I'm not a religious person. As a philosophy teacher, my go-to thinker was Spinoza, who once wrote that religion was created "to deceive the people and to constrain the minds of men" But I guess that if I had to pick one faith, the smiles of Buddhism I discovered throughout my Asian travels would be a nice change from the austere Protestantism of my native eastern France.
SABARAGAMUWA — As the sun rises over the lush mountains in the Sri Lankan province of Sabaragamuwa, a team of veterinarians prepare very large bottles of milk. The babies, Pandula and Migara, are orphans and they are definitely hungry. Once presented their breakfast, they impatiently consume it.
The babies are two calves at the Pinnawala Elephants Orphanage.
Chandrika Priyadhashani, the research and education assistant at the orphanage, says, "They come from the wild, so we have to look after them during their lifetime. And their ages are below five."
Pandula and Migara were rescued from the Ritigala forest several years ago.
Over recent decades, massive development has seen elephant habitats in Sri Lanka shrink. Thousands of acres of thick forest have been cut down to make way for residential areas and agricultural land.
"So many wildlife animals lives were damaged, especially the elephants. They need big forests," Priyadhashani says. "So many of our elephants' babies were orphaned."
As their habitat has been drastically reduced, elephants now wander into farms in search of food. Hundreds have been killed by people in surrounding communities because they are seen as a nuisance even though they are endangered.
In response to the critical threat to the elephant population, the orphanage was established in 1975.
"We have started with five orphaned babies, now they are big elephants," Priyadhashani says. "Three of them are living in here. The other two have died. Our first aim is conservation."
About 6,000 elephants live in the wild in Sri Lanka. Three decades ago, their population was estimated to be as high as 24,000, according to the Sri Lankan Wildlife Conservation Department.
In addition to Sri Lanka, Asian elephants are also found in India, Thailand and Indonesia. The sanctuary in Sri Lanka has played a significant role in their conservation.
The first elephant was born in the sanctuary in 1984, and many more have followed. There are about 88 elephants at the orphanage, including 20 baby elephants.
There is also a push to improve awareness about the endangered species. After four decades, the center has become an iconic place to visit. Spread over 25 acres of land, visitors can learn about elephants, as well as watch them bathe and feed.
At 4 pm, the fun begins. Sirens are blown to stop traffic outside the orphanage as the elephants form a train to cross over to the river, where they bathe and swim twice a day.
Mathali, an elephant in her 40s, was once orphaned and now leads the herd.
"When she was younger, she showed so many qualities, especially motherly qualities. She can manage the elephants very well. And I think she is a leader selected by the herd."
Many calves that have spent time at the orphanage are later released into the wild. Pandula and Migara are waiting for an adoptive mother and a herd to call their own.
HAMBANTOTA — This city in southern Sri Lanka has a port, a cricket stadium, and an airport. But with only about 11,000 residents, Hambantota feels like a ghost town. There is also a conference center built in 2013 with capacity to hold up to 1,500 people. It's named after Mahinda Rajapaksa, who was president of Sri Lanka from 2005 to 2015, and is a native of the Hambantota district. Rajapaksa's military defeated the Tamil rebel group LTTE in 2009 after a long civil war, but went on to lose the 2015 presidential election.
Hambantota's conference center has not been used in four years. The center's roughly 50 employees, including 25 security guards, kill time as best they can. They show us the vast rooms that stay desperately empty.
The city is a symbol of nepotism and power held by the Rajapaksa family. Mahinda's two brothers controlled the army and the finances Sri Lanka. But after Rajapaksa lost power to the new president Maithripala Sirisena, the local swanky projects were left to die.
The Mahinda Rajapaksa stadium, which was constructed for the Cricket World Cup, hasn't been used in two years. The seats are coated in dust and the walls are covered in pigeon droppings. About 20 kids play soccer on the grounds. More than 20% of this agricultural town's population is under the line of poverty — they haven't benefited from these projects.
The photos of the former president that were once mounted all over the region have disappeared.
"There are more than 45 investigations against the Rajapaksa family. But the Hambantota projects are by far the worst. He left the country's economy on its knees," says Rajit Keerti Tennakoon, director of the NGO Human Rights Research.
Even though the Rajapaksa lost the elections, he remains popular among conservative Sinhalese in the country.
