Hostel life in a SriLankan Village
Welcome to Periyaneelavanai, SriLanka. SriLanka, sometimes called the teardrop of India, is a country that’s been through a lot of pain and suffering. From 500 years of colonization, first by the Portuguese, then the Dutch, and then by the British people, the country has seen it’s fair share of oppression, domination and subjugation. When the British left SriLanka, they also left a unique power dynamic between the Tamil and Singhalese people that led to a brutal 30 year civil war that only ended in 2009 with over 100,000 deaths. The country faced a tsunami a day after Christmas in 2004 that killed 35,000 people and left 900,000 homeless. It’s now been 70 years since Independence and almost 10 years since the war ended but the wounds are deep and healing is slow.
I used to spell it Sri-Lanka but one of the girls told me that it’s not the SriLankan way, so SriLanka it is. It’s a small village, with the closest city being Batticaloa. I’m currently at a girl’s hostel that takes in children that come to the home as wards of the state. Most of them either have a mother or father, but generally not both. In some cases its a grandmother or uncle, and a few of them have no relatives to care for them or go home to.
It’s better that they’re here at the hostel than at home because here, they can go to school, they’re provided three fresh meals a day and they’re provided the structure they need to succeed in the real world. There’s also funding provided through overseas donations from the diaspora for their university education if they so choose to pursue a profession such as doctor, teacher or lawyer. If they don’t choose to go that route, then they can go to VTC, which is a vocational training centre where they can learn to sew, cook or another skilled trade.
I came with the expectation that I would be teaching English, with very little knowledge of anything else. I didn’t know the address, I didn’t know if I’d have to find my own food or if it would be provided, I didn’t know where I would sleep and I certainly didn’t know if I’d have a squatty-potty or a toilet. I did however arrive at the beginning of January to see a toilet in my room, for which I was very grateful.
The First Three Weeks
In the first three weeks I spent a lot of time building relationships, learning the system and planning my teaching schedule with one of the girls, Nisha. I also spent time brushing up on my Tamil, which I didn’t realize was hidden somewhere in my brain. Nisha is the only person here who speaks English well enough to communicate with me, so a lot of my time is spent fumbling through my Tamil vocabulary to get my point across. I’ve learned the most important words to know in Tamil when teaching English are ‘focus, try, practice, and future.’ Oh and also ‘Why are you laughing?’ I could not get them to stop laughing at having to pronounce vowels for the first little while. I’m not particularly adept at art or music so I teach the girls English, which is a necessity for their university education. The youngest is 8 and the oldest is 18. They still have a British school system here because of SriLanka’s colonial roots so there are 3 girls that are waiting for their O/L (Ordinary Level) results that are at the home during the day which is when I teach them English grammar and computer literacy. There are approximately 4 A/L (Advanced Level) girls who have class for an hour from Monday to Friday. I teach the grade 3–8 and 9–11 girls on the weekends.
First Impressions
When I initially came, I was shocked at how old everything was. I felt like I had stepped into the 1950’s. True to the hostel name, there are shared squatty potties and showers. I kept wondering where the soap was to wash their hands, why the garbage bin was so old, why they dumped garbage straight into the bin and not a plastic bag, and where they put all their books, clothes and shoes when they didn’t seem to have their own personal space. I kept comparing all their possessions and living arrangements to my standards of living and felt saddened that they had to share a single bed and that they only had three small cupboards to keep all their belongings.
The Girl’s Schedule
Their schedule is intense in a way that I don’t think I would have been prepared for if I was told beforehand. They wake up at 4 am on weekdays, 4:30–5 a.m on weekends. They have tea, then they have prayer for approximately half an hour. After that they have duties, which includes mopping the floor, sweeping the rooms, sweeping the yard, cleaning the bathroom, sometimes making meals, sweeping the sand, washing their clothes and uniforms, gardening, chopping wood, feeding the chickens, letting the chickens out, burning garbage, and whatever else comes up.
They then somehow manage to look spectacularly dressed despite the fact that they have 5 showers and 2 mirrors for 21 girls by 6:30am. They eat breakfast, and get ready for the bus by 7:00 or earlier. If they miss their school bus, they jump on a normal bus. Dora, who’s only 12, takes the bus on her own which scares me to no end. Another one of the girls, Elisha, who’s 8, walks home from school on her own because she goes to a different school than Dora. Their bags weigh as much as they do but somehow they manage. They get home from school at about 2:00pm. Each person has their own plate and they take turns serving lunch for everyone. They nap for about half an hour if they’re able to, but they usually have class from 3:00- 5:00, either Math or Science. Now that I’m here, they also have English class which adds more to their already busy schedule. They have tea at about 5:00pm and then they have more chores, prayer at 6:00pm, then study for an hour, dinner and then study for another hour and then they go to bed by about 10, but sometimes quite a bit later depending on how much homework they have. They sleep two to a single bed and then they do it all again the next day.
