A Present and a Smile
View Enlarged Photo and CaptionYou don't have to spend thousands of dollars to make a difference here. The other day, I was walking through a district known as Main Street, Weligama, with Antonin Kratochvil, a talented Czech-born photographer from New York whose pictures help to illustrate this blog. As we picked our way through the rubble, we noticed a handwritten sign on a tent, identifying the occupant as P.H. Sumanapala, 2/49 Main Street.
The neatly-written house sign seemed a little incongruous -- a brave attempt to create some domestic order in the midst of chaos -- so we stopped to chat.
Weligama fishermen have the reputation of being a rough crowd, but Sumanapala turned out to be exceptionally courteous and friendly, as orderly and meticulous as the sign on his tent. His wife struck me as the Sinhalese equivalent of a German hausfrau: the few possessions they have been given by relatives (a couple of shirts, a toothbrush, some sandals, some cooking equipment) are always in their proper place. Their 16-year-old son is a fresh-faced boy with a tidy haircut: he obviously takes after his parents.
Their 22-year-old daughter, Shyamali, evidently inherited a loose gene, because she is wild and untamed. Before the tsunami, her proudest possession was a cassette player, which she had saved up to buy by working as a lacemaker. (Weligama is famous for its elaborate lacework, by the way. Lacemakers earn around 100 rupees, roughly $1, a day for working on a tablecloth, which can take two or three months to finish.)
As she wove her lace, Shyamali loved to listen to a Sri Lankan hearthrob named Kingsley Peiris croon in her ear, "My princess, have patience. Wait, and I will come to you."
When the tsunami struck, Shyamali was the only family member still inside the house. Everything happened so quickly that she had no time to save anything, not even her beloved cassette recorder. As the water rushed in the front door, she ran for her life, leaving everything behind.
Since the tsunami, Shyamali has had terrible nightmares and her parents are quite worried about her. When they were living in a camp, she would pick fights with other inmates. Sometimes, she would come back to the family's ruined house in the middle of the night, looking for her lost cassette player.
Amid the ocean of human need that is Weligama today, this particular need seemed simple enough to satisfy. I walked around the corner, and made some purchases. Delivering them the following day made me feel like a character from a MasterCard ad.
Cassette player: $7.
Two Kingsley Peiris cassettes: $2.50.
Batteries: $2.
The smile on Shyamali's face when she saw my present: Priceless.
-- Michael Dobbs
By washingtonpost.com |
February 11, 2005; 5:00 AM ET
| Category:
Michael Dobbs
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Posted by: Sanjaya Hettihewa | February 14, 2005 04:12 AM
Thank you for being there for our people and keeping us informed.
Posted by: Chinta Ratnayake | February 15, 2005 08:58 AM
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It is wonderful that you are taking the time to share your experiences as well as doing what you can to help those affected by the tsunami. Thank you for sharing your experiences.