My first spontaneous interaction with my Sri Lankan neighbours came on my second day in the country. I walked up the road to the East, past the IT Centre and Indrani’s shop and into the jungle. When I turned around, a group of locals called me over to the side of the road where they were decorating a large wooden cylindrical structure.

The group grew quickly as the men called for a daughter who spoke English well. ‘It’s a game for New Year called katuru onchillawa,’ she told me when she arrived. ‘You must come back on the 14th.’ I looked over the contraption trying to understand its purpose. Spokes protruded in 4 places to create 4 parallel wheels on a single hub, which were in turn quartered by four thick poles. The men were joining the middle two wheels in a circular ladder and tying long folded leaves to the rims.

When I walked past again the following day, the men were bending long pulpy wood segments to ring the central section. They held up some string on the quartering poles and I understood that these were to be seats. That would mean that the central section was a hamster wheel for someone to turn the whole system.

I missed the 14th because I was at the Kalutara festival, but I returned as soon as I could. The locals saw me and called for all the families from the area to come and join. Soon I was sitting in one of the seats along with 7 others and a thin man was running us around. He only lasted 5 minutes before needing a break, so I offered to have a turn. Then the hilarity began.

Here was a strange white man, taking the central role of the game, trying to run on the spot in a device designed for people with a much shorter stride. I began to lose my stride and imagined that if I stopped suddenly, centripetal force would send me over the top like a cartoon mouse. I’m guessing that I only lasted two minutes, urged on by cries of ‘Come on, come on!’, before I was flat on my face in a pool of sweat. The previous man then seemed like a marathon runner.

I’ve always possessed an enthusiastic nature and that includes my walking pace. It’s commonly noted among hikers that there are two types of people: the sprinters, who rush ahead for a few minutes then stop to rest, and the plodders, who continue at a slower pace but rarely need to rest. I was always the annoying third kind, who rushed along at a brisk pace, but rarely needed (or bothered) to rest.

My style doesn’t work well in the tropics. In walking around Colombo at 9am on my first day, I found myself dripping with sweat and had to remind myself to match pace with the locals. As in Bali and Borneo, Sri Lankan people maintain a relaxed style of walking, keeping to the shadows, in order to conserve energy.

I recall the lazy strokes of hotel staff in Bali as they swept the courtyard and my failure to understand, initially, that their pace allowed them to work all day without fatigue. Learning to match that pace had to be one of my first tasks if I was to enjoy my time in Sri Lanka.

For a while now, I’ve wanted to return to the simple life, breaking the addiction of sensory overload from computer, television and work, and relearning the enjoyment talking to people and watching the scenery. I started on that process on my first Sunday, spending the day sitting with another volunteer and his host, watching the monsoon-like rain fall on the pawpaw tree outside their house. I’ve tried to keep that feeling with me through the trip, but even standing in the shade is exhausting for me. Bring on the rain!

I’ve been told that Sri Lanka was in the Guiness Book of World Records for having the most holidays of any country. I can’t find the record, but with the number of days off I’ve enjoyed since my arrival, it wouldn’t surprise me. Then again, I did arrive just in time for New Year. Eventually, though, the IT Centre opened up and I began my volunteer work teaching basic computer skills to children from poor families. Today is my ninth day of ‘teaching’ so it’s time I described what I do.

The centre is on the floor above Indrani’s shop and she and Charley own the building. The permanent teacher, Kaushalya, arrives at about 9am each day to open up and plug in every device while the keener students sweep the floor. Lessons officially start at 10am, but since school runs from 7am until 1pm, only older kids attend the morning sessions.

Each student works through the course syllabus at their own pace and is allowed to surf the net, catch up on facebook and play games once they have completed their lesson. The syllabus was designed by previous volunteers and covers the components of a computer, how to explore the internet and the basics of Microsoft Office. There are 10 PCs available to the students, 5 of which are less than a year old and 5 of which have probably been here since the centre opened 10 years ago.

The afternoon class, which runs from 2:30pm to 4:30pm is predominantly younger children and so the syllabus has more focus on the basics of using the keyboard and the mouse through activities such as drawing patterns in MS Paint. Some of the kids are extraordinarily talented at drawing even with a mouse.

The kids would rather go to Kaushalya than have to struggle with English by asking me, but they will come to have their work checked since I can basically tick the correct answers and say ‘hari hari.’ OK, OK. When I do see them struggling or working on a misconfigured system (incorrect screen resolution), I try to show them how to correct the problem. Most will respectfully try to follow my directions, even if they don’t understand them, but a few seem determined to either ignore my suggestions or to contradict them. Kaushalya is always on hand to translate and support me, just as she’s available to help when I come up against a task I don’t know how to perform in Windows.