The Girl’s Personality
In the Canadian sphere, we’re inundated with so many stories of hardship it can be hard to know where to start to help. But sometimes even starting with one child and one problem makes a difference. The girls are so unique, so interesting and so talented in their own ways. Nisha, my English helper and keeper of my sanity is so musically talented. She hopes to travel abroad, see pandas and discover the world. She speaks Sinhala, Tamil and English. Her level of grit, resilience and organization is one that every parent hopes for in their teenager. Dhuniya is only twelve but her writing crosses over into art. She draws beautifully, she plays the drums (Tamil drums) with a fine tuned ear, she runs faster than anybody I’ve seen and she’s so diligent that it inspires me to work harder. Shreya is not only artistically talented, but she can play the drums, play sports, cook, chop wood and does it all effortlessly. Seeing the level of talent and ability these girls have, I can’t help but wonder where they would be if they were brought up in a different place and time. It makes me acutely aware of the privileges I’ve received because of my Canadian passport and my Canadian accent.
Weeks 3–6
In these three weeks, I could see that the situation wasn’t ideal, but I assumed that’s ‘just how it was’. I didn’t want to upset the system because I assumed that there were parts of the system that I didn’t understand. But I spent a few days away (time away generally brings clarity) and I realized that in fact I do have the ability to effect change in whatever small ways possible. I know coping mechanisms and conflict resolution techniques, goal setting, and emotional management techniques that the warden and children here haven’t been given the opportunity to learn. So I’ve shifted my focus from teaching English to giving them the skills they need to be able to cope with an unforgiving environment. I decided in the 3rd week that in order to really understand their concerns I would have to live how they live, so I shifted from sleeping in my room to their hostel. I wake up at 4am with them, which actually isn’t so bad if you have 21 other girls doing it with you. I go to morning prayer. I eat with them, organize their cupboards with them, teach them first aid skills, dental and personal hygiene, teach them what it means to respect others and be respected, and what seems to be most important to the little ones- giving them high fives and hugs.
Canadian Life
While I’m here in this little SriLankan village, I’m still very much connected to life in Canada, maybe more so thanks to social media. I think my phone has officially become a fifth limb. As I alternate my thoughts between hostel life and inboxes, Twitter, and LinkedIn, it’s quite clear how mentally stressful life can be for a lot of people in Canada. While here in SriLanka, the stress is environmental — constant noise, garbage on the streets, music on the buses, it’s a different kind of mental stress in Canada. It’s an overwhelming pressure to keep working, to create output, to be efficient, and to be constantly knowledgeable. It’s a working environment that requires that you’re completely committed to the job in order to be promoted that is then supplemented with beer and ping pong tables that’s supposed to make you feel less stressed. Which, on a side note is neither inclusive or thoughtful. There are a lot of people that don’t drink and providing non alcoholic drinks is a big part of inclusivity.
It’s a cognitive overload of the mind that requires you to keep up with mortgages, cryptocurrencies and the latest of everything. It’s a silent but real bombardment of messages that want you to buy and subscribe to every service available. It’s the pressure to keep up with the latest news, to take care of the kids, to plan your career, to ‘level up’, to be somebody amazing, to work out, to cook healthy meals, to look great, to stop yourself from aging, and then to do all of this while being happy, because God forbid you should feel this pressure to be overwhelming.
So What Now?
So what makes me sad now isn’t that their things are old or that they have to work extremely hard just to have the normalcy of life that we take for granted. What makes me sad is that they don’t get the care and concern that I would give my nieces or nephews if they so much as got a scratch. That at 16 and 18, they’re taking care of the other little ones that are 8 and 12 when they themselves are just teenagers and trying to figure out their own lives. What makes me sad is that their opportunities are limited because they don’t know the colonial language of English that’s taken over the world. What makes me sad is that in another lifetime, in a Canadian school system with a loving family, they would be in a completely different place and have a much wider range of expression to be who they are. As EducateLanka’s mantra goes — talent is universal, opportunity is not.
But with very little, you can do so much here in SriLanka and that gives me just a glimmer of hope.
If you’d like to see glimpses of their lives, feel free to follow along on Instagram. If you’d like to help with their schooling or daily necessities like clothes, soap, uniforms, shoes, general expenditures, or come visit to see for yourself or volunteer, please leave a private comment and I’ll be sure to get in touch.
