Day 48 - Udawalawe and Colombo

I think I smell a human...

On thursday afternoon I watched three-and-a-half legged Namal get strapped into a harness that will suspend him for the next couple days, restricting his movement to only a few steps in any direction before he is swung back to the middle. His cruel albeit hilarious ensnarement is required because his stub is showing signs of infection. While Vijitha and Malaka treat the re-opened wound, they cannot allow Namal to put weight on it. While documenting his predicament I noticed signs of mobilization from the staff and made my curiosity obvious. No doubt recognizing my inquisitiveness as a poorly masked attempt to goad an invitation to wherever everyone was going, the doctor interrupted my questions and asked if I wanted to come along for the translocation of an elephant in the southern tip of Sri Lanka. Woohoo!

I DO smell a human!

Two hours later we arrived at a harbor, still under construction. Square-faced trucks swarmed the dirt roads around us with beds full of gravel and dirt and enormous windmills blocked the view of the water. Vijitha explained that the area only became industrialized recently - traditionally it served as one of the last remaining nonofficial wildlife refuges int the South. Elephant/human conflict is a common problem when wild lands become rapidly inhabited in Sri Lanka and this was no exception. Both elephant and human deaths have occurred as workers and their families have flocked to the area and the danger has intensified with the recent introduction of an on-site sugarcane plantation. The "an elephant never forgets" expression was likely inspired by the pachyderm's loyalty to one or a couple territories. When environmental conditions like droughts or human pressures force elephants away from their grazing site of choice, they will make regular returns until the land is once again hospitable. Elephants will travel hundreds of miles to  reach a specific waterhole, motivated by some intense associations made in their youth. Therefore, moving an elephant is often a temporary solution. Even at the elephant orphanage here in Udawalawe, desperation occasionally compels full-grown adults to ramble back to their childhood corrals, more than a decade after their release to distant national parks (this requires crossing streets, villages, and electric fences.)

The trick is moving the elephant to a place with a stable and content population, decent security, and one that is far, far away from where he was removed from. It is a multistep process and I witnessed only the first - though it took nine hours. First, the offender (a large male that, most recently, had killed a young girl) was located and a dozen members of the Department of Wildlife Conservation and Dr. Vijitha pursued him, armed with the tranquilizer, firecrackers (used to scare the animal into a safer trajectory), and shotguns. I was left with the driver until the animal was subdued and the chance of lawsuit was minimized. An hour later I got the call and the driver took me to the side of a highway where some Sri Lankan news crews were already gathering. Here, I met up with the ragtag Special Task Force that comprised of about thirty people. They were charging into into the forest along the highway with giant ropes and axes to rendezvous with Vijitha's team. It was their job to clear paths to the downed animal and assist with it's restraint. When I reached Vijitha, the elephant was unconscious and everyone was frantically trying to fix ropes around his legs and secure them to trees. The goal is to keep the animal under the effects of the tranquilizer for as short a time as possible. To bring down a bull elephant requires potentially heart-stopping chemicals and the sooner he is secure, the sooner the "wake-up" antidote can be administered. Once he began to revive, he was injected with a sedative. Nothing that would knock him out like the tranq, but would reduce his struggles against the ropes. More than once the elephant attempted to stand despite being hogtied. Each time, the entire Task Force would sprint away, yelling until they were reassured by Vijitha's staff that he was down again.  I have never heard a sound like those ropes creaking as 10,000 pounds of elephant pulled on them.

The leader of the STF, Jemela. "Oh you're American? So is my M-16!"

At sundown, a bulldozer arrived to clear a runway wide enough for the elephants removal. The next day, a truck would back down the path made by the dozer, a ramp would be installed, and the elephant would be heaved onto the bed for transport three-hundred miles to the northeast. Vijitha has since told me the operation went swimmingly (at least for now).

Attaching the tracking collar

On Friday, my landlord's (Ajith Perera) mother died at age eighty in Colombo. While he sped off that night, the Mankada staff and I waited until Saturday morning to rent a van and join him. The open casket funeral was held at Ajith's older brother's home. I soon learned that this brother was a big-time politician - the secretary to the head of the opposition party in Sri Lanka. Therefore, it was an extravagant affair with hundreds of attendees. Occasionally, a particularly significant couple showed up to pay their respects and everyone stood and watched them make their way to the casket. As is traditional in Sri Lanka, everyone wore formal white clothing. Everyone except Ajith, who wore his signature black t-shirt.

Ajith introduced me to his daughter who is studying architecture at university. She spoke candidly (and loudly, though in english) of the ulterior motives behind each guest's presence. Gold moguls, police chiefs, and charity heads were among the who's who of Sri Lanka hoping to speak with the secretary. Our conversation was interrupted by violent sobbing sounding from the
room housing the casket. It was the first sign of open emotion that day and Ajith sent his daughter to investigate. She reported it to be Ajith's sister and my t-shirt clad landlord walked briskly into the room. He did not go in to comfort her though. When he returned, he told me that his sister had no right to cry: "She doesn't help my mother for twenty years and then, in forty-five minutes, she can produce a shower."

The van ride to the funeral was a very somber affair.

