I had just transited through Colombo for 5 days on my way back from East Timor to London. I'd called by to clear up a few things, sell the car, and say my goodbyes. My last engagement with CAFOD as their Sri Lanka 'Accompanier' was to help host the Asia Accompaniers meeting then I'd flown off to East Timor for a short assignment
I'd left the hotel in Negombo early morning in plenty of time for my Emirates flight back to London. An untroubled drive to the airport but my baggage felt like my home, including the kitchen sink. Having got out of the taxi I headed for the x ray machines marking the enterance to the passenger departures hall. Only then I realised, with a grim horror, that I'd left my backpack, ticket and passport inside, on the back seat of the taxi. That was now disappearing back along the airport road.
A moment of panic! No mobile, no laptop, no travel documents, what to do? I decided to go into the airport and see if there was a help centre. There was a phone and internet shop. I logged into a machine and quickly found the hotel details, jotting them down and dashed to the phones to call the hotel and ask that the taxi return. Thankfully the phone was quickly answered and I returned to the departures dropping point to await its return.
It was now 8.30am and my flight was 10am. The 2 hours period you're asked to keep for check-in was quickly being eaten into. I stood on the kerbside watching tourist buses arriving and disgorging sun bleached holiday makers, but no familiar taxi, just many cars looking similar.
At 8.45 I went to seek the assistance of the information desk, 'What's the number of the hotel?' Damn I had left the scrap of paper at the phone shop. They tried calling directory enquiries to track the hotel to see if the taxi was on its way. Time ticked by and I was regretting bitterly wearing the pale summer jacket to greet the cooler weather in the UK.
There seemed to be no progress from the information centre. They took their time looking things up and then, seemingly forgetting my urgency, dealt with other enquiries. Still no sign of the returning taxi. I decided to return inside the departure lounge and call the hotel again. It was now 8.50 and we were getting near that 'one-hour-before' threshold beyond which few airlines allow check-in.
I went through the Xray check-in once again. Dashed, the heavy luggage killing my back, to the phone kiosk. They had the scrap of paper, on which I had jotted the hotel's number, in their garbage can. Swiftly retrieved I called the hotel only to find the taxi driver was on the phone to them saying he couldn't find me at the departure drop off. I had left just as he'd arrived. I fled back, dumped my heavy luggage with an understanding airport security and went back outside. I could see the taxi driver, waving at the end of the drop-off area. It was now 9am.
I fumbled looking for some cash to pay a small reward to the taxi driver but all was spent. I thanked him profusely, grabbed the bag and fled back to the Xray check for the 3rd time. I swerved to avoid elderly passengers and children as I dashed through the crowds looking for the Emirates check-in. Of course it had to be at the furthest point from the entrance as it was possible to be. Luckily others were still waiting in the check in queue, I wasn't the only late passenger.
Check-in was quick but passport control wasn't. I stood in a queue of 20 and when I was 3 away from the passport control officer he closed the counter and asked my queue to join the neighbouring one. Now 30mins to take-off.
Finally an Emirates ground staff came hunting the stragglers and escorted the few of us at the passport control to Gate 8 where the flight was embarking. I had checked-in on-line the night before so knew my seat. 8A was one with leg room, a comfortable 6 hour flight awaited me and I could calm down now, the trauma and near miss of my final flight out of Sri Lanka, was almost behind me.
I got on board and found an elderly guy, his daughter and a rather stressed grand-daughter sitting in the two seats in before my window seat. Not the exit seat the diagram on the web page had indicated. The elderly gentleman offered suggested the three of them move one seat over, if I didn't mind foregoing my window seat. That was fine by me. So comfortably seated, my jacket taken by the flight crew and hung up, I sat and waited while the final passengers came on board. The small babe started getting more agitated and her feeding bottle proved no pacifier, the decibels increased and the mother got more agitated.
I turned to the window to smile at the baby to see if a comforting look might help make the strange environment a little less threatening. I noticed an alarmed look on the young mothers face. She was struggling to squirt an aerosol into the mouth of her father seated next to me. He couldn't open his mouth and was struggling to breath. An asthma attack may be? As the panic increased cabin crew came to assist and I quickly vacated my seat to make way for a first aid crew. As I stood in the galley area the panic increased and more staff rushed to the scene and an urgent call ' If there is a doctor on board could they make themselves known to the crew'. I could hear a rhythmic shout as a stewardess called out 'one, two, three, four, five, six....' she was thumping on passenger's chest , trying to keep him alive as an ambulance was called.
The captain announced, 'Ladies and gentlemen I am sorry for the slight delay due to a passenger on board being taken ill'. A masterly under statement. Sadly I fear the poor man was a unlikely to survive. He, his distraught daughter and a screaming infant were huddled quickly into the special ambulance vehicle raised to the exit door on the opposite side of the air craft.
My drama leaving my shoulder bag in the taxi was forgotten and my thoughts were now for that family dashing to hospital, their holiday or long awaited visit to relatives overseas, horribly ended.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Amazing what you find when clearing out
One day to go before the shipping company arrives to clear much of my stuff. Sorting through, throwing out and transferring stuff to Mahinda who replaces me here in Sri Lanka, I found this! A pic of me in my last few years at school. Not sure exactly what year but my how we change!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
An Interesting Article Stimulated by the Ache Link
There's something rather strange about hearing "Frosty the Snowman" belting out on a loudspeaker when it's 90 degrees outside, or seeing a skinny Santa dancing to the tune of Baila (local Sinhalese music) at one of Colombo's shopping centres.
