly and successfully accomplished and easily worth the 7000 Rupees I paid for it. I would now be able to call Stewart, my American fellow-anthropologist (not one of the Fulbrights) who had recently returned from a month in India. Before I got that far though, he found me. We usually go the same place for using the Internet. Considering how much time I have spent here lately, calling that one a coincidence may be stretching it.

Today I've been visiting his field. I went with him to a Hanuman ritual in a private home here in Kandy, involving regualar puja but also a rather intense possession part. The medium, a Tamil lady, stood on knives while she was garlanded with betel leaves, fed burning camphor and grabbed members of the chanting audience by their heads or arms, making them tremble with her divine presence, before pushing them away or having them pass out on her (or him, I suppose). I have seen possession rituals in the upcountry too, but never upclose like this. She even grabbed and roughed up my hair, an act I am not quite sure how to interpret. Am I in Hanuman's good book now? Or does he want me to get a hair cut?

If I had still wanted to write a bitchin' blog entry I could have complained about how the ritual seemed to go on forever after the possession part was over. There was the cleaning, redressing and viewing of and chanting to the god, that just never seemed to end, while lunchtime had long since passed. I am not in the mood to complain any more, though.

When the mosquitobites disappear I'll probably even remember Batti in a much more positive way.

/haakon/

Constitution Day News on Norway

I had completely forgotten until a discoloured Norwegian flag glared at me from the pages of The Island. Today is the 17th of May, Norway's Constitution Day. But the embassy wasn't about to let me forget, was it? 1 page in The Daily News, 1 & 1/2 in The Daily Mirror and 3 & 1/2 in The Island (I guess their going rate is the lowest), make for a total of 6 pages of paid advertisements in Sri Lankas English dailies, focused on Norway. So is this just a shameless publicity stunt aimed at winning over those with a sceptical stance towards Norwegian involvement in Sri Lanka's peace process? Some of the stories undoubtedly give that impression. The piece on Buddhism in Norway is one example. Another article makes sure to mention Norway's contributions to tsunami reconstruction in Sri Lanka. And in a personal piece the ambassador exposes the rationale for the Norwegian involvement. He dvelves on the importance of peace for small countries, but fails to mention how Norwegian governments for decades have been striving to build an international image of Norway as a peace-loving nation in order to gain more influence in international bodies such as the UN.

This is an excercise in brand building. And was it a coincidence that the national shield with an axe-wielding lion was included in the banner? It probably was, but it is a nice link anyway, isn't it?

Other stories give us in debth information about Norway's judicial system, the history of our royal family, statistics on immigrants in Norway, details on the involvement of women in Norwegian politics, the run-down on Norwegian trade and industry and there is even a piece on the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen, famous for "A Doll's House" and a number of other internationally acclaimed plays. All this is interspersed with pictures of nature, architecture and people (is the most recent picture available of King Harold and Queen Sonja really 14 years old?) and congratulatory adds from Norwegian companies and Lankan companies with Norwegian connections.

Oh yes, a well-fostered Norwegian national pride swells further on May 17th.

As I am writing this children all over Norway are walking in parades and waving Norwegian flags while singing songs such as "Yes, we love this land of ours" (our National Anthem), "Norway in red, white and blue" (not red, yellow and blue as The Island seems to think), and "We are a nation, too". The Royal family are standing on the their palace balcony, waving at the children below, although this year, for the first time without the king, who recently received heart surgery and is still recovering. After the parades there are games and competitions for the kids and unwritten laws give the same permission to eat ice cream, hot dogs, candy and cake until they puke. And speaking of puking... the seniors graduating from high school, known as russ, have been wreaking havoc on the nation for weeks now, celebrating the end of 12 years of mandatory school by consuming enormous amounts of alcohol while pestering each other and everyone else. They deserve an entry all to themselves, though.

I may sound sarcastic writing this, but one thing about the Constitution Day celebrations really makes me proud. The celebrations have no military overtones, whatsoever. There never has been - not since the constitution was declared on May 17th, 1814, although Norway the same year was handed from Denmark to a union with Sweden and didn't gain independence until 1905. Parading military equipment on this day would be unthinkable. It would provoke anger and resentment everywhere. This day is for the children to enjoy and for families to celebrate freedom together. I think that is something that deserves mentioning outside of Norway, too.

