MicroAid International - Blog

24 Hours in a Day

In so many ways I am getting used to being here. I don’t feel bedraggled all the time, and a breeze in the shade, even at 90 degrees, feels a little cool. Not understanding what anyone is saying seems normal—maybe that’s because it’s true in America, too. I forgot that it is actually a relief not having to make small talk. Walking down a dark lane that initially felt exotic and scary is now my daily route to and from the work site. Ah, familiarity.

bucolic by day, boo-colic by night - bungalow road

Construction days unfold as they do back home: we start at eight, at mid-morning the women bring out strong black tea with lots of sugar and ginger for all the men workers. Everyone else gets a small glass; as the honored guest, I get an actual teacup and saucer, albeit with “Finding Nemo” characters on the outside and at the bottom of the cup. When there is a big “concrete pour,” everyone pitches in, like an Amish barn raising. Kids, relatives, and friends show up to form a bucket brigade passing along concrete, which is mixed directly on the ground with a shovel, and ultimately handed to the mason. I wish I had a photo of the kids stoically struggling with the heavy buckets, but I was in the concrete conga line myself. No one is spared when there is cement setting up!

back breaking work - mixing concrete by hand

center wall going up - osha anyone?

every single brick in this house was place by Kodi

starting to look like something

At around noon, young coconuts are felled by the boys and hacked open for thirst quenching and re-energizing. Lunch is usually called at about 1:30pm. I walk to the local restaurant, where I eat rice, spicy dhal, and spicy vegetables, while the family has their “rice & curry.” Back to work at around 3, some more tea at 4 or 5, and quitting time around 6:30pm. A long hot day of mixing concrete, hoisting bricks, etc, and it’s all I can do to get back to my room, take a shower, and read a bit before falling asleep. When I can, I motivate to cross the road to the “fancy” hotel and try my luck getting on their coconut-wireless internet.

peacock hotel "computer center" - my laptop makes it two

Other than walking to and from the site, and the physicality of the work, I am not getting any real exercise, and I am definitely missing it, not sleeping that well, and feeling out of shape—but otherwise healthy. On the occasional day off, I have gone to the beach, early in the morning before the heat, and tried to jog a bit in the steeply sloping soft sand. There is usually a swell dumping head high waves directly onto the beach. Even though it is un-surfable, just being near the ocean’s energy is revitalizing. Sometimes I dive in and take a few strokes past the shore-break before I realize I’m swimming around alone in the powerful Indian Ocean and head back to terra firma.

the fisherman go out before dawn and come back just after sunrise

Since the work days have become somewhat routine, existential questions arise: what else could I be doing with 24 hours. Then I get to the worksite and feel the gratitude of the family and the gusto with which they are helping build themselves a real house, and I have my answer: nothing. For a relatively small sum to us, and a short period of time, we are helping a family realize a dream—something I can only participate in back home, and not even achieve myself. This—MicroAid—is the real deal. Sri Lankans are not generally demonstrative people, but Mrs. Soodin has often, in private moments, cried while thanking me for what I’m doing. And all the relatives, who have come to meet me and see the house going up, have expressed various versions of “this is a miracle.” I have told them about all the people who contributed to make it happen and said it is a gift from our family to theirs. As a humanitarian project, the measure of this one will not be in how we helped “build capacity” or “affected productivity,” it will be in how many nights this family lives under a real roof, surrounded by solid walls, with a modicum of privacy, rather than living in a cramped, corrugated-tin shanty!

ready for roof timbers

the girls and boys will have separate bedrooms

As this build is going so well, and I am confident in Roy to keep the work moving forward, I am off to Batticaloa, on the east coast, in a few days to initiate the projects there. This was definitely an ambitious workload given the schedule and the distances between sites. Good lessons for future MicroAid projects.

From Serendib,

Jon

the crowded sunday market is where everyone was killed in 2004

Bonus tracks:

WTB? (“what the beep?”)

