The Water Is Warm

by Jennifer Stawska

  In the nation as a whole after the tsunami, China soon started to invest billions of dollars in creating new roads here and the United Nations, the Red Cross and other charities joined in with the government to build so-called temporary housing for the displaced; much of it will remain as long term housing, I have no doubt.

  Getting temporary housing built raised any number of problems. First, there was the sheer scale of the number of people needing rehousing which meant that, all around the coast, there were communities developing without any structure or order. Then there was the advent of the west-coast monsoon in May, which, at times, meant that families that had already been displaced by the tsunami had to move out of damaged tents into temples, churches, schools, civic buildings - any building that was available to give them cover.

  Coping with the movement of so many people and attempting to rehouse them from temporary accommodation posed immense social problems – how do you find them in the first place and then keep track of them? Where do they move to? What if a home is not available in the location where the family had always lived? How do you house interdependent family members at the same location when there is not enough housing for them?

  The organisations and the government did the best that they could but nothing could have prepared them for the long term consequences of the tsunami. Some families chose to remain in the tents but as the weather deteriorated and the tents grew old, they provided increasingly unsatisfactory accommodation and so there were outright emergencies when tents blew or fell down - or even burnt down, something that happened from time to time.

  Health was a major issue as well. There was very little sanitation in most of the camps and, culturally both here and in India, many people are not accustomed to using latrines. Latrines were built and then bull dozed over but it took huge effort and insistence to get people to use them. There was a real fear of a cholera or typhoid epidemic and malaria was rife. Boredom was another major problem and was not confined to the children but was another huge issue for adults, as was despair because people had lost everything, had no money and were living in the poorest of environments - people from all walks of life and past positions. There were inevitable social and family issues and communities developed their own ad hoc structures with leadership, as ever, not always falling upon those who best deserved it and, what is more, there were divisions between the Sinhalese and the Tamils within the refugee communities.

  The temporary homes that were built were small and measured about 4 metres by 4 metres; they were of very simple construction having cement or brick foundations, iron frames, plywood walls and corrugated aluminium roofs that made an incredible din when it rained. There was a window in each room and a door into one room so there was a reasonable amount of light but often the homes were crammed full of large families who had very limited space and, during the rainy season, limited opportunity to be outside.

  Larger, temporary shelters had to be built because of the approach of the monsoon and, when they were built, they created their own microcosm of social issues (e.g. crying babies at night, drink, sanitation, washing, who slept where, cleanliness, over-crowding, mixed religions, different social classes, etc.). Further, identifying the land upon which construction would take place created any number of problems – who owned the land? Was it suitable for the planned construction? Who would be in charge of co-ordinating the building? How would supplies be brought to the site? Who would do the building and how would they be paid?

  Another major problem was selecting the families who would occupy the temporary housing. How do you choose? Selection on the basis of need was the obvious and adopted criterion but everyone had needs. The system of allocation was government run and, in the end, was based on a house for a house policy by which someone who had lost a house would get a house or, in some instances, the same number of houses. But controlling that was virtually impossible. How do you establish who had what before the tsunami? How do you find people to tell them that they have been allocated a home, when the population is so ambulant? And, in particular, what happens to those who did not own property before the tsunami, such as tenants, or who were dependent on others to provide them with a home, such as extended family members who may have been killed in the tsunami.

  The whole infrastructure of the already conflicted country was disrupted and so there could be no assumption that materials could be delivered in accordance with any sort of schedule. With the telephone systems haphazard, people could not communicate properly on simple questions like ‘Where do I deliver this load of materials to?’ Without a reliable electricity supply it made it very difficult for families in the evenings, with darkness falling at about six o’clock. Food supplies were also irregular, not helped by the fact that much of the local food production around the coast had been salinated and therefore spoilt by the sea water; some fishermen were reluctant to return to the sea that had wrought so much destruction and, in any event, they were often unable to resume fishing because boats, netting and all their other equipment had been destroyed.

  The immediate impact of all this occurred during the three months that Josh was back in Sweden in 2005 and so when he returned some, but only some, of the initial problems were easing. But these problems still remain in many places even now. That is why I had felt so motivated to help with the aid programme in Galle while it lasted.

  I realise that what I saw in the camp in Galle could take up pages of what I have to write but I could not write it without insulting the people there or trespassing upon their communal grief. Nobody foresaw the tsunami and so it was inevitable that the response to it should take time to co-ordinate and I very much doubt that any country could have done better than this country did – how efficient have western countries been when there have been disasters? I also have no intention of ignoring the fact that I have got back much more from this country and its people than I gave, as the next chapter of this writing will tell in particular because this country, these people, gave me religion and took me, and Josh, to God. So I don’t want to even hint at anything that might appear mistakenly critical of how this massive natural disaster was handled; people just did their best, mostly with the best of motives.

