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Anecdotes about Kalasuri Arisen Ahubudu

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During World War II, the Ahubudu family lived in Koggala, the birthplace of the celebrated author Martin Wickramasinghe. One day, an order was received from the Allied military authorities that the villagers were to quit the place within 48 hours as the Army was taking over the entire village for the construction of an airstrip and a military camp. The Koggala Oya was also considered ideal for amphibious aircraft. Arisen Ahubudu was at the time a very young man, and when the order to vacate came, he was down with a bad attack of typhoid. He was placed on a camp-cot and taken in this rather unusual ‘stretcher’ by bullock cart. Our motherland nearly lost an invaluable son in this exercise.

When the allied troops occupied Koggala and set about building the aerodrome, they blasted some of the huge rocks that dotted the village. Among these rocks was a massive one on which a crane (koka) had been carved centuries earlier. In his youthful wisdom Ahubudu had taken a picture of this rock from which Koggala derived its name (koka-gala), a few weeks earlier, before it was blasted to bits. Taken with a simple box camera, if this photograph still exists, it would surely be a museum piece.

The Koggala village also had a pre-historic Hirugal Devalaya (a place of sun-god worship) existing from the times of mighty King Ravana. It was Salman Wathugedara, Ahubudu’s maternal grandfather, who taught him the traditional first lesson at the auspicious time.

One day, the principal of his school brutally struck Ahubudu with a cane, over copying of a letter he was entrusted with. He then walked out of the school never to return.

After self-studying, Ahubudu qualified as a teacher and joined the Sariputta Vidyalaya, in Ahangama. On the very first day at school, he vowed never to cane a child. Thereafter, he entered the Nittambuwa Teachers’ Training College, where he became a brilliant pupil of guru Munidasa Kumaratunga, the proponent of the Hela School of thought (Hela Havula). Ahubudu, together with Jayantha Weerasekera, Raphael Tennekoon, Alaw Isi Sabihela, Jayamaha Wellala, Abiram Gamhewa and several other prominent scholars of that calibre, were ardent proponents of Hela-Sinhala or pure Sinhala.

His first appointment, as a trained teacher, was to the Deegala School, in the Matale District in 1942. From there he joined Mahinda College, Galle, where he spent the happiest days in his life as a teacher. His charm and charisma made him a popular, much loved and highly respected teacher. Always punctual, he had a unique style of teaching.

“Enu daruwa” (come hither child), “Asun ganna” (please take a seat), “Oba mona gollehida?” (In which class are you?), were some of his kind-hearted words. He came to school in immaculate white national dress. Some of the other teachers including the vice-principal also wore the same. He functioned as both the Sinhala language and art teacher. His pupils loved him so much that when they saw him coming to the class, there was pin-drop silence. He would stay after school, of his own volition, to coach free of charge, his more backward pupils.

On a corner of the block board in his class, he did a beautiful portrait of the Buddha, which soon spread to other classes, too, when he obliged to do so, on request.

Some of his pupils were given Hela names; Wickumsihe (Wickramasinghe), Gunawadu (Gunawardena), Hemsandu (Hemachandra), Wiruhiru (Weerasuriya), Dahamdas (Dharmadasa) and so on. My Portuguese surname, meaning spring in an arid land, was given a beautiful Hela twist. The year Sri Lanka won Independence from the British, in the surge of national awakening, Ahubudu composed the hit song, ‘Lanka Lanka Pembara Lanka’ sung so melodiously by Sunil Santha. This song first appeared in the small magazine ‘Hela Kumaruwa’ published by Ahubudu himself.

A few days later when he sent it to his good friend Sunil Santha, requesting him to sing it to a melody of his composition, Sunil discovered that a slight adjustment had to be made to the words if it was to be set to music. Sunil could have made the adjustment himself, for he too was a scholar and a lyricist, but he came all the way from Ja-Ela to Galle to get Ahubudu to do so. He felt that it would be impolite to do it himself or send the song back by post to Ahubudu, asking him to do what had to be done. When he came to Mahinda to meet Ahubudu, he introduced Sunil to us, his pupils. And I remember thinking that I had rarely seen such a dashingly handsome pair. They surely must have made many a female heart turn cart-wheels!

Ahubudu composed a special song for Galle’s Big Match, Richmond Vs Mahinda. Its chorus went:

‘Pandu gasala ada jaya ganne vidula Mihindu apey!

