Join Our Mailing List!
Reporter's Notebooks
Thursday - July 14, 2011
MANNAR, SRI LANKA – Kannathasan Jeyeseela, 27, and her daughter, 2, live in Keerisuddan village in Mannar, a district in northwestern Sri Lanka. Villagers there have been forced to move four times because of decades of civil war in Sri Lanka.
Keerisuddan is a small and isolated village, home to just 38 families. A 20-kilometer gravel road connects this village to Madhu Church and Madhu main road. There are no human settlements along the gravel road leading to this village.
Before Jeyeseela was born, her fellow villagers were moved to Keerisuddan in 1977 and 1978 from Polgahawela, Kurunagala and other villages in northwestern Sri Lanka because of ethnic clashes.
“There were 145 families settled there, but I could not remember about the number of persons,” villager Sebasthiyan Piyathas, 76, says. “All the families were provided a half-acre [of] land for settlement by the government.”
The war displaced the villagers – and this time Jeyeseela was one of them – again in 1990 to Vavuniya, a district in northern Sri Lanka. Some also fled to India as refugees.
In 1995, Jeyeseela and 36 families returned to Keerisuddan. But they were displaced again in 2007 because of a government operation against the opposition forces, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, LTTE, in their control area. Villagers say they were displaced to Pokkanai, Nanthikkadal and Mullivaikal in the Mullaitivu district.
Brad Adams, Asia director at Human Rights Watch, an international human rights organization, called the area “one of the most dangerous places in the world” in April 2009. The toll of wounded and dead civilians rose at this time as they were trapped in between the government and LTTE forces, according to the United Nations.
“My husband was killed at Pokkanai in Mullaitivu due to shell attack towards the LTTE-controlled area done by the government during the humanitarian operation held at 2009 April,” says Jeyeseela, starting to cry as she pats her daughter’s head.
Many Sri Lankans were displaced during the decades of civil war here, with some still waiting to be resettled. In addition to their lack of homes and land, they also face a lack of income, with women bearing the brunt of the responsibility for taking care of families after their husbands died or were separated from them during the war. Villagers say they also face a lack of health care and other public services.
Sri Lanka suffered from a conflict between the government and the LTTE for more than 25 years, resulting in economic, civil, political, social and cultural devastation. Between 80,000 and 100,000 people were killed during the civil war, according to the United Nations. More than 1 million people were displaced from their homes in the northern and eastern parts of the country, such as in villages in the North Central and Uva provinces adjoining the war zone. After two decades of fighting and three failed attempts of peace talks, the government declared victory and the protracted conflict ended in May 2009.
According to a March 2011 report by the United Nations, the U.N. panel appointed by Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon has determined credible allegations that reveal a different version of the final stages of the war than maintained by the Sri Lankan government.
“The Government says it pursued a ‘humanitarian rescue operation’ with a policy of ‘zero civilian casualties,’” according to the report. “In stark contrast, the Panel found credible allegations, which if proven, indicate that a wide range of serious violations of international humanitarian law and international human rights law was committed both by the Government of Sri Lanka and the LTTE, some of which would amount to war crimes and crimes against humanity.”
Some Sri Lankans were displaced within the country, like Jeyeseela, while others migrated to India, Australia and countries in Europe. Some are still in camps or living with friends and relatives, waiting to be settled.
Jeyeseela says that she and her daughter stayed in welfare centers after the conflict.
“We stayed there until November 2010, and all of us were return to this village on 29th November 2010 with the support of government after the clearance of land mines,” she says.
Jeyeseela currently stays with her mother in a temporary shelter, which was given to them by a nongovernmental organization, NGO. The shelter is located on government land, as Jeyeseela does not have any land to her name.
“I decided to start my life separately and occupied in a government land in the village,” she says. “Now I am requested a permit for that land from officers in the Madhu [Assistant Government Agent] Division. I have to think about the future of my child who does not have her father.”
She says that in addition to not having land, she has also struggled to earn a living.
She says she received nonfood relief items and 25,000 rupees, $230 USD, from the Office of the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees, the U.N. refugee agency. She says the government also gave her a six-month dry ration. She says Caritas Valvuthayem, an NGO, gave her a sewing machine to help her start a livelihood, but that she couldn’t earn money with it because all the other women received them as well.
“I could not earn [a] single cent with the sewing machine,” she says.