BTW: You can find all the articles in The Islands online edition, and if you want to read more about the celebrations, check out The Norway Post, where you will also find an English translation of the National Anthem.

Chewing along

As I made my way over here today, through Sunday-crowded streets, chewing on a Seeni Saambal Bun from Delight Bakery, it struck me that I've never seen Srilankans eating while walking. Not that I can recall anyway. The exception is possibly with icecream, although I am not sure. Is this some cultural taboo I have overlooked? Or is it just that exhaust fumes and hungry looking beggars have a tendency to kill the appetite? If there is someone out there with an answer I am all ears.

Oh, and I have a little correction to make. In an earlier entry, writing about the Americans I have befriended here in Kandy, I wrote that they were once students with the "Iowa program". *cough* This as it turns out was a big fat lie. They have no connections to the University of Iowa whatsoever, and were, I believe, a bit offended at me writing so. They were, however, students with the "ISLE program" which makes a good bit more sense. Oh well. Honest mistake! :)

/haakon/

Some clarifications

First of all, I am really pleased, and a bit surprised, to see that there are some Srilankans out there too, who are visiting Globen Café. It seems deciding to write in English was not wasted after all. 7 comments in 24 hours is a new record, for sure. If Dr. Goonatilake struck a nerve with me, I obviously struck a nerve with you. I hope I didn't provoke any of you to the point where you stop visiting, though. But I suppose it works the other way around.

I really feel I should clarify a couple of things. In case I came across as pro-LTTE: I am not. I am fully aware of LTTE's violent and oppresseve history and it is abhorrent. I am fully aware of the expulsion of Muslims from LTTE-controlled areas. I have several Muslim friends who's families were directly affected. There is no excuse for such an act. Whether the LTTE or JVP are the most racist however, is a futile debate. First off, we would have to define what we mean by "racist". What led me to write what I wrote is that I believe the LTTE are motivated more by lust for power than nationalistic ideology. They have had no qualms with executing whoever stands in their path, regardless of ethnicity. The JVP on the other hand, claim to be socialist, but it their "socialism" is only for the Sinhalese.

Irony is a literary tool begging to be misunderstood. I hope it was clear that what I wrote about Dr. Goonatilake was far-fetched nonsense, but I did it to prove a point. He had perhaps done his homework when writing of Solheim, but I doubt his schoolteacher would have been happy with the way he did it, twisting each bit of information he could find to fit his purpose. This is dangerous. Especially considering his work as a university lecturer, a position which carries a great deal of influence. He should be more responsible.

To answer some of your questions:

To you who gave me this link: Thanks for making me aware of the probe and the compensations. What I wrote was obviously wrong, my sources too old. Still it shold be noted that more than 20 years passed before any compensation was given to affected Tamils, and that many of them still have not received compensation.

Chandare: As for the Tamil membership in the JVP, can you give me some numbers? I have no doubt that there are a few Tamil members, but I doubt sincerely they are many enough for you to beat your chest about it. I could launch into a debate about Tamil and Sinhala nationalism, but suffice it to say here that after independence there was a strong movement among the Tamils to build an inclusive nationstate where there would be some self government in the predominantly Tamil areas. There was no talk of Eelam, a separate Tamil state. Contrast this to the surge in Sinhalese nationalism when Bandaranaike came to power in 1956 and tell me who wanted a state based purely on ethnicity (and religion, but in this country the two are one and the same).

On to Goonatilakes claims against Norway.

1) Whether it is in the Norwegian constitution I don't know, but it is a fact that all officials in Norway must know not only Norwegian, but also the second official language, nynorsk (or Newnorwegian). What exactly do you find so repulsive about requiring an official in a country to know the language that country's affairs are conducted in? This beats me.

2) Regarding conversions... Again, I don't know the wording in the constitution. In reality however there is noone stopping anyone who wants to convert to another religion, or wanting to become an atheist, agnostic, nihilist, satanist or subscribe to any other belief of his/her choice.

3) It is true that Norway has a sad history of discriminating against the Saamis, as well as some other minority groups, such as kvenene (I don't know the English term) and the Gypsies. Some gruefull things happened in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including experiments with lobotomy and forced sterilizations. This is a dark chapter in the history of Norway, and unfortunately a chapter it shares with most of the Western world.

In more modern times other minorities have been discriminated against, too. The Jews were not given the protection they deserved during the Second World War, although many Norwegians laid down their lives against the Germans. And the Lebensborn children, those born during or after the war with Norwegian mothers and German fathers, recieved harsh treatment by other Norwegians.

