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Short story:
Humanness stronger than ethnicity
Siripathy Jayamaha
October 1983. My wife, daughter and son aged six years was on our way
to Sri Lanka from Nigeria for the Christmas vacation. We were on an UTA
flight from Lagos to Paris and from thence to Colombo.
My son was experiencing a severe stomach upset between Lagos and
Paris. Dehydration, nausea, was in a pathetic state on arrival in Paris.
It was early morning. Colombo flight was in the evening. Son wanted
to be at the airport instead of the hotel facility offered by UTA.
Terrible nausea. We were desperate.
Suddenly a young Asian took our son into his arms and motioning us to
follow him hurried to the basement.
In halting English he said that he was from Jaffna. Employed at the
airport. He was taking us to the medical centre in the basement. He told
the medical officer about my son’s ailment.A physical examination.
Clothes to be removed. Our son refused. The doctor was furious. No
full examination, no medicament. Our friend brought us back to the
ground floor. He told us to wait. Was back with about a dozen apples,
grapes, French fries and some tablets. He got a drink from a vending
machine.
He said ‘hondai, bonde’. He was with us till our son was near normal.
He took him and showed the aircraft taxing above, for take off. He gave
his address. Told us to drop him a line, about our date of return.
We sent him a ‘thank you’ card, indicating our date of return.
Another family – a mother and son – also about six years joined us on
our return trip. We were given a hotel – Hotel PLN – during our stop
over. Lagos flight was on the following day.
A youngster – a Tamil youth met us at the exit. He gave us a letter.
He was holding a placard with my name.
The letter said, “Welcome back, brother, sister and small friends. My
friend will take you to see Paris. You can go by bus. Please come to my
place for dinner. Thank you. Your brother.” We took Ravi to our hotel.
He stayed in the foyer. We were back in the foyer after freshening up.
Ravi was smiling. He spoke in Tamil. “My big brother would like the
other lady and son to visit him, along with you all.”
Knowing a little Tamil I understood.
Thanked him. It appeared that he had called his boss. About our
friends. He took us on a guided tour. Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Arc de
Triumphone. Back in the hotel for lunch. For us on the airline.
Ravi declined our invitation with a hand shake. We met after lunch.
Another tour of gay paree, Versailles, the shopping malls. Back to the
hotel. A few gifts for our host. We were at the big brother’s house. A
cosy house, teeming with youth. All withdrew into the rear with smiles
and waves. Our host and his gracious wife welcomed us. A sumptious
dinner laced with wine and beer.
We wished to get back. A lovely French speaking doll for my daughter
of nine. Expensive battery operated jeeps for the boys. I thanked him.
He took a piece of paper from his pocket. Read with difficulty. Written
either in French or Tamil.
”Thank you, my brother and my sisters. My wife and I are so happy.
Also very sad. Sad, because I was able to entertain my Sinhala brother
in another country and not in my own. Our own beloved Lanka. Still, I am
happy.”
He held my hand while reading it. He embraced me and the children.
Our lovely hostess did the same to the ladies and the children.
All of us were emotionally strained. No words. We left with Ravi our
guide.
Yes! Taking back memories, beautiful memories, that love and human
togetherness were stronger than ethnicity.
This then was in 1983. After twenty seven years of estrangement,
blood and fears, we are back to an era where in my beloved Sri Lankan
host in France will never have to speak of his inability to offer his
typical Sri Lankan hospitality in our own motherland and for me to
reciprocate. |