The Rev. Jayapalan, who declined to give his full name, head of Caritas-Valvuthayem, says that the Keerisuddan villagers have benefited from the project, which offers other options for livelihoods as well.
“Our organization is giving livelihood assistances and the training to the displaced families,” Jayapalan says. “At the movement, we are giving assistance for home gardening, tailoring, small business and etc.”
He says the project ended recently because of a lack of funds but that the NGO is willing to continue the project once it has the funds.
“I believe with the livelihood support, [the] displaced can strength[en] their lives to lead for durable solution,” Jayapalan says.
Traditionally, agriculture, irrigation, fisheries and forestry have been the main sources of livelihood among this heavily rural population. But the war disrupted these occupations, leaving families with few options for income.
“Out of these families, 75 percent of families do not have income resources,” the Grama Niladari, the village-level government representative, who declined to be named, says. “Most of them survive by getting dry ration. There is no income-generating opportunity in this village. Because they have lost their all income-generation sources – such as livestock, home gardening, poultry – due to war and displacement. Also, there is no paddy cultivation done due to displacement.”
Women in these conflict-affected areas say they have had to bear a disproportionate share of the burden as the survivors and caregivers of their families. Family separation during the displacements and casualties during the war left many women on their own, according to the U.N. report. Many of these women have been abruptly forced to be female heads of households and sustain their families without shelter, food, basic services, education or a means of livelihood.
“Women, children and the elderly usually bear the brunt of suffering and loss in wars, and the Sri Lankan case is no exception,” according to the 2011 U.N. report.
Jeyeseela says she was unable to register the death of her husband while she was in the security zone in the government operation area so she was unable to apply for the compensation offered by the government.
“I have lost my all the educational certificates and the birth certificate, too,” Jeyeseela says hopelessly.
She is currently working as a preschool teacher in the village, for which she earns 3,500 rupees, $32 USD, per month from an NGO.
Women say that in addition to struggling to provide for their families, health care is also difficult to access.
Jeyeseela says she takes her child to the clinic for vaccinations in Murungan, about 45 kilometers away from her village because there are no health centers in Keerisuddan. Before the displacement, the villagers used to go to Thileepan Clinic, which was only three kilometers from their village.
There are currently two pregnant women, eight lactating mothers, eight disabled people, one paralyzed patient and 14 children under the age 5 in this village – all who have to trek to Murungan Divisional Hospital to get the health services they need, the Grama Niladari says. The pregnant mothers have to catch a 5:30 a.m. bus, and they say that sometimes when they arrive, the health officers there refuse to attend to them, saying that there is a clinic in Madu.
One pregnant mother, Sivakumar Shanthi, says she visited the Madu Mobile Clinic Center earlier this year, but that there were no officers there. The officers changed the date of the clinic without informing the people in advance. No midwives have been visiting this village area either.
Many children born during the displacement also don’t have access to personal documentation, which typically is needed to access public services.
“My daughter has no birth certificate,” Jeyeseela says. “Without [a] birth certificate, it is difficult to send her to school.”
Many villagers say they don’t have full and nondiscriminatory access to national and divisional protection mechanisms, such as services from the Additional District Registrar, social service officers and medical officer of health.
Women form the majority of the displaced population that has suffered the consequences of war, mostly in regards to their health, nutrition and protection. Hence, women have various needs when it comes to rehabilitation, reintegration, resettlement, health care, leisure and employment. These needs are not exhaustive, but are reflective of the immediate priority needs that should be addressed in post-conflict settings.
Thursday - July 7, 2011
COLOMBO, SRI LANKA – Boutiques, a co-op store and a tea kiosk line the main street in Bope-Udagama, a village in the Colombo district in southwestern Sri Lanka. Inside one boutique, Salon Ramani, women are busy making a bouquet of flowers.
With a brightly painted sign featuring the picture of a bride over its door, Salon Ramani is the village bridal shop. A one-stop shop, Salon Ramani provides bridal attire, floral arrangements, catering and the wedding cake for local weddings at an affordable cost.
“Chithra’s wedding is this afternoon, and we are very busy,” says Ramani Dayaratne, the shop owner, while putting the finishing touches on a saree.
Dayaratne, a mother of two children in primary school, says she started the bridal shop to support her family. She says she had to become the primary breadwinner after her husband was paralyzed in an accident and no relatives could help.
“After my marriage, my mother went to a hermitage,” she says. “I had no one to turn to for help. I had to somehow feed my family.”
And in the process, she has helped empower other women as well.
