Iron Ladies of the North (2018)

When I first joined Chrysalis, I did it seeking the answer to a question that I had been asking myself- “Is working towards empowerment and poverty eradication really a true goal in your future?” My initial plans were actually to study Marine biology and Antarctic governance at UTAS in Tasmania. By some stroke of fate my plans didn’t materialize into reality, and I decided to venture into the possibility of a life involved in helping those in need. I thought that Chrysalis seemed like the most fitting choice in order to cultivate my curiosity.

My first field trip as an intern working here, began with a journey to the North in order to meet the Weavers of the “Weaving Project” conducted by Chrysalis, whereby the art of weaving is being revived and utilized as a method of empowering women in the North by providing them with the opportunity to become entrepreneurs and sell products that they’ve woven by hand to a sustainable and profitable market in the West of Sri Lanka (which is where we come in).

Traveling through Elephant Pass and the roads in the North, I realized that the barren and dry lands reminded me of the war for some reason. The clearance of trees was done through burning, and as large fumes of smoke could constantly be seen from time to time, I remembered being extremely young and having constant bomb drills in school to prepare us in the event of an attack. An alarm would ring for 3 minutes, and all the children would have to be evacuated to the back-garden everyday as a practice. I wondered, how it felt for the people in the North who weren’t practicing. It had been their reality.

I think the reason there is so much segregation in society nowadays is because we as human beings are constantly seeking to differentiate. Separate the particles, break something apart to rebuild it. Separate the parts of a nation that are actually supposed to operate as a whole. I used to have that similar mentality. That we strive by being different, by understanding the differences between us and utilizing those differences to get ahead. But this field visit, made me realize something completely different. I believe I had somewhat of a cognitive epiphany. If all creativity truly is, is our working memories, then we are a product of our experiences. And often times what I have begun to realize is, that everything is more alike, than it is different. We can look at something, and picture something else. Most often times this is a result of our memories mapping out experiences through eyes that see something that humanizes us. I taste the strong spice of the food in the North, and I am reminded of my father and our chili garden that grew in the backyard of our old house by the beach. I see the turquoise blue of the Mullaitivu beach and I am reminded of my mother’s blue kaftan dress which she wore when she played with me in a butterfly dome when I was 5. When we ate our lunch on a wooden bed instead of a table, it reminded me of my uncles and aunts who used to laugh as they told me stories about how my mother and her 8 siblings could never fit at the dining table growing up. I hear Bageerathi (one of the weavers) speak of her love for running in the rain and pretending to be a fabulous actress in a Bollywood movie, and I see

my brother and I relishing the feeling of rain on our skin every October when the monsoon began and we would walk home together from the beach, or from our nursery when we were little. I see the barren lands and burnt trees in Kilinochchi, and I think of the bomb drills we used to have in school.

I see how so much of what I thought made us different due to a cultural divide, is actually what makes us the same. It’s what helped me to laugh with the people there and enjoy their company despite the language barrier. We’re all doing this because we want to see hope, and that’s a universal feeling. Hope is essentially what humanizes us.

Personally, my favorite part of this whole experience was meeting the women, and getting to speak to them. I realized that it’s a process. A wonderful process, but one that requires patience and time. The time taken to implement the weaving training and the placement of centers where these women can gather together and learn. They’ve come a long way, each of them with their own unique persona, carrying gentle but strong souls. Each had a laugh and a smile that left its own undefinable impression.

There is no justice in belittling the struggles that these women have endured and what I often noticed is that majority of them yielded an incentive in being a part of the weave project that actually had very little to do with themselves. They’d faced displacement and grave loss during the war, as well as the

after-effects of such a tragedy, that many of them carried a strong yet reserved demeanor.

The rain is rare in these lands. The dirt and the earth almost seemed as if they were screaming for water. A concept of phantom rain almost comes to mind. the dry lands of Kilinochchi and the need for hope in the eyes of its people. A curtain of rain that dangles in the sky, but never really falls. Phantom rain evaporates before it ever reaches the ground. A teasing seduction of hope, without any true form of fulfilment. The earth can wither away due to want of water, while the phantom rain eventually dissipates. And its people are never nourished with the help that they needed. Often the push and pull of life can sometimes leave us in the middle of what feels like a tug of war on both sides. One side representing perseverance and the other representing indifference to hope. Often the question remains, which side wins? Like a quote from one of my favorite books, “Love, love always

wins.”

We asked every weaver that we met, who they admired the most. Each of their answers consisted of a love for someone running so deep in their veins, that love will always push them towards the side of perseverance. They persevere for a son, a sick parent, a child’s education or a husband’s disability as a result of the war etc. An incentive, fueled by love. After a war like that, a large dose of love seems like the medicinal route we all need, and I suppose they taught me that. See, I was looking for the meaning behind that quote in a more tangible sense, and these women brought me the clarity that I needed. To me, the weave project represents hope. It represents rain that actually falls and seeps into the earth.

The women there told me so, though in a different way. Less metaphorical of course, but the same none the less. And though the project provides the rain, the earth still grows on its own. It strives and perseveres on its own. That’s what I admire about this project. It gives people hope to know that they can take care of themselves and their loved ones. That it’s the result of hard work done by their hands that fed that child, or got them through school or paid for someone’s treatment. They had the capability all along, they just needed an opportunity, to be self-sufficient and to be empowered. For even though the rain may water this hope, it is they that must pave the road to fulfill it.

I believe the future results of this project will be to gear growth and empowerment for the next generations as a sustainable business. Perhaps someday we may not even need to influence this rain any longer. Since weaving was an art that was lost during the war, I think its sentiment is very valuable. Maybe then the trees will begin to grow again, and the North will be fed. In an interview my favorite spoken word poet, Amal Kassir, once quoted a line from a poem she wrote about Syria during the war, “And we will rebuild Syria…with a meal…a prayer…and enough food to feed

the neighbors.”

Let’s feed our neighbors.