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.