"Cult of personality"
"Mahinda Rajapaksa created a cult of personality. He is certainly one of the most charismatic politicians in the last 40 years. Despite the criticism about his management of the country and accusations of corruption, he remains very popular," says Nishan de Mel, an economist for think-tank Verité Research.
Famous for his booming style, the "father of the nation" as he likes to be called, is dressed in simple Sri Lankan attire when we meet him. "The new government does nothing to develop the country. They stopped all the investments that I had started. The people are displeased," says Rajapaksa.
When we ask him if he regrets the Hambantota projects and the Chinese investment he sought, he responds: "I think this government is closer to the Chinese than I was. I made commercial deals that always benefited the country. The Chinese government lent money for the port. I proposed it to other people but nobody wanted to invest because of the war."
"For the good of the people"
"When I learned that I had lost the elections, I immediately left for my home in the south. I was thinking about retirement. But, when I arrived, I saw thousands of people waiting in front of my door. That lasted three months. I think that this fervor is unique in the world. I have to go back for the good of the people," says Rajapaksa.
Rajapaksa's son, Namal, hopes to continue his legacy. Youngest member of the family to have been elected to parliament at the age of 23, Namal became the governor of the Hambantota province like his father and grandfather.
Namal, who was educated in Britain, was arrested and imprisoned briefly last year for money laundering. Like his father before him, he declares himself a defender of human rights. Malinda Rajapaksa's political career took off in 1989 when he denounced at the United Nations in Geneva the violence committed by the government of the time.
Namal brushes aside accusations of war crimes committed by the army under the Rajapaksa administration against the Tamil population as well as charges of corruption. "Our enemies accuse us of possessing $18 billion in an account abroad. Even Trump who is the president of the United States only has 2.5. It's ridiculous," he says.
An admirer of the new American president, Namal adds, "The international community doesn't understand anything. The best example is the last American election. Donald Trump campaigned with nationalist arguments but he is not racist. People just didn't understand him."
NEGOMBO — Young choir members sing hymns in Sri Lanka's southern city of Negombo. They are singing for strength and patience in difficult times. Unlike Sinhala or Tamil, the languages spoken on this island nation, they're singing in Urdu, the national language of Pakistan.
There are Christians who fled Pakistan to seek asylum in Sri Lanka. One woman, who asks that I don't use her name, tells me a story about being united in love but divided in faith.
A Muslim woman, she married a Christian man — a taboo in Pakistan. The decision outraged her family and even sparked calls to have her husband killed. In Pakistan, interfaith marriages are rare, and even rarer these days, with growing religious intolerance.
Fearing for their safety, the couple fled to Sri Lanka three years ago. Thousands of people from religious minorities in Pakistan – Christians, Shiites and Ahmadiyas – flee persecution and discrimination by the Sunni Muslim majority.
Militant groups linked to Taliban and Al-Qaeda have openly attacked their houses of worship, killing hundreds and injuring many more.
Inside a Roman Catholic church in Negombo — Photo: Ronald Saunders
It's why many people leave, seeking a better life elsewhere. They come to places like Negombo, which today looks like a mini-Pakistan, with hundreds of Pakistanis living here quietly, almost unnoticed. Most of them don't want to be identified.
Jessica William, 50, arrived here with her four children and two grandchildren in 2012. "My son worked as male nurse and he used to visit some Muslim patients in their homes," she told me. "One day, he was taking a patient to the doctor when they came under armed attack. My son was also shot. Later, he found out that those people had links with terrorists. He was so scared that he left the job and left the country. Those people started searching for my son and harassed the family. So, we also left our home," she recalled.
Colombo has enjoyed good diplomatic relations with Islamabad, which helped it end violence by Tamil militants, who were allegedly supported by India. But things dramatically changed two years ago when Sri Lankan authorities, fearing an influx of terrorists, stopped issuing visas on arrival to Pakistanis.
Some 100 migrants, mostly men, were forcibly sent back. Political observers say New Delhi was putting pressure on Colombo to counter the growing influence of Islamabad on the island nation. The move has left hundreds of asylum seekers stranded and scared.
The Negombo fish market — Photo: Pete Sadler
During my visit to the city, four Pakistani bishops attending the International Bishops Conference in Colombo met frustrated families.
