Exposure In Sri Lanka
There was a nice silky shawl patterned with ink blue elephants with me when I went to Sri Lanka for a three-month exposure. It was given to me by a Korean sister who had been there before. Soon after arriving in Sri Lanka, we visited the historical convent/school of Morutuwa. There, along with other sisters, we met Sr. Agnes who was just beginning her late breakfast. As we were talking over the tea and snacks she put out for us, I learned that she was the original owner of the shawl! The shawl traveled around the world. We looked up and shared a good hearty laugh. Honestly, before, I had been ignorant and knew Sri Lanka only as ‘the mysterious country that produces Ceylon tea’. When I was still a pre-novice, a Korean FMM sister teaching me shared her favourite memory of the place: during adoration in a dim room, a large dying moth fluttered here and there before the Blessed Sacrament. For some reason the image stayed with me. Here in the novitiate, I enjoyed the nice sambal Marina and Piyona sometimes made and awkwardly tried eating a meal with my hands once. I was also fascinated with the mysterious connection between the languages of Tamil and Korean, first realizing it when hearing these batchmates saying ‘Appa (Father) ’ and ‘Amma (Mother)’. In Korean, it is almost the same: ‘Abba’ and ‘Umma’. The words for grass, day, rice, grasshopper, etc and the tradition of braiding long hair shadow of each other also. I noticed there are similarities in dance and music, too, when I saw Sr. Immaculate dancing at a function.
When I was told I would be going to Sri Lanka, to a small community called ‘Nazareth’ in Madulkelle, my heart silently leapt. I had already been drawn to the country since reading it in the biography of Mary of the Passion. I wished to somehow experience ‘Nazareth’ the way Mary of the Passion had contemplated on, in a possible atmosphere of Tamil that she also had experienced. It felt like God had been hearing my heart. It was indeed a beautiful place, nestled high in the green mountains, in the center of Sri Lanka, surrounded by tea leaves and humble people. As I have difficulty with heat, I was very grateful to God for his mercy in sending me to one of the coolest places in the country. I still depended on my plastic fan though, and the children often borrowed it from me, exclaiming ‘Katari! Katari! (fan)’. Sometimes, we would share that one fan by passing it from person to person every few minutes! Madulkelle was not exempt from feeling the effects of global warming. Almost everyday we struggled to receive water in the convent and electricity cuts were frequent. I admired the sisters for being tested everyday in their patience and endurance, as part of their ‘ecce fiat’. I was grateful for the hard efforts continually made to try to make our living better. I was also grateful for the past efforts of the sisters who had been there before, such as having made concrete structures to block off the attack of the leeches a little. I encountered some of those famous leeches. Once, a very fat black one dropped from under my skirt when I got up during mass. The lady next to me pointed it out to me in horror and quickly threw it out before I realized what she was communicating. The leech had been safely drinking blood from my thigh during the mass!
There are so many scenes from there that became continuous bread to chew on: Staff members in the Kuala Lumpa airport parting like the Red Sea to let Bao Han, Ka Thanh and I run at breakneck speed to catch the next plane to Colombo. The warm welcome of Sr. Esmy, Sr. Mathilda and Sr. Madeline at the airport and of the many sisters in the ‘provincial house, of their kind provision in necessities when finding out our luggage were still stuck in Malaysia. Of the gentle gestures of the lay partners. The bright eyes and mind and deep voice of Sr. Rose ever present in the refectory. The delicious fragrance of the tea leaves after the rain. Sr. Dinusha generously buying Samosa bites, roasted peanuts for me when traveling.
One time, trying to squeeze myself into a three-wheeler already loaded with tree branches, only to struggle out again because we found another vacant one. Seeing Sr. Flora scrape a coconut every night or morning for cooking. Running to the stores to buy red rice, Kottu-me, snake-gourd, chilli, brinjals, bread, shorties or egg roti, and trying to introduce some Korean words to the store runners who wished to learn Korean. Being weary of the monkeys jumping here and there- a few times seeing a whole army of them on the road. The cinematic scene of so many religious walking in pairs along the road in the night with candles when all were called to gather in Tewatte for the opening of the Pilgrims of Hope. Trying my best but constantly dropping down next to the vigilant Sr. Sahila during the overnight adoration of the same event. Enjoying Sr. Magdalene’s cooking, especially her sprat curry with the dried fish she had brought from her area in Madu. Seeing our Nazareth kindergarten children look up to the eagle-eyed Sr. Alvina, their headmistress, in admiration. Going to the ‘line houses’ of the tea estate families, sitting down on the floor in a packed room with children or adults on carpets for gospel sharing (Assipa). Walking in the dark night with the sisters, using a phone as a light until we could catch a tricycle. Being squashed inside the packed buses decorated colourfully with pictures of deities and jingling with Hindu music. Offering to hold the bags of others if I am able to have a seat, as was common in Korea when my parents were students themselves. The close brotherhood among our neighbours who were Catholic, Buddhist, Hindu and Muslim and who often helped us out with our technical difficulties. The white uniformed students going about busily with very heavy backpacks without eating, anxious for their work to be recognized and given a ‘well done’ tick or five stars in red pen. Sharing a part or two of ‘my vocation story’ to children or young adults who just have never seen someone from East Asia before. Being offered a free ride to the church by a Protestant or Hindu, simply because they wish to and have good memories of the FMM sisters. Coming out of gospel sharing and pointing to the sky and making the children laugh by exclaiming ‘Romba Natchatani! (many stars), Nalla Nilla (nice moon)!’, often enjoying being corrected by them. Drawing life-size keyboards on recycling calendar paper to help some to learn how to read notes and play the piano. Seeing the stilled face and hands of Sr. Rose and being honoured to play ‘Come back to me’ on the violin as her coffin entered the chapel. I am still awed and humbled by how much effort and concern was given to help a foreign novice to be ‘exposed’. How much support needed for a life when it is born into the world. As it takes a community to raise a child, it takes a world to for a soul to experience the mercy and love of God. Thank you, very much. Mikka Nandri! Bohoma Istuti!
Shin Jiho Melania, nov.