'We are the world'

A young Sri Lankan discovers that peace and unity need not be a dream

By Wathsala Mendis

Is living together in unity and peace with all the world a possibility? "What, are you kidding?" you might laugh. But Chantal Rozairo is not one of us who laughed at the idea. "Of course it's no dream or hopeless vision. It could happen, if only we care to look past that cynical attitude of peace being a 'great fantasy.'" Sounds really convincing, eh?

How would she know, anyway? "Because I lived in a world which was at peace, a world of different cultures, beliefs, and religions which promoted love and harmony, a world where people cared for each other, deeply and genuinely."

Vivacious, poised and friendly, Chantal was the Sri Lankan representative at the World Vision Youth Ambassadors programme, convened by Dr. Jerry Chang. Forty seven youth within the age group of 18-20 from 47 countries around the world... together they lived the impossible dream for three months at the William Carey International University in Pasadena, Ca, USA.

At first it seemed a challenge. Given the varying cultures, personalities, religious beliefs, and points of view among them, they found themselves wondering, was it really going to be possible to look beyond those differences and find a common ground, to see past the barriers and understand each other, to accept each other for what they were? The goal was clear and it was upto the 47 of them to reach that goal. Could they do it, something that was proven beyond doubt through the past four years of youth ambassador programmes? Well, they were certainly going to give it a try.

The project managing team built a safe, efficient, and well-organized community for this global family. The schedules set were hectic. But nobody complained. Everything was provided, for free. Besides, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to learn and grow, to live and let live. They were treated like adults and were expected to behave as such.

Their daily training routine would begin with breakfast at 7 every morning, followed by education and music classes of two hours each. Up next would be lunch which everybody would be looking forward to eagerly by that time! Another two hours of education and music and the group would be in for a community meeting, family meeting, dance rehearsal, or worship service. Each day had its share of household chores too, like cleaning their dorms, shower rooms, doing laundry, etc. Nobody was spared of the responsibility and those who had little or no experience in these chores had to rise up to the challenge.

The touring and the singing part of their programme, which was the most enjoyable, took them to places so diverse that while they were looking over the ledge in the city of San Francisco one day, they would be standing on a mountain in Canada the very next day. They sang to presidents of some countries and to the poorest of the poor in others. Through their music they touched a thousand hearts, visually showing the dream that we could live in peace and harmony. They were overwhelmed by the response and the warmth and love showered on them.

The singing rehearsals taught them the importance of tolerance, forgiveness, acceptance, and reconciliation while the community and family meetings brought them together as one big family. "It helped us overcome our misconceptions and prejudices about each other. For instance, I had this feeling that Chinese and Taiwanese people were unemotional because they always had this deadpan look. Well, I couldn't have been more wrong," says Chantal, marvelling at the speed with which she made some of her closest and dearest friends within those three months.

"It sure was a wonderful experience, something which I would not trade for anything in the world," confesses this former pupil of Asian International School.

Galle Road-take me home!

By Aditha Dissanayake

I am sure every migrant Southerner hears what I hear now and then, the roar of the sea calling me home. When the yearning to get back to the place where I first saw the light of day become irresistible, I find myself jumping into a bus marked Galle and heading South. It is eight in the morning and I am supposed to be in the library, studying. By the time the bus reaches Induruwa I am gulping down the salt air greedily and staring at the sea, murky and gray as it is, as if I am looking at a long lost friend. The buildings in the Galle town are newer, bigger and taller than what they had been when I was a kid. But to my great comfort I find nothing has really changed. Galle will always be Galle with its beloved, slumbering homeliness. So, I grin widely, when the conductor at the Central Bus Stand where I board a bus to Karapitiya, asks, "Maru Nathei?" (Have you no change?). I know I am on home grounds when I hear that "ei" at the end of his sentence. "Joolgashndiyate Keeyei?" (How much is it to Joolgashandiya?). I retort, making the sound "jool" with relish. "Jool" a word I had learnt to avoid in Colombo. I recall how my friends had teased me when I had insisted woodapples are called jool in Sinhala. "No, they are called diwul" they had corrected me. "Why else would there be names like Divulgane and not Joolgane?" They had argued. But today I am in Galle. Joolgashandiya is real. And when the conductor says "five rupees", I stick an imaginary tounge at my upcountry friends. Whatever they may be called elsewhere wood- apples are jool in Galle. Inside the bus I eavesdrop unashamedly to the diagloue between the two women seated behind me. "Oya dannawai vadak.." (Do you know something?) Begins one. I strain my ears to hear more but the roar of the bus drown out the rest. "Aththei?" (Really?) exclaims the other. Oh the Southern dialect, how sweet it sounds to the ear! instead of walking from the bus halt to my father's ancestral home I take a three-wheeler, I want to save time and to avoid the barrage of questions that would be fired at me by friendly neighbours. Being a Wednesday no one except grandma is at home. I find her seated on a low bench in the kitchen, holding a knife between the toes of her right leg and shredding a bundle of green leaves. She stares at me as if she had seen an apparition. "What? Alone?" "Yes" "Did you come by bus? Does your father know?" "Yes, Yes" I tell her brazenly as I dump myself on a chair. She gets up slowly and continues with her questioning. "What made you come so suddenly like this? Have they closed the university?" "I just thought I'd come and see you. I'm on study leave." "When are you going back?" "Today. I should be leaving at around twelve thirty." She thinks I'm half crazy but doesn't say so, orders me to have a wash and makes me a cup of tea. None can avoid grandma's commands. In a way if feels good to be treated as if I am still a six-year-old. "You should have telephoned and left a message at Pala's kade. I could have made a polos curry had I know you were coming". She says as she continues her interrupted cooking. When she lays the table for lunch I count six dishes altogether. I marvel at her efficiency, but try to dissuade her from serving me. Grandma never remembers the scientifically proven fact that people stop growing after the age of eighteen. "Growing children must eat" She says with authority and piles my plate with food that would have seen me though one whole week, back in Colombo. Then she begins to stuff my clothe hold-all with polythine bags. I protest vehemently. "If the bus stops at a check point they'll pull all that out" I remind her in a voice filled with horror. She refuses to listen. "Nonsense! Your father has always loved dried breadfruit. Tell your mother to put these pickles into a glass jar the moment you get home. Give these toffees to Duni. Asilin gave them to me when her son returned form Italy..." The grandfather clock in the sitting room strikes one stroke. One O'clock. Time for me to leave. I turn my head to look at grandma before turning the corner. She stands in her long cotton dress with her hands on her hips still shaking her head with amazement at what I had done. But grandma who had lived in Galle all her life does not know what it means to miss "home". My trip back to Colombo proves to be to be an anti-climax. I had wanted to see a beautiful sunset over a golden coloured beach. But at three in the afternoon the red ball of fire is still high in the sky. But my mind is at peace. I had seen the sea. Heard the roar of the waves. Tasted the salt air on my lips. I had been to Galle. I had gone home!

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