  Besides our work and our lives at Galle and Unawatuna Josh and I did also fit in some time seeing the sights of the country – the rock at Sigiriya (which Josh did not fall off, despite pretending to do so), the ancient city of Anuradhapura, the Temple of the Tooth at Kandy, the recumbent statue at Polonnaruwa and the rest. But, as far as I am concerned, they belong in a tourists’ guide; I had seen many equally impressive sights when travelling around India and they left me stone cold. For me, and I know for Josh too, the magnificence of this country is in its people, its natural beauty and its religion.

  We were, however, visitors here and I am now a trespasser since I am here without right. So, what about the mundane position with visas? That’s pretty easy to write about. On 4t January 2005 a state of emergency had been declared and, in February 2005, a government organisation called The Task Force for Relief had been created in an attempt to co-ordinate international aid. However, there was a huge international response to the tsunami and that led to a large number of non-governmental and international organisations seeking to contribute to the relief work; I heard estimates of there being over 2,000 such organisations that wanted to be involved. An attempt by the government to require all non-governmental organisations involved in tsunami relief to register by mid-August 2005 largely failed and very few registrations took place by the due date. The effect was that much of the relief work remained uncoordinated.

  Initially in Galle the relief work was led by the government in association with the Sri Lankan Red Cross Society. As other organisations, or ad hoc groups sprung up, they were encouraged to bring themselves under the umbrella of the Red Cross and so there was at least some degree of organisation there.

  For obvious and good reason the government policy was to encourage the provision of aid by Sri La
nkan nationals and therefore visas were difficult to come by for foreigners seeking to be involved in the long-term provision of aid through organisations that first came to the country after the tsunami; some visas lasted for no more than a month although others were granted for longer than that.

  Josh brought with him the skills of a nurse and arrived to work for the UN; so when he arrived he had a two year visa, which was exceptional but reflected his medical skills and his commitment to working in the country long term. His original visa had been granted to run from the end of March 2005 and therefore, it ran until 31 March 2007.

  My original visa was granted in December 2004 for the work that I had intended to do with the children’s charity in Galle. It was only after a great deal of form filling and difficult discussion, as well as considerable help from a government official in Galle who befriended me and helped me cut through the endless red tape, that I was able to get a longer-term visa myself at the end of my twelve month one. The best that could be done was for me to have an 18 month visa from December 2005.

  Then with Raja’s help we managed to get further visas for twelve more months from the start of March 2007. From his former employment in the police force and also from having to build his hotel twice Raja knows how to deal with officialdom here and has a lot of useful connections. So, after another round of form filling and mind blowingly frustrating delays, we were able to get fresh visas which ran for a year from the date that someone in Colombo wielded a rubber stamp on 1 March 2007. So that’s how, later on, we were able to plan ahead, including our exit to Sweden.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Religion plays a core part of life here in a way that it might be very difficult for anyone in the West to understand. Faith is a foundation for everything and is nothing like the conservative side-affair of the church as I experienced it to be in England; here monks and temples can be seen everywhere. It is said that over 70 per cent of the population here practise Theravadin Buddhism, with Hinduism being the next most practised religion and being dominant in the Northern Province and a few other parts of the country.

  I had never really been exposed to Buddhism when I was in England save as something wacky that the hippy brigade did in incense-filled places like Glastonbury while singing songs to crystals through cannabis smoke. Here, however, I have come to learn that Buddhism is a simple religion and is also easy to understand, unlike the polytheism of Hinduism and the different messages within the old and new testaments of the Christian Bible. Yes, to a westerner like me, it can seem surrounded by near mystical language but when you cut through that it has a simple truth. That God is everything and our purpose is to contribute to God.

  Monotheistic religions have at their core the belief that there is an absolute answer to everything that can be found in an omnipotent and separate entity, called God. They have holy writings, for instance in the Bible or Koran, that make God manifest. They believe that God is an entity from which we remain separate and distinct in life and in the afterlife. We may join God in heaven after our sins have been redeemed through Christ’s merciful suffering but we remain distinct and identifiable phenomena.

  Buddhism has a contemplative passivity, a belief in the unity of existence during and after life and a striving to lose self on death so as to end the cycle of re-birth. Further, Buddhism carries with it expectations about how we conduct ourselves during human life. It offers the opportunity of redemption, not through the actions of another being - not through Christ’s redemption, but through an understanding of our participation within God.

  They, or I hope I can say we, seek to follow the eightfold path which is simple to understand and which also, I hope I can say, became our attempted creed - right view (in the sense of correct outlook), right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood (in the sense of correct way of life), right effort, right mindfulness (in the sense of correct state of mind) and right concentration. Well, that’s Josh. I watched him and I know that he walked that path and, to my mind, always had done. It wasn’t that he chose to adopt that creed. It’s just how he was. How do I live without that, now? I’ve just deleted more pages of rant in answer to that.