One thing you have to get used to here, especially if you do a lot of walking like I do, is that everyone honks their horn—which of course adds to the general cacophony, especially in Colombo. There are short honks and long, multiples and singles, but every one, and every combination, has a meaning. “Move over,” “speed up,” “slow down,” “passing,” “I see you,” “turning,” “coming through,” and “my wave” are all communicated with a toot on the blower. As one must learn, coming from our culture where the horn is seldom used, a beep from a passing car, three-wheel tuk-tuk, bus, or truck, as it’s bearing down on you or passing right beside you, requires no acknowledgement, and does not mean “howdy,” “check us out,” or “hubba hubba.” Actually, since 70% of Sri Lankan’s are Buddhists, the honking means, “Because of my faith, I am responsible for you, so now that I have beeped my horn I have fulfilled my obligation… Now get out of the way!”

tuk-tuks: half motorcycle, half pinball machine

Noisy Neighbors

What do you call a gang of monkeys? A gaggle, a pride, a herd, a barrel-full? Whatever it is there is a family of black-faced simians partying every night on the roof of my bungalow. I don’t know what they’re doing up there: practicing their floor routine for the gymnastic event, shooting craps, or just having a “disco Saturday night” every night, but something’s got to give—probably me. The other day the bunch of them slipped through the bars on the kitchen window over at the Progressive Youth Foundation (a local NGO) and ate all the fruits and vegetables. Of course, they didn’t stick around for clean-up, leaving banana peels and other detritus strewn about the counters and floor. Monkeys here are like squirrels elsewhere—they’re all over, and constantly scavenging. Only these squirrels have opposable thumbs and brains. That’s a potent combination in a squirrel! Sometimes they’ll just swoop down out of the trees and grab your backpack or cell phone just to taunt you. Luckily they have not learned the international area codes… yet.

anti-theft system

Blood in the Streets

When I first got to Hambantota I was walking along the road and saw a small pool of blood and drops leading into the bushes. I thought, Poor little animal got hit by a careening tuk-tuk and limped off to die. A bit further along, I saw the same thing. Wow, I thought, so many hurt animals. Of course, the “blood” was just so much betel juice spit out by the myriad chewers. The mild narcotic/stimulant-chew is a ritual as much as an addiction—cheaper than cigarettes, but like rolling your own. Years of chewing stains the mouth a bright crimson, ruining teeth and gums, and often running down the chin—but at least it doesn’t cause lung cancer! Anyway, there’s reason to be sad for the animals, but at least they’re not actually being hit by cars.

the poor bunnies

the real monkey on your back

A Village in the Jungle

After a few days in hot, smoggy, congested Colombo, the capital city on the edge of the Indian Ocean, I headed south to the first MicroAid project site in Hambantota. (A quick aside: as I write this, in my small bungalow, with it’s lazily twirling ceiling fan, and rippling mosquito net, the smell of cooking fires in the air and the wall of the thick tropical jungle just outside, dozens of tiny ants—my friends, for lack of choice—are meandering on, and in, my keyboard. Apparently they are attracted to the electricity, but I also hope they might be cleaning out all the crumbs of past snacks I have consumed while writing over the years. I am trying not to kill too many of them as I write this blog.)

home office in hambantota

A series of productive meetings with helpful contacts and local NGOs in Colombo set up a network for the projects that were to come.

Jon and Y-GRO (local NGO) Chairman, Chandran Williams

On the drive south along the coast, reminders of the tsunami were everywhere, debris and destroyed houses, fishing and tropical tourist towns that have not recovered, but also new construction and successful recovery efforts. It reminds me that there will be a lot of work for MicroAid in Haiti, down the road, when the world’s attention has moved on.

drive-through in mirissa

Here in Hambantota, a town which was as hard hit as anywhere—fifty thousand were killed, with hundreds of thousands displaced, and thousands of orphans created—last year on the fact-finding mission, I had met a family who was still in need of a house after theirs was destroyed by the wave. They were very poor to begin with.

Soodin house since the tsunami - 2009

Soodin house kitchen

soodin house girls' bedroom

Over the years, many an INGO had promised to help, but never came through. The man, M.R. Soodin, is an industrious brick maker, but is living hand-to-mouth as he supports his wife, three sons, and three daughters. All the kids are going to school, except for one of the sons who works at the salt “factory.” Salt is the biggest industry here, after fishing, and the salt-works makes salt by the age-old method: flooding huge pools with seawater and letting it evaporate. This set-up reveals the flat and low-lying nature of the area and explains why the tsunami so easily swept across the region and penetrated so far inland.

