A Visit to Jaffna

A Visit to Jaffna

In the summer of 1986 I decided to go to Sri Lanka to see my family. In the face of all the news received here in Britain it seemed a most unwise step, but as my aged father had suffered a stroke I was determined to go against the understandable advice of well-intentioned friends. So, with the best of possible insurances, a visa, and loaded with much needed vitamin tablets, soups and sanatogen for the family and very little else I reached Colombo. My family and friends, while scolding my temerity in going, were overjoyed to see me. The last time I had met them all was in very sad circumstances after the communal riots of 1983 when they had all been refugees, some, including my brother and family, for the second time. Their way of life and philosophy shamed me. Despair and insecurity they felt, but strong in their faith they lived on day by day. Prices of things were extremely high with the exchange rate at R46 to Ł1. I wondered how, with the average income of R1000 per month, a family could cat, clothe and pay rent.

I planned to leave Colombo for the north after two days, by which time I would have obtained an extension to my visa and a special permit from the Ministry of Defence. All outside my family considered the journey too hazardous - even if any transport were to be available. To charter the only private aircraft required yet another restriction-bound permit besides being costly beyond my means; a train journey was now never a through service, but necessitated changing to coaches. It was decided that a straightforward coach trip would be the best method. To accompany me an elderly couple, who lived near my parents and who were returning north, gladly befriended me for the journey. Whilst we were waiting to leave a radio announcement informed of a bomb attack at Trincomalee, in which army personnel had been killed. This created an increased danger on what was already a hazardous journey and inevitably the coach departure was delayed. During that day the locals were counting the number of ambulances arriving at the Jayawardanapura hospital - in order, they said, to obtain the only true record of casualties. The fear of yet another riot had to be anticipated, as was the killing of thirteen army personnel which sparked off the 1983 communal riots. A local incident which had occurred added to, our apprehension. A young relative had come to Colombo from Vavuniya to meet a brother on furlough from the Middle East. To return he had left Colombo by train, on the same day I was due to travel by coach. The train had been diverted at Anaradhapura and he was obliged to change to a bus for the remaining forty miles. He never reached his destination and subsequent investigations revealed that he had been taken forcibly from the bus by soldiers, beaten up, and has not been seen since.

Eventually I took the first coach out of Colombo, having been briefed by my sister who had herself previously undertaken the journey. I should travel with as little as possible, nothing more than my shoulder bag, as there would be some fifteen military checkpoints. My insurance and my will should be left with her, just in case! No cash, or means of obtaining it would be available in the north so any I took should be hidden about my person. The hour of departure saw the entire families of all the passengers in attendance upon us, thus underlining their apprehension for our safety - and what we were now obliged to feel.

The coach itself was a sorry spectacle, with few remaining glass windows and many plastic replacements. Bedraggled bodywork made it an obvious veteran of previous skirmishes. Then commenced the frequent military checks. These increased in severity as we journeyed northwards. This became particularly so past Anaradhapura, as we proceeded along a route planted frequently with landmines, and adorned with pot-holes.

We reached Vavuniya at 9 a.m. at a checkpoint where 9 lorry, loaded with vegetables, waited in front of us for clearance. The army in attendance seemed in no mood to permit movement, and while endless negotiations were taking place we were suffering from rising temperature. We were confined to the coach in that deserted countryside, farmland turned to a military outpost, deserted of inhabitants, and now occupied by barbed wire, sandbags and unhappy soldiers. Fear was mounting, passengers became sick, but all had to remain confined.

After three hours the lorry moved, we were checked and allowed to proceed. We now entered what was the constant battle zone of the army and the militants. Silence and tension prevailed in the coach, while we continually passed soldiers armed and alert among the trees bordering the road. After an eternity of extreme apprehension we reached Elephant Pass, leading to the heartland of the Tamils, and an element of relaxation found us entering Jaffna. I travelled for another.two hours to reach my parents, who could not believe their eyes at my arrival. Soon the neighbours gathered to welcome me lovingly, as only simple village folk will. News was sought and a warning given that I should lay low in case the Tamil militants should demand cash for the cause as they are said to do from all who enter from elsewhere.

The following day was spent with my parents. My father, though very much on the mend still needed care and I realised that help had to be found. My sister had come to see them and but for her timely arrival and nursing in the absence of any local doctor, hospital facilities, medicine and home help, things might have been different. My presence gave them much needed fresh encouragement. I gladly joined them in the shockingly frugal life to which everyone in the peninsula had been reduced.