The migrants pleaded the bishops to press America or European countries to take them in.
People like Jessica are angry and fed up. "We cannot work, whatever we can we do secretly because we have to pay thousands for rent. Let alone food and other things. We spend life in constant fear. I worked as head of a charity organization that helped and sheltered children with special needs. I used to clean and care for the children of others. But, today there is no one to protect my children," she said.
Sri Lanka might be an attractive place for tourists with its lush-green mountains and beautiful temples but the life of migrants is another story, she said.
"We have no access to the hospitals, schools or jobs. We are forced to secretly work to buy food and pay rent. I've one piece of advice for you son! Think of yourself before thinking of anyone else," she told me.
Following criticism from UN's refugee agency, the Sri Lankan government has stopped deportations. But the lengthy asylum process is still testing the patience of migrants from Pakistan.
Some have been here for 10 years. Their asylum requests denied, they are in hiding.
Members of Sri Lanka"s Hindu minority have a religious custom where they tie a piece of colored cloth to a line. Every knot signifies a wish.
A few tourists were willing to give this man a couple of rupees to be allowed to approach and touch his chained baby elephant.
Straw hats, maracas, decoratives masks ... The ancient Sri Lankan city of Anuradhapura is considered sacred to the Buddhist world, and a great place to buy just about anything!
ALAAWA — Sri Lanka's beaches are known for their beauty, but from the mid-1980s until seven years ago few tourists saw them as war raged between government troops and the Tamil Tigers guerilla group. The country slowly imploded, socially and economically.
The few who dared to invest believed that one day the country would again rise. And indeed Sir Lanka began its climb back in May 2009, when the Tamil Tigers were defeated.
Swedish clothing manufacturer Jan Höjman saw the potential in the tiny island nation, building a factory while the war still raged. "We started in 2004 in spite of the war and all that meant," he says now. "Of course, it felt very unsafe, but at the same time we saw a country where contact with the officials went smoothly, especially in terms of legal aspects and logistics."
Höjman was convinced because he knew that the country had both excellent tailors and a long tradition of clothing production. And then the war indeed finally ended.
"Since then, the country has changed dramatically in many, many areas," he says. "Especially regarding the infrastructure, the roads."
Manager Nalin Papadana guides visitors around a factory, built in 2006 in Alaawa in north central Sri Lanka. Rows of men and women are busy stitching and cutting fabric, sewing on buttons, ironing collars. Production here is radically different from mass manufacturers because the 500 workers fill Internet orders, sewing each garment individually according to body size and style preference.
Dannika, a seamstress, has been working here since the factory opened. She breaks into a wide smile as she explains the improvement since the war ended. "We can travel anywhere we like because it's safe now," she says. "We're no longer afraid. The factory has programs with music, dance and a child daycare center."
Attracting workers
These extra perks are becoming more common across Sri Lanka as prodution facilities try to attract skilled local tailors.
But the textile sector, though booming, has been hit by one dark cloud: The EU dropped Sri Lanka from its list of countries with duty-free import, and that cuts into profits and limits investors.
It lost its favorable EU status because the government refuses to allow a UN investigation into how an estimated 70,000 Tamil Tigers were killed in the last battle of the war. A UK TV channel has produced a documentary showing Sri Lankan troops shooting the Tamil prisoners of war.
But the EU issue doesn't bother Nalin Pappadana because orders are streaming in and a new factory will go up. "That's the plan," he says. "It will take around three years time to finish all the factory premises. Then we'll have the capacity to employ 1,200 plus another 500 here."
It's not just textiles that are expanding. Sri Lanka's biggest contributor to the economy is now tourism, with a 40% jump over the last three years.
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Sunrise over Millabedda, Sri Lanka — Photo: uditha wickramanayaka
But most hotels are small operations. The country is in deep debt to China, which has built the new roads, harbors and airports. Bigger investors will be necessary to repay the loans.
A traditional ceremony greets the guests at Sri Lanka's first luxury hotel, which opened in December. The hope is that tax revenue from five-star hotels like this one will help reduce government debt.
Hotel manager Tamir Kobrim says Sri Lanka's time has come. "The owners saw the opportunity, and we are investing just about $100 million in two resorts," Kobrim says. "It's a huge investment, a huge commitment for the company and the owners, and I think they believe in the country, in the future. They believe that Sri Lanka is a new destination."