Over Christmas, TV and radio stations played Daniel O'Donnell Christmas classics or Boney M's "Mary's Boy Child". Hotels were festooned with elaborate decorations; some of the largest resembling Santa's grotto. One of the most romantic festive images was the lights glimmering in the trees beside the majestic Galle fort as the sun set over the Indian Ocean. MORE
Over Christmas, TV and radio stations played Daniel O'Donnell Christmas classics or Boney M's "Mary's Boy Child". Hotels were festooned with elaborate decorations; some of the largest resembling Santa's grotto. One of the most romantic festive images was the lights glimmering in the trees beside the majestic Galle fort as the sun set over the Indian Ocean. MORE
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Somebody took me to the Forum
Wow! Well an interesting evening! Rather shrouded by thunderous unseasonal monsoon rain but going to the theater this evening with Francesca was quite an experience.
The scene on stage was a family home. A teenage girl comes home upset after being threatened by a group of boys standing on the street corner. She is Hindu Tamil and they are Buddhist Sinhalese lads. Their threatening behavior has been building over the months now they have stopped her on the way to classes and tried to examine her shoulder bag saying she might be a suicide bomber. (a better account than mien cn be read here)
Of course the wider reality is that this type of scene is happening daily in Sri Lanka. With terrorism being exercised by all sides in a long and bitter civil conflict it is surprising that more inter-communal violence doesn't take place. But this drama is based on a true story and we the audience, after the first scene, and in the tradition of Brazilian dramatist, Augusto Boal's 'theater of the oppressed', are asked to think of what should happen next.
Mohan, the Tamil Father, is castigated by his daughter for seemingly not doing anything to protect her from this mob of young lads. Their family friend, Charith, a university pal of Mohan's and Sinhalese, has stepped in in earlier incidents, and remonstrated with the lads. "Hey man let's go deal witht he buggers, you and me?". Mohan described this as macho behaviour and it clearly makes him feel weak and undermined. His wife too scolds him for not being more proactive in protecting the family. She is clearly bitter that years ago he had not taken the opportunity of migrating with the whole family to escape this hostile environment.
We the audience are asked to try to resolve the problem; suggest the motivation and neurosis of the various characters and propose what might happen next. The Director, Ruwanthi de Chickera, skilfully develops a consensus from the audience and the actors huddle together and quickly discuss how to dramatize the next scene. The crowd of lads are brought on to say something about their interests in assaulting this young girl on her way to classes.
Shouldn't we know more about Mohan's reluctance to intervene, his hostile reaction to his wife, his fear of confrontation and his obvious painful early experiences in reporting incidence to the local police station? My suggestion of a stage soliloquy by Mohan, a neat device I thought to get him to spill the beans on his 'history', is quietly laid aside by the Director. This theatrical device is not the style of FORUM where the interaction between characters and the motivations 'we' give them is a vital part of the methodology.
The evening closes on stage, an eerily on-cue thunder storm outside, with Charith realising that his interventions are simply serving to further undermine Mohan's family. The problem is much larger than local bullying. Many youths are being drawn into a conflict ridden society in which under employment and lack of opportunity slips easily into scapegoat-ism. May be for Mohan's family and certainly for his daughter, the answer is to leave and study overseas. In reality only an option to the rich few in Sri Lanka or those lucky to have connections.
A challenging evening out. Not the kind of drama where you just sit back and watch a pre-determined plot unfold before you.
The Punchi Borella is a plucky little theatre.
The scene on stage was a family home. A teenage girl comes home upset after being threatened by a group of boys standing on the street corner. She is Hindu Tamil and they are Buddhist Sinhalese lads. Their threatening behavior has been building over the months now they have stopped her on the way to classes and tried to examine her shoulder bag saying she might be a suicide bomber. (a better account than mien cn be read here)
Of course the wider reality is that this type of scene is happening daily in Sri Lanka. With terrorism being exercised by all sides in a long and bitter civil conflict it is surprising that more inter-communal violence doesn't take place. But this drama is based on a true story and we the audience, after the first scene, and in the tradition of Brazilian dramatist, Augusto Boal's 'theater of the oppressed', are asked to think of what should happen next.
Mohan, the Tamil Father, is castigated by his daughter for seemingly not doing anything to protect her from this mob of young lads. Their family friend, Charith, a university pal of Mohan's and Sinhalese, has stepped in in earlier incidents, and remonstrated with the lads. "Hey man let's go deal witht he buggers, you and me?". Mohan described this as macho behaviour and it clearly makes him feel weak and undermined. His wife too scolds him for not being more proactive in protecting the family. She is clearly bitter that years ago he had not taken the opportunity of migrating with the whole family to escape this hostile environment.
We the audience are asked to try to resolve the problem; suggest the motivation and neurosis of the various characters and propose what might happen next. The Director, Ruwanthi de Chickera, skilfully develops a consensus from the audience and the actors huddle together and quickly discuss how to dramatize the next scene. The crowd of lads are brought on to say something about their interests in assaulting this young girl on her way to classes.
Shouldn't we know more about Mohan's reluctance to intervene, his hostile reaction to his wife, his fear of confrontation and his obvious painful early experiences in reporting incidence to the local police station? My suggestion of a stage soliloquy by Mohan, a neat device I thought to get him to spill the beans on his 'history', is quietly laid aside by the Director. This theatrical device is not the style of FORUM where the interaction between characters and the motivations 'we' give them is a vital part of the methodology.
The evening closes on stage, an eerily on-cue thunder storm outside, with Charith realising that his interventions are simply serving to further undermine Mohan's family. The problem is much larger than local bullying. Many youths are being drawn into a conflict ridden society in which under employment and lack of opportunity slips easily into scapegoat-ism. May be for Mohan's family and certainly for his daughter, the answer is to leave and study overseas. In reality only an option to the rich few in Sri Lanka or those lucky to have connections.
A challenging evening out. Not the kind of drama where you just sit back and watch a pre-determined plot unfold before you.
The Punchi Borella is a plucky little theatre.
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