At the budget meeting with the head mason, the interpreter, and Mr. Soodin, and his family, they were surprised when I questioned many of the costs of the individual items–for things such as bricks. The quote: 8.5 rupees per brick. I had done research on construction material costs in the area and knew they were 5 rupees each.

soodin house budget meeting

And so it went, line by line: truck full of sand, steel rebar, truck load of gravel, bag of cement, 4” roof beams, a kilo of nails, etc. Every item to be procured at the lowest cost. During our meeting, a tropical deluge moved in quickly from the east.

storm a comin

Everyone pitched in to help cover the bricks that were waiting for the kiln—valuable inventory that took all precedence. Finally, an approved budget, and construction begins…

head mason, Kodi

Roy, Soodin nephew/interpreter/worker

walls up. old house behind

clearing soft drink containers for recycling

now the hard part: scaffolding for the roof construction--stick and coir rope

jon and kodi consulting

still trying to direct

jon and kodi

sand delivery for concrete

concrete forms for roof support

Kodi, master mason extraordinaire -setting forms, setting sun

A quick note about the wildlife in the area—Hambantota abuts one of the major Sri Lankan game parks and there doesn’t really seem to be an official boundary between them—at least not for the animals. (Think “Beverly Hills ‘adjacent.”’) I was invited to a special performance of a children’s singing group the other evening by another NGO that runs after-school programs. I usually try to walk everywhere I go, so when I told my hosts I would arrive on foot, that perplexed them, but they were polite and did not mention anything except that I should find a ride home from the event, which was in a hall in a remote marshy area, because at night the elephants might come onto the road and trample me. Yo, taxi! Another quick fun one: In other places you might turn on the light in the bathroom before you enter to check for cockroaches, or spiders, or geckos; here that is all true, but add to that list, cobras! You never know when one of these cute critters might have slithered in and taken up residence behind the toilet.

With such mundane day-to-day concerns, it’s hard to remember that there is also a huge political controversy surrounding the recent presidential election—the losing candidate has been imprisoned for “traitorous acts”: running in opposition to the incumbent. There is much discussion and debate in Hambantota, and more physical and violent response in other places. Here, we will continue to do our work…

Besides the house construction, MicroAid will be supporting the education of two tsunami orphans, for two years of primary school—otherwise it would have been a major struggle for them to attend. We will supply workbooks, transportation, lunch, additional tutoring, some doctoring (if needed), and shoes.

Piumi Indiwinna - 8 year old - 3rd grade

Gi Gi Anukala Shashibani - 10 years old - 5th grade

Gi Gi's house

Each of these girls has a similar story: Both of their parents were killed at the Sunday market near the harbor, which was jammed packed the morning of the tsunami. Both girls were taken in by their grandparents, and now both want to be teachers when they grow up. They are in different villages, but that story is repeated throughout the coastal regions of this, and other countries. Through our local partner, The Woman’s Development Federation, which runs this smart scholarship program, we will keep track of our girls as they pursue an education and a brighter future. After two years, we can evaluate whether to support their academic efforts for another two.

So that’s it from Serendib, for now.

“Thank You” to everyone for contributing to this meaningful work. We are making a positive and direct impact in people’s lives—and that’s what MicroAid is all about.

I hope everyone is healthy, happy, and secure.

Regards,

Jon

kirinda-temple-cobras

Kirinda stupa

I am very happy to report that thanks to our donors and board of directors we have raised enough money to help a few of the remaining victims of the tsunami here in Sri Lanka.  As all eyes have been focused on Haiti in the last few weeks, it is easy to see how people get left behind as one disaster eclipses another. (Recently we had them in Myanmar, Tawain, and Samoa.)  And with the immense amount of media attention and humanitarian aid directed toward the latest crisis, it can seem as though all the previous situations have been resolved.  Of course, we know that is not the case.  Which is the reason I started MicroAid in the first place.

stupa and building fort colombo

So here I am in Colombo, having a few meetings with other NGOs and potential partners, then off to Hambantota in the south and to Batticaloa in the east to begin the MicroAid projects–helping a few families rebuild their houses, replacing tools, and sponsoring tsunami orphans’ education.

