Roots Chapter I

History

I hated Sri Lanka. 

I had nothing positive to say for the place.   

My relationship with the homeland of my parents consisted of three previous holidays and I use the term “holidays” loosely. 

The first was in 1977 when I was two years old.  My memory of this trip was being unable to put my feet down in the bathroom.   

Most bathrooms in Sri Lanka are wet rooms.  These are all the rage now if you read Living Etc, but for little old me, used to our carpeted bathroom that was the height of practicality in the 1970s, a wet floor in a bathroom was outrageous.   

Much crying and screaming ensued and I had to be carried like The Last Emperor onto the toilet every time nature called.    

On our second trip to Sri Lanka in 1979, I remember sitting on a wicker chair at my Father’s family home in Colombo.  As I sat on the verandah having my drink, I noticed these weird little white bugs crawling out from one of the walls and crawling up my chair leg like army ants, ready to attack me, eat me, digest me and then regurgitate me back out for their fat globulous white Queen.  

Much crying and screaming ensued. 

Another memory from 1979 was my Fathers family taking us on a beach trip somewhere tropical and beachy.  There are a multitude of photographs of me crying on a boat to the beach, crying as I am being carried by my Uncle at the beach, crying as he takes me out to sea to stand on a rock and crying on the boat on the way back. 

This was due to the fact I was petrified of the water.  Not just standing water in a bathroom.  Oh no, sea water too!  I found out recently when visiting my Dad’s brother in Melbourne last year that none of them could swim and still can't.  Not a single member of my family could swim.  I think my 4 year old instincts were spot on given if we fell out of that boat or off that rock, none of these jokers would have been able to save me and we would have all perished in the Indian ocean, albeit it the nice turquoise bit and not the brown cloudy bit.

The third trip was the nail in the coffin for me.  In 1988 my Mother and I went to Sri Lanka to see my maternal Grandmother who was in Colombo.  I was 12 at the time. 

We arrived at the airport to be met by my Dad’s cousin.  In 1988 there was no super, fast, straight, flat expressway that whizzed you in from the airport to Colombo.  Oh no, there was a winding, stop start road, choked with traffic that caused the journey to take over a jerky hour.   

On arrival at my Uncle’s beautiful home, I proceeded to dash up to the bathroom and dry wretch for ten minutes.  I have never suffered from motion sickness but once again Sri Lanka brought out and up the worst in me. 

We then moved to a rented house where my Grandmother was staying with the rest of my Mum’s family.  We were under strict instructions from my Dad not to travel anywhere.  The political situation was a little shaky in Sri Lanka in 1988 and while my family urged us to go on a little adventure around the country my Mum’s ridiculous superstitions kept us grounded in Colombo.   

She believed that if she went off travelling when Dad had specifically said not to go anywhere, something would definitely go wrong and we would die.  This is always the outcome if we go off piste when Dad has asked us sweetly to consider not going off piste.

 

As a result we were stuck in Colombo for 11 days where a stream of family and friends came to visit.  While this was nice for my Mum, it was less so for me.  I was bored and tired of everyone saying (and you will need to adopt the lovely sing song accent of a Lankan for this), “Iyo, you were such a sweet little thing in ’77, what happened to you, you got so black?” 

Simply put, in Sri Lanka, it is preferable if one is not of a duskier hue.  Even amongst the most sophisticated and educated set this little nugget still runs deep.  This wound me up no end and during my teen years I would deliberately lie out in the sun to get as dark as possible to illicit these reactions so I then had the ammo to chastise them for their unfair prejudices.  It didn't work as more people kept asking me "Iyo, why has this child got so bloody dark?" etc etc 

I also got bitten by a mosquito and the following morning one of my arms was covered in huge spots.  I have mentioned my Mum’s family are very superstitious.  I forgot to add to that they are also hypochondriacs.  My Mum’s eldest brother deduced from this that I had contracted chicken pox which scared the hell out of me.  We got a doctor out who reckoned I had an allergic reaction to the mosquito bite, hence the weird one armed spot attack.  He assured us it would subside in a few days.

So apart from the polite insults about my looks, the chicken pox and the thousands of visitors I did not know, we did spend a day at Colombo Zoo looking at some emaciated tigers and everywhere I went people were staring at me.  I don’t know why I was such a weird anomaly.  I was with my family.  We are all dusky and yet I got very persistent stares.  

I wondered at the time if it was because I looked like a sophisticated London urbanite but now when I think back, I reckon it was more to do with the fact in 1988 I used to wear a banana clip in my hair.  For those of you who are fashion forward you will remember the banana clip as a device that enabled young girls to have a Mohican without shaving the sides of their head.  

I also wore a batik poncho and didn’t realise until later that it was a bit transparent.  Add to this the onset of puberty, my ugly white trainer bra that you could clearly see through my poncho and the wispy growth of teenage girl moustache on my upper lip didn’t make me look like a Sri Lankan or a Brit but more like I had been adopted following my early years spent working in the circus.

One of the good things about that trip was my Godmother who knowing I loved prawns, made me grilled and curried prawns nearly every day over the last few days of our trip.  They were delicious.   

Then as we sat in Colombo airport waiting for our flight home I developed the galloping trots and a fever and was ill for the 10 hour flight home to the UK.

I feel it is important to qualify why I hated Sri Lanka and I think my reasons are founded and why I did not set foot in the place again until March 2016.

Twenty-seven years later, I am pleased to report I have changed my mind about the place entirely.  ENTIRELY!

Next week: Roots Chapter II Warms The Cockles, Coconuts & Yogis