by Jayantha Perera

It was an ordinary Monday morning. At the Lunawa railway station, I watched the calm blue sea dotted with a few fishing boats. The train to Colombo was 30 minutes late, and it was almost empty. I saw some confusion among railway passengers — some got off the train and got into a train that went to Kalutara. A friend among them warned me that I should not go to Colombo. When I reached the ARTI in Colombo 7, I had the eerie feeling that something was wrong. I saw some employees hurriedly leaving the ARTI. One told me that the Institute had received an anonymous telephone call that the LTTE had plans to attack Colombo before noon. I brushed off the rumour and went to my room.

I saw a Tamil colleague sobbing in her room. She told me that a mob had attacked her house in Wellawatte. The Police had taken her mother to a refugee camp. The director requested that I take my colleague to the refugee camp where her mother was. A driver, who was an ex-soldier, agreed to take us to the camp.

We realised the gravity of the security situation when we left the ARTI for the refugee camp. Hundreds of people, mostly office workers, were stranded on the road. People were walking home. Two soldiers checked our identity cards and my colleague’s handbag at the refugee camp. One asked me in Sinhala, “Why do you accompany a Tamil woman?” He told me politely that I should have sent her by herself without exposing myself to mobs. While we were waiting for the approval to enter the camp, a large crowd appeared from nowhere, shouting, “Kill the Tamils before they kill us! Some carried jerrycans full of petrol, iron clubs, and axes. They were in a frenzy. The soldiers at the camp gate stopped them before they reached the periphery wall of the school.

I introduced my colleague and myself to the Army officer at the registration desk as Deputy Directors of the ARTI. I told him my colleague had heard that her mother was already in the camp. He promised to find her whereabouts. When I left the camp, my colleague waved at me with tears in her eyes. I waited until she disappeared among the new refugees who were agitated and scared. Several women were crying, as they did not know what had happened to their children who went to work in the morning. Chaos, fear, hatred, and confusion reigned in the camp and its vicinity. It occurred to me that I had not offered to bring food or clothes for my colleague and her mother. I felt ashamed of myself.

The driver dropped me off at Bambalapitiya Junction on Galle Road. At the Bambalapitiya junction, I met two colleagues. We started walking towards Dehiwela, where we saw mobs searching for Tamils. A few stopped pedestrians and demanded to prove they were not Tamils. Suddenly, a convoy of cars and motorbicycles drove past us. Motorcycle riders shouted the LTTE had captured Colombo and the LTTE would kill us soon. A few minutes later, another convoy of vehicles passed us with the same message. Pedestrians ran to its side lanes, emptying the main road for about ten minutes.

At Dehiwela, we saw many men in their shorts and folded sarongs shouting the Sinhalese would kill the Tamils. Two men had lists of residents in the area and wanted to know their whereabouts. One mob got petrol by force from a gas station. We watched helplessly while mobs looted and demolished shops. At one shop, they grabbed the owner and assaulted him ruthlessly on the main road. He ran back to his shop with blood dripping from his head. I could not see the Army or Police on the road. Anarchy ruled, and many lost their lives and property in a few minutes.

I reached home exhausted and confused. I felt ashamed of myself because I could not help the people who were crying for help. The three young girls who ran along the Galle Road shouting for help had shaken me to my core. Without lunch, I slept. About an hour later, a jeep stopped in front of my house. The ARTI Director wanted me to go to the Ministry Head Office. I reached Colombo in 20 minutes, as the road was empty. The Army and the Air Force had taken control of the Galle Road. There were no mobs or fleeing people. But I could see the smoke rising from the burned houses, shops, and factories.

The Secretary of the Ministry of Agriculture and Lands presided over the meeting. The Secretary informed the meeting that the ministry would manage two refugee camps for a week or two. He wanted me to be at the refugee camp at St. Thomas’ College in Mount Lavinia. He explained that as many as 1,000 persons might seek refuge at the camp. My responsibilities were to feed them and provide bedding, drinking water, and sanitary facilities. The Secretary also told me that I should get the Army’s assistance and ask the Cooperative Wholesale Establishment (CWE) to get dry food to the camp. He signed several papers that authorised me to order and accept food, bedding, sanitary items, drinking water, blankets, plates, and glasses. He also assigned three Ministry officials to work at the camp.