Ada dina tharagen mul thena ganne vidhuala Mihindu apey!

Mihindu apey! Mihindu apey! Viduhala Mihindu apey!

(Mahinda will be victorious at today’s match. Mahinda will lead all the way).

During school holidays, a small group of us, his pupils, would drop in at his modest home at Unawatuna, and we were introduced to his Hela Havula friends, the likes of Jayamaha Wellala, Kumarasihi Kitsiri, Liyanage Jinadas, Amarasiri Gunawadu and others, who were gathered there. It was an enchanting experience. For they would argue with scholarship on merits or demerits of this literary work or that, quoting chunks from the work to prove a point. Or, they would have a song session or a friendly contest of ‘Hitivana Kavi’ (impromptu verse).

Ahubudu was also an accomplished artist. On his sitting room wall was a framed painting by him, of the Buddha and below it was one of Jesus Christ. We were intrigued by it. So, one day we asked him what it was all about. He then said that Jesus was an incarnation of Maitri Buddha!

There is another story laced with humour. One day a pupil met him in Galle Town and asked him “Guruthumo beherak giyehida?” (Sir! Where have you been to?) Then Ahubudu replied, “Maa sanda salanta giyemi.” The pupil did not quite understand what he said. Back at home he thought long and hard. At last ,he remembered that it was the day of the General Election and that what Ahubudu had said was that he had gone to cast his vote.

Author Sri Charles de Silva was another member of the Hela Havula; he was on the Mahinda staff at the time. One day we heard a big argument from the direction of his class. And, during the interval we went there to find out what it was all about. We heard that one of the School Inspectors had asked Sri Charles’ class, the Sinhala word for ‘not admitting a thing’? One pupil had answered that it is ‘nopiligani’. The Inspector had then said that the correct word is ‘pilinogani’, which literally means ‘not taking clothes’.

The name of Ahubudu’s magazine, ‘Hela Kumaruwa’ was changed to ‘Ediya’ (Pride) and was published monthly instead of weekly. It was a popular magazine widely read by both children and adults. It contained very informative articles and a special feature was an entire page devoted to a glossary of widely used English terms translated into Sinhala by Ahubudu himself. This was 75 years ago and his Sinhala terms are widely used today. He was a pioneer in this field.

Also, it had a forum page where quarries from readers were answered. I remember a child asking the Sinhala term for ‘photograph’ which was given as ‘Seyaruwa’. A surveyor had asked for the correct Sinhala phrase for “the land was surveyed.” It was given as “idama miniksooye”. An adult had asked the correct Sinhala word for ‘loudspeaker’, which was given as ‘gohuwa’.

Ediya had an alliterative slogan:

Ediya vediye podiyange edi wadannatai.

(Ediya has come to increase the pride of little ones.)

One day a prankster in our class wrote on the blackboard:

Ediya vediye podiyange madi vedi vediyen kadannatai.

(Ediya

has come to make more and more money out of little ones).

Our guru enjoyed the joke on him more than anyone else. That was the charming man he was. Ediya was published at Ahubudu’s family press ‘Heli Paharuwa’ (Heli Press), managed by his brother Ahuthusu. Priced at 10 cents, even 10,000 copies were inadequate. Such was its demand.

One Chandra Dewalegama was a frequent contributor to Ediya. Once she wrote a poem ‘Ahimsaka Samanmalie’ (The innocuous Samanmalie). Editor Ahubudu, having published it in Ediya, was desirous of meeting this poetess. It turned out to be a Cupid’s adventure. Ahubudu’s homecoming was held at the historic Unawatuna of Ramayana fame. In this village is a mountain where rare medicinal herbs grow. It is said to be that part of the Himalayan mountain range that was wrenched off by the Monkey God, Hanuman, and brought to Sri Lanka during the Rama-Ravana war; the medical herbs, presumably, to be used in tending to the injured soldiers of the army. At the foot of this mountain is the popular sea-bathing resort of Unawatuna and the Welle Kovila.

The Unawatuna Village had an unusual signboard. It read ‘Pahina Pola’ (Post Office). Of interest, a pahinaya is a letter, while a pahina patha means a postcard. The invitation to his homecoming was couched entirely in flawless ‘Hela-basa’. It was short, simple, sweet and novel and may have been incomprehensible to some.

The two-liner read:

‘Arisen Ahubudu themey may masa

10 weni dina Sanda samaga siya deveni diviya arambai).