Dayaratne’s father used to be president of the village chapter of the Thrift and Credit Cooperative Societies, known here as Sanasa, Sri Lanka’s national microfinance cooperative network, and her mother was president of its women’s committee. I am the vice president of the Colombo District Sanasa Union and have been president of the union’s Central Women’s Committee since 1985.
With the help of the district-level women’s committee, Dayaratne says she recruited a beautician and a culinary expert. With their help, they trained 10 young women who were educated but unemployed in beauty culture, cake making, dressmaking, embroidery, jewelry making and bouquet arranging. Armed with her new trainees, Dayaratne started the shop.
The boutique aims to offer affordable wedding services, which are expensive in Sri Lanka. At the same time, it supplies educated girls in the village with jobs, which are scarce. The women working at the boutique say they are grateful to the Sanasa society for providing them microloans so they could start their enterprises, earn a living and support their families.
The Sri Lanka labor force has become more educated and the unemployment rate has been halved during the past decade, according to a 2010 World Bank report. But many young people say it’s still hard to find secure jobs, thanks to decades of civil unrest here, according to the report.
Amidst the insecurity here, Sri Lankans must also find ways to afford weddings.
“A perfect wedding is the dream of a bride,” Dayaratne says. “All brides love to look their best on the most important day of their lives. Even in a village it is so.”
But, as in many parts of the world, weddings are expensive in Sri Lanka.
“But it is so expensive to hold a wedding ceremony today in Sri Lanka,” she says. “The bridal dress, makeup on her face, flowers, cakes, food costs over two lakhs of rupees [$1,830 USD].”
So she says Salon Ramani helps to defray the cost.
“Our services are very reasonable,” she says. “We perform the full ceremony for less than one lakh of rupees [$915 USD].”
Nalini Silva, a recent bride, says this is substantially cheaper than what her wedding cost. She says she paid 50,000 rupees, $460 USD, for her bridal saree and jacket; 75,000 rupees, $685 USD, to get part of the jewelry made; 35,000 rupees, $320 USD, for the fresh flower bouquets; and 235,000 rupees, $2,150 USD, for the ceremony and catering.
Somasiri Danapala, president of the village Sanasa society, says some girls at Salon Ramani work on the sarees for the wedding.
“There are six girls trained in hand embroidery who work the sarees in gold, silver and multicolored thread and sequins,” Danapala says.
She says they sell the sarees to brides for low prices at the bridal shop as well as in exclusive shops in the suburbs of Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital.
Siriya Manel, the cake expert here, runs Salon Ramani’s catering service. She says she gained her expertise at the district Sanasa union. Assisted by young boys and girls in the village, she provides traditional rice and curry dishes, as well as pastries for dessert – and, of course, the wedding cake.
“Wedding cake is wedding cake anywhere in the world,” Manel says. “There is no substitute.”
Salon Ramani also offers traditional jewelry worn by brides in Sri Lanka, which also tends to be expensive.
“I got the village silversmith to make the traditional seven necklaces, earrings and head ornaments embedded with red and white stones and got them gold-washed,” says Loku Menike, who makes jewelry for Salon Ramani.
Four women make fresh and artificial flower arrangements in the shop.
“I like working with artificial flowers,” says one of the women, Hema Kumari.
Another employee, Muthu Menike, who is not related to Loku Menike, joins the conversation.
“Yes, but the scent and the beauty of fresh flowers cannot be equaled, and the brides prefer them,” she says.
Dayaratne says that in addition to providing affordable wedding services, Salon Ramani also aims to provide jobs for girls in the village.
“The girls in our village are educated but cannot find jobs,” Dayaratne says.
Menike, the jewelry maker, says proudly that she has already repaid the loan given to her by the Sanasa society to start her venture.
“The Sanasa society gave me a loan of 10,000 rupees [$90 USD] for this purpose,” she says. “I have already repaid the loan out of [my] earrings from [selling] this set of jewelry.”
Menike, the flower arranger, says she grows roses and anthuriums on her father’s plot of land. The Sanasa society helps her to get the fertilizer and agrochemicals needed for her floriculture.
“I supply roses to two shops in the city,” she says.
She says she lost her husband during the nearly 30-year war in the northern part of the country between the government and a rebel group that ended in 2009. She says that arranging flowers has enabled her to support her daughters.
“I am able to educate my two daughters in a good school in the city with my earnings,” she says.
