I like writing the date on the tops of pages. It's fun. Anyhow, just a quick one here on a news item I saw this morning about Bangladeshi writer, Taslima Nasreen, who has UN refugee status and cannot be turned away from seeking refuge from anywhere and is being asked to leave Calcutta (Kolkatta). You can read about it here.
It is morning time and I am in the office and will head out to two of my villages very soon. Talking to goverment officials (home guards etc), who get paid a better salary than the others in the village but not nearly enough in general and in order to keep some kind of equality among people, we have to figure something out that works for everyone. Then off to the other village where we have not been able to work for one week and talk about wells and drainage. I now talk about wells and drainage. What I do is get someone else to talk about and then write up a proposal so that we can fund the project. Been wanting to get this done for a while and it is not getting done so I am determined to get it done.
I have role I play each morning. With Mr Wimal. He is someone I have known since I got to Ampara and he used to be the security guard type person at the old SLRCS office. He is now employed by the IFRC as head person who takes care of office stuff like tea, cleaning etc. He has a staff of two. He used to work in the forestry dept and knows so much about this country. What I love about him is that he has a beautiul smile and is always welcoming and every morning he makes me my coffee (I am special...he makes my coffee himself instead of delegating it to his staff) and he brings it to me and I taste it while he waits and I come up with some superlative to tell him how much he rocks my world and how my cup of coffee is the one thing that keeps me sane and alive in this mad mad world in which we live.
I don't really drink coffee but when I came back to Ampara, he forgot that I like plain tea with little sugar and I didn't have the heart to tell him. So now I drink Nescafe coffee in the office. Little milk, little sugar, always perfect which I say with a mini swoon, a big smile, my hand on my heart or whatever theatrics come to me naturally that morning (or afternoon).
Off to culverts....I am still not sure what a culvert is but now I have an autocad drawing of it. Looks like a cross section of a tree. I have something to say about Taslima Nasreen and that whole situation but it is brewing in my head and hopefully I will say something about. Reading that article just made me think how much I do want to be in India. Kind of works in opposition to my wanting to be in Africa and in a conflict. Have we as humans figured out yet how to clone and spilt our cells?
Iqbal Kalddun...write me my chicken story.