An elderly counsellor made an early morning visit today. He arrived, unannounced, around 6 AM. He was there outside my door when I exited to start my day. I spoke with him for about a half hour or so, and then took a walk with the group home program coordinator, who had said I had become “fat” and decided to become my personal trainer.
People use the term “fat” more liberally here. It’s not meant in the offensive way it is in The States. Hearing it takes some getting used to! We walked to and toured “Cuckoo’s Nest,” the future home to the ex-child soldier program. A very tall, young father, who lived in the group homes as a child, he is a funny, playful man. He understands my accent, and was happy to practice English.
Later, I returned to speak with the first man, the elderly counsellor, for another half hour or so, which became my early morning routine. During the first part of our meeting, he and I would meet in the hall outside my room. After I returned from my walk, we would move to the balcony, which overlooks the lagoon. He reminisced about his life.
A lifelong resident of the Batticaloa district, he spoke with pride about being the first in his village to finish university. Fellow residents were so excited they visited him at school, bringing him treats from home. Shortly after graduation, the laws changed. Elementary and high schools became segregated by ethnic groups, and taught only in their languages. Prior to that time, English was used in both school systems, which were mostly integrated.
Simultaneously, quotas were implemented that limited Tamil admissions to universities. The number of Tamil students and faculty members decreased. Members of this minority group were crippled in business and other professions, as they were unable to speak Sinhalese, which became the countries’ first language. Nearly fifty years later, the government is trying to correct the problem by reintroducing English into the school system, which has proved difficult as there is such a shortage of English teachers in Tamil areas.
I find myself moved as he reflects on his life. He is close to my father’s age, and has confronted so much discrimination. Often, he discusses how senseless or traumatic various events and losses have felt for him, as he has lived in the middle of a civil war.
A gentleman, he has maintained a strong sense of dignity. Viewed as a very ethical and principled elder for his community, I often see others seek his counsel. At the end of each session, jokingly, he reminds me he rises each morning at 4 AM, and will see me tomorrow at 6 AM. Each day, he returns.
In the workshop, we continued to work on reflective listening. Today’s exercise involved counselors breaking into pairs, taking turns listening to one another about a specific issue or concern. A pair of counselors, both parents of newborns, shared their joy. They also commiserated about their exhaustion.
Two men began to discuss their experiences with torture. I remember one had shared such experiences during the group therapy workshop in 2006. I was surprised they focused on such traumatic material, as the presentation and exercise were centered on basic listening skills.
Upon further reflection, their decision made a great deal of sense. Like others here, they have experienced so much trauma. As the first generation of counsellors here in Batticaloa, the counsellors lack more experienced counsellors to turn to for support. Consequently, their needs for counselling fall by the wayside, as everyone is trying to assist others who are more vulnerable. Our workshops have become a place for them to take care of themselves.
In the afternoon, we worked with the co-oper or stretch bands. One group was more serious, the other more playful. A woman counsellor broke into a group of men, playfully, in the interest of “gender balance.” I was happily surprised she knew this term and felt so comfortable using it in this more traditional society.
That evening, the boys from the group home where I played cricket invited me and Marianne over for dinner. As we were about to leave Dreamcatcher, a herd of cows ran through the gate. I thought, “I love this place.”
On the way to dinner, we visited the temporary boys’ home for ex-child soldiers. They requested that Marianne and I meet with them about specific concerns and challenges. I was impressed that they asserted themselves. We scheduled an appointment for later in the trip.
During dinner at the other group home, the boys were delightful. They are so eager to connect and play. They showed me the room where they study, and posed for a picture pretending to burn the midnight oil. Then, they sat for a more comical picture goofing around. When we left the home, they sang us songs they learned for Fr. Paul’s 50th Jubilee.
Maxie noted how they tend to take responsibility for one another. If one boy is struggling to adjust, the others support and encourage him, almost like coaches. There is a unique sense of team spirit among them.
Fr. Paul observed that these children, like most, have difficulty sharing their caregivers: the “Mom (or Dad) loves me more” syndrome. When one gets positive attention, the other becomes jealous and wants it too. Helping each child develop a sense of being valued remains a constant challenge, which Fr. Paul confronts every day as he visits the homes between 5-8 pm to spend time with the kids. He calls this time his “therapy.”
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