Dayaratne also expresses her gratitude to Danapala.
“I have to thank my mother for her farsightedness and the District Sanasa Union for providing us with guidance to develop our skills and make a living for our families while staying at home,” Dayaratne says to Danapala.
The women say that, otherwise, they’d have to venture into the city daily for jobs, which would take about two hours. Dayaratne says that the Sanasa society also acquired a van that enables the salon to transport its goods to the city and neighboring markets.
“Can you remember what a sleep[y] little village this was 10 years ago?” she asks Danapala. “Today, our children attend a good school in the city.”
Other Sanasa societies across Sri Lanka are also promoting self-employment opportunities for women. Hair dressing, bridal dresses and beauty culture are the most popular.
Dayaratne says that she wants to continue to be involved in these activities to help women find jobs.
“I want to provide more skills training for them, not only for ceremonial weddings, but also in handicrafts and other skills so that they could be self-employed, work at home and look after their families,” she says enthusiastically.
Friday - May 13, 2011
Every year in May when the shortlist for the Caine Prize for African Writing is announced, I read the stories and begin to guess who will win. Sometimes I am wrong, but other times I have guessed it.
The Caine Prize is a literary prize for the best original short story by an African writer. It is named for the late Sir Michael Caine – not the actor, but the former chairman of Booker plc – who had been working on the idea of creating a prize to encourage the growing recognition of the worth of African writing in English before he died. His friends and colleagues established the prize in his honor after he died and awarded the first prize in 2000.
My book club reads and discusses the stories. I have also met some of the writers on the shortlist or winners, such as Monica Arac de Nyeko, who won in 2007; Olufemi Terry, who won in 2010; Ken Barris; Alex Smith; and Namwali Serpell, who all made last year’s shortlist. This made me realize that it is possible to get on the shortlist or win the prize.
On Thursday, when I read my e-mail from Nick Elam, administrator of the Caine Prize, saying that I was one of five writers on the shortlist for the Caine Prize for my short story, I felt as if I was in dreamland and I didn’t want to be woken up. I asked a friend to read the e-mail just in case my eyes were seeing what wasn’t there.
My dream of winning the Caine Prize has been brought close with my short story “Butterfly Dreams,” which was published in 2010 by Critical, Cultural and Communications Press in the book “Butterfly Dreams and Other New Short Stories from Uganda.” For me, the story is about the impact of war on children. The main character, Lamunu, was abducted to fight a war she hardly understands, and when she gets back home, her family realizes that she is damaged but there is nothing they can do because she is their daughter. I am intrigued by the impact of the two decades of war in northern Uganda, and I find myself dwelling in those issues in my writing.
I have read and enjoyed “In the Country of Men” by Hisham Matar, one of the five judges for this year’s Caine Prize, and I am glad that he also read my story, which I hope he enjoyed. The other judges are Ellah Allfrey, Granta Magazine deputy editor; Vicky Unwin, publisher, film and travel writer; David Gewanter, Georgetown University Professor and poet; and Aminatta Forna, award-winning author.
I am excited and happy about being on the shortlist. It is not the £10,000 prize money and one month’s residence at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., which excite me but the fact that the Caine Prize has opened many doors for me to the world and that many people will read my work. It is an answer to my dream, and I hope and pray that many good things will happen to my writing career as a result.
I have received overwhelming support from friends and lovers of literature all over the world. I am sure that many more will come. I still feel as if I am in a dream, and I don’t want anyone to wake me up. Because I am enjoying my dream life.
Thursday - April 7, 2011
My Journey to Japan
”Finally!“ I said, heaving a sigh of relief as I finished packing my bags for Japan.
I had mixed feelings. I was happy and proud to join my husband, who was serving his orders in Japan, yet I felt uncertain and sad leaving part of me behind – my family, my projects and my baby company. It would mean starting all over again in Japan, but I was ready for the challenge and was confident about the opportunities there.
The journey was long. I flew 19 hours from Ghana to Egypt to Japan. My cultural shock started in the airplane. I was the only African female in the aircraft. The other African was a man. It was my first time flying in an aircraft that had only two Africans including myself. We looked different from the other passengers, and the Japanese looked different from any other race I had seen. They were very polite and cute.
Upon arriving at Narita Airport, I was greeted with Japanese kanji, or characters, that I could not read nor understand. I was saved by the English version of the immigration forms and customs personnel who spoke some English.
