I was busy at work before my colleague in the finance office unexpectedly curtailed, leaving Colombo against her wishes in the middle of the night never to return. I was asked to assume her duties, responsible for supervision of eight additional staff and my office's multi-million dollar budget. In truth, this is the busiest I've been in ten years in this career which I feel is saying a lot after staffing an executive office in Washington and living and working in the Middle East.
A lot has happened in the last month, none of which I had any time to write about even though I very much wanted to. I went to Muscat, Oman for a week to attend a regional human resources conference, the highlight of which was running through the quiet old city streets from the hotel to the Corniche on the Gulf of Oman, passing men draped in long gowns rubbing sleep from their eyes on their way to morning prayer, the call to prayer flowing from the minarets and echoing off canyon walls. I thought I was being chased by dogs, too, but their barking, though far away, also echoed through the slotted canyons and made them seem much closer than they actually were.
The week in Oman gave me the opportunity to evaluate how I work, something I don't usually spend a lot of time thinking about, but as I get busier and take on more responsibility, I have to come up with a strategy that doesn't involve staying later at the office or skipping my lunch time runs. I feel, after ten years in this profession, I am at a point of transition, moving to a place where I have to he more thoughtful and deliberate on how and what I spend time on. This is challenging because by the very nature of my position I must have an open door policy that invites near constant interruptions. It's not just me. Everyone is overworked.
Before I left for Oman, we had to fire our driver, Prem. It was a welcome relief when the moment did come. Which tells me he wasn't a good fit and we probably held on to him much longer then we should have. The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back came when he yelled at Elise in front of the kids on the way back from school one afternoon.
He was an aggressive driver to begin with. In Sri Lanka, you kind of have to be. Up to a certain point. I draw the line at swerving into oncoming traffic in order to get around a sputtering tuk-tuk. Prem was starting and stopping, suddenly jerking the car closer and closer to the bumper of the car in front of Elise and the kids. Elise asked him to stop and he lost it, claiming if he didn't get as close as possible to the car in front of them, motorcycles and scooters would keep getting in front of him and they wouldn't get anywhere. A spurious argument at best.
The day after I took the red eye back from Muscat, we drove to Ahangama and stayed at a quiet villa, Maria Bonita, owned by a Spanish expat, Cristina, and her Sri Lankan husband. They ran a vegan cafe in the front and five rooms in the back, none of which had hot water or air conditioning. It didn't matter. It was a beautiful spot. Pit bull puppies nuzzled your ankles, and only the first half of the night was steamy. I slept on a deflating air mattress. So by nine my spine was scraping the concrete floor. I didn't sleep great, but it didn't matter; it had been awhile since we'd been to the beach.
The villa was a short stroll on the white sugar sand beach from another Spanish-owned villa, Dreamsea. We borrowed their pool and had dinner and breakfast the following morning under their thatched roof veranda next to the bar. Dreamsea was filled with svelt, hip, and beautiful European Instagrammers, and I couldn't have felt more like Clark Griswold stumbling up the beach, sunscreen smeared on my face, babbling kids in tow. We tried to keep a low profile which was difficult for all the tattoos and vaping, but soon came to the realization all these young beautiful people were kids, too, once and would likey be exhausted parents trying to find quiet respite on the beach, also, some day.
Some time in February, Sam went to the mountains in the interior of the island for his Week Without Walls, four nights away from home where he swam in a river with elephants, made bows and arrows, and learned a few lessons to live off the land like fishing with a pole made from bamboo. It was the longest he'd been away by himself. Peter goes away for one night this week for his own Night Without Walls.
All this among the he backdrop of a spreading viral epidemic. Living on an island with -- for all practical purposes -- only one way on or off makes us feel safer than most, but we worry about family and friends. We -- like the rest of the world -- are in wait and see mode to see what the next few weeks or months bring.
