A Thousand Rupees

It was nothing to me. And maybe that was the problem. A thousand Rupees was just ten dollars American. My hotel bill for the night would be twice that much… and that was nothing to me, except maybe a bargain.

I was spending the night in paradise… next door to hell. Sri Lanka in January 2005, less than two weeks after a massive tsunami hit the coastlines of South Asia, was as much a paradox as a paradise. The devastation was beyond belief. Not even the most carefully chosen thousand words could describe one picture of the tragedy.

I was there to shoot a documentary about aide workers and emergency food supplies reaching remote villages on the south and east coast of the island. That was the scene of hell… or maybe it was nature lashing back at the encroachment of human development. In any event, nature seemed to be winning.

The killer waves destroyed almost every thing they touched… buildings, rail roads, highways boats and their docks, and thousands and thousands of people. Not just the dead, but the survivors too. The dead had nothing to worry about, no clean up, no starting over, no grieving. Once the numbness wore off the living would have to find a way to live again.

That’s what brought me to a small piece of virtually untouched coastline. It was a resort built by a German firm, and marketed in Europe to wealthy vacationers. If there was a more beautiful spot on earth I hadn't been to it yet. A lush, green tropical jungle filled with a variety of flowers sloped down to a high seawall and a beach lined with king coconut trees. The sand was fine and white. The only evidence that the tsunami had been here was coral washed up on the beach. The 30 ft high seawall was enough to keep the massive waves out. It was the only place I saw that had escaped the devastation. It was paradise in the midst of hell.

We had it all to ourselves, the journalists and aid workers. It was January, not the vacation season. That, plus the tsunami ensured plenty of vacancies. The small clean cottages had running water, (cold) and electricity most of the time. They were connected by cemented pathways that lead to a central dining facility and banquet hall beside a large swimming pool. A thick jungle of tropical vines and flowers perfumed the air. The tropical birds in residence provided a movie-like sound track. Just one look and we knew we were in a very special place during un unbelievably difficult time.

We arrived there from a displacement camp where thousands of people were lined up for clean water, rice, cooking oil, and hot red peppers. The local survivors shared public buildings or tents which would be their home for who knew how long.

In better times, before the tsunami, they might live in a small brick or cinderblock house… maybe three rooms…maybe even electricity, sometimes. Few would have doors and glass windows… even fewer would have running water. The luckier ones would have hand pumps in their yards to draw water from a government supplied pipeline. The rest would have to carry water home in large pots.

What would they think of my house? Would it be mansion to them…filled with room after room of …things…things that were solely for my comfort, amusement or convenience? Things they might see on TV, if they have one. I never really thought about or appreciated all of the “things” in my house…or even my house for that matter, before my trip to Sri Lanka.

If they didn't work on the fishing boats for their livings they would gather king coconuts and fruits to sell on the roadside. Some might have had a small rice patty, before the salty sea water destroyed it. The people who lived in the mountains might work on one of the tea plantations left by the British. At any rate, the average Sri Lankan would earn about three thousand Rupees, or $30 dollars a month…. A dollar a day.

It's so hard to explain to people at home how different this world was. While we worry about what we're doing this weekend, or about vacations, or investments, or retirement… they worried about their next dollar… the average Sri Lankan worried about their next days meal….and they did that every day.

The resort was a place few of them would ever see. A small staff of locals would serve as maids and cooks and porters. It would be a coveted job, not for the scenery or the wages, but because of the contact with the Europeans and Americans who might leave tips…. A Rupee for this and a Rupee for that… a few Rupees could really make a difference for them.

A few Rupees may mean extra food for their families, a little money that may be shared with extended family members struggling to survive.
It might mean shoes or clothes or even a book. Education was important to even the poorest of these people.

Enough Rupees could mean a down payment on a taxi and a possible upgrade in their life style. Sri Lankan roads were absolutely packed with three wheeled scooter taxi's carting people from place to place.

A fare could fetch three Rupees, maybe more. Enough saved Rupee's could mean a down payment on a small piece of land with banana trees, king coconuts, or mango's. It could mean a larger roadside fruit stand and a better house with running water and electricity. It could mean a better education for children who might go to a university someday… who might work in Europe or maybe even America… where fabulous salaries are earned… and some of that money might be sent back home to help support families left behind. More than a billion dollars a year comes into Sri Lanka just that way.

Such are the dreams in Sri Lanka

I was tired when our bus arrived at the resort. It had been a very long day after a very short night. We had traveled much, seen much, worked hard, and eaten little. But how could we complain? We were staying in a beautiful untouched resort when nearly a million Sri Lankans would have to find a spot in a refugee camp. I couldn't help but to feel a little guilty. I'm sure we all did.

The resorts front desk gave us our room keys and general directions to our various bungalow's. My room was a couple of hundred yards away, near the edge of a hill… a beautiful view of the beach and ocean. I was prepared to carry two bags…one a heavy camera case, and pull a third on rollers. A porter offered his help.

He was a young man, maybe in his early 20's , dressed in a pristine white uniform. I wondered how he could look for crisp and clean in the heat and humidity? I was the one who looked more like a refugee, my clothes totally sweat soaked… my hair greasy… my face unshaved and looking as tired as I felt.

He took the three bags and the key and indicated that he would lead the way. I wasn't about to protest. I walked along behind him taking in the spectacular scenery unburdened by my bags and breathing a little easier. He unlocked and opened the door to the neat, clean bungalow and carefully put the bags inside.

It was time to tip him.

I had a pocketful of very foreign currency… some from Europe, some from Singapore and Thailand, and some Rupees I picked up at the airport the day we arrived. It was all intermingled in my pocket and unrecognizable to me.

The funny thing about foreign currency is that it doesn't seem like real money to you… not unless you live with it, work for it and have to spend it on a regular basis.

Just that morning during a break, I was in a small shop where I could buy a bottle of Pepsi. I reached into my pocket… pulled out a handful of undistinguishable coins and did a very American thing. I just held it out and let the clerk take what ever he wanted. He sorted through the coins, finding Sri Lanka currency...took what he wanted and nodded. I could only hope that he didn't rip me off, although I didn't really care… the money didn't seem very real to me and if he made a little extra, well… it was ok.

I thanked the porter, bowing my head as I did hoping he would
understand my gratitude, and then took some bills out of my pocket. The
least denomination was a thousand Rupee bill. I knew vaguely it was $10…
but I didn't want to go through the coin ritual again.

So I gave it to him. His eyes widened …He was stunned… looking at the crisp new bill … looking back at me wondering if I was sure about this. A fellow worker walked over and looked, also in disbelief…

A thousand Rupees… to me it was nothing, almost thoughtless, careless. Was it a dream come true? A third of a months earnings were in his hands. What would it mean to him ...to his family? Would it change anything?


His reaction suddenly made me wondered, would this be a curse or a blessing? Would it bring him happiness or would it cause unforeseeable problems? Would he become a victim of his windfall or would it be enough to reach a goal?

Such are unintended consequences.

What if someone out of the blue gave me a thousand dollars? Of course I would be happy about it. …I think. What if that thousand dollars got me in trouble?

The moment passed and I realized I was tired and thinking too much

Besides…I couldn’t take it back... and I would never know the ending to his story about the Thousand Rupees…

He went his way, I went mime. We would both remember the moment for very different reasons.