On campus (1)
Any idea of further travel was out of the question. Irrespective of the fact that we only had a few days left, I was still feeling decidedly shaky and strange. Once again, I took 10 mg of Seroxat, which made me sweat profusely. But I was determined to put the day to good use. Equipped with two full water bottles, I followed John to the department. The students greeted him enthusiastically despite, or perhaps because, of the two hour turorial he had subjected them to on the previous day when one unfortunate fellow had asked a maths question.
I told Kunara that I would like to check out the Zoology Department and he showed me the way, somewhat hesitant as it was clear that I did not know anyone there. I waited in the ladies’ common room while the poor guy went around to make enquiries on my behalf. Eventually, I was told to come back after lunch as there was hardly anybody around at the present time. I thanked them and mentioned that this would leave just enough time to have a look at the library. “Are you sure they will let you in?” he asked.
“I have never been refused yet!” I said, “In fact, if you need the toilet in New York, try showing your student card and use the campus facilities. You can even get free e-mail there!”
So Kunara gave me directions and I set off across campus. Peradeniya did not turn out to be as easy as New York [pre 09/11]. A forbidding security guard barred my access to the building. All visitors to the library had to leave their bags on open shelves in a wire-cage nearby. I removed my pen and notes and stuffed my wallet into a pocket. The guard let me pass reluctantly, pointing straight at the enquiry desk. Here, matters were far from straightforward. Upon presenting my British Library card, I was escorted to the office of the assistant librarian who had her secretary type out a special form which in turn was signed by the chief librarian. I was then told to go to the first floor. There I waited at another enquiry desk, shaking slightly and covered in a thin film of sweat while trying my hardest to look relaxed and slightly bored. At long last, one of the staff members put down his phone and listened to my enquiry about “Zoology journals”.
“This isn’t the science library”, he said: “You want the Science library on the other side of the campus.”
I thanked him and turned to go.
“You’ll need special permission”, he added.
My permit only covered the main library, but it should be easy enough to get it changed. However, the assistant librarian told me she was not authorised to issue permission to use the other campus libraries. Her secretary phoned on my behalf to let the Science Librarian know I was coming.
“Do you know the way?” she asked.
“Of course”, I replied cocksure.
In the end, I found the building by instinct after making my way unsteadily back towards the Faculty of Sciences. Down a path leading past the main faculty there were a few modern buildings and I entered the last of those which, sure enough, was the library. I obtained my permit without difficulty and on my request, the friendly librarian produced a list of contents for Loris, the Journal of the WNPS. They did not, however, have the NARA journal, but then not even NARA appeared to have it. While I was looking for a place to sit, contents in hand, I spotted a student reading a natural history paper. He turned out to be a zoologist so I showed him some of my references. He leafed through a couple of issues of Sri Lanka Nature which were lying on his desk and showed me a recent article on dugongs. I nodded enthusiastically. Then my eyes fell on the clock. I had to be in the department in 15 minutes.
I told the librarian that I had an appointment and would come back later.
“When?” she asked anxiously: “We close at four!”
“Before that,” I assured her cursing inwardly. It was a Friday.
“We are also closed tomorrow,” she said, pre-emptying my next question.
I shrugged and went for my meeting.
Of course, I had no clue who it was that I should be meeting. Once back at the department, I sat uncertainly on a step and smoked a cigarette. After a while, a man passing by looked at me questioningly. I decided to take a long shot.
“Eh…” I began sheepishly and opened my note book: “I have some references here by a Dr. Charles S, a specialist on dugongs. He was once based at Peradenyia but he is probably retired now, I mean the references are about 30 years old.”
Either he is retired, I tought, or dead.
“Oh Charles!” the guy exclaimed with a laugh.” Retired? I don’t think so. We don’t retire before the age of 65, you know! No, he is still here. Come, I’ll show you.”
I was jubilant, my long shot had paid off. However, when my guide knocked on the door of Dr. S’s office, it turned out that he wasn’t in. I was out of luck. The man remembered that his colleague was out on a field trip and the following week would be a university holiday. He told me all this as we sat around a desk in his own office.
“Oh well,” I said resignedly: “I’m flying back next Tuesday. I haven’t achieved much with my enquiries.”
We started chatting. Dr. R, it turned out, was a friend of Rob’s and a turtle specialist. He acted as scientific advisor for the TCP. Lalith from the beach hut was his master’s student.
“Fancy that!” I exclaimed.
I told Dr. R that I had come across signs of turtle poaching on the seaward side of Puttalam lagoon. He was not surprised. Many refugees had been resettled on the Kalpitiya peninsula and the pressure on the natural resources there was intense, both from poaching and from pollution. The Gulf of Mannar and the lagoon itself are the last refuge for the Sri Lankan dugong. It looked bleak for conservation in the area. More unlikely casualties of the war.
He enquired about my interests. I told him about my unsuccessful attempts to look for the whales of Trincomalee and about my failure to make contact with either Dr. J or Dr. I.
“Oh, I know Anouk!” [Dr. I] he said. I began to wonder who didn’t.
He was sympathetic to my plight. I should never have gone to Trinco in the first place. Passenger ships occasionally travel from Galle or Tangalle to Trincomalee. These are used for the surveys by what remains of the NMMP. It was a shame that I had met him so late, he could have helped with my arrangements. He gave me his and Dr. S’s e-mail addresses. I would know for next time.
I was buoyed up by this meeting but disappointed at the same time. If that is possible.
Denni