The next day I had planned if it were possible to visit my widowed aunt and the wife of the young missing man from Vavuniya. I set out early for the twelve mile journey more in hope than certainty of finding some kind of transport. This was difficult as kerosene alone was available for the vehicles, such as they were, and things on wheels were frequently requisitioned by the militants in whose territory we were now. While waiting I chatted with other waiting locals and learned of the degrading life they now experienced. Nearby stood a hoarding with notices from the 'occupying' militants informing us of their activities, intentions and orders. They appeared to be the only administration there was; everything else had broken down. Eventually a lone van came along. That it had started as a fish van was self-evident. Now it functioned as a bus with makeshift crude seating, and was already crowded to overflowing. With no good humour but a patient sufferance I was squeezed in and a twelve mile journey was endured. A noticeable fact which I had already observed was the complete absence of young men and boys. By the time I reached jaffna I had obtained much information about the current activities of "the boys" as the militants were termed, and the army. There were no newspapers except a local daily sheet. People listened to radio from nearby India, their only link with the outside world. The state media appeared totally biased. It had claimed the killing of many terrorists which the local people knew to be civilians.

The town of Jaffna itself was a tragic sight reminiscent of the televised scenes of Beirut I had seen at home in England. once a proud and thriving capital of the north it was now a battered bastion with the ancient Dutch fort surrounded by 7ft walls of sandbags; the army besieged inside; supplies being flown in by helicopter and the militants keeping armed guard outside. There was constant intermittent shelling of the town and not one place - schools, churches, hospital, the market or dwelling houses - which did not bear some evidence of its indiscriminate effect. What amazed me was the way that people carried on inspite of it all, leaving their trust in their God. Almost daily the boom of guns was a reminder of the skirmishes elsewhere in the peninsula. Relatives, friends and acquaintances were delighted to see me. Many were emotionally overcome that I should have undertaken such a hazardous journey. However, in spite of their protests I was constantly on the move following their beleaguered way of life, visiting relatives and friends, refugee camps and worshipping at different churches. I was saddened by the harrowing scenes and tales of innocent people caught up in a situation from which they had no escape. They were afraid of the army which had plundered, raped, beaten, burnt and killed; equally "the boys" who occupied their houses and property, exacted levy in cash or gold for the protection against the brutality of the army. They had ignored the warnings to evacuate. To do so ,was considered futile with nothing but a hostile terrain to receive them, and patrols of edgy personnel. There was, as I remarked, an absence of the younger male population. Many had fled the peninsula for fear of being press-ganged into the 'movement' or arrested by the military as suspected terrorists. There was one neighbour whose husband, brother, brother-in-law and nephew had set out for work one morning and never returned. I recalled then the missing young relative who had disappeared when attempting to return home to Vavuniya. I witnessed the tears of many who had trudged all the way from Trincomalee having lost their homes and members of the family to end up in a refugee camp. The wife of the Bishop of jaffna related how difficult it was to protect, comfort and encourage peace in spite of threats to the clergy and parishioners alike. The banks, post offices and petrol stations were all redundant. Pensions were paid upon a visit to the chief army camp within the old fort. Burial of the dead was becoming a major problem.

Soon it was time for me to plan my return to Colombo. My parents and friends advised me to leave before the peninsula was cut off completely. I was reluctant to go, with my aged parents needing company and care. I constantly prayed with them saying Christ witnessed their heartaches and would soon set them free. Meantime we would all be praying and rendering what help we could. Finally, after a tearful farewell, I waited for the fish van as the first stage of the return journey. At the gutted coach station I said farewell to my much distressed aunt. She knew at first hand the dangers around and ahead of me, perhaps more than my parents whose knowledge was only local. Although my departure was said, a strange peace of mind descended upon me. I had been privileged to witness and share the hardships of those people and my relatives.

A long tedious day followed, with the same agonising checks. At one such point we were cleared then called back to witness a boy being separated from his father, with whom he was travelling. The father remonstrated, the boy was terrified, the other passengers were mutely helpless with fear. Time stood still! A psychological ploy perhaps but one which had been known to shock some old people into death. After half an hour the boy was returned to his father and both rejoined us physical wrecks. At the next point the man sitting next to me mislaid his identity card - a matter literally of life and death in this situation. By the time it had been recovered he was close to a seizure. By now I was oblivious of anything outside of myself. The desolation and despair had engulfed me finally.

Somehow I had returned to Colombo all in one piece but too tired in body and spirit to share with my brother and sister and their families any joy at reunion, or to recount my sad experiences in the north. My sister alone knew only too well what I felt. My brother, happy as he was for my safe return from seeing our parents, was sad that he, an able-bodied man with a family, dare not undertake the same journey for fear of kidnap by the militants or confinement by the military as a suspect. Having completed my visits it was now time to leave for London. Would my people be safe on their way home from the airport? Would there be any problems for me at the airport itself Once in the air there were no more questions that could be answered. I had left behind my heart and soul with my people. I did not care any more about anything else except to take up their cause, the cause of all the simple peace-loving people in my sad island.

Pam Ampallam