Thanks again to everyone for their support and vision.

Sincerely,

Jon

Hi.  I hope this note finds everyone secure and happy.

Of course, the big news is that there was a terrible disaster in Haiti.  The good news is that the world humanitarian community has responded appropriately: quickly and with huge resources.  The news at MicroAid is that I will be heading back to Sri Lanka at the beginning of February to help the victims of the 2004 disaster who were left behind.  I will be working on the projects there until the end of March.

As the recent earthquake has left a swath of devastation in Haiti, so much of the world’s attention and humanitarian resources are headed in that direction. Of course, we have to react to the disaster at hand, but it is important to remember those who remain in need in other places.

As you know, at MicroAid, we remain focused on victims of past disasters. You may recall that the 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean killed over 230,000 people in South and Southeast Asia, displaced millions more, and created tens of thousands of orphans.

In the future, MicroAid will help the people who get left behind in Haiti.

Currently we’re looking to help the victims of the tsunami, the victims of the cyclone in Burma, the victims of the typhoon in Taiwan, and the victims of the recent tsunami in Samoa. When all eyes are focused on the current tragedy, it’s hard to remember that all these major calamities happened just a short while ago, and there are still people in those places who need our help.

Since everyone’s compassion is so high, if you can, please donate to MicroAid so we can continue to help victims of past disasters. There are practically no other organizations doing this work. You can donate through the Microaid website.

Thank you so much.

Sincerely,
Jon

As Typhoon Morakot has left a path of devastation in Taiwan and Eastern China, a lot of the world’s humanitarian resources are headed in that direction.  As you know, at MicroAid, we remain focused on victims in other areas where people are left behind.  We are still trying to raise $52,000 to help people in Sri Lanka who were devastated by the tsunami in 2004.  And we are preparing to help the unassisted victims of the cyclone that crashed into Myanmar in 2008.

Of course, the humanitarian community has to react to the disaster at hand, but it is important to remember those who remain in need in other places. Down the road, after the big organizations move on to the next big disaster, MicroAid will help those in Tawain and Eastern China.

Please donate to MicroAid so we can help.  Any amount will make a difference.

Thank you so much.

Sincerely,

Jon

I want to thank everyone for the good wishes and support since the launch of the website.  We are doing pretty well with the fundraising thanks to board members Les Winter and Nadia Block, and the generosity of friends, and strangers.  Raising the $52K for the Sri Lanka projects may take a little more time in this economic environment, but we will get there!  I just hope the good people I met in December don’t lose faith that I am coming back to help.  They have heard that too many times since the devastation of the tsunami in 2004.  At any rate, we will get there as fast as we’re able.  So please, ask anyone you know to donate whatever they can.  Every little bit helps.

Also, big shout-out to Marcus Vadas for the redesign of the MicroAid logo!

Here in Los Angeles, the houses I was working on for Habitat for Humanity are complete and the partner families are moving in soon.  Hard to believe that I helped build three houses from the ground up.  The skills I acquired along the way wil prove invaluable in doing the construction projects in Sri Lanka.

I hope everyone is doing well.  Have a great July!

Jon

Hello.  Just a quick note to let everyone know we are close to launching the MicroAid website (microaidinternational.org).  I am very happy with the way it turned out and a big thanks goes out to Tracy Hopcus of Inkling Studios for pulling it all together.  As for our international projects, I have been in touch with all the partners in Sri Lanka and they are awaiting my return to help build houses and community centers, replace tools of livelihood, and support tsumani orphans.  (Once the website is up we can start the fundraising drive for this work.  Please see “What We’re Working On Now.”)  The intensified civil war in Sri Lanka has caused additional hardship for the innocent people caught in the crossfire–there are an estimate 100,000 refugees now without homes.  MicroAid will try to help where it can, but we will also remain focused on those still in need from the devastating effects of the tsunami–in many cases, these are the same people.   Here in Los Angeles, I have been working every Wednesday with Habitat for Humanity building three houses in the city of Lynwood (south LA) for low income famillies.  The framing and roofing is complete, and insulation and sheet rock are going in.  They expect a completion date of late June.  If all goes according to plan, I should be back in Sri Lanka by then working on the various MicroAid projects I identified in December.  Thanks for all the support.  Jon

