Myfirst impressions of Shirley Fonseka were from a violent episode. Village lads in their prime had to invent contention, friction and rivalries, just to be relevant in a pack mentality. A gang rivalry existed between Dalugama, my home village and its neighbouring, more affluent suburb, Kiribathgoda. Some lads from my home village had beaten a few fellows from Kiribathgoda a few days earlier. Everyone in my village anticipated retribution from their rivals. There was a rumour that a confrontation seeking revenge and a riot was imminent.
The carefree soul I was, I happened to be at the local road junction on that evening. Then, as anticipated the rival gang arrived in my village making their presence known, challenging the local lads.
I watched the two gangs going head-to-head, initially in shouting matches. While they were confronting each other, they brandished their weapons, sticks and swords. Street violence was way beyond me, and I watched this drama from the side of the road, taking refuge in a shop front, watching my first ever street fight in real-time with a bit of naivety and curiosity.
Leading the home gang was Shirley, unafraid of confrontation and conflict. Everybody knew Shirley. He was a frequent visitor to the local church compound. He was regularly seen in the main junction, hanging out with friends. He participated in all sports, wrestling, boxing in the local Catholic club. Fitness was his mantra. Shirley was lean, athletic and took care of his body. Despite his popularity with the youth, I was not Shirley’s friend, just an acquaintance. I was cautious, keeping my distance from Shirley because we were like chalk and cheese. He was too street smart and too tough for my liking.
The initial confrontation did not lead to any hard violence, despite youthful bravado and egging on between the two gangs, at least initially. A truce was declared. The rival gang had made their presence known and were getting ready to retreat and leave.
Then suddenly, a retreating gang member from Kiribathgoda hit Shirley with an empty coke bottle. It was an act of cowardice, hitting from behind. Chaos resulted, Shirley was bleeding profusely from his head, soaking blood from his long hair and into his body. He did not relent, bravely picked a sword from one of his gang mates despite his injury. Blood all over, Shirley kept on chasing the rival gang along the road. Shirley’s friends tied a cloth to his head to control the bleeding. Despite his injury, Shirley was unrelenting and wanted to fight.
Revenge taken; the rival gang fled. There was no further violence between the two gangs.
That was enough drama and blood for me that night. I went home thinking about Shirley’s courage, confidence in confronting a gang and mateship despite a serious injury.
Becoming friends
Post that incident, Shirley remained bandaged over a month. He wore his bandage and part shaved head as a mark of honour and valour. Shirley was now a local hero, admired by many. Now with that episode, Shirley and I became friends. I marvelled at his bravery at a great time of adversity. Shirley’s friends Merril, Rienzie and Nimal became friends with me. They started hanging out with me and my other friends regularly while continuing to hang out on their own at their favourite jaunt. Out of these four, only Rienzie had a steady job, working in the navy as a sailor. He and Shirley were into boxing, becoming sparring partners in their spare time in the Catholic club.
Youngsters move up the friendship ladder fast while increasing trust between them. Taking my friendship with Shirley a notch further, I visited his home in Nagahawatte, making friends with his brothers and sisters. Shirley had two elder brothers and one younger brother. Younger brother Chuti was very different to Shirley, short and dark. Shirley also had three elder sisters. The eldest was married and lived in Trincomalee. It was a large family with a lot of noise and activity. Shirley was the second youngest in the family. Shirley’s dad, Mr. Fonseka worked in a government job and could speak English.
One of his elder brothers was into the shoe business in Colombo city. When it was time for me to make a pair of platform shoes, his brother came to my rescue making them in his workshop at cost. I was proud of that pair of colourful shoes, a fad in the seventies styling, lovingly made in Shirley’s brother’s leather workshop.
A few months later, Shirley invited me and some of my friends to Trincomalee to his eldest sister’s home in Sri Lanka’s east, some 270 kilometres away. I was always up for a trip and took up the offer. Accompanying us were Cyril, Merril, Rienzie and Leonard and our guide, Shirley. We travelled there by train, a trip that took a whole 10 hours. It was a fun ride, listening to Shirley’s stories of street fights, bravado, and adventures. Merril and Rienzie, his close friends from their street in Nagahawatte where they had grown up together, added to Shirley’s stories with firsthand narrations making these anecdotal stories engrossing. It was a great experience, absorbing slightly different street dialects and language from the three of them, our new friends.