Sri Lankans too are optimistic. With a literacy rate of 93%, free health care and developed infrastructure, things are looking up.
A major challenge is to ensure an equal share of the development revenue is invested in the north and east. That's crucial because, if not, the country risks Tamil protests, which might quickly scare away both investors and tourists.
Not only is the Great Stupa, in the ancient Sri Lankan capital of Anuradhapura, considered an architectural marvel, but it is one of the holliest places for Buddhists, as the shrine is believed to contain relics of Buddha.
Of the hundreds of frescoes that once decorated the Sigiriya rock"s western surface, only 19 remain. The exquisitely delicate paintings, in vibrant colors, are said to depict ladies of the king's harem.
JAFFNA — Two meters separate Subnamanigaiyar Kugathasasanma from the past. Two meters of soil surrounded by barbed wire. Bare chested, his waist wrapped in a white sarong, he looks at the wrecked home he left in haste 25 years ago as if he were contemplating a memory. He hadn't returned to his bullet-riddled shack since 1990.
"We had to leave quickly to flee the fighting," he says pointing to his pruning knife on the other side of the barbed wire. "I left behind my land titles and some personal belongings that you can see over there."
In April, the Sri Lankan army released his plot of land and the old Hindu temple nearby where he worked as a priest. But his house stayed behind a fence. It is situated in a "high-security zone," protected by a soldier who types on his phone's keyboard nonchalantly.
When the clergyman returned for the first time four months ago, he didn't recognize anything. "It was a jungle," he says. "The ancient statues of the temple were gone, resold on the black market by soldiers." Day after day, he weeds, replants peppers and vegetables, slowly rebuilding his life.
"Without soil, life can't exist!" he exclaims, his eyes laughing. The temple will soon be renovated, he hopes, thanks to donations collected from the faithful. No one knows, though, how he will be able to welcome all of them, with such a fence, during religious festivals throughout the year. The barbed wire surrounding military camps in the north of the island is the last plague of a conflict that has lasted for 26 years and is not yet fully resolved.
Six years after the end of the civil war that pitted the Sri Lankan army against the Tamil Tiger rebels, killing nearly 10,000 people, thousands of displaced people are still waiting to reclaim their lands occupied by the army. This military presence weakens reconciliation between the Tamil, Hindu and Christian minorities and the Sinhalese-Buddhist majority.
According to an assessment by the U.S.-based Oakland Institute think tank, the northern province of Sri Lanka has nearly one soldier for every six civilians. Demilitarization in the north had been one of the key issues of legislative elections, which concluded Aug. 17 with the victory of a reformist coalition supporting Maithripala Sirisena, the president elected in January. Sirisena has promised to progressively return the lands, though he has offered no specifics.
Tin roofs and rice
Rather than withdrawing after the conflict ended, the army has settled in. Who would have thought that the tourist complex of Thalsevana, where families relax around a swimming pool, would be among the "high-security zones"? But to book one of the "luxury rooms," the phone number actually directs callers to the Ministry of Defense. The place is defined by strict rules, such as the obligation to remove sandals two meters from the swimming pool, no more no less. Those who go a bit too far away from the resort can see a man with a khaki uniform emerging, a crackling walkie-talkie fixed on his belt.
The only civilian working on the site is the hotel keeper, who has a difficult task: to train the soldiers to work in his sector. "They are highly disciplined, but we always need to be there to tell them what to do," he says. "They lack initiative." From the hotel's promenade, along the sea, there is an idyllic landscape. A cool wind blows on the azure sea. In the distance, a few houses loom on the horizon, and they too are occupied by the army. The tenants, evicted 30 years ago, were left to live a few kilometers away, in Mallakam, a gloomy slum made of tin houses and known by authorities as the "welfare camp."
Here, former fishermen do nothing but buy fish or collect wood to resell, by bike, in inland areas. In the afternoon, when it's too hot to stay inside the tin houses, a few women sit outside in front of a stall full of onions and beans to kill time and to potentially earn a few rupees.
"I've lost my land and my two boats," says one of the women, her teeth stained black by betel leaves. "I've lost my two legs because of a shell burst," adds the woman seated next to her in a wheelchair. "I've lost my husband and have found no trace of his death," another says. And they've received virtually no help, nothing beyond political candidates bringing them "tin roofs and rice before elections."
