Sweaty and stinky again!!!

Here I am, once again, in a country where the slightest movement causes sweat to pour off me. It's extremely hot and humid and feels very much like southern India. There are the same busy tuk tuks weaving in and out of the traffic, stinking piles of rubbish, madman bus drivers and elegant ladies constantly hidden under umbrellas because if the sun's not beating down the rain certainly is. Sri Lanka is much more lush than Tamil Nadu. Palm trees are abundant and much of the countryside is covered by thick tropical forests. The sea is warm and coconuts get washed up on the sand. It sounds idyllic and it's easy to forget that this is a country where bombs regularly explode, the two images couldn't be further apart in my mind. My host family showed me graphic photos of a recent bombing which really brought it home. I've never seen anything so horrendous, but the family viewed it with a quite disturbing morbid fascination. They zoomed in on heads lying on the tarmac, torsos with no legs and other unidentifiable body parts.

I live in Panadura, on the coast south of Colombo. It's noisy and dirty but has good amenities. Rubbish is a big problem, as it was in Nepal and India. Huge piles line the road, mangy dogs salvage what they can from the rotting food and every now and then the rubbish is burnt sending acrid smoke everywhere. I was walking home last week when I came across an enormous heap of used syringes. There was blood visible in them and all the needles were exposed. They can only have come from the hospital - it's hard to believe they dump them on the pavement. There was even a balloon amongst them. I'm sure it was only a matter of time before an inquisitive child stabbed themselves. My host family are well off and I even have a washing machine (my clothes don't know what's hit them after 7 months of me trying to thrash the dirt out of them by hand!). Each morning I get the bus to Pinwatta school (I'm getting good and running and leaping - it's called a bus STOP but they don't!) where I spend the morning trying to teach English to children between the ages of 5 and 16. I feel this would be no easy task for a teacher let alone a nurse. The children are from poor families and have very little grasp of English and I, of course, speak no Sinhala. The boys are particularly naughty and see volunteers as easy targets. The cane is still used in Sri Lanka, and whilst I'm not an active supporter of child beating a little threatening works wonders (I know I know I'm a terrible person!). Progress is slow but they now gets their books and pens out of their bags (one small step for the boys, one giant leap for the sweaty white girl!) and will pay attention for about 20 minutes! Health and safety is hilarious as I arrived today to find the boys wielding hockey stick-shaped machetes which were used to cut the grass and inadvertently any small child that ventured too close. From upstairs I can see the sea in the distance and hear the waves. The school was completely destroyed by the tsunami (the building was thankfully empty as it was boxing day) and was rebuilt by a German charity. It is only small and pupils have been slow to return as families fear the same might happen again. I had a very interesting conversation with the English teacher who explained that before the tsunami local people believed them to be fictional things. There was an old story of a bad king who was punished by a giant wave and to stop it happening again he sent his only daughter away to sea. When the tsunami hit no-one realised what was happening - as the seabed was exposed by the giant undertow people even ran out to make claims on the new land. It must have been terrifying. Everyday when I see the sea I try to imagine what it must have been like, but of course I can't.