Ah Christmas in Madagascar. Is it the same as Christmas in America? Has our commercial reach extended far enough to inspire the Black Friday fervor that one looks so fondly upon as the joyful holiday spirit of the United States? In many ways, yes. The dual forces of decades of missionary work and globalization have made Christmas here a two fold pamphlet of religious and commercial zeal similar to that in the U.S., albeit lacking the extravagance of its American counterpart. Gift giving and receiving only extends as far as those that can afford it, and so the majority of families do not exchange presents on Christmas. The money that could go to gifts is first is spent on the animal to be killed for the Christmas meal (and ironically, the lumps of charcoal needed to cook said meal), and then if there is left over cash presents may be considered. Most families, waking upon Christmas day, attend church services all morning, before coming home and taking part in the family feast, which would typically consist of a few different dishes (an increase from the usual one), the main course being the chicken, duck, pig, or goat recently killed for the occasion. All the 'side dishes', naturally, exist as the accompaniment to Rice, the main course. As a result, especially in small towns like mine, Christmas remains a fairly humble affair. However, travel to the bigger cities of Madagascar, like Antananarivo, Mahajanga, Diego and Tamatave, and the greater number of moneyed individuals allows for actual present purchasing and its resultant marketing push. Stores have sales, extra ‘Christmas Bazaars’ spring up and vendors set up in force along the main roads. And so while the idea of presents exists across the island, its presence is uneven, awaiting a population with the means to act upon it.
Other Christmas ideas to make it to Madagascar are decorations, and that all important character, Santa Claus. Many would attribute the spread of these concepts to the French, who hold similar traditions to us United Staters and whose colonial ties to the island bespeak a far greater influence than measly Americans. After much observation though, I have come to disagree. Perhaps the idea, a seedling of Christmas tradition, was planted by the French, but we Americans have watered it and made it grow. And not through our movies or music (though I did hear Rudolph blasting from a nearby house one day), but through China. China, that giant of production. My theory is this: China must make an enormous amount of christmas decorations for the U.S, and necessarily, a fair percentage of this is crap, products broken in production, discovered to have poisonous material, etc. These cast offs, unsellable in the U.S., are then dumped on Madagascar, which buys the broken, poorly designed, terrible offshoots of the China export boom. Why do I think this, you ask? Well, there seems no other explanation for the surfeit of flimsy (yet creepy) Santa masks, Mardi Gras inspired garland (anybody want some electric purple, lizard green, metallic blue or flashy gold streamers?), and plastic christmas tree wall hangings. I guess it could have been the French. But maybe, one December 20th, a container ship from our Socialist friends steamed up and dumped so many rosy cheeked Santa masks onto the pier that people had no other choice except assume that this 'Santa' was quite an important guy, as well as a very generous, giving one, considering how many trees and flashy ropes he brought along with him. Whatever the explanation, it is strange to see these holiday symbols so faithfully reproduced across the world, all the way down to the white skin of Santa.
For my part, Christmas was a quiet affair. The combination of the absence of family, sweltering temperatures, and a guarantee of no snow made it hard to imagine the holiday as more than just another day. But, in a treat to ourselves, we spent the day visiting one of the nice hotels in Mahajanga, to take a dip in their enormous swimming pool and get a bite to eat of their good, if way overpriced, food. But, a quiet Christmas is a normal one here, for when it comes to parties, it's not until New Years that the Malagasy really get their rice infused grooves on. Surely, New Years is a big holiday in the USA, but it is a limited time offer kind of affair. The transition from the 31st of December into the 1st of January marks the seemingly obvious time restrictions on the party, and so while making a big bang, the party is a necessarily one night event. Not so in Madagascar, where the Bonne Annee (New Year) parties start on the 31st of December and continue on well into February. Indeed next week I will attend my third New Years party since the calendar turned to 2010, none of them being on New Years. Coincidentally, this will also be the third time that I'll be attending a party in which a cow is bought to celebrate the big occasion. After all, there is nothing like killing an omby (cow - pronounced ooombie) to start off your gala event, and then follow it later with the dancing that is the other main ingredient in this spicy party dish. And so if you were wondering - or even if you weren't - what a great Bonne Annee soiree here consists of: its mostly just five things. Lots of food, lots of drinks, loud music and lots of dancing. And one cow.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Sunday, November 22, 2009
On the road...again
On the road again
Peace Corps Madagascar part two has officially begun! A several months long hiatus because of the program's suspension has finally ended, and I am once again back on the giant red island of Madagascar. With this first entry upon return, I'd like to briefly summarize the events of the past 8 months to catch up anybody who has not been able to follow the situation closely, as well as provide an outlook on the future of the country in the approaching months.
So, what happened?
I was serving as a volunteer in my town of Befandriana Avaratra, working primarily in the Education field by teaching English to 10th graders in the public high school. Friends were being made, my language skills were improving and life was becoming 'normal'. Then, a long brewing set of grievances against the government (and other factions) all over the country finally erupted into severe civil unrest. The man who capitalized upon this was Andry Rajoelina, 35 years young and a former DJ. Young and charismatic, he managed to inflame the feelings of thousands of people and organize increasingly large protests against the ruling leader/party. Inexperienced in crowd control and underequipped, military and police responded badly to the riotous crowds, eventually firing upon a crowd attempting to storm the Presidential Palace and killing many. The tense situation deteriorated quickly from there, eventually ending when a small faction of the military defected to Andry Rajoelina's side and helped him to seize power in a coup d'etat. As a result, Peace Corps volunteers were evacuated and the program suspended indefinitely.