We arrived in Trincomalee in the evening. Sarath, Shirley’s brother-in-law, a respectable and bespectacled government worker received us at the station. He lived in the seaside town, in a beach outpost with his wife and kids in a huge bungalow. He was the store keeper for government owned rice storage facility for the district and that position came with many benefits.
We had a time of our lives in Trincomalee enjoying the best of foods and drinks, courtesy of our generous guests of Shirley’s sister and her husband, Sarath. Sarath liked his drink in the evenings and had a ready supply of alcohol which he plied on us and his kid brother-in-law. Shirley’s sister, cooked for us while caring for their three young children, spoiling us with a great variety of tasty curry meals, twice a day.
During the day, we four took off touring the beach suburb of Trincomalee. We swam on the pristine blue beaches, visited Hindu temples, and climbed rock cliffs. We took a boat ride to the Pigeon islands. It was the height of the summer season and was unbelievably hot. Everybody in Trincomalee went around bare-chested and so did we. It was an awesome time, soaking the sun, mingling with the crowds and markets, despite the heat.
We spent four days in Trincomalee and returned by train to our home village.
Church Feast
The annual church feast in late January was the biggest event in my home village, a predominantly Catholic suburb. It coincided with a huge village carnival on the church grounds with many an attraction. Merry Go Round, Ferris Wheels and non-stop thrill rides and stalls. Young and old, whole families in the village and surrounding suburbs came together to enjoy the evenings, listening to blaring music, enjoying fun rides, competitions and stall shopping. The youth was seriously attracted to this carnival. Spending all my money, I tailored a blue jacket and bell-bottom pants and wore them with my suede shoes. I was a volunteer at the carnival, working at the music bar enjoying my fame as a fashionista.
With the recent altercation between youths from the neighbouring suburb, there were rumours that the rival gang would come again to the carnival to avenge previous quarrels and settle scores. Many of the lads from my home village were ready for a confrontation, Shirley and his sparring partner, Rienzie included. While Shirley, Rienzie and some of the brave youngsters were gunning for a fight, we mortals were in fear and hoped nothing would come of it.
Police Violence
While I was on a break from my volunteer duties from the music bar, a slight altercation happened between two youths near me. A commotion erupted and a young crowd surrounded them. A cop came with a bicycle chain in his hand and started hitting the bystanders willy-nilly, unchecked. The brutal idiot raised his hand with the intention of hitting me with the metal chain wrapped around his fist. I went into shock first. Then instead of being afraid, I became courageous and stared at the rogue cop. I stared at him so hard, that he stopped and stepped back. This incident did not escape me, the irony of the injustice in Sri Lanka. Perhaps my relative affluent clothes or pale skin colour prompted the idiot to think twice before taking his vengeance on innocent youth. Whatever it is, I ducked brutality from a policeman, a servant of the state of Sri Lanka, put there to protect me.
Chandrika
Later in the evening, Shirley came to the music bar with a beautiful girl. Chandrika, Shirley’s new friend boldly introduced herself to me. She was dark but stunning and a few years older than both of us. Chandrika had short hair and was dressed in a colourful frock. We three hung out together in the music bar, while I was running busy in the stall. To impress this newfound friend, Chandrika, I played “Ring Ring” by Abba on the sound system, for the whole carnival to hear. I did make an impression on Chandrika because she asked what my name was and where I lived.
1:1 Fight
Later on, that evening, when the carnival was coming to an end close to midnight, there was tension in the air. Everyone expected trouble, expecting the Kiribathgoda gang to turn up and create havoc at the carnival. Close to midnight, they did turn up in large numbers and suddenly the two gangs faced each other. Dalugama vs Kiribathgoda.
There was a lot of egging and shouting between the two gangs, gunning for a confrontation and violence. Fortunately, a bit of sanity prevailed among the two gangs. Instead of two gangs fighting each other, they came to an agreement. The bravest of the two gangs would face each other on a 1:1 fight. The rest would not interfere and watch the duel. The winner’s gang would be declared the winner. It was a pragmatic solution to an age-old rivalry. Rienzie, our friend and the boxing genius, daring and rearing to go, volunteered from our neighbourhood. The Kiribathgoda crowd put up one of their best fighters for the duel.
There was a massive fight between Rienzie and his rival in the middle of the carnival ground. A crowd of about 100 lads circled the makeshift fight ring egging and cheering their fighters peacefully. The fight had its own Mohamed Ali — Fraser moments. Rienzie was a gung-ho fighter, fought hard. Fists and ducks, kicks, struggles on the ground and standing. There were no rules to this impromptu fight.