Edina pevethwena sadayehi hey obage hamuwa pathai.’

(On the 10th of this month Arisen Ahubudu will commence his second life with Sanda.

He cordially invites you to the reception to be held that day.)

Many newspapers published greetings befitting the occasion. I am one of the surviving few who attended his homecoming. On the 35th anniversary of his wedding, I wrote an article to The Island, which was published on August 30 and 31, 1988.

Mahinda’s loss was the gain of S. Thomas’ College. He then resided at No. 1, Fairline Road, close to the Dehiwala Railway Station. Some of his friends, well-wishers and pupils who were Colombo-bound by train, detrained at Dehiwala, to visit him.

The following two stories have an indirect relevance to Ahubudu. One day, long years ago, I was seated in the verandah of my house soon after lunch, and was almost dozing off when I heard the sound of footsteps. It was the celebrated author Martin Wickramasinghe who, like Ahubudu hailed from the village of Koggala. I warmly welcomed him. Soon our entire family gathered round him and was engaged in a lively conversation when my 80-year-old father asked him, quite agitated, why he had referred to a relative of his ‘Bandarawatta Mahattaya’, living in Koggala, in derogatory terms, in his book ‘Upandasita’ as ‘Bandarawatta vanahi ahankara modayeki’ (Bandarawatta is an arrogant blockhead). The author then maintained that it was a statement of fact. After he left, I was clueless as to why he had visited me. Neither have I ever met him nor written to him. The only possible connection I had with him was that I had donated a prize to the essay competition organised as part of his birthday celebrations held a few days before at the request of its organisers.

Another day, while travelling in the Negombo bound train to Ja-Ela, where I lived at the time, when the din of the train going over the Kelani Bridge jolted me, I recognised the passenger seated opposite me.

“Sir! Aren’t you the celebrated singer Sunil Santha?”

“I no longer sing. Now, I run a small store in my village,” he said.

Pointing to a bundle of dry fish under his seat, he added, “I went to Colombo to bring some required items for my store.” I then introduced myself as a pupil of guru Arisen Ahubudu and recalled his visit to Mahinda College, Galle, to meet Ahubudu. He was overjoyed to hear about it.

As I entrained at Ja-Ela he extended to me an invitation to visit him the following Sunday.

So, the following Sunday I visited him. Sunil warmly welcomed me. He recalled his days in Galle, where he had taught, before going to Shantiniketan of India, adding that he created the melody for the Sinhala College anthem of St. Aloysius College, Galle, composed by his illustrious maternal uncle, Rev. Father Moses Perera. Sunil told me that for eight beautiful years, after returning to Ceylon, he had been a songster and that for the sake of a principle, he set aside music. He said that some staffers at Radio Ceylon were in the habit of keeping their parcels of food on the grand piano inviting insects to destroy it and though he brought it to the notice of the authorities, it had fallen on deaf ears. With great reluctance, I took his leave. Back at home I wrote to Ahubudu about it.

On February 28, 1955, C. Vanniasingham, MP for Kopay, said in Parliament, that the government should stop Tamil names being obliterated for Sinhala names and cited the case of Kantale becoming Gantalawa. According to Ahubudu it is the Sinhala village ‘Govi Paya’ which became his electorate Kopay. Deeply shaken by it, Ahubudu wrote the book ‘Lanka Gam Nam Vahara’, a monograph on place names of Sri Lanka, which provided a dependable source of information. Writing to me on February 11, 1984, he lamented that unfortunately for our Motherland, he had still not been able to get it published. It ultimately saw the light of day only in 1987.

I kept in touch with him with infrequent correspondence. Usually his letters begin: Asiri (With blessings to you!)

Labanda Wiruhiruweni (Dear Weerasuriya) (Assumed name)

And ends thus: Sema Setha Pathami (Wishing you all the best)

Meyata

(I remain)

Labanda

(Yours affectionately)

Signed ‘Arisen Ahubudu’. His signature was beautiful, impressive and artistic.

My last letter to him was regarding the query of a lady living about 16 miles from Galle, who wanted to know how her village name ‘Nakiyadeniya’ originated. Ahubudu replied that it meant ‘Nakiyagath deniya’. (A ‘deniya’ is a land area with semi-hard soil and a high-water table, used for bathing and other similar purposes.) I met him last when he visited me in Galle. Guru Arisen Ahbudu will eternally live in our hearts!