In recent years, like in other European countries, a neo-nazi movement has gained popularity, and xenophobia has driven many to the political right wing. It is sad. Very sad. I think it is the curse of the rich, that they are so afraid of a change of the status quo that they are never happy.
So, yeah... you can dig up a lot of dirt on Norway. Did I mention we sent soldiers to Afghanistan and Iraq (allthough in Iraq they are only doing humnitarian work)?

I just did some quick research on the economic rights of Saamis, and think I undertand the core of the controversy now. According to this source (in Norwegian) Norway was the first country to ratify the 169th ILO-convention on the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples. That was in 1990. The convention obligates Norway to recognize Saami rights of ownership of resources in those areas that they alone traditionally have made use of. It is argued that proposed legislation for Finnmark, the northernmost county of Norway, where half of the Norwegian Saamis live, does not live up to our international obligations. The legislation proposes a Saami minority (3 of 7 seats) in the administrative body looking after the regions resources. The Saami Parliament, and its president, are among the heaviest critics.

It seems our friend Dr. Goonatilake may actually have a point. I fail to see how this is relevant with regard to Norway's role as an invited fascilitator in Sri Lanka, though.

The issue of traditional Tamil homelands is a controversial one where there has been an amazing amount of partisan writing by shcolars and politicians on both sides. I do not want to get into this now, but may come back to it at another time.

Thanks for all the comments!

/haakon/

Eric the Viking and Susantha the Vikingslayer

While doing some research online today, I came across the conference material (pdf) from WAPS' (World Alliance for Peace in Sri Lanka) Road Maps to Peace in Sri Lanka-conference, held in Oslo, August last year. You may not be familiar with WAPS. Despite a benign sounding name, WAPS is a organization full of phlegm and bile, spewing out anti-Tamil propaganda and reeking of post-colonial paranoia. Their roadmaps to peace all follow the path of anihillation of the LTTE.

What particularily caught my attention was the article eloquently named "Eric the Viking - Deconstructing Solheim", written by Dr. Susantha Goonatilake, previously printed in The Sunday Times. In this piece Dr. Goonatilake reveals how our Norwegian messenger of peace is nothing but the devil in disguise. And how does he manage this? Never underestimate the power of googling!

The text is short, but if you don't have the bandwith to download the whole pdf-file which includes all the texts from the conference, let me repeat some of the golden nuggets.

After revealing that Solheim supported military action against Milosevic and condemned Kissinger and Pinochet, who he makes seem like girl scouts compared to Prabhakaran (founder and head of the LTTE), he brings to our attention that "Solheim is also concerned about the spread of a racist party in Norway and wants to isolate it" (I assume he is referring to FrP), BUT "in Sri Lanka he befriends the most racist party, the LTTE". You can call LTTE a lot of things, i.e. ruthless and war hungry, but when it comes to racism they fall considerably short of matching the Sinhalese chauvenist JVP.

Here is my favourite paragraph, though: "Solheim has also been against Norway joining the European Union (EU). He campaigned heavily against Norwegian entry when a referendum was held on it. But the EU today backs this political enemy of the European Union in his intervention in Sri Lanka. They consider him their representative. Apparently it is not his ideas that count for EU support but like the colonialists of yore, him being European. Europe uber alles, Hitler might have echoed" (emphasize added by me).

How about that!

Goonatilake goes on showing how the man has no morals, refering to Solheim's autobiography where he admits having used his children to obtain positive media coverage, and even worse, that he sold the details of his divorce to the gutter press. "In Sri Lanka, the practise of the sensationalist press does not exist. So Sri Lankans might not fully understand this act of prostitution", he comments. Hmm.. I have yet to discover press in Sri Lanka that is not sensationalist.

Did I say that that previous bit was my favourite paragraph? I changed my mind, this is my favourite part- this is where it gets hysterical: "The Norwegian constitution demands that all its officials know the Norwegian language (!), forbid their citizens to change their religion from Lutheranism (!!) and its government restricts the economic rights of the Saami people. Sri Lanka has no equivalent for these discriminatory acts. But now Norway wants to interfere in our country. For our good they say, in their missionary zeal. 'White man, he talk with forked tounge'." I wonder if he is aware that Norway has a federal system with regard to the Saamis, similar to what the Tamils want in the north and the east of Sri Lanka. And as for discriminatory acts: what about making Sinhala the only national language? What about "the standardisation" of university admissions, imposed to cut back the number of Tamils in the universities? What about irrigating land along the Mahaweli River, lands that Tamils claim as their traditional homelands, and giving it solely to Sinhalese colonists? What about covertly supporting the communal riots against Tamils in 1983 and never even appologize to, let alone compensate, the thousands of Tamils in the south that lost everything? No, I suppose Sri Lanka has no equivalent to those discriminatory acts.

