'How does this local unstable situation affect the youth?' - 'I can't answer that - I am a Government servant'. The question was from one of my north European colleagues from Caritas asking questions of the Grama Sevaka (GS), the village level civil servant who the government in every Sri Lankan village. He was briefing us in his cramped office following a slightly delay entrance outside when the armed police post, just next to his temporary office, had shown some concern at our unexpected visit.
We were a group of about 13 people, both international staff from Caritas agencies around the world who had supported the massive Caritas Sri Lanka Tsunami response, together with two local Bishops and diocesan staff. The place was a camp of families displaced by the current conflict in Muttur, Eastern Sri Lanka. This coastal area had been badly affected by the 2004 Tsunami but has also an area of constant civil conflict being home to members of the Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist communities of Sri Lanka, a country riven by a long ethnic conflict. Many families in this camp had gone through their 3rd displacement in a decade, due to both human and man made disasters, and more often than not each time losing much of their processions. Our local Caritas staff wanted us to see the living conditions and hear the experiences of those suffering the impact of the prolonged civil conflict here.
"These families cannot go home despite the success the Government of Sri Lanka security forces have had in clearing Tamil Tigers from this area" said the GS, "their homes are now in a designated security area". I was reminded of the people displaced in Jaffna from the area around the Air Force Base, Palalai, and 10 years on are still living in temporary shelters while their houses and villages fall into ruins and return to jungle. 'The roads in this region make traveling slow and although the local hospital is only 10 kilometers away on rough poorly surfaced roads with limited vehicles available it might have been 100 kilometers.
We moved from a camp of about 300 families, in temporary shelters, stiflingly hot sheet corrugated sheds provided by UNHCR, to one further down the road where people were in a transition camp. They had fled during shelling of their village earlier this year and are now waiting to move back to their homes and seeking assistance to re-start their livelihoods. Each 50 meters a full combat soldier stands sentinel, machine gun held in a position of readiness; a marked reminder that the region is still unstable and people justifiably live in fear of renewed conflict.
'We just need help with our livelihoods, we need to get our produce to market, we need rice, we need transport' were the words we heard from family to family as we moved around Mutur in the hot sun but with storm clouds gathering. We were accompanied by a team of local Caritas psycho social workers who'd been receiving training to give what help and comfort they could. This region, devastated by months of shelling is slow showing signs of recovery but the population has experienced multiple shocks and the constant instability has been one of the key contributing factors holding up the Tsunami rebuilding process.
The next day was the formal 3rd anniversary of the terrible Tsunami which had caused so much devastation in this Eastern Province of Sri Lanka. All the international visitors and national staff and Bishops gathered in a temporary corrugated sheet hall, a stone plaque commemorating all those who had died in the few minutes of that destructive wave. Once assembled and Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist blessings had been preformed the clouds grew overcast again and I was reminded of the gospel story of the moment of the death of Christ. Then the heavens opened torrential monsoon rain drowned out the singing and speeches. In my row we could remained seated but the dignitaries sitting in front quickly found their feet in inches of seeping water.
We were to be the guests at the handing over of keys to the new houses of about 80 families. The whole new settlement was a Government owned plot, on an exposed hill, 3 kilometers inland from the sea. The fisherman who'll occupy the new homes Caritas has helped them construct here, will have a distance to travel to their boats, still the main source of their livelihood. 'I hope these houses are well above the ground' I thought as we wondered through the remaining drizzle, in small groups to each house to join with the families in cutting ribbons stretched across their humble thresholds. The local Caritas in Trincomalee has had a clear strategy of involving maximum participation from the families who are now to finally occupy their own homes. Their constant participation in the construction process has helped ensure a good quality building and one now in which they feel a proud ownership.
The house I approached in the rain was that of a family of five. Mr Therasundarajah, a fisherman, and his wife brought biscuits and a banana as I entered the house with my small entourage of children who seemed to be unaffected by the rain and needed no invitation to enter this new home. This seemed to be a strong sign that a real community spirit exists here. A community cemented and strengthened in the face of adversity. The family's three young children proudly stood with their parents for a picture but our attempts at any communication were stymied, food offerings being our only common language, and I learnt little about their future plans.
Then the police and military forces, who'd been providing the security needed for this big public event, started to move towards their vehicles. Earlier they been prodding around in the under growth to ensure there were no claymore land mines or other devices that so frequently seem to shatter the fragile peace in this region. We took the hint and moved to our mini-buses to start the long 8 hour drive back to the capital city of Colombo. We left 80 families starting to make the new houses their own and building new lives. 500 families have so far worked with Caritas in Trincomalee building their own houses but many more remain in temporary shelter awaiting their chance for a new home.
My last memory of the day were of the final words of the Grama Sevaka, we'd met the previous day in the temporary camp. 'I apologies on behalf of my people' he said 'for the discomfort you might have felt at the suspicion shown by the police post on your arrival'. Apparently the police had not known this group of international visitors were coming to see the conditions of the camp. 'Please when you get back to your countries please tell the needful'.
A rather enigmatic request but given the context, with armed guards within hearing, something of a cry for help.