Features

‘Lord Edgware Dies’

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It has been some time since I read an Agatha Christie, the plot of which I cannot remember. So, I was delighted to find on the shelves of a friend Lord Edgware Dies, which I had a vague memory of, but no certainty about who had done it.

When I read it, I found that my memory of who was probably the killer was correct, but I could not be certain and the red herrings Christie threw in were so diverting that until almost the very end I wondered if I had been wrong.

The plot is very simple. Jane Wilkinson, who is married to Lord Edgware, tells him that she is desperate for a divorce since she is in love with a very proper Anglo-Catholic peer, Lord Melton, but Edgware refuses to divorce her. She asks Poirot to talk to him, which he does, and is surprised to find that Edgware has told Jane he is prepared to give her a divorce. This was, after he had categorically refused, through a letter, which Jane said she had not received.

That night Edgware is murdered, after Jane had been to see him, or so the butler said, and also Edgware’s secretary. But Jane had been that evening at a grand dinner many miles away, where a dozen fellow guests could swear to her presence.

There was a solution however to the mystery of two Jane Wilkinsons, namely a skilful impersonator called Carlotta Adams who, in the opening chapter had impersonated Jane Wilkinson, who had also been at the performance. But when Poirot goes to see her, he finds that she had been found dead on the morning after Edgware had been killed, of an overdose. And in her bag was a gold case, with a strange inscription, that contained the drug, along with a pair of pince-nez.

Her maid said she had written a letter to her sister in America and posted it the previous night. Poirot asks Inspector Japp to get the letter, and a transcript is received from America, and in it the name of Edgware’s nephew Ronald Marsh is mentioned; he had taken Carlotta to dinner after her performance, with which the book opens, and had then set her a challenge. Japp arrests Marsh, but Poirot is not happy and asks for the original of the letter, which the sister sends him. That shows that a page is missing, and the tear is obvious, though that raises the question as to why it had not simply been cut.

Matters are further complicated by the fact that Marsh had gone in a taxi to the Edgware house, along with Edgware’s daughter Geraldine, in the interval of an opera which had previously seemed to provide them with cast iron alibis. Geraldine had gone in to fetch her pearls so that Marsh could raise money he needed, and thus had an opportunity to kill Edgware, as did Marsh, for the driver said he had got out of the taxi while waiting and gone into the house.

Agatha Christie

Marsh explained why he had gone to the house on the night of the murder as having followed Bryan Martin, an American actor, who had been in love with Jane, whom he saw go into the house with a key. But there was no one visible when he entered, and Geraldine almost immediately came down and they left together. And Martin too has become an object of suspicion to Poirot, for he had been to see him before the murders were discovered with a story of being followed by a man with a gold tooth – a story Poirot immediately realized was false when he was asked how old the man was, and was told he was young, for young people did not have gold teeth.

A heap of French money Edgware had got for a trip to Paris was missing, but since Marsh had no need for it after his cousin’s offer of help, Poirot deduces that it must have been taken by the butler, who has disappeared. Christie has stressed that he is astonishingly handsome, unusual in a butler, and Poirot notes a resemblance to Martin, so he thinks the mysterious man going into the house must have been him.

Incidentally, later Poirot assumes that Edgware’s change of mind was because he was involved in some scandal, and I believe Christie intends us to see the cause of this in his handsome butler, though this is not specified.

Meanwhile, Poirot has asked Japp to find out the provenance of the case found in Carlotta’s handbag, and it turns out to have been made in Paris, specially commissioned, and collected by a woman with pince-nez.

But then another murder occurs—that of another guest at the grand dinner, which provided Jane with her alibi. The victim is an actor who had been bemused when Jane, at a lunch, thought the Judgment of Paris referred to the city. He told Hastings he wanted to see Poirot, but was killed before he could get to the appointment. Poirot had rushed there when told about his request, but it was too late.

Meanwhile, Poirot has tried out the pince-nez on Edgware’s secretary, but she could not see through these. It was only a chance remark heard outside the theatre that led him to try them out on Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a spare pair that had been appropriated for the night of the murders.