So who is this Susantha Goonatilake? Let's google back!

This biography reveals that "Dr. Susantha Goonatilake was first trained in electrical engineering in Sri Lanka, Germany and Britain and later in sociology in Sri lanka and Britain." According to this he is currently employed in America and has previously taught at several research institutes in Asia, Europe and America. Still, his literature is flagrantly post-colonial and anti-imperialistic. For someone so antagonistic to western culture and academia he sure seems to be enjoying being a part of it. And electrical engineering and sociology? Geez.. he must have a waivering personality and is obviously wholly incapable of sticking to his decissions.

Goonatilake has lectured in Norway too, more specifically at the University of Trondheim, where one of his books was reviewed by this man, proving he has an affinity for bold, bearded and bespectacled men (no offence meant Prof Jones). Could it be that it is this pent up homosexual lust that drives him from country to country, from university to university, never giving him peace, forcing him to lash out at whoever or whatever is in his way that makes him feel inferior and insecure? Quite likely, quite likely.

Ah.. the power of Google.

/haakon/

Operation EXTINCD
(EXterminate those Terrorising INsects Causing Disease)

We are in the rainy season in the upcountry, and more rain means more disease. They say Malaria is confined to the southwest, but there are other insect-borne diseases to worry about. Among them is Dengue fever. According to WHO figures some 2500 million people, or two fifths of the world's population, are at risk from Dengue. Of the symptoms they write that "Older children and adults may have either a mild febrile syndrome or the classical incapacitating disease with abrupt onset and high fever, severe head ache, pain behind the eyes, muscle and joint pains, and rash". There are four different strains, and although the disease is seldom lethal, a dual infection with two strains may trigger Dengue haemorrhagic fever which is a more common cause of death. Again "The illness commonly begins with a sudden rise in temperature accompanied by facial flush and other non-specific constitutional symptoms of Dengue fever. (...) In severe cases, the patient's condition may suddenly deteriorate after a few days of fever; the temperature drops, followed by signs of circulatory failure, and the patient may rapidly go into a critical state of shock and die within 12-24 hours (...)".

Nice.

I have read about this stuff. In fact there was a medical student at Peradeniya who recently died of Dengue, although for some time her cause of death was a matter of uncertainty and there were speculations that a mysterious heart disease was spreading. Still, this is one of those things you never believe will happen to you. Then I talked to Lisa who was hospitalized with Dengue in India last year. A few days later I had a sudden onrush of fever myself.

I had been to campus in the day, and to town in the afternoon, as usual, but didn't feel good and decided to go home early. While watching TV I began feeling cold. Feeling cold in Sri Lanka is a novel experience, and I have to admit that I was enjoying it at first. But then I couldn't sleep becuase I was shivering uncontrollably, in spite of wearing a thick sweater, double blankets and having turned off the fan in a room that must have held about 25 degrees Celcius. My head felt as if it was filled with razorblades. I was sure I was smitten with Dengue and started considering the consequences for my fieldwork. When I finally fell asleep that night I had dreams of having to reinvent everything in this world because it was all crap. I had to start with language however, which was frustrating becuase I had to invent the words I was dreaming.

Fortunately, the fever, just barely having exceeded 39 degrees, subsided quickly and during the night I shed more and more clothing until I lay naked under a fan running at max speed.

So I didn't have Dengue after all. Not yet, anyway, and I intend for it to stay that way. Its not that I'm being eaten alive by mosquitos, but at any time I will have 10 - 20 bites. So I have taken some measures. Decent repellent is for some reason difficult to come by here, but coils and mosquito mats are everywhere. I have harvested. I also bought a bottle of poison, planning to pour it in our half-inside-half-outside pond, which I suspect to be a breeding ground for mossies. John stopped me, though. He insists fish is a better sollution, although the two he introduced to the pond 3 weeks ago died in less than 10 days - probably smitten with Dengue. John further objects to the smell of the coils. This is a mystery to me. In fact, to me the smell is like sweet incense, a sentimental reminder of happy Norwegian summerdays. But John is the boss and I'm at a loss. Anyone care to send me som Mygga?

