Living it up in Sri Lanka

Rain falls all day, every day. Our place is freezing. Our roof leaks and the power shuts off repeatedly. The linen we purchased reeks of mildew. The few warm clothes we have are wet and won't dry; things hung a week ago to dry are still just as wet as the day we hung them.

 

We purchased long mackintosh coats and ugly rain proof pants in an attempt to keep us dry on our motor scooter. Red mud rivulets threaten the stability of muddy side roads and the plants growing alongside the road dig in their root hairs to avoid being washed away. Storm drains run full and swift. I wear a sweater, a fleece, sometimes a rain coat, and wool socks in the house and we have two heavy comforters on our bed. I sleep in Bill's merino wool t-shirt to keep warm at night. Bill is just as cold and is no longer a toaster in bed.

 

There is precious little to do here in Nuwara Eliya when it is raining. There are no movie theatres and no hangouts like a lively pub. Restaurants are tiny hole- in- the- wall places that are serviceable for grub, but provide no atmosphere. Hiking is treacherous. Although Nuwara Eliya is a tourist destination place, smart tourists avoid the place until April. In February, Nuwara Eliya is reminiscent of a winter at the Shuswap: dark, wet, cold and dreary. The psychiatrist I work with cleverly called the weather "atypical" (a little joke for those trained in psychiatry).

 

Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to ask for DVD's for Christmas from the kids. We are drilling through the stack of movies at an alarming rate, but as it is, we go to bed at 9:00 pm. We retire to get warm, because the power might be out and most difficult to endure –we retire early because we have no family or pals here.

 

I complain, but bright sides do exist. Despite the rain, I love bombing to work on my little scooter. Believing I am incognito in motorcycle helmet, rain gear and all, I am unaware that my white shiny face beams at everyone and it therefore surprises me when people laugh at the Sudu Noona (white woman) or call out, "Hello!" If Bill needs the scooter, he chauffeurs me to work and picks me up at the hospital. However, he often has errands in town that limit what he can stow on the scooter and with it being so wet, he will usually take a trishaw. On the trishaw, he carts laundry baskets, groceries, linen, laundry bundles and today, a printer and heater.

 

The other bright side? My husband is a domestic! He is wonderful at cleaning, cooking, taking care of this and that and is doing a wonderful job. Despite this good and decent and honourable domestic work, he is feeling like he is not contributing. Why have we devalued domestic work? I'm not complaining when I return home from work from my cold, damp office at the hospital to a warm pot of saeraiy (tasty) stir-fry and rasneiy bat (hot rice). I loved being a domestic when the children were small and fancy a role reversal. Then, I could blog, read classic novels such as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, make films, cook lovely curries, scrub floors and plant flowers. Instead, I have to learn Sinhala, sit in a cold office, interview, research and think and analyze and think some more. It is quite stressful ... really! I don't want Bill to feel this stress; he is going to be 69 years of age this month and he has certainly put in his years of work. Supporting me to do volunteer development work is also a noble contribution.

 

Finally, the job is wonderful. I just have to remember, I don't have to accomplish it all overnight. If I don't hold the two year time frame up for perspective, I get quite overwhelmed. There are five wonderful doctors and two great nurses and I enjoy them all already. They are eager for change. I have collaborators in Canada supporting my work and providing me with materials and resources that I cannot get here. They too, are contributing to development work and making a difference in the world .

So, all is well here, really ... just sloshy.