His sister's husband was not happy. He ran over to Ajith, whispering harshly at him and poking his chest. Ajith just smiled, emboldened by a group of familial support behind him. Ajith further dramatized  the event during the Buddhist monk-led ceremony. In response to his sister's continued tears, he walked out of his central role in the ritual and only reappeared while the body was loaded into the hearse to kiss his mother's cheek.

Kalinga took it the hardest 

After the body was cremated at the cemetery, Ajith invited me to his Colombo house before driving us back to Udawalawe. We had ice cream, he showed me a karate routine from his black-belt days, and we drove the five hours home.

Udawalawe - Day 40

Merry Mother's Day to mothers and anyone who ever had a mother!

View from the walk home

Only by claiming this blog entry to be urgent work can I take asylum from Sanka and Seda’s "party." I don't know how long my ceramicist housemates will tolerate my reprieve before another glass of coconut liquor (arak) is forced on me. Their boss left for a sales trip on the same weekend they received their bimonthly wage. This was good news for the local liquor store.

The week began with my long-overdue introduction to Udawalawe National Park. The park's southern border runs parallel to my daily commute but the entrance lies fifteen kilometers to the East and, until Monday, I had no excuse to go. Opportunity finally presented itself when I saw a five-liter bottle outside my office with a cobra in it. Next to the snake-jug was a cage containing an Indian palm civet (a smaller cousin of the bearcat). Dr. Vijitha told me that the captives were to be released in the park that afternoon and yes, I could come along. 

Similar to miniature ships, the real question is - how did they
 get it IN the bottle?

Though our errand was brief, we saw crocodiles, buffalo, and elephants. The highlight, however, was de-snaking the bottle. For ten minutes the only armed member of our party used his shotgun barrel and branches to squeeze the bottom of the bottle. Drawing on the toothpaste theory, he compartmentalized the cobra into less and less space until it was forced to pop out. When this was finally achieved though, Vijitha and I were talking and not paying attention. That's right, we were not paying attention to the release of the deadliest snake in Sri Lanka. The squeezer shouted, gesturing at the empty bottle and Vijitha and I each made an undignified scramble out of its path. Predictably, like any near-death experience in Sri Lanka, our evasion was met with hearty laughter. 

"Rosebud...."  

The next day marked the much-anticipated surgery of Namal - the elephant calf with the severed ligament. Two human orthopedic surgeons (that is to say, not animal doctors. Obviously they were humans) and a renowned elephant veterinarian came down from Colombo for the procedure. For four hours they cut, sawed, and hammered the anesthetized patient. In the end, about six inches were taken off the leg before the stump was cleaned and sewed shut. Most striking about the surgery was the physicality it demanded from the doctors. Working with elephantine limbs, skin, muscle and bone is exhausting work and each surgeon was covered with sweat by the end.

Namal is recovering now and in good spirits. Dilmah informed me that they are prepared to pay for LKR 1 million (USD 8 thousand) worth of medical equipment for ETH and Namal’s prosthetic limb in on the shopping list.

Namal is back on his (remaining) feet! 

More important than elephant legs or cobra attacks, however, is my new bike! Over the weekend, my boss came to stay in Udawlawe, to discuss the souvenir shop that will be opening at ETH in the next 2 months. Most of our time was spent drinking tea, eating fish, making trivial decisions regarding the shop and then basking in our entrepreneurial prowess over tea and fish. In between these essential activities, I requested a bicycle.

Ready to party. 

Although I took a three-wheeler to work for my first two weeks, I lost my enthusiasm when I realized I was spending more money on the commute (about USD 4.00 per day) than I did on three meals combined. Thus, I have been walking to and from work, though often driven a considerable part of the journey by kindly motorists. I don’t mind the walk, but it takes a good 3 hours out of my day and eats up valuable awake-overlap time between US East coasters and myself.

Thanks to Dilmah Tea Company, I now ride in style with my brand new Amazon mountain bike. Pictures to come!

Oh and my boss just permitted me a paid vacation to Thailand in July and yesterday I played with a baby sloth bear. No big deal.

This little guy was found wandering the jungle with no parents .
He will be raised at ETH until he is fit to forage for himself. 

Day 29 - Udawalawe

Happy May/International Worker's Day!

Do I have something in my teeth?

I am fortunate enough to have intercepted some weak internet signal while in the comfort of my home and am taking that as an omen that all my work will be done from here today. My celebration extends to wearing shorts and refrigerating my water bottle (I cannot believe it took me this long to try that).

As of last week, my Sinhala seemed to be improving at an impressive pace. I could construct a sentence applicable to everything I did. Only now do I realize that this required about four sentences:

Mame bonova.
Mame kanova bata.
Mame yanova Elephant Transit Home.
Mame pota Kindle kiyavanova.

Translated:

I wake up.
I eat rice.
I go to Elephant Transit Home.
I read my Kindle book.

As my daily tasks diversify and my business takes me beyond eating and kindle-ing, my Sinhala confidence suffers though I get to see some wild stuff.

Waterfall out the window on the way to the carcass.

