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| Sunday, 29 January 2006 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Legacy of the Modera inferno by Umangi de Mel
The squalid water is stagnant in the Redbana Ela that carries all the dirt possible from the residences of the area. The narrow path leading to the shanties is probably the hub of activity. It's the place where they chat, bathe, wash, play, fight and even answer a call of nature. When the sunsets, mosquitoes become more active and the stench of kerosene fill the nostrils of the residents of Redbana Watte, heralding another sleepless night. January 20, however, proved to be different, for the shanty population, when a major fire broke out in the area, destroying completely 69 houses. Caused by a kerosene lamp, the disaster spread fast to the rest of the attached shanties, on the 150 by 150 square feet of land. Fortunately the folks were able to get out of the burning 'houses' before anybody was hurt, "we've only got each other now. The fire left us nothing, but taught us that life could be worse. Many people have visited us since, and given us a thousand promises, but nothing has been done so far. We've been here for the last 30 years.
During that time, the government has demolished and rebuilt thrice, increasing the number of houses each time. There's over 1,800 houses here at the moment, and it's a living hell," says a very aggressive Sumith Antony in a hoarse voice. Irrespective of the harshness of the angry sun, Sumith decides to cover himself properly before meeting a stranger, with a well-knitted pullover which he had received, thanks to the temple and the church in the vicinity. "All we need is a roof over our heads. The adults can somehow manage, but what about the children? They can't even go to school or study properly." The fire has apparently taken everything they owned, including the Identity Cards and Birth Certificates. Sixty six houses were burnt down, while three houses were demolished in order to clear the area, leaving over 450 people destitute. "If it weren't for the Red Cross, priests of St. Lucia's Cathedral and the head monk of Bodhiraja temple, we would still be sleeping under the stars. Thanks to them, we got the tents which could accommodate about 10 to 15 people. Sister Berny of 'Samata Sevana' has got us some pillows and mats as well. But how does one expect us to stay in the 17 tents forever? We have to cook outside on the rubble, amidst all the dirt and dust. No one can stay inside the tent during day time for more than an hour, as it becomes an oven. My 3-month-old baby developed a rash all over the body and had to be rushed to the hospital. And in the night, it's freezing cold...." says Sumith talking about their plight. The Municipal Council provided them with food during the weekend till Monday, after which the Bodhiraja temple has been feeding them. They are given dry rations of a fixed amount depending on the number of children in a family, "A family that has one child will get food worth Rs. 325, while a family with three children gets rations worth Rs. 460, and if one has more than three kids, it's Rs. 490, which will vanish before you know it, considering the high cost of living. Only ten people could go at a time to collect the rations. The rest have to wait for days till their turn comes. We feel utterly useless, as most of us can't even go to work". Apparently, the Tamil people who live among them find it difficult to leave for work early, as they have no identity cards to produce at the police barrier! According to Sumith and his friends, the area is becoming polluted by the day, as their population increases and their needs as well. "For all the 1,800 houses we have, including the burnt 69, there are only three toilets and two bathrooms. Just drop by in the morning and you'll see the long queue. Children who are schooling have to find other ways and means of fulfilling their urgent needs before school starts. That's how our day starts here... And when you say Colombo, majority of the people who live in this country picture a wonderland, a place of magic, but look at us, we are stuck here with our children who might not have a future better than our present and a thousand other inexplicably harsh deeds". Apparently, most of their male population have gone astray, having got arrested for breaking the law in various ways, but their women work hard to make ends meet. And the few males who attempt to find work, arn't often very lucky. "Children of 58 families go to school, and now they hang around at home (which is a tent) and play cricket. How can we trust anybody, and why can't the people whom we have appointed, do something?" Sumith questions, adding that, under normal circumstances, his income would be around Rs. 450 provided he works full time, "I have children, and how can I expect to feed all of us with just Rs. 450? A packet of milk powder which is over Rs. 170 lasts only two days. And it's not everyday that we find work. Most of us here are Natamis ". Two pipe lines through which diesel, petrol, crude oil and kerosene oil is pumped from the harbour to Kolonnawa run over this land. And the train which is used to transport these fuel at times, when it's difficult to pump through the pipes, is also run across their land, although the tents are now being built precisely on the railway track putting an end to another vital duty. The stench of kerosene fills the air again as they desperately await the authorities to provide a permanent solution. Closing their eyes to many risks, the shanty population yearn to stick around. Although they seem to consider the possibilities of shifting to even a remote village if they're given houses, deep down, the folks seem to have a sense of belonging and attachment to the area irrespective of all its shortcomings, the stench, the mosquitoes, the rain that brings the muck into their houses... |
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