NARA
After one day of doing absolutely nothing, I was numb with boredom. I decided to check out the NARAheadquarters in Colombo. There might still be people working there who had been involved with the National Marine Mammal Programme in the ’80s and, in any event, there would be a library. A phoned on my behalf and arranged for a visit. She showed me the rather vague directions she had received, there had been no information on-line other that NARA was located in Mattakuliya at the border of Colombo city.
“It’s easy to find”, she said: “Turn right at the Junction and take the 178 bus to ‘Little Hill’, I’ve written it down for you.” She handed me the directions written in Sinhala.
I was sceptical. She might find it easy, having grown up in the area, but I had lived in London for years and still wouldn’t venture anywhere without an A-Z. Here, in the chaotic sprawl of Colombo’s outskirts, I would not even be able to read the road signs, if there were any. And what junction was she talking about?
“Show it to the driver”, she shrugged “It’s unmistakable”.
So off I went.
‘Colombo’ one of Maria’s old tourist brochures proclaimed: ‘is the Gay Capital of Sri Lanka!’ Above the text was a pencil drawing of a smiling girl in traditional dress, so I guess the statement was entirely innocent. In any case, these days that honour belongs to Negombo where a lot of the old queens hang out. However, by the bridge across the Kelani Gorge which marks the entrance to the city there was a sign which made me smile:
‘WELCOME TO COLOMBO – SOW THE SEEDS OF LOVE!’
The junction where I had to get off was situated right behind the bridge and was indeed unmistakable, but the road I had to turn into wasn’t. I turned towards the city and walked down a street which ran parallel to the main through-road until I had practically reached the shanty towns surrounding the huge waste-disposal site which, according to Rob, now forms the highest point in Colombo. Then I turned back and, following my instincts, headed down a bigger street to the left. Almost immediately, I came across a stop for the 178 bus, but I did not want to take any more chances and took a tuk-tuk. After the driver had dropped me off at the spot A had indicated, he charged me 30 rs — the local rate! I was truly in the sticks. I was also nowhere near the NARA headquarters.
A young man wearing a freshly pressed shirt and trousers and clutching a briefcase under his arm walked up one of the roads at a brisk pace. That had to be a student, so I chased after him.
“NARA?” He nodded. “Sure, I show you.” I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I was in the right area. It was a further quarter of an hour’s walk up the road. The NARA headquarters were next door to the National Nautical and Oceanography College where the young man was a student. Somehow I felt that was a piece of information the woman on the phone might have imparted on A. With directions like these, it is no wonder that NARA receives so few foreign visitors.
The building itself was unmistakable. There was a statue of dolphins in the forecourt and the skeleton of a humpback whale had been mounted by the entrance. The skeleton of a blue whale which had washed ashore in Bambalapitiya in October 2003 had been cleaned and mounted and was bleaching in the sun in a side-court, an impressive 20-odd metres long. The NARA logo above the reception depicted another dolphin. At this rate, it looked like I had arrived at the National Ceteacean Research Agency!
I was briefly introduced to a senior scientist whose name I could not make out, there had been no sign at her door, and to another Dr. J (not the chairman, but a young researcher) who had been involved in documenting the stranding of the blue whale and who would be involved with the NMMP when it was due to re-commence. He had been to Stirling about 2 years ago but, the Institute of Aquaculture being as it is, we had never met. I had many questions, but I did not know where to begin. The marine mammal program had been running up to the mid-eighties and some projects had kept going into the early ’90s but with a lack of funding and in the face of conflict, all cetacean research had fizzled out by that time. Now, there was a renewed interest and projects were due to re-start soon. There would be a need for international support. I wished that I could have gone on my cruise and taken some pictures, collected some data, so I could give talks in departments and at conferences back home and draw attention to cetacean research in Sri Lanka. The best thing to do would be to go to the library and find out more about the past research. I then hoped to talk to the two scientists again to get a more detailed update.
In the library, I thought I had struck gold. I was presented with a copy of the official ‘Terminal report’ of the NMMP. With funding from UNEP and overseen by two internationally recognized cetologists the programme had entailed 11 sub-projects ranging from fisheries-history, strandings, accidental and intentional catches, systematics and identification to present distribution and migration of cetaceans in Sri Lankan waters. One of the sub-projects had been dedicated to the dugong. I immersed myself in the report until the arctic chill of the air conditioning forced me out to get some lunch, if only to warm up again.
In the end, however, I was disappointed. The document collated the reports of individual field workers, but there was no synopsis and no bibliography, it looked like a work in progress. It was clear that the program had ended abruptly. And the library did not seem to have any of the papers that must have been published during that time. It didn’t matter, I had plenty to talk about. However, as I left the library, I realised that I would never find the office of the nice scientists again. It was also coming up to closing time. I resolved to phone to make a proper appointment and headed home.
The stranding of the blue whale at Bambalapitiya had made waves in the local press and re-ignited the debate as to who would act as custodian for the marine mammals in Sri Lankan waters. The current Director of NARA, commenting on possible research on whales in an interview with the Daily Mirror pointed out that NARA could not afford to foot such an expensive venture. Environmentalists in turn pointed out that neither NARA nor the Ministry of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources were doing their jobs. They could find foreign funding for research on whales just like funds are being raised for the conservation of elephants. Fingers crossed, things will start to happen in the near future. The two scientists had sounded optimistic, but time is of the essence. The distribution and status of whales, especially in the Trincomalee area in the aftermath of the war, is entirely unknown. Basic surveys are a matter of urgency if a whale-watching industry is to be established and considering the possible impacts of oil prospecting off the eastern coast and the development of the harbour. NARA and the other agencies simply cannot afford to twiddle their thumbs.
New Years Eve passed in a pandemonium of crackers. We toasted the new year with whisky drunk from BOAC glasses. The whisky was Johnie Walker, that vile stuff I only seem to come across outside Europe and certainly outside Scotland. We all agreed that it wasn’t a patch on a good arrack, but we finished the bottle anyway.
In spite of the late night, crackers exploded again early in the morning, right next to the house which ensured that nobody got out of bed any later than eight a.m. The exception was John who slept on, he has been known to sleep through bombs going off in the neighbourhood during the troubles with the IRA. At exactly noon, the pandemonium started up all over again. The Sri Lankans see the new year in thoroughly.
We heard on the BBC World Service that the Hogmanay celebrations in Edinburgh had been cancelled due to heavy snowfall, for the first time in two hundred years.
Denni