The fight continued for a few minutes. Sometimes Rienzie had the upper hand and sometimes the fearless lad from Kiribathgoda had the upper hand. They continued to fight unabated. Everybody cheered their fighter to a huge row. Shirley was Rienzie’s loudest supporter. There was no clear winner or loser in the end.
The fight was considered a draw. Old rivalries settled, Kiribathgoda crowd started to disperse and retreat. Friends took Rienzie away, wiped him and dressed him up. There was no serious injury to Rienzie. Just a few bruises. I watched Shirley’s leadership and Rienzie’s bravery up close that night.
Craving for violence subsided, there was no more violence thereafter that night. The carnival was over after a few days.
House-sitters
Lucky, one of our mutual friends lived with his parents in a large bungalow type home along old Kandy Road in our hometown. Lucky’s large family, including three sisters, went away on a trip to the hill country of Sri Lanka. Lucky asked Shirley to guard their home while they were away. Shirley willingly agreed to help his friend, taking a spare key for the house. That weekend, Shirley asked me to join him and stay at Lucky’s home.
I did not know that joining the two of us was Chandrika, the new girlfriend whom I met at the village carnival. We three stayed in their house, enjoying our youthful freedom on that weekend. Chandrika looked after us both well. After that weekend, I went back home on Monday morning.
Leaving Sri Lanka by train and boat
Sri Lanka was following a socialist agenda in the seventies. Wishlist of the aspirational young like music, fashion and cars were denied to them. Youthful dreams were taken away; enterprising lads schemed to go overseas to realise their goals for a good life.
Like most of my friends, Shirley got the bug to leave Sri Lanka. He was planning to leave and work as a seaman on a ship in Europe. Airfares were out of bound for Shirley. With limited funds, he was planning to go overland to Europe from Sri Lanka, a daring attempt.
The day of Shirley’s leaving Sri Lanka came. I joined my friends to drop Shirley off at the Colombo Central Railway station. He took the night train to Talaimannar, at the northern tip of Sri Lanka. Inquisitive I was, I asked him how he was planning to get to Europe to join a ship. His plan was to board a ferry from Talaimannar in northern Sri Lanka to Rameswaram, a south port in India. From there he planned to take a train to Mumbai, and travel by road via Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Turkey and to Europe. It was a detailed and thought-out plan. A brave one.
Within a month, Shirley reached his intended destination in one piece and found work as a seaman in Europe. He wrote me a postcard from Barcelona two months after bidding him farewell at the train station in Colombo
I left Sri Lanka for Dubai, a year after my last seeing off Shirley.
Reunion in Dubai
A year passed; It was 1977. I was working in The Chartered Bank in sunny Dubai. A colleague at work informed me that a friend was waiting for me at the reception. I was surprised to see a smiling Shirley, smartly dressed in jeans, leather boots and a seaman’s t-shirt. His ship has anchored off the port of Dubai and he had come to see me in the bank. Delighted with our reunion that day, I finished my work early and joined Shirley in shopping in the bazaars of Dubai.
We both had a lovely time, some 3500 kilometres away from where we met first. I spent the whole evening until it was time for him to get back to his ship. It was close to midnight.
That was the last time I saw Shirley alive.
The Loss
In 2005 some 27 years later, I was on a holiday in Sri Lanka with my family from Australia visiting our extended families. A friend sent me a message that Shirley had passed away.
I took off immediately and came to his home in Nagahawatte Road, in my old home village where I met Shirley as a young lad in the mid-seventies.
Shirley had returned to Sri Lanka a few years earlier. He had died from a road accident. It was with mixed emotions that I said goodbye for the final time to the brave Shirley that day. I met his wife and children for the first time that night. Shirley’s eldest son, a teenager was a replica of his old man, just like Shirley was when I first met him.
That is the story of my friend, Shirley the braveheart.
Where are the other friends of this story today?
Cyril, Leonard and Rienzie live in retirement in Sri Lanka.
Merril, whom I met through Shirley died from a motorcycle accident in my home village, two years after I left Sri Lanka. Merril too was brave, who did anything for a friend, with Shirley’s backing. How both of them helped me to avenge a theft is a separate story you should read.
Lucky for whom Shirley and I house-sat, was stabbed to death following a money dispute in my home village a couple of years after I left Sri Lanka.
Shirley died crossing the main road, at the same spot where I saw him first in his best bravery when we both were in our late teens.
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