Although Linux would be perfect for a developing country like Sri Lanka, where people and companies could get more out of old computers without the licensing costs associated with Windows, most people choose the simplicity of buying computers with Windows already installed or install their own pirated copies. In case some of the students have a higher level of interest in computers, I’m preparing a demonstration of how Ubuntu (my preferred version of Linux) can do everything Windows can, often more easily. I’ll leave 3 USB sticks with Ubuntu installed so future volunteers can provide the same lesson after I leave.

At the end of each lesson, the students get on the floor and touch the feet of the teacher to ask for her blessing. Some do the same for me. It’s a custom that shows respect and recognises the role the teacher provides in improving their chance of a better life. In response we touch them on the head or shoulder as both acknowledgement and blessing.

Robin, my Bhutanese friend who ran the rock climbing group, passed away last week. He didn’t seem the type to have email let alone facebook (in fact he did) so I haven’t exchanged a word directly with him since I left. My decision to leave came suddenly so I don’t recall even saying goodbye. I wrote the following brief tribute to be included in a book some friends are making in his honour.

Robin, I remember you best from Sundays at The Nose. You welcomed me into the climbing group and taught me how to lead climb. I saw you do the same for countless others, including the Fire Fighting team. You understood our fears and our capabilities and you combined your sense of humour with a touch of drill sergeant to encourage the best in all of us. You were generous. You were a friend. You were inspirational. You were the best of the Bhutanese spirit. I’m sad to know that I’ll never be able to fulfil my promise to bring you Tasmanian fishing lures. May you find all the adventure you seek in your next life.

Apparently out of a desire to obtain a good rating for his hotel on my first morning in Sri Lanka, one of the staff pointed out the traditional dress in a wall painting, then brought a bed sheet to show me how to tie a sarong so that I could do it myself when I bought one. He seemed to think that I was very likely to do so, and I thought wearing the local costume to work would be a cheap, comfortable and respectful alternative to wearing stuffy trousers every day. Unfortunately, the size of the sheet caused problems, requiring more folding, tucking and adjusting than usual and he got a bit personal a few times much to our mutual embarrassment. A sarong is definitely an item of clothing to don without assistance.

With a few hours to kill before Charley came to collect me, I decided to go off in search of a sarong along the main street as directed by the kindly waiter (who told me not to pay more than 300 Rupee – about A$2.50), but found mostly electronic shops. The closest I came to any store selling sarongs were a couple of boutiques displaying sari-like dresses. Looking at the other pedestrians, I decided that I was probably better off without the sarong anyway. In over an hour of walking, I only saw one man wearing a sarong and he was probably the oldest person I saw. All the younger men wore western style trousers and collared shirts with either leather shoes or thongs.

When Charley picked me up, he explained that a sarong was perfect for New Year and generally relaxing at home, but not appropriate for wearing to work. We planned to stop to buy one on the way home, but that’s not what happened. Instead on a TV at our first stop, the bank, the local news reader explained that Sri Lanka was on tsunami watch after an earthquake off the coast of Indonesia. We raced home to switch on CNN and watched the coverage until well after the shops had closed, thankfully not having to move to rare high ground.

On New Years Day, my third in Sri Lanka, Charley and his wife Indrani appeared carrying a piece of cloth. “We’ve found a sarong for you.” Unlike Indonesian sarongs, though, it couldn’t simply be wrapped around and tied. A Sri Lankan sarong, as I found out, is sewn down the side to make a tube so as to avoid exposing a leg if it comes loose. As Indrani was so busy between her shop and the housework as well as the demands of New Year, I didn’t receive the sarong until the Volunteers’ outreach day, 2 weeks later, when she made it so I could wear it after getting out of the pool. Now, I am grateful for its cool covering every evening after returning from the IT Centre.

I heard a story about a medical volunteer who wanted to work in particular department of the hospital she was in. The director of that department was happy to have her there, but began asking questions about why she was there, with which organisation, how much she paid etc. Eventually he began asking where the funds she paid went and why he wasn’t seeing any of them when it was costing him to have her there.

Whether or not the story is true, I take a few points from it. Firstly, that the money we bring is (perceived to be) of more use than our time or skills and may be more use in the short term. Since most volunteers only come for a few months, most of us lack the training required to be productive and we are actually a drain on our supervisors. In my case, I have many years of IT experience and understand computers better than the paid teacher, but my inability to explain concepts in Sinhala hinders my ability to help the students.