Hundreds of adults and children were at St. Thomas’ College. Some were crying, others were shouting, and a few had bandaged heads and bloodstained arms. It was a chaotic situation. I told them, using a megaphone, that help would soon come, and the security forces would protect them. One laughed and asked, “Why do you want to help us. Aren’t you a Sinhalese?” I told him to be patient.

An old woman who lost her house told me a squad of goons had arrived at her place brandishing clubs and swords. They told her to get out of the house if she wanted to save her life. Another woman said that goons came with a list of names and checked each house on the lane for Tamil families before setting her home on fire. Families with small children and grown-up daughters had to save their children from mobs. Some parents pushed their daughters and sons over boundary walls to friends’ compounds to protect them from attackers before leaving their homes. Some of them did not know what had happened to their children.

My colleagues set up an office and recorded the refugees’ names and addresses. They also prepared an inventory of food, bedding, blankets, and sanitary facilities that we had received. NGOs, neighbourhood groups, and religious organisations already delivered food, essential medicine, and hygienic supplies. The camp received large quantities of rice, lentils, canned fish, onions, and bread. A benevolent donor sent more than 200 food parcels for dinner.

In the evening, I visited the ARTI Cafeteria Manager in Moratuwa. I asked him to find me six cooks and loan large cooking utensils. I promised to pay his charges within two weeks. His wife accompanied me to a small hamlet by the sea. There, she spoke to three middle-aged women and explained their new assignment. She asked them to collect three more women to go to St. Thomas’ College for a few days. I asked the Manager’s wife to pack basic spices, salt, and oil into one large cooking pot. The women had many years of experience cooking for many people at weddings and funerals.

Using the megaphone, I told the refugees that each family should find a place in a classroom or the large hall to sleep and collect bed sheets and mats from the camp office. A commotion erupted as some women did not want to sleep in rooms with strangers. Others were scared to sleep on the floor. After much discussion, we agreed to organise people into several clusters. ‘Neighbours,’ ‘children attending the same school,’ ‘professionals,’ and ‘government officials’ were some criteria for allocating camp space. Two large posters were hung on a wall showing men and women their toilets.

I rang a bell at 9 pm to indicate the dinner was ready. The food parcels we had received were sufficient to feed those who wanted to eat. Men and women lined up, and four cooks served food. Several young mothers requested milk for their toddlers. Fortunately, the storeroom had a few milk cartons and packets of milk powder. I asked them to prepare milk after dinner. Several older people did not eat rice at night and wanted bread. I checked the storeroom and found steamed bread received from India. I asked a cook to heat 25 small loaves of bread on a flat steel plate. I distributed the bread among those who preferred bread to rice.

It took about eight hours to settle the refugees in the camp and console them. I promised to check on their houses the following day. Many were urban poor who lived in small huts and rented dwellings in Dehiwela and Ratmalana. They had lost everything.

Several beggars who lived on the street had infiltrated the refugee camp after the Army chased them away from the pavements. It was difficult to distinguish them from the refugees. Security guards told me beggars were a security risk because they might steal whatever the refugees had with them, especially gold jewellery, or assault young women at night. The security guards could not check each entrant’s identity card because many had none.

After dinner, I thanked the cooks and allocated a place for them to sleep with bed sheets and mats. I discussed the breakfast with them and agreed to provide bread and pol sambal for adults and bread with eggs for children. Also, we decided to give each person a cup of tea.

I left the camp at 1 am. The road was empty, and the Army stopped me at two places. An army officer explained to me that the killing of 13 soldiers in the North and the delay in handing bodies to their families had triggered the riots. Looting and burning houses continued in lanes and slums. The Army did not have instructions to quell the riots and the mayhem. Instead, the Army controlled the main roads and arrested curfew breakers.