Poirot then lays things out, having summoned Martin and told him that he probably suppressed Edgware’s letter, as he had been dropped by then and he did not want Jane to marry another. But after teasing Martin, Poirot says that Jane was in fact the murderer, and she got Carlotta to impersonate her at the dinner while she went to the house and killed her husband. After meeting Carlotta later and checking with her through a call that she had not been rumbled, Jane had gone ahead with the murder – she put veronal into her drink and the case with veronal into the handbag. She forgot to take out the pince-nez she had used earlier to imitate an American. Carlotta had registered as the American in a hotel and Jane had gone to see her, and there they exchanged identities. After seen the letter, she made use of it by tearing off the page that referred to her, and the S of She, so that the person who had challenged Carlotta to impersonate her seemed to be a man.

There is a coda in which Jane, condemned to death, writes to Hastings, still full of pride at her ingenuity hoping she will be remembered.

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Desilt reservoirs, learn from our ancient irrigation systems

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Polgolla

by Prof. O. A. Ileperuma

Silting of reservoirs is a major problem today affecting our hydropower production and irrigation systems. The main Mahaweli reservoirs are silted to a considerable extent reducing the water holding capacity of them. Due to poor soil management practices, floodwaters deposit large amounts of silt in these reservoirs. When the Polgolla reservoir was fully drained about two years back, one could see mountains of silt in the lower reaches of the reservoir. A rough estimate is that 50% of the total capacity of these reservoirs has been lost to siltation. This is a serious issue which affects not only power and agriculture but also flood control.

Our ancient irrigation systems ensured that desilting of reservoirs took place under royal decree where all users of the reservoirs were ordered to carry out desilting of reservoirs during the dry season. The clay thus collected was used in making bricks for the construction of great stupas which dot the landscape of our ancient kingdoms. This ensured that the reservoirs had their full capacity filled with water for the next cultivating season. Our ancient kings were clever enough not to construct reservoirs by blocking main rivers such as the Mahaweli. A classic example is the Minipe left canal where they tapped only the surface water of Mahaweli. Even the bigger tanks such as Nuwara Wewa and Parakrama Samudraya were fed with minor rivulets. There were also other ingenious features in the cascade irrigation systems built by the ancient kings, such as mud sluice canals and forest reservations between the reservoirs in the cascade system. These reservations helped trap silt and remove excess nutrients, which could otherwise contribute to increasing salinity as water flowed from one reservoir to another.

Victoria

Moragahakanda

A classic engineering marvel is the former Yoda Ela, which carries water from Kalawewa to Nuwara Wewa and Tissa Wewa. It is 87 km long although the straight distance between these points is only about 40 km. The gradient of this canal is about 10 cm per km or 6 inches per mile. Yodha Ela functions as a moving reservoir and feeds about 4,600 hectares of paddy lands. It is a winding canal with about 120 smaller reservoirs on its way. It was constructed during the reign of King Dhatusena around 459 AD and later expanded by King Parakramabahu by connecting more reservoirs to the network. Unfortunately, during the Mahaweli project our modern-day engineers constructed a concrete canal replacing the winding path of this Yoda Ela also called Jaya Ganga. This effectively removed the ability of the old Yoda Ela to remove silt and nutrients. The bank of this Ela has wet zone trees such as jak and areca nut growing well. They take up the nutrients from the flowing stream making the water suitable for irrigation later.

Ancient Mesopotamian civilisations depended on dams constructed along the two main rivers, Euphrates and Tigris. After continuous irrigation of their fields over several thousand years, salinity of the irrigated lands increased making them unsuitable for agriculture. People died due to famine and this clearly illustrates the danger of blocking main rivers for agriculture. There is scientific evidence that the salinity of paddy soils in the Mahaweli C area is increasing.

We saw the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. The sluice gates of the Kotmale Reservoir were opened, and Kandy and Peradeniya were flooded. If the reservoir had had greater storage capacity, couldn’t the opening of the gates have been delayed? This may not be an argument that modern-day engineers would readily accept, and I am not an irrigation expert. These ideas may well be naïve. But most of us tend to think of reservoirs mainly in terms of hydropower generation and irrigation, while their role in flood control receives much less attention. The question therefore deserves serious consideration. Could restoring lost reservoir capacity through desilting help improve our ability to manage extreme rainfall and reduce flood risks?

Desilting our reservoirs should be considered a national priority.