Late last week, Dr. Vijitha asked me if I wanted to come with them to the countryside. "No elaboration necessary Doc - I'm there," I thought. And so six of us piled into the five-seater Jeep and drove two hours towards the mountains. I slowly came to understand we were to conduct a post-mortem on an elephant that died twelve days before in a rice paddy. When we arrived, the farmer that reported the carcass (and wanted us to remove it) approached us, spoke with Vijitha, and led us to the animal. On the way, Vijitha picked us each apple-like fruits to nibble on while we walked barefoot through the paddies. The elephant was large and stinky and lay on the bank of a stream with only its face submerged. It's trunk floated on the surface and was pink from decomposition. While Vijitha interviewed the growing audience of rice farmers, the vet intern (and my closest work-buddy), Malaka, took me aside and explained that the farmers claimed only to have discovered the dead elephant, offering that perhaps the animal was sick. The skull fragments protruding from the animal's left temple, however, were clearly the work of a rifle. Presumably a rifle belonging to a farmer who didn't like 10,000 lb. grazer munching on his livelihood.

Elephant conflict is a big deal in Sri Lanka. Almost 200 are killed a year. 

This was a serious accusation though and Vijitha would avoid confrontation until the carcass could be dragged onto level ground by a bulldozer, permitting closer examination. Satisfied with our preliminary observations and photos, we left the paddies and the elephant and began our journey home. On the way, Vijitha volunteered that he, like me, had been to Serengeti National Park and Ngorongoro Crater.

I asked him: "You were on safari?" Everyone laughed at my apparently frivolous question. Vijitha explained: "I make 280 dollars a month - I cannot go on safari. It was business."
While on the topic of exotic travels, Vijitha also revealed he'd been to America - Disneyworld and Busch Gardens, no less. Hangdog from my recent faux-pas, I asked: "You were working with their animals?" Upon translation, another round of laughs filled the jeep. "One does not go to Disneyworld on business!" *

My frustration with the group was short-lived, however, as we concluded our adventure with a post-post-mortem ice cream stop.


One unfortunate bedtime phenomenon is the remarkable similarity in sound and sensation between a motorcycle driving by my lodging and that of a mosquito buzzing around my head. In Pavlovian style, I  often slap myself awake only to hear a distant motorbike sputter away. I just wanted to share that.

Photo, Owl in Box

Monday was a day of firsts. These included accompanying intern, Didiva, to rescue an abandoned spectacled owl chick from a nearby residence and playing cricket with the staff after work (apparently my team won both matches!) My greatest Monday honor, though, was my invitation to celebrate the last day of residency for Malaka. Following his time at ETH, Malleka has only one more week of veterinary school before his final exam. From there, he will become a faculty member at his university and acquire the experience necessary to return to work at ETH as a full-time vet. And thus, following the cricket match, Malleka, Pillata the financier, the driver, and I drove to town to buy rice, chips, Coca-Cola, and whiskey. On our way back, we rendezvoused with those responsible for providing the night's protein. They removed their bounty from a flatbed - three barrels of fish from the nearby reservoir. While we sorted the malu, the terrible yelping of a dog erupted from the tree line and the animal sped past us, only visible when it crossed the truck's headlights. While everyone laughed, Malleka noticed the horror on my face and enlightened me. Occasionally, dogs touch the electric fences that surround the elephant calves. To them, it is more surprising than painful, he assures me. I join in the laughter. Then, Malaka takes a flashlight and leads me towards his quarters. He bends between two wires about two feet apart and then turns to face me, shining the light on the fence. "Careful," he says.

Didiva with Namal. Namal is about one years old and had the misfortune of stepping
 in a deer trap. His hind left leg is filling with fluid and surgery will be conducted
within the week. It will be first operation of its kind. 

Suddenly, the dog episode is less funny. Fortunately, my terror was not visible in the dark as I successfully navigated through the death fence. I asked Malleka how strong the current was. He didn't know. Then I asked him if he'd ever touched it, to which he replied, grinning: "I have experience."

The party was a blast. The whiskey was decanted into dozens of plastic cups and everyone drank them simultaneously. This was repeated until the whiskey was exhausted and then fish and cigarettes were distributed. Then, the party really kicked off. With one man drumming the fish barrel, another with a bowl and spoon, everyone began singing and dancing. Similar to what I witnessed in the nightclub Colombo, people got DOWN. The only difference was that only men were in attendence. Far from the westernized culture of the city, Udawalawe maintains its traditional gender dynamics and women do not drink or smoke. In a hot, smoke filled room, thirty men ranging in age from early twenties to their seventies were twirling, clapping, and singing. Finally, I was called upon to lead my first of three American songs. There was none of the typical karaoke-associated anxiety, however, because as soon I had established the rhythm and chorus, everyone began joining in, spewing english-esque gibberish to the tune of (in ascending order of reception) House of the Rising Sun, Hound Dog, and Tom Petty's Mind with a Heart of its Own.

Once the festivities came to a close, Malaka made us some dinner and motorcycled me home. And yes, family, I wore a helmet.











*I later learned the good doctor's trip to Orlando was sponsored by a German company that funds vacations for professionals from developing nations.