We lived in Atsugi, a city that is an hour and a half from Tokyo, the capital. I loved it. It’s a very quiet and calm city.
With time, I became used to bowing to people I met as a way of being polite and showing respect. I started learning some Japanese and tried to write some kanji. I started tasting Japanese food. My favorite was sushi. I also made a few friends who spoke some English. We were settling down well, and I was happy finding my feet again.
Earthquake, tsunami, nuclear plant crisis
Then, a 9.0-magnitude earthquake followed by a tsunami and another 5.8-magnitude earthquake and then another 7.4 earthquake yesterday caused a wave of panic and nuclear crisis in Japan. Earthquakes, tsunamis and nuclear plant crises have never occurred in my homeland but have claimed the lives of thousands in the last two weeks in Miyagi, about 350 kilometers north of Atsugi, and hundreds more are still missing. Survivors have little or no water, electricity or cell phone reception. Many still live in constant fear daily as they worry about what will happen.
My experience in Atsugi
It was a normal sunny Friday afternoon in Atsugi. Normal daily activities were going on. The cars moved. My favorite sushi restaurant was full.
As I walked home from the restaurant clutching my sushi in my right hand, I started feeling uneasy.
”What is happening?“ I asked myself as my mind searched for answers. “Maybe it’s because I am tired. Maybe it is because I have been feeling feverish lately. Maybe … maybe … maybe ...”
I felt dizzy so I stopped in my tracks, but I could not stand well. I moved, but I couldn’t walk well. I could feel the earth moving and then my body moving in a haphazard direction. I felt like screaming, “Help!”
”What is this, LORD?” I asked myself again.
I could not walk nor stand well. I felt like falling down when I stood or walked. I had mixed feelings. I felt confused, scared and helpless.
All of a sudden, I saw a man running very fast past me. I heard the alarm of a packed 2001 Nissan Presage car. I turned around. I saw another three youngsters standing together giggling and another group standing facing the opposite direction and looking up. There was also a man in uniform ahead of me. He stood on the green grass.
”What’s going on?” I finally asked the man.
”Earthquake,” he said.
Earthquake? I repeated the word in a shocked, sad tone, wondering for the next few minutes what that would mean. Will the earth open? Will the buildings fall?
I turned and there was Ivy, a Puerto Rican by birth but married to an American and living in Japan. Fear was written all over her face.
”I am going to pick [up] my two children from the Child Development Centre,” she said in her Spanish accent. ”I feel so scared. My neighbors started shouting when our buildings started [shaking].”
For a moment, I felt it was a dream I was having or a book I was reading. Is this real?
My other friend Elisa’s house was closer. I managed to walk into her abode.
”What is this that happened few minutes ago?” I asked her. “I feel so scared.”
She carried fear, shock and anxiety in her eyes as well.
”I saw our television shaking, and our bulbs threatened to fall,” said Elisa, a mother of two children. “I was torn between either going out or staying inside. I am scared for my children. I have been in Japan for the past three years, but this is the first time I am experiencing this.”
It was not long before Miho, my 36-year-old Japanese friend, called to check on me.
”I was so scared at that moment,” Miho said. ”I was home alone with my two boys. I was actually preparing to go to the office when our building started shaking. Only God knows what will have happened to my 7- and 2-year-old boys if this happened in my absence. We have been told that another one will come again, a bigger one.”
The aftermath
The next few days were filled with fright, worry and a growing uncertainty as news of the number of dead and missing residents in Miyagi was announced on television. Many more were yet to be accounted for, the reporters said. The nuclear plant was also melting, and reactions were being detected.
At the Sagamino train station, where I tried to take a train to Tokyo, I saw a number of people standing and looking desperate. It was 5 a.m.
”Sotestu Line is not working today,” a station employee announced.
I read the anguish and disappointment in the eyes of my fellow stranded comrades.
”I had to be in Tokyo – what do I do?’ I asked myself.
We finally decided to drive to Tokyo. There was so much traffic. A journey that usually takes about an hour and a half took four hours.
As if the transportation challenge was not enough, there were reports of a shortage of food, gas and basic amenities as many people starting buying and hoarding food. At some shops and stores in Tokyo and Atsugi, there were long queues and prices of items had shot up overnight.
It was somewhat of a relief when it was announced that dependents of diplomats should be evacuated. Amidst shock and fret, I started to pack.
*Gifty Pearl was evacuated to the United States with her husband. She is staying in Ohio until they can return to Japan.
