The Third Wave_ A Volunteer Story - Alison Thompson [49]
Gaggles of children followed me everywhere, all trying to hug me as I walked. In extreme heat, they would walk beside me holding an umbrella over my head to shield me from the burning sun. They would quietly push one another aside and fight over who got to hold the umbrella. My hospital walls were filled with their drawings of the volunteers, which were generally quite accurate. But for some reason whenever they painted me, they drew me with black hair instead of blond. When I asked them why, they answered that it was because I was one of them.
We knew from the start that it was important, as volunteers, to do more than simply rebuild the infrastructure of the village ourselves. We also wanted to create jobs that would help sustain the locals’ lives long after we left.
Bruce managed to secure a grant from Shell Oil, and I collected lots of small donations from my parents and New York friends. This quickly came to an amount sufficient to get several businesses up and running in Sri Lanka. So we set about facilitating the creation of all sorts of small industries: a bakery, a sawmill, a brickmaking factory, a bike repair shop, several sewing shops with weaving spindles and sewing machines, a mask shop, a candy store, a roti shop, a fishing supply store, and a turtle hatchery.
Usually, the head of a family would approach me, saying that he or she needed to start working again to support his or her family. Instead of handing them money, we would sit down with them and discuss a long-term business plan. We would put some numbers on paper and write a little contract of what was expected of them moving forward. We would then call around to volunteers and friends back home, asking if anyone wanted to help. Once the money changed hands, that was that. Sometimes the villagers would surprise me by naming their shops after me. There was an Alison’s Enterprises and an Alison’s Bike Shop, which was sweet but completely embarrassing.
Sunday was my favorite day of the week because it was swimming day. We had started the tradition by taking the children to the beach in Peraliya, but as the months went by, we borrowed minivans to travel farther up the coast where the surf wasn’t as rough. There were around fifty children who attended the lessons regularly, most from the poorest families in the village. We were part of one big family now and some of the children’s parents came along to keep an eye on them … and on us. We foreigners were accepted but always watched over carefully.
At the beach, we would play games and give swimming lessons. Swimming days were like summer camp, with everyone laughing and jumping all over one another. Sri Lankans don’t usually swim, and learning how was a big treat for them. I noticed that some of the children were getting thinner, so after the lessons we would serve a simple lunch of vegetable fried rice. After lunch, we would sing for hours. My Sinhalese was improving, and I was able to communicate with the children. They loved teaching me new words. When my Sinhalese failed me, I would start counting and repeating the alphabet, which would unfailingly make the children burst into laughter. The other volunteers and I also taught the kids new English words and customs.
Oscar found joy in soccer, which was a way for him to release his aggression. In New York, he had led a physically active life, and whenever he would pass a field of people playing soccer he would join them. In Sri