Most of the medical volunteers are students who don’t have the experience or qualifications to assist directly in their work and basically attend to accrue hours for their course. I would prefer to provide aid through my time and skills than my money, but I have to recognise my limitations and choose ways beyond the existing courses. The students at my IT Centre are exclusively taught Windows and MS Office so I can contribute by creating a lesson or two on Ubuntu for the more technically inclined students.

The second point I take from the story is that funding needs to be communicated clearly. My induction package contained a clear illustration of where my fees are being used – partially to pay salaries of Projects Abroad staff, but largely to support the IT Centre. This service can’t continue without maintenance and replacement of the computers, rent on the property or paying the teacher’s salary.

Thirdly, it’s clear that since our money is the main contribution, our presence here is mainly for our own benefit. I get to live a Sri Lankan lifestyle for the duration of my time here. I have a family to support me, a job to go to and people to share all the activities of Sri Lankan daily life with. I’ve already done so much and I will find more ways to contribute, if only to a few.

Charley had me up at 5:30 on the 14th of April to attend the festival at Kalutara – the one we’d seen on TV the day before. The first event of the day was a marathon and some fifty local runners were lining up to register for the race. Before they could be given approval to participate, each runner underwent a blood pressure and stethoscope test conducted by a local doctor using equipment provided by Projects Abroad.

I took some photos of the professionals at work, then wandered around the area checking out the greasy pole and balancing pole games I had seen on TV yesterday. My excitement was less than it would have been with competitors, but I could admire the skill of anyone who managed to complete either task.

As soon as the marathon was underway, the doctors shared their breakfast of string hoppers and dhal with us and began preparation for the main work of the day – providing a free diabetes clinic for the public. About 20% of Sri Lankans have diabetes and anyone found with the condition was passed to a nurse who explained the problem and how to deal with it. The nurse regularly pointed to a large selection of fruit on the table as an example of a healthy diet.

I asked Charley if he’d been tested. ‘No, no,’ he said with a belly laugh. ‘I don’t want to know.’ Charley does have a decent girth, but he eats as well as I do, mostly partaking of fresh fruit and vegetables grown in his own garden, so I can’t imagine he’d have a problem.

While distracted with the medical camp, I missed the finish of the marathon and the entire bike race. The Pillow Fight game was still running so I went over to watch boys try to knock each other from where they sat astride a smooth log. In each case the winner lost his seat only seconds after his opponent so I am still unsure how much skill is involved. Nearby, children learnt about tooth decay by throwing darts at germs on a giant tooth.

I spied a young man dressed in an amazing silvery outfit coming out of a tent beside the medical checks. I asked if I could take a photo and he ran back inside, then brought a fellow dancer outside to practise where I could take pictures of them. Later, they joined their female counterparts and put on a show. I’m sure I missed much more, but the heat of the sun forced me back to the shade of the medical camp to rest.

I began my trip to Sri Lanka early so I could experience the New Year celebrations. I had no idea what to expect and was surprised by the way events occurred. As in many Asian countries, there were fireworks, temples and blessings, but done with a precision that no one could explain to me.

My hosts began bustling around outside on the morning of the 13th of April, which I assumed was in preparation for the celebrations and perhaps visitors. I went to join them and found Charley at the fish pond. When pressed to let me do something to help, he asked me to fill a garbage bin with water while he caught the fish and transferred them. The pond then needed a scrub and I was set to painting the surrounding walls with something that I assume reduced mould. We didn’t end up having visitors that day, so it may not have been a special New Year clean after all.

Charley then invited me to make a trip to a not-so-local temple. Normally the visit would occur after 2pm, in the lead up to the actual New Year, but the monks had asked him to donate some money for supplies needed that afternoon. While Charley went to meet the monks, a boy from the attached orphanage grabbed my hand and took me to the dormitory where his friends were playing Carom. In this game remeniscent of Pool played at a card table, a ‘cue disc’ is flicked at other discs in an attempt to push them into corner pockets. They tried to explain it to me, but in the end I just watched the younger ones showing off their karate moves.

Back home, I was dozing under the ceiling fan in my room when a car backfired outside the house, startling me. When a similar bang came from the jungle at the back of the house, I thought it sounded like gunfire or bombs being dropped. Then I noticed that the explosions had begun at exactly 1pm and realised that it must be the sounds of fire crackers. Outside, I found the street full of people lighting short white sticks and throwing them carelessly into the street.

When I came back inside, Indrani was carrying a sheet of corrugated iron, which she laid on the dining room floor. ‘For a fire tonight,’ she told me. Charley called me over to the TV to see some traditional games being played at a festival in Kaluthura. ‘That’s where we’re going tomorrow.’ I watched men try to walk out on a springy tree trunk, hanging over the water, to collect a flag at the end. None made it. Nor did any manage to climb the greasy pole to the flag at the top. I didn’t really understand what was expected of me the following day, but it was sure to be interesting.