In Mallakam, life hangs on to these lost lands. Under a small shaking chapel, a statuette of Jesus wrapped in a garland of flowers is pampered, decorated and revered, as if only God could improve their lives after so much disappointment. "Their life conditions are inhumane," says a Catholic priest in Jaffna. "How can you live in such crowded conditions? Many kill themselves."
The government here doesn't recognize displaced people as such. The previous regime of Mahinda Rajapaksa claimed in September 2012 that all the displaced people could return to their lands. According to the Internally Displaced Monitoring Center, an independent organization, almost every resident who had fled the fighting in the last years of the war, in 2008 and 2009, returned home. "But the longtime displaced people had never regained their houses," the director says.
"Militarization is not limited to the very presence of soldiers," adds Ahilan Kadirgamar, member of a group working for economic democratization. "Until recently, the army was controlling the whole administration and keeps managing citizens' daily lives."
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Government forces in Jaffna — Photo: Adam Jones
One NGO director says groups like his are regimented. "The administration gives us the list of displaced people and tells us what to do and when, with the UN Refugee Agency money," he says. The Sri Lankan government has not spent a single rupee to build houses for displaced Tamils. It barely gave each family 80 euros to clear away the debris of their former homes. Schools and religious buildings have to be rebuilt, wells filled during the war have to be reopened and hamlets still need to be connected to electricity.
Multiple discrimination
The army is suspicious of peace. The only museum it constructed was the War Museum, at the very place where Tamil Tiger leader Velupillai Prabhakaran was found dead in 2009. The Sri Lankan military's exploits are exhibited outside: homemade submarines filled with explosives that were used to conduct suicide attacks, or fishermen's boats transformed into warships, in front of which tourists take pictures.
At the Information Center, yellowing photos show soldiers helping civilians who fled during the war. The same soldiers who, according to a 2011 UN report, "bombed the population on a large scale in three curfew areas where the government had encouraged the civilians to take refuge." Tens of thousands of citizens died in the last months of the war.
Several military men discreetly stand guard behind the War Museum. "Tamil Tigers can come back at anytime, and this museum could be a prime target, especially as the wife of one of the Tamil Tiger leaders lives just a few kilometers away, so we prepare for an attack," says a confident soldier dressed in khaki shorts.
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Tamil Tigers soldiers in Killinochi in 2004 — Photo: Ulflarsen/GFDL
For fear of the resurgence of the Tamil separatist cause, the previous regime used "soft power" to recapture the north of the island. "These last six years, the Sinhalisation process intensified with systematic efforts from the government to replace Tamil culture and history by monuments of victory, symbols of the Sinhalese hegemony," the Oakland Institute wrote in a June report entitled, "The Long Shadow of War." Buddhist temples were even constructed in Tamil villages where there are no faithful. Some Sinhalese were even encouraged to go settle in the north. Jaffna has now a district called "Sinhalese's voice" that residents call "the government's village."
On the outskirts of the district, a huge statue of Buddha, with his smile of beatitude, watches the trains of the new railway line inaugurated in 2013 A couple of saffron-robed monks recite prayers in front of a handful of worshippers while a military man, dressed in civilian clothing, is monitoring the comings and goings.
"We'd been living here for generations before we were driven out by Tamil Tigers," explains Wijet Dasa, an air conditioner repairer who has been living here since 2009. But out of 189 families who arrived in 2009, 130 had to leave. "There's nowhere to send our kids because all the schools teach in Tamil language and it's hard to find a job when we are Sinhalese," Dasa says. When he fled southward, he was perceived as a Tamil and suffered multiple kinds of discrimination.
Back in Jaffna, his Sinhalese identity prevents him from easily finding work, more evidence that peace and reconcilation in Sri Lanka remain elusive.
Sri Lanka has hundreds of reclining Buddhas, but the 30-ft-long one at Isurumuni Temple in Anuradhapura, with its vibrant colours, really stands out.
The paws are all that remain of the Sigiriya, the "Lion Rock" in central Sri Lanka. The giant sculpture was meant to guard the entrance to a now-destroyed palace — and judging only by the size of one of its claw (this is my wife sitting next to it), one can imagine it was doing a fine job.