Happy New Year:

     As the year draws to a close, I want to wish you all a Happy New Year, and to thank you for the enthusiasm, great advice, and support for MicroAid International.  It is hard to believe that last May I started in earnest to create a non-profit humanitarian aid organization to help victims of disasters—a charity where we give people no-strings-attached assistance after they have lost everything, and empower them to recover their place in the social and economic fabric of the community—and six months later, after incorporating, receiving our 501 (c) 3, designing a logo and letterhead, I was in Sri Lanka laying the groundwork for that work: meeting potential beneficiaries and partner NGOs, touring destroyed villages, and assessing project sites.

At every step of the way, your involvement and input got me to the next level.  And of course, your financial contributions have allowed me to do the work.  (By the way, thank you Nadia for your recent end-of-year donation to help defray the cost of the trip, which came to about $3,000 out of my pocket.  And thanks to Les for sending $1,000 to help with that, too.)  Now, we are going to raise $52,000 for the Sri Lanka recovery work—all of which will go toward program activities to help families and individuals in need.  (Check out the “Where We Work - Sri Lanka” section of the website.)  We have houses to build, and others to complete, tsunami orphans to support, and tools of livelihood to replace.

    So not only will 2009 be great for all of us, it will be great for those less fortunate people we will be helping in Sri Lanka.  Of course, here in the United States, I will continue building houses for low income families with Habitat for Humanity one day a week, as well as donating my time to Surfrider Foundation organizing their once-a-month beach clean-ups and advocating for environmental responsibility.  MicroAid is the conduit through which we are making a meaningful impact in peoples’ lives!

    I hope this letter finds you well and that you are having a fabulous holiday season.  Wishing you peace, happiness, and love in 2009.  

    Thank you again for all the support.  (Website coming soon… microaidinternational.org)

Sincerely,

Jon Ross

Founder

MicroAid International

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SRI LANKA NOV-DEC 2008:

11-29-08: Close Shave in Colombo

It’s always surprising how close a shave you get the first time you put razor to face in the tropics.  It must be the humidity, or the fact that you have not shaved for the last 35 hours, had two 11-hour flights and a 6-hour layover in Heathrow airport—those whiskers have a long time to grow, giving the blade something to grab.  The travel “day” went as smoothly as the shave: no major delays, a free row to stretch out in on the LA-London leg, and an innocuous seat-mate on the London-Colombo jaunt.   My arrival at the airport arranged by the guy who runs the place (thanks to Sharon for the connect!) I was greeted by his sari-clad assistant directors and whisked through customs, passport control (in the “government officials” line), and baggage in a matter of minutes—out a door that read “security personnel only” and I was in Sri Lanka.  After the cool air-con of the terminal, that hot, fecund air hits you like a wave. 

Johanne, the airport director, takes me to his on-site residence for a cup of tea, where he loans me a cell phone for the duration of my stay and fills me in on the current situation while we wait for Harriet (Les’ friend, and MicroAid in-country “advance team”) to pick me up.  Driving to Mount Lavinia, a small coastal suburb of Colombo in the waning light, we stop to pick up some bananas and mangoes at a roadside stand.  I meet our host family, and even though it is really 6 am for me, I go to bed under the mosquito net and lazily spinning ceiling fan and fall right to sleep.

12-1-08: Fishing Around a Fishing Village

On Sunday, Deshi (Gehan’s cousin) picks me up at the Mt. Lavinia Hotel, the colonial remnant of British rule and “bastion of civilization,” overlooking the turquoise Indian Ocean (where Harriet and I are going to spend my “recuperation day” by the pool) and takes me on a tour of a fishing village down the coast that was wiped out by the tsunami.  Debris still litters the high water mark and houses lay in disrepair.  Five years after the event, not too much has been done.  The fisher-families have rebuilt their ramshackle huts and resumed their lives—not much worse off than they were before, but not better either.  Some lost irreplaceable possessions, other have not replaced even the basics.  There is an amazing community center that has filled in to support, though—raising funds to rebuild and retrain, and to feed the needy women and their children.  MicroAid could help here and provide building materials and tools.