  But, all of those expectations of faith are in direct contrast to everything that I learnt in my former life in England. There my work and lifestyle were all about keeping my end up, winning, asserting myself, being right and striving for the absolute answer to everything. To Buddhists that is very much what life is not about - and I have learnt that the Buddhists are surely correct; they seek nirvana and an end to dukkha, an end to craving and holding on to things that are essentially temporary. Imagine that in chambers. Imagine that with Penelope. Catherine would have understood, but it’s too late for all that now.

  It was the night skies above Sri Lanka that opened up our quest for an acquaintance with the God that people have found here. After we had settled down in our relationship and way of life, it was an inevitable step for us to take because Josh’s need for God was his beacon, constantly calling to him, beckoning him to come to an understanding not of life, but of everything.

  We had both written a lot about religion in our letters while Josh was back in Sweden and, when he returned here, we often discussed it. However, we didn’t do anything about it as there were other things to sort out. But one evening, it must have been in September 2005, we found ourselves lying on the benches outside Raja’s hotel looking up at the clear night sky. Sunil was asleep and Raja was with some friends down the beach. Josh had a straw hat that was pushed forward over most of his forehead and was smoking a joint. He began to talk, tentatively, feeling his way into the conversation.

  ‘If you look at the stars, really look at the stars, what do you see?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  Josh replied by firing a load of questions at me. ‘Look at the sky. Is there an end to what you see? If there is an end, what is beyond it? What defines its boundary? How can anything have created everything that you see? Where does God fit in with that? What is God?’

  He paused, blew out a cloud of smoke – I love the smell - and said: ‘I’m nearly 40 and I don’t know the answer to any of that and it is so fundamental.’

  ‘Tell me what you see, Josh.’ That was the best I could do.

  I can’t write what he then described. I imagine that it went on for at least ten minutes as he used words like the colours of the most intricate painting to define what he saw, exploring whether there could possibly be an end to it, moving on to describe the noise, feel and place of our then surroundings in the context of what was above and then speaking about God. The enormity of what God must be and his reaching out to find what God means, what God is. I closed my eyes, lay back on the bench in peace and listened to the music of what he was saying as his words moved across the heavens above us, his voice enveloping me in what he saw. How could I not be drawn into what he was saying?

  ‘We need to sort this out,’ I said, or something like it. I had been sharing his joint and so was speaking through an anaesthetised haze.

  ‘It isn’t as easy as that,’ Josh replied.

  ‘Oh yeah, where have I heard that before?’

  ‘How do you mean?

  ‘Well, I think I have said that once or twice, haven’t I?’

  ‘But this is different. This is faith.’

  ‘Maybe it is different but at least we can try. If we don’t try together it won’t stop us each searching on our own and I need your help with this, even if you could do it without me.’ I was afraid of being left behind.

  ‘Then we must help each other.’

  You came straight back with that and then went on to speak about the two of us in a way that belongs only in my memory, in my head. I’m not writing about that. Anyway, that’s how it started.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  I want to describe now the religious journey upon which we embarked but also want to say straightaway that there were three big points in what we discovered.

  F
irst, there is no such thing as creation – everything has always been there in some form or another, it has just developed. If there was a big bang then there must have been something there to go bang. The idea of a creator God is fiction – if God existed before creation where was God and what was its purpose in the limitless years before creation? How could God, as an entity, exist in a vacuum and what would be its reason, as an omnipotent God, for doing so? How do you create creation – with a thought? Further, the earth and mankind have never been at the centre of the universe and, in its infinite variation, the universe must hold many other examples of civilisation. Truth, if there is such a thing, must be universal and conceptual; it cannot be earth based, as so many monotheistic religions are.

  Second, that there is no such thing as eternal life in which current identity is retained after the body dies – there is no such thing as a spirit, a soul or heavenly life. That might sound alien to western thinking but, I think, would be easily understood by many of the Buddhists that there are in the world. However, that does not mean that there is no God because God is everything, nor does it mean that God is nothing or meaningless, quite the opposite. God is not just a convenient or comfortable word that can be replaced by ‘universe’ or ‘space’. We thought long and hard about that – were we just clinging on to a concept that had nothing to do with something that could be called God, something which was no more than the physical structure of the universe? A misuse of words based on fiction and fear of facing the reality that there is no God?

  We don’t believe that is so and, having got to this stage of writing, I can commit myself to saying that I still don’t believe it to be so. We believe, I still believe, that God is not just the physical structure of things that surround us; God is the binding force that unifies the universe. It is the force to which I belong and every other living being belongs; it is what differentiates us from inanimate objects. We are each an embodiment of what preceded our existence and we each contribute to what follows us with the result that we always remain part of a whole, part of God. And so our conduct in this life also matters because it defines whom we are and the part that we represent within the one ultimate entity. We each have the potential to make a positive or negative contribution, however small, to that whole and we have a responsibility to it. When we die, as die we all must, it is that contribution that will define whom we have been and, as time passes, will have a diminishing impact on what we have left behind, as it should.