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The hovel that
is home For W.A. Kumara Dissanayake, 51, wife Saddi Leelawathi, daughter Kamani and son Ravindra to move from Watte 259 to Watte 219 down Ferguson Road in Mattakkuliya is like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. It was evening when we first went, with bent head, to their room in Watte 259 where they live presently. Middle-aged Leelawathi was just about to get her family's dinner ready, while Kamani, 16, was straining her eyes to finish her homework before the gloom swallowed up whatever little light was filtering into the room through the cracks in the roof. Electricity is but a dream for this family. The pot on the single burner of the kerosene cooker had a handful of rice. No vegetables or meat, not even dried fish were in sight. It is a tough life, because let alone the poverty and starvation, which they grapple with, they also have to contend with the filth and squalor of the watte. Add to that the fact that they have only one access to their home and that too a narrow path not two feet wide, with the abutting eaves hanging down ominously. Their home is a room at the side of a slum, for which they pay the princely sum of Rs. 100 a month. Gentle and smiling Dissanayake had to give up his job at the JEDB, where he was a labourer, long years ago when his daughter was small because she was falling ill frequently. One bout was so severe that both husband and wife were in and out of hospital. The hard times began then and they have been living in this watte for 15 years, with about 95 other families. He works as a labourer whenever he gets the chance and their relatives help out. Recently the government had offered this family a small home in Watte 219 close by. But they are facing a dilemma. Do they leave this one for the other? "This watte at least has one public tap and 12 toilets for the 95 families," says Dissanayake weighing the pros and cons, before leading us to a worse slum a little distance away. "The house there is much better, at least 15'x10' but parisaraya hira ne ape duwata." Ten minutes later we are there. There is no proper pathway to the new home. The closest and easiest way home is to vault over a steel fence bordering the main road and walk through mud and shrub. The longer way is through the labyrinth of slums adjoining the Madampitiya playground, turning down wrong alleys, avoiding groups of men playing cards for a few rupees, brushing past naked little children, with oozing sores and jumping over mangy dogs and heaps of stinking rubbish. The watte is crowded, cluttered and littered.Surrounded by a motley crowd, who at first suspiciously query from where we are, we get a first hand experience of life in a watte. They tell us about the lives they lead, from which they have no escape. Their grandparents and parents have lived and died like this. They themselves will live like this and their children are doomed to live like this, they say with resignation. "The lives Sri Lankans lead fall into five categories," a tough-looking man with long hair and tattoos all over his body, enlightens us. "Some lead luxurious lives and others semi-luxurious lives. Another group exists just above the poverty level and there are the others who are poor. In the fifth category are those who are very, very poor," he says gesturing towards the watte. "We do not have even the very basic needs for survival such as a proper home, job, health and educational facilities." No evidence is needed to prove their point - the maze of slums says it all. More than 500 families (a rough calculation that each family has four members will throw up a figure of 2,000) are squeezed in there - men, women and children and the day is spent with the men playing cards, gambling, smoking ganja and taking kudu. Small knots of women hang around picking nits from each other’s heads, gossiping, collecting water or just staring into space seated before their tiny houses. "There are 10 latrines in the upper section of the watte," explains W.A. Dharmawathie, a 50-year-old widow, lamenting that in the other section where they live they have to make do with just four, two for the women and two for the men. The latrines are in a deplorable state -- unbelievable until one sees them. The leaking sewage lines taking the excreta are above ground, leading to an open pool. The whole watte has only two public taps, say the residents. "When it rains the homes get flooded. There is no place to dump the garbage and the vicious circle of filth, dirt and disease takes its toll," says R. Prabhakaran, worry lines creasing his forehead. He disregards his neighbours' banter about the Tiger leader, his namesake for he has no time to worry about the strategies of the Tigers or what the future holds for the country. His one and only concern is how he will bring up his baby in this abominable set-up. "There are no toilets. There is no pathway to my home. Disease is rife," says Prabhakaran, 23, who works on and off as a labourer and on a good day earns about Rs. 250. On other days his family starves, while his baby cries for milk, nay sugared plain tea. The dirge is repetitive - whether it is mother of two, Ramyalatha, who has been abandoned by her husband, V. Rajkumar, 27 whose malli is more in jail than out or Sundaram Velu who admits he has a "shot" once in a way when he gets a little money. What they plead for are the essential basics - water, toilets and access to their homes. As Sri Lanka ambitiously forges ahead towards poverty reduction - so politicians say - is this too much to ask? If politicians feel it is, then anyone interested in seeing hell on earth should come visit Watte 259 or 219. |
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