Losing my appetite over the plight of my homeland
Ala thel dala (devilled potatoes), a creamy dhal curry, a spicy chicken curry, and fluffy white rice boiled to perfection – I had just finished cooking a hearty
Sri Lankan dinner at our Christchurch home.
Being 10,925 kilometres away from my parents and wha¯ nau, the aroma of my mom’s homemade curry powder unceasingly makes me feel my home here is a tiny part of Sri Lanka that just happens to be in another time zone.
I was impatiently waiting for my wife to return from work so that I could dig into this feast, and began aimlessly scrolling through my Facebook feed in the hope of distracting myself.
Among protests, inflation, queues at petrol stations, 18-hour power cuts, people dying due to delayed surgeries, memes making fun of the ruling Rajapaksa dynasty, and all the other ‘‘normal’’ posts that come up on a Sri Lankan’s Facebook feed, one really stood out to me.
A pot of boiling water with half an onion and two chillies over a wood-burning stove. The caption said ‘‘returned from work on a jam-packed bus, cooked dinner and as I was about to eat, the power went out’’.
This post summarises the struggle of the average working-class Sri Lankan amid the worst economic turbulence the country has seen in more than 75 years.
Rice with onion and chillies boiled in water does not quite qualify as a meal. But that is all they could afford given dire inflation in Sri Lanka. Ordinarily, urban homes cook using propane. But prices have been exorbitant and gas has therefore become a luxury for a family on a median income. Imagine gulping down hot rice and watered-down broth in 35C weather covered in sweat, unable to run a fan without electricity. I know this person well enough to say this was not an attempt to be sarcastic. They were at their breaking point and venting on social media was their way of relieving some pressure.
But the whole world is suffering from inflation. Therefore, what’s the big deal?
The Sri Lankan crisis is not your typical case of inflation. In recent times, our tiny island nation has been spending more foreign currency than we earned, predominantly due to the impact of Covid19 on industries such as tourism, and irresponsible government decisions leading to a decline in domestic production. Unlike the currencies of developed countries, Sri Lankan rupees aren’t accepted in the international market. The moment we run out of foreign currency, we will no longer be able to pay for petrol, gas, medicines, food, and the list goes on. Thanks to an incompetent, corrupt and self-serving government, this is exactly what has now happened. A conscientious sense of discipline, and heeding expert advice, is vital for a government to navigate a country through such rough times.
People standing in queues spanning kilometres for fuel and gas was a common sight in the early days of this crisis. Some slept in their vehicles because they didn’t have petrol to get home. Some even died standing in queues under the scorching sun. Others died because the country could not import the medicines crucial for them to stay alive.
Without diesel, power plants were not operating at their full capacity, leading to island-wide blackouts. Without electricity and fuel, most of the population could not engage in their livelihoods.
No work means no income, which leads to no food.
Queues began to shorten over time – not because the crisis resolved, but rather because it evolved to the point where the limited available resources are now priced at an extortionate level.
Eating three meals a day has become a luxury for the ordinary Sri Lankan family.
Here’s a simple list of prices to help you visualise what that means. Note that the average monthly income of a Sri Lankan family is approximately NZ$340.
Sri Lankans have unanimously united for the first time in history at the hand of a pain that does not discriminate by religion or belief ...
– 12kg propane bottle, approximately NZ$22
– 1 litre of petrol $1.50
– 1kg of rice $1.30
– 1kg of potatoes $1.50
– 1kg of carrots $1.15
– 1kg of chicken drumsticks $5.20
The average monthly income of a Lankan family is equivalent to 16 hours of New Zealand’s minimum wage, but the crisis-fuelled prices are not far off what we pay here in New Zealand.
Sri Lanka’s headline inflation reached an appalling 29.8% in April, in comparison to 12 months earlier.
Sri Lankans have unanimously united for the first time in history at the hand of a pain that does not discriminate by religion or belief, to expel a government that has kept toying with innocent people’s emotions.
Protests are happening throughout the country, demanding that President Gotabaya Rajapaksa steps down, along with his government; ‘‘#gohomegota’’ as in ‘‘Go Home Gotabaya’’ is trending on social media.
Lankans across the globe are resonating the voices of those back home by protesting in whatever countries they live in.
It is unfortunate that the country had to come to such a drastic plight for us to unite. But I, for one, am glad of the lesson we have learnt – the more we divide and fight over petty differences, the easier it becomes for rulers to do as they please.
A pattern that emerges in Sri Lankan political history is that governments always come to power by riding on people’s emotions.
The ruling government blunders, and we repeatedly run back and elect the previous government. Almost a political ping-pong, but what good is ping-pong if none of the players is good enough.
We keep on electing the same incompetent, corrupted and self-serving faces, expecting it to end up differently from the last time.
I am hopeful we will survive this crisis, being the resilient nation we are. But we should take our lessons to heart and think prudently about who should be leading our country so that history does not repeat – wicked political businesspeople or intelligent, forward-thinking visionaries who see politics for the public service it actually is.
Dear Kiwis, Sri Lankans don’t deserve this torture. It is quite unfortunate you had to see us like this. I’m sure most of you know at least one Sri Lankan. After all, there are more than 16,000 of us living here in New Zealand. In fact, we are quite easy to spot – we are those people who smile more than they speak.
I consider myself Kiwi as much as I consider myself Sri Lankan. I say ‘‘Kia ora’’ as much as I say ‘‘Ayubowan’’. I love my pies as much as I love my hoppers. I empathise with your pains since your pains are essentially my pains. Would I come off as selfish if I ask you to empathise a dab with my pains too?
A little love and support from you would be priceless in these difficult times. Please talk to your Lankan friends.
They are sure to know of a family back in Sri Lanka struggling to put food on their table, a grandma who is struggling to pay for her pills, a kid who’s pretending to have a toe injury because their parents can’t buy them new shoes for school. Alas, my feast doesn’t seem tempting any more. ‘‘Machan’’ (friend), I sincerely hope you find the appetite I lost, in your watered-down broth.