THE JUNGLE BLOGGERS

A TEACHER IN SRI LANKA USES THE INTERNET TO CONNECT ISOLATED VILLAGES WITH THE WIDER WORLD. HIS “E-VILLAGE” CONCEPT HAS WON MANY AWARDS AND FOUND MANY IMITATORS.

Wanni sits with his laptop under a mango tree. Above him, the spreading branches are interlaced with a tangled mesh of tropical vines, populated by geckos and hummingbirds. The rice fields stretch out behind the house. For 38-year-old Nandasiri Wanninayka, better known as Wanni, a farmer’s son and English teacher, computer freak and social entrepreneur, it’s a good place to upload a report to his website. Wanni’s village of Mahavilachchiya consists of little more than rice paddies and jungle dotted with homesteads, housing a population of 20,000. Most of them are farmers who just manage to make ends meet. Rice is slow. Its rhythm follows the changing seasons, wet and dry, sowing and harvesting, twice a year.

ENGLISH IS THE KEY
Wanni climbs onto his moped and rides over the potholes, past a broadcasting tower that reaches just above the treetops. The Internet here is wireless. A network of small routers and computers, known as “mesh technology,” distributes the signal over a broad area. Wanni stops in front of a modern two-story building. The computer school is his headquarters. From here, he has succeeded in turning his birthplace into a model “e-village,” as Wanni describes his concept of connecting jungle villages to the data highway. “My objective is access,” he explains. “Despite their isolation, people should still be able to access information, make contacts and find good jobs.” His sponsorship organization Horizon Lanka finances computer schools, courses for villagers, teacher training and the mesh technology that enables even the remotest farmsteads to connect to the Net. And yet for Wanni, the Internet is just a means to an end: “The Internet is English, and English is the key that unlocks the door to the world.” Although English is one of the country’s official languages, most villagers speak only Tamil or Singhalese. But give them a computer, and even the most reluctant pupils soon learn. Phrases such as “please delete” and “game over” are just the beginning. Then they start, for instance, creating PowerPoint presentations using fashion photos, and typing their first short essays in this foreign language. Teachers trained by Horizon Lanka report that learning rates soar when pupils are allowed to use computers. Wanni himself was fortunate that his parents sent him to college. He became a teacher, found a job in Colombo—and was deeply homesick. But he was unwilling to give up on the expansive cosmopolitan atmosphere he had come to appreciate in the capital. Which is why he came up with the idea of connecting his village to the Internet. He worked out a concept, did the math, wrote applications and asked international organizations for help—and received it. In Sri Lanka, too, he met with a positive response: In 2006 a local company paid for the first radio mast. Since then, Mahavilachchiya has been online 24 hours a day. Far away, but far ahead: Wanni is fairly sure that Sri Lanka’s first Skype call was made under his favorite mango tree.

SURFING IS A TEAM SPORT
Having arrived at the computer school, Wanni joins the kids. The row of monitors along the wall act as windows on a wider world. The youngsters gather in noisy groups around the screens, girls in their white school dresses and boys in blue shorts and white shirts. Surfing is a team sport. Some of the older ones have their own blogs where they post stories of village life. Teachers from all over the region come here to learn how to integrate computers into the curriculum.

“Initially, a lot of the parents were suspicious of us,” says Wanni. “So we got them involved from the very beginning.” Meanwhile, PCs can be found not just in the school in Mahavilachchiya, but in many of the farmhouses—as well as in 50 other communities that have become “e-villages” in the same way.

The Sampath family farmstead lies concealed behind a tall hedge. Heavy, head-high sacks are stacked in the living room, flush against the furniture. The last harvest has not yet been sold. Tharanga Sampath, 20, the son of the house, logs onto the stock exchange in Colombo. He has invested 10,000 rupees, around 65 euros and about a month’s wages, in shares in a glass manufacturer. He bought them six months ago. Now he points proudly to the share price on screen. His calculations were correct and the stock has risen substantially. Tharanga smiles shyly. “I want to be a banker,” he says. A dream career for the son of a rice farmer.

In the evening, Nandasiri Wanninayka heads for the swimming pond, as he often does. Flights of bats patrol the indigo sky, as if to protect this village idyll. As Wanni enters the water and bobs rhythmically up and down, enjoying the water, the carpet of lotus leaves undulates in time with his movements. Around him are children snorting and spluttering with laughter. “This here is our swimming pool, washing machine and community center, all in one,” Wanni jokes. Like a nest, the village is warm, close and tight-knit—“That’s something you rarely find in the cities.” Wanni needs the relaxed pace of home, like the ground beneath his feet.

Text: Michael Gleich, Photos: Paul Hahn
Bilfinger Berger Magazine 1/2012