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Losing out to Ethiopia

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From Trailblazer to Tailender

Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part III

by Gomi Senadhira

In Sri Lanka, the word “Ethiopia” is often used as disparaging slang to describe individuals or areas experiencing extreme poverty, starvation, or severe economic hardship. This linguistic habit originated in the 1980s with the Western media coverage of the devastating Ethiopian famine of 1983-85. That media coverage shocked the world but also left an outdated and offensive global stereotype that the country is permanently starving. Much has changed since then. By now, with an annual growth rate of around 9%, it is the fastest-growing economy in sub-Saharan Africa. Ethiopia has also emerged as a highly competitive exporter and is challenging not only its competitors in the region but also countries like Sri Lanka. This article is on how Sri Lanka has lost ground to Ethiopia (and a few other countries) in the GCC markets for agricultural and floricultural products.

Sri Lanka – A Pioneer in the Agriculture and Floricultural Market in the GCC

As discussed in Part II of this article, by the mid-1980s Sri Lanka had established a strong foothold in the GCC’s fruit, vegetable, and floricultural market. Geographical proximity and well-established shipping and air links gave Sri Lanka a strong comparative advantage over Southeast Asian and African nations. Thailand, Vietnam, and Kenya were not even in the market. At that time, Ethiopia was experiencing (as BBC news reports described) “a biblical famine”.

The market was not very large, but it was lucrative and growing. Trade Minister Lalith Athulathmudali as well as the Chairman of the Export Development Board, Victor Santiapillai, who visited Kuwait (and the GCC countries), recognised the market potential for these products and encouraged us to continue with our work. The minister was particularly keen to further develop links between the market for these products, exporters, and his Export Production Villages (EPVs). So, it was becoming a successful case not only for export diversification but also for transferring gains from exports directly to rural households.

From Trailblazer to Tailender

As a result, even by the beginning of this century Sri Lanka had a larger market share than most of its competitors from Asia or Africa. But since then, our competitiveness has weakened significantly. The tables below provide a comparative snapshot of Sri Lanka’s performance vis-à-vis Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya and Ethiopia in the GCC market for vegetables, fruits and floricultural products. As illustrated therein, in 2001 Sri Lanka was ahead of Thailand, Kenya and Ethiopia in this small but rapidly growing market. Since then, we have fallen behind Thailand, Kenya and many other countries in that lucrative market. If this trend continues, Sri Lanka will fall behind Ethiopia within the next few years. (See Table 1)

In the GCC market for vegetables (covered in HS chapter 07), Sri Lanka was ahead of most other competitors in 2001. As illustrated in Table 1 , Sri Lanka had failed to develop this market, while Thailand, Kenya, and even Ethiopia had very efficiently increased their market shares. The GCC is a market to which Sri Lanka can supply some vegetables, like cabbages, by sea. It appears Sri Lanka had also failed to exploit this mode of supply.

We can see a similar trend in the market for fruits. Vietnam, Kenya, and Thailand have emerged as major players, while exports from Sri Lanka have staggered on slowly. In this segment, Vietnam has emerged as a leading player during the last twenty years and the GCC imports from Viet Nam have shot up from US$44 thousand in 2001 to US$346 million by 2024. In part one of these articles, I discussed the remarkable increase of jackfruit exports from Vietnam “…just $3 million in 2015 to an impressive $236.8 million in 2023” while most of our jackfruit production rots under the trees. This explains how countries develop their markets, geographically and product-wise. (See Table 2)

Sri Lanka’s performance has been weakest in the market for floricultural products (HS Chapter 06), which groups live trees, cut flowers, and ornamental foliage. When we first entered the market in the 1980s, the market was dominated by the Netherlands, and Kenya and Ethiopia were not even in the market. At that time, we identified the Gulf states as a market where Sri Lanka could have a dominant presence due to geographical proximity. Even in 2001, Sri Lanka was ahead of Kenya, Ethiopia, and Thailand. But by now, Kenya has emerged as the dominant supplier. Ethiopia is also expanding its market share and is the third-largest exporter. (See Table 3)

Missing the Wood for the Trees

In the mid-1980s, Sri Lanka first established its foothold in the GCC market. Since then, Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya, and even Ethiopia have moved well ahead of us and have become leading players. Why did we lag behind in our export diversification efforts in general and, more particularly, in the GCC market?

The reasons are very clear. After the initial attempts in the 1980s and early 1990s, Sri Lanka has not been proactively involved in identifying, developing, and promoting new products and markets, or protecting and further developing new markets already established. The focus has simply been on traditional exports: tea, coconut, cinnamon, and garments, while other products were almost ignored. In essence, we have been and continue to focus intensely on a narrow group of products and markets, and we have lost sight of the bigger picture.

(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)

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