A Unique Sri Lanka Adventure: The Menstruation Party

Sri Lanka in September 1991. The country is marked by civil war in the north of the island, at the southern tip near India. The nation is struggling with Tamil separatists who want to declare the north of the island independent.

In the area where I stayed, you notice nothing except a few military roadblocks and occasional bombings in Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka. But tonight, I am jolted awake by loud bangs. Startled, I sit up in bed, thinking the fighting has now reached the southwest, to Beruwela.

The supposed gunshots are fired very near to my hotel. It takes a quarter of an hour for the spectacle to end. I don’t dare go out to check what’s happening. Suddenly, everything is quiet again, but I prefer to stay awake.

In the morning, I asked my German friends if they had heard the shots, and they reacted excitedly. Then Lale, a so-called “beach boy” we’ve befriended, comes over and tells us that a girl in the neighborhood got her period for the first time last night. I think, “And now the whole neighborhood, the whole town, knows. Everyone has to know, right?”

But this is a big event in Sri Lanka because a girl becomes a woman on such a day. On this occasion, fireworks are set off in the early morning hours (or whenever it is noticed), and a party is held—a menstruation party. We were warmly invited to the party, even though none of us knew the girl or anyone else in Beruwela besides Lale, the beach boy. Naturally, we accepted. None of us had ever been invited to such a party before. Hooray, a menstruation party!

In the evening, we go to the menstruation party with Lale: four men and one woman. Loud local pop music is played, and it is very exotic. The girl being celebrated for this significant event wears a white dress and looks pretty proud. We are, of course, happy for her. None of us had ever congratulated a young woman on her menstruation, but here we finally have the opportunity.

Soon, however, it seems as if we are the ones being celebrated, not the girl. We are given special attention—four Germans at a menstruation party in Sri Lanka—not something every young girl experiences.

Christiane, my friend’s wife, becomes the focus of many children who have probably never been so close to a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She quickly finds herself surrounded by children staring at her with big black eyes. Christiane later tells us that all the big black eyes fixed on her made her feel almost eerie.

We are invited inside to sit at the table. We sit obediently, but all the other guests stand in a semicircle around the table. As guests of honor, we are to eat first. It’s swelteringly hot in the neon-lit room. It smells of exotic spices and freshly cooked rice. The dishes are explained to us, but none of us begin to eat. There are no utensils, as eating with your fingers is customary in Sri Lanka.

We look at each other in amazement. None of us have eaten with our fingers since childhood. Slowly, we begin tentatively to dig in, but we do it all wrong. Lale takes pity on us and shows us the technique necessary, so we won’t starve. He explains that you only eat with your right hand because the left hand is used for cleaning yourself after using the toilet. Therefore, you must not point at others with your left hand. The food is taken with the fingertips of the right hand and pushed into the mouth with the thumb.

The food is very spicy, and we are not yet skilled at eating with our fingers; we haven’t mastered the technique. The spiciness of the dishes makes our lips fiery and soon numb. We look at each other in our red, sweaty faces, suffering. The food is quite significantly spicy. For each of us, it is the first such exotic meal. Sri Lankan cuisine, like Indian cuisine, is very flavorful and a feast for the taste buds due to the exotic ingredients. On this day, I become a fan of Indian and Sri Lankan cuisine.

We are given grated coconut, which is supposed to take away the burning sensation because water would only spread the heat further. Soon, our taste buds are numb. Everything we eat is just spicy. My ears already hurt. We still haven’t received anything to drink.

We are invited outside. Some rituals are taking place. A young man goes around with a brass bowl filled with water, heading straight for Christiane. She happily takes the bowl from the young man’s hands and takes a hearty sip. She surely deserves it after the spicy meal. We almost envy her for this honor.

But suddenly, there is unrest; the other guests call out loudly and laugh, saying something to Christiane in Sinhalese. The young man pulls the bowl back from her, shocked. What’s going on now? Is the water poisoned?

No! It’s holy water! The guests were only supposed to touch the bowl briefly from underneath with both hands, but Christiane took a sip to quench her thirst. She and we are embarrassed, but no one informed us beforehand. I’m glad the bowl wasn’t offered to me first. I’m pretty thirsty, too.

Finally, someone brings a large bottle of cola. They’ve finally noticed that we’re not doing well. Back then, people didn’t drink plain water.

The spicy end:

Again, a young man goes around with a bowl full of green chili peppers. It’s a popular snack enjoyed by guests, like pretzel sticks. Christiane asks if the peppers are spicy. The young man shakes his head, which means “no” to us. She also takes a chili pepper and bites into it heartily like the others, enjoying it until she suddenly falls silent and her face turns red. We didn’t know that a horizontal head shake means “yes” in Sri Lanka.

We learned a lot that evening in Sri Lanka and feel sorry for Christiane, as all the mishaps fell on her.