Photo courtesy: Indi Samarajiva – Wikimedia Commons
Trincomalee was memorable for the families I met. There were two other reasons I’d rather forget that I also connect to the town. One happened while I strolled along the harbourside heading towards a shop to buy butter.
Dressed in an ankle-length loose flowing skirt, my bottom still attracted the hand of a Sinhalese youth. Before I could swipe him, he rushed passed on his bike.
The second incident was to do with oysters. While we, in the west consider them a luxury, in Lanka, they were thought of as peasant food. Consequently, I clambered over rocks where untouched oysters were begging to be smashed open and eaten. While doing so one cloudless day, I happened to turn and see another busily pleasuring himself while leering in my direction. Instead of rushing off, I’d wished I thrown a rock at him.