12-3-08:  Tuk-Tuks from Hell

Known as “three wheelers” here, Asia’s ubiquitous mode of transportation is really part motorcycle, part pinball machine.  Riding in one, especially in a busy, crowded, polluted capital city is like swerving around in a cart from Coney Island’s Cyclone in the Holland Tunnel.  Anyway, that’s how I get to a meeting on Tuesday morning at the bucolic oasis-like Hilton Hotel in downtown Colombo.  As always, the contrast between these gated compounds and the congested poverty outside is startling.  Meeting with the South Asian director for Operation USA to talk about the recovery efforts in a town in the east, and MicroAid’s potential involvement.  Just being here a few days brings up questions of fate, karma, and privilege that we take for granted living in the US.

12-3-08:  Caught in the Crossfire in Dehiwela

Every morning at 4:30 am the neighborhood mosque starts broadcasting over their loudspeakers.  Anyone who has been to the Muslim world is familiar with the plaintive wail of the call to prayer.  Even at this early hour it is romantically exotic.  Apparently, the monks at the Buddhist monastery next door do not agree.  A few minutes into the Muslim call, the monks start blaring their own chanting over their own P.A. system.  This cacophonous battle of the bands goes on until about 5:30 am.  Heard independently, either broadcast might be sonorous enough to allow some sleep, but together it’s like a Donny and Marie Little-Bit-Country-Little-Bit-Rock-and-Roll jihad–minus the bubble gum harmonies, of course.  The competition for NGO dollars and attention is equally intense.  Local groups and the government all want to control the flow of relief, recovery, and development dollars.  This makes it very critical for MicroAid, when deciding whom to partner with, to distinguish between the legitimate and the needy and scammers and the greedy.  Beneficiary selection is also a critical task, but one well worth the effort as there are so many people in dire straits—many tsunami victims, but also people affected by the ongoing civil war, or both.

It has been a fully urban experience so far, and as you know, in the third world, that is not so pleasant.  No big deal though… I had an amazing meeting with the CEO of Dialog Global (which would be equal to lunching with the CEO of Verizon Wireless) yesterday.  I asked her to be on our Advisory Board and she agreed.  She also agreed to help in any way she could, which could be a lot, considering her position.  It’s Wednesday and I just got out of the weekly lunch meeting of the Colombo Rotary Club (I was invited by a member who runs a travel company here) and heard a lecture, by their guest speaker, on the state of the Sri Lankan economy—apparently, it’s not pretty.  But I was also introduced to a number of prominent businessmen and one woman who is the head of the club’s community projects committee.  They have a number of post-disaster projects still in the works and some are just the right size for MicroAid to help complete.  The Club has done a lot of rebuilding of dwellings, but there are still unmet needs, including small water filtration systems and latrines, and a couple of capacity building programs (sewing machines and training, computers and training) for young adults in villages that were destroyed by the wave.  The good news about the Rotarians is that they are all-volunteer (business people) and have immaculate accountability and transparency in the flow of funds.  I am going to view a couple of their sites when Harriet and I head south on Sunday.  I am looking forward to getting out of the city, away form the barraging buzz of two-stroke “three wheelers,” and to breathing some exhaust-free air, and seeing the un-congested coastal beauty of Sri Lanka, the existence of which, at this point, is hard to believe.

12-3-08: Hob Nobbin’ with the NGO

Still in Colombo.  Trip to east cancelled for security reasons, but probably over-blown–”The New York Times” front page today not withstanding–and I am going next week).  Attending the conference the last three days, but yesterday was an all day visit to a rural village, which was really how you might envision Sri Lanka: rice paddies, rubber plantations… jungle.  Met in the village by the council, Buddhist priest, Catholic priest, and so many friendly villagers–had tea, tour of the pre-school, fresh coconut milk by the side of the road, church, and temple, lunch in private home (the huge spread of fabulous food was like a veggie-curry-wedding fantasy).  You eat with your hands here, like in Ethiopia (even the same technique: scooping with you fingers–right hand only–wadding the food, and pushing it into your mouth with your thumb). 