The Odd Bomb

While bus travel on Peradeniya road usually involves little more excitement than the uncertainty of whether you'll get a seat or not, whether you'll be able to get off at the right stop and not fall asleep or not, etc. etc., every once in a while something will happen to spice it all up a bit. Fortunately I haven't been involved in any serious accident yet, although according to this source (pdf) at least 2,000 people are killed, and 14,000 injured, in traffic every year. And these numbers may well be subject to underreporting. Only last Saturday a former Sinhala teacher with the Iowa program was hit by a bus and killed, much to the shock of my American friends who were very fond of her. And of course you have all heard of the recent horrendous Allawa bus accident where one bus, trying to beat another bus to awaiting passengers, started across a railway crossing, even though the barriers were down.

For anyone used to western traffic, south Asian conditions resemble mayhem. In deed, for a newcomer it would be hard to find travel on Srilankan roads anything but nervewrecking. Some drivers are worse than others of course - and some of the young ones especially, will make mad manuevers in order to overtake a vehicle or two. A van driver I once travelled with pulled up on the sidewalk, nearly ploughing down pedestrians, in order to advance a few positions. I suppose that move saved us 20 seconds or so. Shockingly, some of the bus drivers follow the same simple philosophy: "if there is anything in front of you, overtake it". Overtaking is done by throwing the bus over in the opposing traffic while blowing the horn, hoping that whatever is coming against you will stop.

Interestingly the one bus accident in which I have been involved was not with one of those drivers behind the wheel. This was a week or two after arrival in Kandy, on one of my first trips to campus. The bus had stopped to let people on, and while it was standing still, a car pulled out in the road in front of it where it stopped (this seems to be the accepted way of entering traffic - pull half way out onto the road, stop, look, then go). Our bus driver never saw the car and when accelerating, ploughed it at least a meter forward. Luckily there were no injuries.

- Bus accident on Peradeniya Road

I have become numb. No maniac busdriver can scare me anymore. This is what happens when you're exposed to madness for a prolonged period of time. You start accepting it. And while I applaud politicians' and officials' recent appeals to the public to take their share of the responsibility by notifying the authorities when they see wreckless drivers, I have low hopes of any drastic change of attitude. Although, according to media, a bus driver just recently attempting the exact same stunt (!) that led to the Allawa accident was apprehended by the police, thanks to a dutiful passenger notifying the police on his cell phone.

What I witnessed en route from Pera to Kandy today, was an accident of a different sort. In fact, I doubt it was an accident at all. Near town a sudden explosion shook the bus. It was so loud that I for a split second wondered if we had been hit by a grenade or a land mine. Equally bewildered, my fellow travellers looked at one another, and out the windows, to try and make sense of it. People on the street were rubbing their ears, looking just as confused as us. While the bus driver exited to investigate my neighbor leant toward me in a conspiratory manner, whispering the words "fire works", then grinning. That was one hell of a fire cracker, my friend. But he must have been right. Whatever it was there was a lot more noise than damage, and the bus could continue.

/haakon/

The Ambassador's request

A couple of letters for me had arrived at the old house, John told me the other day, and yesterday he brought them over. I expected them to be from my Silje, the only one so far to have established a postal connection with me in Sri Lanka. One look at the envelopes told me they were not. One was small with a computer printed address label, the other one big, with handwritten label. Both were sent by national mail, which ruled out Lånekassa (the State Educational Loan Fund).

Savouring this moment of mystery, I started with the smallest envelope, slowly prying it open. Inside I found a stiff card, with the Norwegian seal of state. The card roughly read:

"In occasion of the Norwegian Constitution Day on May 17
The Ambassador requests the pleasure of the company of
Mr. Assprong [handwritten]
on May 18 from 6:30 PM to 8:30 PM for a reception at his residence."

Now, I don't have the card here, so this may not be the exact wording. Still, with one part I haven't strayed a letter from the original, and that is with the spelling of my own name.