Before lunch, officials from the Commissioner General of Essential Services and the Ministry of Agriculture and Lands Secretary visited the camp with an Army Major. They talked to the refugees and noted their immediate concerns, such as withdrawing money from banks, contacting relatives, and getting medical attention. The Secretary spoke about the logistics and secured me two more vehicles with curfew passes. He told me to encourage refugees with friends or relatives nearby to move to such places as early as possible, as the riots were now under control. After they left, we served lunch of rice, dhal curry, and tempered potatoes. Many refugees told the kitchen crew that the food was good, though simple. More food, medicine, drinking water, and blankets arrived in the evening.

A Tamil colleague at the ARTI had become a refugee overnight. While fleeing, she went through a harrowing experience. Some shops from where she used to buy provisions were in flames. Mobs had attacked some people she knew in such shops after destroying shops and houses. Soon after she left home, a mob gathered in front of her house and checked the electoral list to identify the owners of houses in the lane. Fortunately, the list had the name of her father’s Sinhalese tenant. The mob spared her house.

One morning, I found a young girl at the camp crying. Her mother told me the girl’s 11th birthday was in two days. I asked her what she wanted. She said a birthday cake and her dollies. My colleagues promised to find a doll and to get a cake for her birthday.

We visited several bakeries in the area, but they were closed. We went to the Cafeteria Owner’s house in Moratuwa and begged his wife to bake a cake for the girl’s birthday. She listened to the little girl’s story and baked a large cake for her.

The girl’s mother lit a candle, and her friends sang ‘Happy Birthday’. For the first time, the girl smiled. But soon, she started crying, saying that she wanted her dollies. A colleague gave her a small doll. The girl said she had a similar doll and wanted to go home to play with her toys.

The most challenging request came from a group of older people. They complained they hate to mix with “low castes” and “uncouth” refugees, especially at mealtime. They found it repugnant to eat with them and share bathrooms. I asked them what they wanted me to do. They suggested segregating them from others and providing a separate sleeping area with a toilet. I told them I could not segregate people on a caste or class basis. I explained that the riots had ended and they should consider moving to their relatives and friends. It was the fifth day of the camp. They were unhappy but did not raise this issue again.

Many refugees wanted to leave the camp but were scared and confused. They also wanted to avoid burdening their relatives and friends. Some wanted to rebuild destroyed or damaged houses as fast as they could. They wanted to visit their homes and return to the camp. Several refugees told me that many affected families had already decided to sell their property and go to Jaffna or South India. A few wanted to seek political asylum in Western countries.

Parents with young children were worried about their education. Several girls asked me how to get their textbooks and exercise books from their destroyed houses. One girl told me her father could not buy books for her and her sister, as he had lost all his money. I patiently listened to them and took notes.

On the eighth day after the riots, the refugee camp was closed. Some refugees were overwhelmed by emotions and cried when they met friends and relatives at the school gate. The meetings were heart-rending, but I was happy that they were determined to restart their lives from scratch. My great worry, however, was the fate of the children. Some were traumatised and did not want to leave the camp, where they found some stability and care.

There were about 30 persons who wanted to stay longer at the camp. I told them the camp was no longer providing food. A few confessed that they were beggars who lived on the road or in abandoned buildings. At the refugee camp, they found a safe place with security, food, and basic facilities. A few of them were getting ready to restart, begging. One young man told me that beggars went through the worst form of aggression, torture, and hunger every day, and no one cared about their plight. He knew some refugees did not want to see them at the camp. But he said, “We, too, are human beings and deserve kindness and help.”

A few years later, a refugee family invited me to lunch at their new home. When the riots broke out their children were toddlers. They looked normal and happy. I wanted to know how they had restarted their lives after the riots, but I did not want to broach the subject on that happy occasion.

After lunch, I walked along a lane severely affected by riots. At two places, people recognised me. Some families had rebuilt their houses partially. Later, I met a businessman who told me that Tamils, who had money, left for India, Canada, and Australia. I do not know what happened to the wage workers, low-grade government servants, and, mainly, the garment factory workers I met at the refugee camp. They must have regained their everyday lives. I wish they had, but I do not know.