Later that night, in abrupt contrast: drinks at the venerable colonial Galle Face Hotel in Colombo.  Out on the lawn, where you could envision gin and tonics being consumed after a cricket match in the 1800s the last rays of a blazing orange sunset silhouetted the rustling palms.  Talked about lives of world-travel and adventures, with a caravansary of ex-pats and NGO types, including the Sri Lanka head of CARE, and some USAid workers.  Tomorrow, heading to the south for some potential MicroAid site visits and to the east on Sunday.

12-5-08:  Leapin’ Leeches in Kadugoda South

Did I mention that leeches freak me out a bit.   As we were looking at the rubber trees while touring Kadugoda South, our guide said we should stay on the path because if we walk near the trees we could get leeches. I was skeptical, but the minute you walked off the path a leech, or two, would jump onto your foot and attempt to affix itself.   You had to give ‘em a good flick before they could start sucking, otherwise you’d have to pour salt on them later to get them off.   I thought I was pretty careful—hadn’t gotten any on me—but I was sitting in a hut later and felt something bothering my ankle.  I thought it was a mosquito, but when I reached down to swat it away, it turned out to be a small leech wriggling around the strap of my sandal.  Flick!

12-8-08: Southern Hospitality

Some words from the drive south: winding jungle roads with glimpses of the sea, turquoise surf smoothed by offshore winds, Buddhist stuppas on emerald hillsides, stick fishermen…  Small towns with names like Kalutura, Wellingama, Unawatuna, and Mirrissa whiz by with stands selling woven baskets and mats, fruits, and fish interspersed with ex-pat European and Australian B&Bs catering to off-the-beaten-track tourists, surfers, and beachcombers.  Watched a group of fishermen hauling in their big net on the beach south of Hikkadua, after seeing the remaining devastated railcar from the “ghost train”—deluged on the tracks by the tsunami, killing 1,600. 

Checked out a local community clinic in need of funding, and heard about a desire to build a community center and tsunami evacuation facility on some land owned by the generous businessman who funds the clinic.  (This could be a simple MicroAid project, where we could provide the building and they could use it for disaster mitigation training and other community activities on a daily basis, and as an evacuation retreat in case of a future catastrophe).

--artist rendering of MicroAid disaster center

We are back on our way to Hanbantota, where Harriet has to work at the local Women’s Development Federation (micro finance and social programs) and I have projects sites to visit.  Janice, the head of Mercy Corp. in the region, and our traveling companion for the last couple of days (along with our driver, Tissa), invites me to look over their project portfolio, budgets, and meet their local specialists, as they, too, are getting ready to wind up their development (non-tsunami related) activities.  A lot of money has poured into the area since the destruction in 2004, and with the micro-finance trend, even more, so a lot of work and recovery has been accomplished.  She warns that the problem is not in finding MicroAid projects—there are always people left out, or inadequately served—but working with competent and honest local people who will help get the work done.  Happy to be out of the capital, breathing the oxygen-rich greenhouse air, and hearing the crashing waves out on the outer reef.

12-9-08: Humanitarian in Hanbantota

Unfortunate Hanbanatota: most of the seaside structures—homes and businesses–were wiped out on the morning of December 26^th, 2004.  It devastated life and infrastructure, but also the fabric of the community.  Forty-five hundred deaths, seventeen thousand displaced, two thousand five hundred tsunami widows, and fifteen hundred orphans.  Needless to say, no matter how much aid flowed into the area–and it was substantial, and it is apparent—after four years, there is still much to be done.  Toured the area with a Women’s Development Federation representative and saw many worthy development projects that could always use more funds: community banks and micro finance lenders, rainwater collection systems, and an elderly center under construction, but for MicroAid, there are a number of families still in need of houses, as well as a program to sponsor the educational needs of tsunami orphans.  (For about $300/year MicroAid could sponsor one child.  WDF limits the sponsorship to two years, while they help the surviving parent or guardian achieve a sustainable income—smart.)  I attended the monthly meeting where the guardians bring the kids to WDF to report on their progress.  So heartwarming and poignant.