At 7:42pm, the fire was lit under a pot containing coconut milk. Smoke soon filled the living area, only slowly filtering out through the slits in the wall. As far as I can tell, 7:42pm began the new year. Why that time? Was the smoke to purify the house? My hosts couldn’t answer my questions. My supervisor at work has since said that the time is chosen by concensus among astrologers in the country as the most auspicious time for the people.

I had to wait until 10:30 to eat dinner and found myself being hand fed some milk rice with chilli sauce on the way to the table, which is apparently a tradition. Aside from the chilli, dinner consisted of sweet pastries and chocolate cake. For the first time, I shared dinner with another member of the household, which made the day even more special.

And after an early start and a full day, Indrani returned to her shop in the evening because her customers wanted to exchange goods / blessings with her in thanks for service / patronage over the past year. She was apparently out until midnight, by which time I was sound asleep.

Anthropologists often find themselves unable to do any qualitative work when they first visit a new ‘tribe’. While they learn the new language and create bonds with their research subjects, they focus on quantitative tasks such as kinship charts and drawing the layout of the village.

So many people in Sri Lanka speak English that I’m not so lost, but I find myself with a number of incomplete story threads and I’m loathe to post partial stories – especially since it may turn out that my understanding of events is entirely wrong. In the meantime, I’ll fall back to the simpler task of introducing my host family and home.

Charley (Singhala name unknown) and Indrani live in the small town of Wadduwa on the south west coast of Sri Lanka with their son Danushka and Indrani’s mother (name unknown). After a few years of working in Sri Lanka, Charley moved to Saudi Arabia and stayed there for 13 years. Indrani joined him part-way through but didn’t like it much and returned to Sri Lanka after 3 years. Given that Danushka is 18 years old and their wedding photo on the mantle piece is in sepia, I’m assuming that they married before Charley left and that they’re in their late forties.

Charley now works for Projects Abroad as the hosting coordinator, where he arranges host families and work placements for incoming volunteers. The IT Centre where I will be teaching is located above Indrani’s corner store about one kilometre from their house and is one of Charley’s initiatives to provide a better future for the poorer children in the area.

The house is probably indicative of the wealthier class and backs onto the jungle, where they grow pawpaw and other fruits. It has 5 small bedrooms each with mosquito nets and ceiling fans as well as a privacy curtain (which allows air flow) and a door. The main living area is open to the outside through slits in one wall. This is the only light area in the house as only dim flourescent bulbs are used. As is typical in Indian restaurants, a basin sits in the corner of the dining area for the convenience of washing hands before and after eating. The water is pumped up from a well to a tank on the roof and is drinkable.

Produce for the shop is brought down from the capital, but Charley also has a ‘garden’ in the jungle a few kilometres from home where he grows fruit and vegetables which he then shares with family and friends.

I don’t interact with them much – I’ve never even seen Indrani or Danushka eat – but it’s clear from all the trophies around the living area that Danushka is quite a cricketer. I’m sure I’ll have more insights as I get to know this family over the next 6 weeks.

I’m feeling nervous and excited today. In a few more hours I’ll be on a plane to Sri Lanka for 6 weeks of volunteer work. I’ve done very little in the way of research on the country since a school project in 5th grade (1982) and I had even forgotten what the flag looked like.

I prefer not knowing much about my destination when I travel so I don’t have any expectations. Even a wonderful place can be disappointing if it isn’t quite what we imagine. This effect is similar to the second noble truth of Buddhism which states that desire is the root of all suffering. John Powers explains this as ‘we want things to be different from what they are, and as a result we are disappointed.’

I do feel, however, that it is important to respect your hosts when travelling so I always try to learn a few words of the local language before I arrive – even if the locals mostly speak English. Apparently ‘hello’ in Sinhala is ‘ayubuvan‘, though they also say ‘halo‘, and ‘thank you’ is ‘istuti.’

I have also checked the safety rating of Sri Lanka. Normally I’m not worried by these ratings, and find that because I tend to stick to one neighbourhood, danger is minimal. However, my parents recently had to deal with fear for my brother when he decided to backpack into Afghanistan and I don’t think they would forgive me for making them live through that again. So, I have discovered that the kidnappings and other problems of recent times are located in the north while I’ll be living in Wadduwa in the south. Nothing to worry about.

I’ll spend my days teaching kids how to use computers. Beyond that I know little, but I’m looking forward to being part of their lives over the next 6 weeks, and of course I’ll be sharing my experiences here.