You non-Norwegians out there may not be aware just how uncommon the name "Aasprong" is. A search at Statistics Norway reveals that our "clan" consists of a mere 78 people, whereas there are 54,046 Olsens, 4,521 Ødegårds (6,908 when you count the Ødegaards), and 181 Bersvendsens (the name of my famous, jet-setting, modelling first cousin - and possibly the weirdest Norwegian name I can think of). But only 78 Aasprongs. So why is this? My brother Einar, a hobby-genealogist, could probably whip up a nice explanation (and no doubt he will do so in a comment or three). I have a theory of my own, though.

How many times can a person tolerate being called an ass? Invariably, Americans will pronounce our proud name, a name meaning "river that runs between two hills" (if I'm not mistaken but again I expect my brother will comment), "Æsprong". The correct pronounciation? "AWsprong"

Not only Americans go wrong. Most Norwegians will struggle, though some more intentionally than others. How many times was I not teased in school when the teacher took attendance? And although most adults know that the "aa" in older Norwegian (imported from Danish and now spelled "å") is pronounced "aw" they will struggle with other aspects of the name. Which is why we often use fake names while ordering pizza.

My brother and father used to collect misspellings of "Aasprong". I don't know what happened to that sizeable collection, but I am sure "Assprong" was one of the more commonly collected spellings. Honestly though, shouldn't we expect more from the embassy? Here I am, lonely and thousands of miles away from home, the embassy a weak link to all that was left behind. And this happens when Constitution Day is coming up - the day when our national pride wells up inside of us in an uncontrollable manner. The day when our children are dolled up in new suits and dresses which they immediately soil in an orgies of ice cream, soda and hot-dogs, while running around kneedeep in mud, screaming "Hurra" (hooray), blowing on annoying plastic trumpets, and blowing off fingers with fire crackers. This is the day when our women don the heavy frocks we call national costumes, complaining of the painful shoes, while looking like 19th century peasants on their way to milk the cows. This is the day when men... hmm.. what do men do? Anyway.. you get the point. This is the day that I should feel part of an extended Norwegian family (Andersson, 1983)*, which I assume is why the ambassador requests the pleasure of my company, but Ambassador Brattskar, my surrogate father: "Mr. Assprong"?? That one stung.

Oh.. and the other letter was from the embassy, too, but nothing exciting was inside. Only a letter to inform that Norway's parliamenary election will be held on September 12.

/haakon/


* This is of course a lame, nerd-ish joke. Anthropologists, and a few others, will recognize the reference, which is to Benedict Anderssons "Imagined Communities", a seminal work on nationalism.

New house, new acquaintances

A month ago or so John, my house mate, informed me that our landlord was going to up the rent. Would I be prepared to pay more? I suppose I could easily have afforded to pay more than the 8000 rupees I was paying then. Still, I would have a hard time justifying it to myself when I could easily find far cheaper accomodation elsewhere. Maybe it wouldn't have the comfort of our house in Anniewatte but then again, an anthropologist in the field shouldn't be too choosy. I told him I would start looking for another place after New Year.

When I returned from my trip to the upcountry however, John had already done some looking of his own. He told me he had found a nice house, closer to the main road, where there would be plenty of room for the both of us. I could even continue paying the same rent and we could move in right away! I went and had a look for myself, the house only a 15 minute walk away. Sure enough - the house was not only nice, it was posh. The address should give you a clue: "Pichaud Gardens". How could I resist? It's location close to Peradeniya Road would cut down my travel time both to campus and to the city. And although the house is not isolated, like the one in Anniewatte, it is sheltered in a peaceful neighborhood, with a supermarket a 5 minute walk away. I gave John thumbs up.

The shifting was done in two trips. (I guess I still only have two backpacks worth of stuff, although I'm accumulating quickly). Not an insurmountable task in other words. For John, however, a little more is involved. Having lived in Anniewatte for two years, most of the time with his family, you can safely say he has a few more backpacks worth. A few lorryloads would be more like it. This I assume is why he hasn't even begun shifting yet, although he said he would be done with it by the end of April. As it is I have the house to myself and can chose between 4 toilets every time nature calls. Having grown up in a two-toilet house you can only imagine my elation.

Let me add that had I not been averse to believing in ghosts and the like, I might not have believed I was alone. There have been a number of "mysterious" incidences these first weeks. Why were for example the downstairs lights turned on in the morning, when I had turned them off before going to bed? And why, when coming home in the evening the same day a repairman had fixed the washing machine, did I find the door to the verandah open, the washing machine open and the floor flooded? Both the washing machine and the verandah door had been closed when we left the house. Sungun, our gardener at the Anniewatte house, who has now started doing some odd jobs at the new house, informed me that a woman had been killed outside this very same house some years ago. She was rammed by a car with brakefailure. I leave it to you to make up your own minds, but like I said: had I believed in ghosts I wouldn't have felt alone at night.