When I return, I will need to evaluate the portfolio of projects and come back to execute.  I have made contact with the number-two man in charge of building the new airport in Hanbantota—a connection through the number-one guy out of Colombo (already the friend of a friend who met me upon my arrival).  He has done a lot of service work, including constructing 3,000 homes for the poor, and offered to be our local project manager and consultant, gratis.  We had a beautiful talk about Buddhist philosophy (he is one) and he was impressed that I was a Vippassana meditator in the pure tradition.

In the photos you will see a man and his family whose house was destroyed in 2004.  Various NGOs promised to build him a new one, but never came through.  He is a brick maker with four kids and a mother to support, so all his money goes to hand-to-mouth existence.  He is genuinely industrious, just in a bind, and has been vetted by WDF–they were able to build him a latrine and loan him money to buy a tractor to bring his bricks to market (now he pays interest on that), but they don’t do homes.  So for about $2,500 we could give this family a decent place to continue the struggles of life.  And there are about six situations like this!  Also, there are about a dozen other families who just moved off their land–when their homes were washed away–and in with relatives (instead of building shanties) who would like to return.  These people could use a decent home where they are not crowded together six to a room.

12-10-08:  Tusked Trouble Makers

Tsunamis, floods, drought, fires, mudslides, cyclone, these are what we usually consider “natural disasters,” but wait, is an elephant rampage through a community center a natural disaster?  You bet!  There are two situations here in Hanbantota where pachyderm marauding has affected humans: one, the aforementioned community center, and another, a private home.  Did I mention this is elephant country! And they roam pretty freely in the dense foliage covered landscape.  Even the garbage landfill is surrounded by an electrified fence to keep the tusked trouble-makers from scavenging the refuse.

12-16-08:  Shot Down in Arugam Bay

About an hour into the trip east, standing strap-hanging in a sardine tin of a bus, incessant Indian pop music blaring from a crackling speaker over my head, jammed in like the IRT at rush hour, I’m thinking: this wasn’t such a good idea.  How many more hours of this can I take?  It’s supposed to be a six-hour trip.  My forearms are aching from hanging on, and although I thought for a while my legs could use the workout, the equivalent of 1,000 bottom turns has made my quads hurt.  Beside, the sickening swerving and abrupt stops at jungle way stations is making me a little nauseous, and the fumes are getting to me, too—and I don’t mean the exhaust, it’s the people crushed in around me, also hanging from the overhead bar, reeking from their armpits.  Five more hours… Ugh!  I forgot that just because you can travel like the poorest local, doesn’t mean you have to—too late now, I guess.  As we proceed, more people get off than get on, and I score a seat after about three hours.  I stumble out at the Ampara turnoff at about five hours, and rather than cram into another overcrowded public bus for 61 rupees (50 cents), I splurge on a tuk-tuk for 1,200 rupees (11 dollars) for the one and a half hours to Pothuvil and Arugam Bay.

Be careful what you ask for.  My love/hate relationship with tuk-tuks continues as my driver must have trained in downtown Colombo (and had his license revoked) because he is hell-bent!  I’ve never seen a tuk-tuk go so fast.  It must be super-charged, or he bought the floor model, because as we fly along the rutted road, I am bounced around like a ping-pong ball in the Lotto hopper.  He even tears through some yellow caution tape at a construction zone where the road turns to dirt.  He dutifully stops at all the all the military checkpoints, though, where heavily armed police emerge from sandbagged bunkers to check his papers. (This is a country with a very active civil war.)  My driver must travel this route twenty times a day—everyone else seems to know him and waive and beep their horns—but the security guys scrutinize his papers like he is Osama Bin Laden just emerged from a cave in Tora Bora.  They are super nice to me, and as always, happy to meet an “Amaireecan” and practice their English.  We stop once more to help another tuk-tuk driver change a tire, then we’re off, bumping and swerving and splashing our way down to the sea, while on either side of the road lush vegetation and paddy fields stretch to distant fog-shrouded mountains.

Was met by a guide and driver  from the Batticoloa district and driven northbound past destroyed and rebuilt and sacked villages, as I continued to develop the MicroAid recovery portfolio.  Much work to be done building houses, completing others, supporting tsunami orphans, and replacing tools of livelihood.