By Sunil Govinnage

“... I should be black
and so I’ve tried to work on G’day, fair dinkum
flat out like a lizard drinkin
no worries mate...”
(From ‘Accents’ by Adrian Caesar)

It was a cold night in Amsterdam. Winter had spared a nasty treatment to those who live in Europe. However, Siri felt a numbness which came with the wind and pierced through his dark brown skin like a sharp steel knife. He adjusted his Australian Akubra hat and an overcoat given to him by Sam, a friend in Ohio, USA.  

Siri worked with Sam, back in Sri Lanka in the early 1980s at the Arthur Clarke Centre near Colombo. Now Sam teaches Science and Technology Policy in a mid-western university in USA. Reflecting on Sam’s progress, Siri thought less of his own achievements in Australia.

When he was given the overcoat, his friend Sam had said: "You’d better keep it. The weather in Holland is going to be nasty in January. I was in Holland last winter on my way from Vienna and it was very cold then. According to weather reports, the situation won't change this year either."

-- Sam is a typical American. Very direct and to the point. He is no longer a Sri Lankan! Siri Thought.

That was a few days ago.

Now Siri was alone in Amsterdam.

He was fully prepared for a good night out. The overcoat protected him well. Siri looked at the map. It looked as if all the roads in Amsterdam were going around in circles. He studied the map again, and then his watch. His Dutch friend—Rudie Labadi—must be waiting for him in the Groningen Cafe, somewhere in the middle of Amsterdam. Siri met Rudie when a Dutch team visited Sri Lanka 12 years ago to discuss strategies to alleviate poverty. Rudie’s speciality was technology transfer in Third World countries which he taught in a University in Delft. They had become friendly and kept in touch through letters and later via e-mail, a few years after Siri arrived in Australia. When Siri spoke to Rudie over the phone from the US, he explained that the cafe was in a safe part of the city. "Any taxi driver will take you there for ten guilders." Rudie emphasised over the phone.

When Siri gave the address, the taxi driver looked at him and smiled sarcastically. Siri was not sure what that Dutch smile meant.

"Are you from India?" the driver enquired in English with a heavy Dutch accent.

-- The usual question!

Siri was not ready to respond.

It was the universal question Siri had to answer everywhere, all the time. Siri was used to it now. Particularly in Australia, strangers—black and white—always asked him that question.

The young fellows were speechless and just left him alone.

That was a year ago. Now it was a different encounter with a Dutch taxi driver.

The taxi was moving slowly and entered a street close to Siri’s destination. He got out near a busy corner of another street which was allocated for cyclists.

"If you go straight ahead you’ll find the Groningen Cafe. But if you want to go to the red light street, give me five more guilders, I’ll take you to a good spot."

-- Again that heavy Dutch accent

"Dank-u-wel,"  Siri replied.

Siri adjusted his over-coat and walked through a deserted alley. Three drunken fellows were coming his way. Siri was glad that he had left his wallet and the Australian passport in the hotel. He passed the drunken people silently and looked for the name of the cafe where he had to meet Rudie. Siri tried to recall the face of his friend: it was a fading image like many other Sri Lankan memories.

As he opened the door, warm air welcomed him. He removed his overcoat and placed it on a rack.

A few people sat around. The cafe was dimly lit, but there was a fire in a big fireplace. It was 7.05pm and his friend would be there in about 25 minutes.

Siri ordered: "A beer, please."

"Do you want a Dutch beer or something else? We do not drink that much beer in the winter. But we have good spirits," the barman replied. He had a big moustache. He was thin and tall but reminded Siri of Merv Hughes because of that special moustache.

"Heiniken beer for me, thanks." The barman poured him a beer, then tended the fire.

Siri had a sip. The cold beer injected a numbness to his teeth which only had a thin layer of enamel.

"Are you from India? What are you doing here?"

-- Now, the barman! The usual entry point to another meaningless conversation

Siri felt irritable. He wasn’t sure if it was due to selecting the wrong alcohol or the tone of the question. He looked in the mirror and adjusted a few hairs in the middle of his head to cover his bald patch.

-- How could one differentiate an Indian from a Sri Lankan? Or for that matter an Australian Aborigine from a dark Asian? A westerner may not know the historical or cultural differences of ethnic origins in the East and the Far East

The barman looked up at him with a piercing look.

"Oh! Are you a Black Australian? What a privilege. I’ve never met one before. I saw that movie ‘Crocodile Something.’ " The barman was trying to recall the name of the film ‘Crocodile Dundee’—a Hollywood movie—produced by an Aussie actor.

"So, a Black Australian! I’ve met plenty of white Australians. Some of them are regulars, they visit here from the red light district."

Siri felt sad. For the last seven years in Australia and in his travels no one had accepted him as an Australian.

-- This is an honour. I am legally a Black Australian. You need not be an Aboriginal to call yourself a Black Australian

"Let’s have a drink to our new friendship," the barman said, interrupting Siri’s thoughts.

"This is one of our best drinks, a quality Dutch whisky. So, what are you doing in Amsterdam?"

"I ‘m just travelling through," Siri said casually.

-- When Rudie comes, everything will be revealed!

Siri was reluctant to tell the barman that he was waiting for a Dutch friend that he came to know in Sri Lanka.

--The act of being a Black Australian is already being staged. At least someone in the middle of Amsterdam has accepted me as a real Australian. I cannot go back now. But when Rudie comes... The Dutchman will come to know the truth. If I leave early? Then, Rudie will come and ask for me! The lie will be revealed. Is there any other way to resolve this problem...?

"Is there a pay phone here?" Siri asked. The Dutchman pointed to a telephone near the entrance.

Siri rushed to the phone and called Rudie. He didn’t tell him that he was already in the cafe where they agreed to meet. "I’ll meet you on my way from Limburg. I’ll come one day early and see you at Delft. Then I can visit your university as well."

-- Was it due to a bad cold or that he was no longer interested in meeting me because I don’t know much about Sri Lanka now?

Either way, Siri was pleased to learn that Rudie was not coming.

When he went back to the bar, the barman introduced him to another Dutchman.

"Meet my friend from Australia," the barman introduced Siri.

Siri shook hands with the stranger. He felt as if he had thick make-up on his face. Siri knew that he had a good cover-up, just like the overcoat given by his friend for a brief period.

The bar was warming up. It was going to be a long night.

Find out what happenedd to Siri