I never feel alone in the daytime, as John constantly sends over plummers, cleaners, electricians, tailors and whatnot to get the house in ship shape to his arrival.

John had a little surprise in store for me. Turns out he is not renting the house himself, but that it is being rented by an elderly British gentleman named Brian, who visited our house in Anniewatte some time ago. Brian complained he could never afford living in Britain. He had spent the last two years in Hawaii, where "all are thieves", but felt certain Sri Lanka would be a different story. That day he was shamelessly praising Srilankans. Further, he some rather eccentric ideas concerning boarding school homosexuality in Britain, but I won't get into those now. Anyway, it turns out Brian was the one who had found the house, and had offered it to John and I, while he went back to Hawaii to prepare for moving. This explains how a such a mansion could be a cheaper option for us. Brian is paying the bulk of the rent. When he will arrive, though, I don't know. One time when he called in to check on us he guessed "some time next month".

So I am spending my days in the house with Sungun and a handful of artisans, passing time studying Tamil with a self-study course I ordered online. Nothing is happening on campus so it's not like I'm missing out on much. Students are busy studying for exams or working on decisive assignments. I figure it is better that I am disturbed by artisans then that my informants/friends are disturbed by me.

But then I went ahead and got me some other friends. I had met some American girls at the ICES book launch a few weeks ago, and since then I had kept on bumping into them in town. Finally we decided to hook up for drinks. That was last Thursday and on that occasion I was introduced to yet another American student, Gavin. The Americans (Jill, Rebecca, Lisa and Gavin) were all introduced to Sri Lanka through the "ISLE program", ISLE being a clever acronym for "Intercollegiate Sri Lanka Education". Gavin was here in '99, Jill in '02 and Rebecca and Lisa in '02 (I think). Now, they are all back for research, some of them recieving Fulbright scholarships. Their in depth knowledge of local life and impressive Sinhala skills make them a good crowd to hang out with. The following days would provide several opportunities for me to get chummy with them.

First, Friday offered a cultural experience far removed from local culture. Rebecca and Lisa are both Jewish and were in the middle of celebrating Passover. One traditional event of Passover (often arranged twice) is the seder - a ritual dinner to commemorate the Jewish exodus from Egypt. Seders today are often reinterpreted with current political issues and struggles in mind, and so may for example focus on the Chinese occupation of Tibet or on the mobilization against exploitive capitalism. I was even told of a seder that had focused on the occupation of Palestinian territories, although this was a rather controversial decission.

Arranging a seder in Sri Lanka is no walk in the park. A lot of the ritual ingredients, like the Matzoh (unleavened bread) had to be imported from America, not without complications. Rebecca has written more about this on her excellent blog.

Seders, from what I understand, come in all colours, shapes and sizes, and this particular seder was coloured by the fact that half of the participants (children aside) were non-Jewish. In addition to Jill, Gavin and I, they were the Sinalese landlords of our host's house (an elderly couple with high standing in local academia) and Herath, a Sinhala teacher with the Iowa program. Our two hosts, Judy and Yvonne, I am afraid I don't know much about, but Judy and Rebecca took turns leading the ceremony while explaining to us rookies, refusing to be sidetracked by screaming/crying/running/crawling kids. As many other religious events, this one also involved a fair amount of alcolhol. In fact, you are obliged to drink a minimum of four cups of wine in appreciation of... OK, I admit, I can no longer remember. But the wine, some of it also imported from America, was good.

The following day it was all back to local customs as Herath had invited us all over to his house for a party. And what a party! A liberal amount of alcohol, including two kinds of arrack, Johnny Walker, beer and even grappa (!) was produced. And the meal... I don't think its an exageration to say it is the best I have ever had on Sri Lankan soil. It was a rice and curry feast, with no less than 15 excellent curries (though possibly more) to chose from! We chatted and drank away on Herath's balcony until the small hours of the night when he offered to give us rides home. It was a luxurius evening, a far cry from the more moderately beliqoured, though no less enthusiastic, Estate Tamils' parties that I have grown accustomed to now.

/haakon/