Since then, the last eight months have seen an internationally mediated attempt to reconcile the ousted President, Marc Ravalomanana and the current President, Andry Rajoelina. Four party talks of Ravalomanana, Rajoelina, and two other former Presidents were held through the summer. Finally, in October, they came to a power sharing agreement for an interim government until elections are held next year (although they are still fighting over who gets to control important ministries like the Ministry of Budget, the Ministry of Defense etc). Whether this government can survive until elections next year remains to be seen, it's attempt to satisfy all four parties has created, shall we say, quite a bureaucracy. There is a President, accompanied by two 'co-Presidents,' as well as a Prime Minister, who is accompanied by four 'vice prime ministers,' overseeing 31 different ministries (this is a lot - there are 3 separate Ministries of Education). But, with this agreement and several months without political violence, Peace Corps Madagascar was allowed to reopen and bring back volunteers to work again.
However, the future of Madagascar is not exactly sunny. Briefings from Peace Corps, as well as from the political officer and security officer from the U.S. Embassy provided a tough picture of the way ahead for this country. For one, their membership in AGOA could still be pulled. The AGOA, a trade agreement which allows them favorable access to U.S. markets, is responsible for around 100,000 jobs in Madagascar. Cancellation of the agreement would instantly cut those jobs. I'm not an expert on the agreement, but the U.S. has some very specific stipulations for countries to be included, one of them being democratic governance. If they get this interim government in place by the end of the year, it is possible they can keep it (something the embassy says they are working hard on), but could just as easily be cut out. Crime has seen a marked increase since the coup, and the loss of those jobs would certainly add to that. Most importantly, the country must hold 'reasonably free and fair' elections sometime in the next year. The U.S. State Department has made it clear that they will not recognize Madagascar formally until they achieve that goal. Without formal recognition, around 60 million dollars of environment aid through USAID remains on hold, as well as millions in budget assistance, development projects and other forms of U.S. aid money. So the question becomes, can they hold 'free and fair' elections? The UN estimated it would take 25 million dollars to accomplish that. The U.S. has pledged around one million, and with other donors there is around 6 million in donated funds. Where will they get the rest? I'm not sure. Preventing fraud will be challenging, since most towns don't have reliable voter or population records, or reliable forms of identification. (Hopefully, Peace Corps volunteers may be able to work in their towns to help monitor elections and register people).
This much is clear: the next year or so will be pivotal for the future of the country, moving it towards continued development or on a path of regression, it will be interesting to see. Either way, I look forward to being here amongst the people and witnessing the events as they unfold.
Peace Corps Madagascar part two has officially begun! A several months long hiatus because of the program's suspension has finally ended, and I am once again back on the giant red island of Madagascar. With this first entry upon return, I'd like to briefly summarize the events of the past 8 months to catch up anybody who has not been able to follow the situation closely, as well as provide an outlook on the future of the country in the approaching months.
So, what happened?
I was serving as a volunteer in my town of Befandriana Avaratra, working primarily in the Education field by teaching English to 10th graders in the public high school. Friends were being made, my language skills were improving and life was becoming 'normal'. Then, a long brewing set of grievances against the government (and other factions) all over the country finally erupted into severe civil unrest. The man who capitalized upon this was Andry Rajoelina, 35 years young and a former DJ. Young and charismatic, he managed to inflame the feelings of thousands of people and organize increasingly large protests against the ruling leader/party. Inexperienced in crowd control and underequipped, military and police responded badly to the riotous crowds, eventually firing upon a crowd attempting to storm the Presidential Palace and killing many. The tense situation deteriorated quickly from there, eventually ending when a small faction of the military defected to Andry Rajoelina's side and helped him to seize power in a coup d'etat. As a result, Peace Corps volunteers were evacuated and the program suspended indefinitely.
Since then, the last eight months have seen an internationally mediated attempt to reconcile the ousted President, Marc Ravalomanana and the current President, Andry Rajoelina. Four party talks of Ravalomanana, Rajoelina, and two other former Presidents were held through the summer. Finally, in October, they came to a power sharing agreement for an interim government until elections are held next year (although they are still fighting over who gets to control important ministries like the Ministry of Budget, the Ministry of Defense etc). Whether this government can survive until elections next year remains to be seen, it's attempt to satisfy all four parties has created, shall we say, quite a bureaucracy. There is a President, accompanied by two 'co-Presidents,' as well as a Prime Minister, who is accompanied by four 'vice prime ministers,' overseeing 31 different ministries (this is a lot - there are 3 separate Ministries of Education). But, with this agreement and several months without political violence, Peace Corps Madagascar was allowed to reopen and bring back volunteers to work again.
However, the future of Madagascar is not exactly sunny. Briefings from Peace Corps, as well as from the political officer and security officer from the U.S. Embassy provided a tough picture of the way ahead for this country. For one, their membership in AGOA could still be pulled. The AGOA, a trade agreement which allows them favorable access to U.S. markets, is responsible for around 100,000 jobs in Madagascar. Cancellation of the agreement would instantly cut those jobs. I'm not an expert on the agreement, but the U.S. has some very specific stipulations for countries to be included, one of them being democratic governance. If they get this interim government in place by the end of the year, it is possible they can keep it (something the embassy says they are working hard on), but could just as easily be cut out. Crime has seen a marked increase since the coup, and the loss of those jobs would certainly add to that. Most importantly, the country must hold 'reasonably free and fair' elections sometime in the next year. The U.S. State Department has made it clear that they will not recognize Madagascar formally until they achieve that goal. Without formal recognition, around 60 million dollars of environment aid through USAID remains on hold, as well as millions in budget assistance, development projects and other forms of U.S. aid money. So the question becomes, can they hold 'free and fair' elections? The UN estimated it would take 25 million dollars to accomplish that. The U.S. has pledged around one million, and with other donors there is around 6 million in donated funds. Where will they get the rest? I'm not sure. Preventing fraud will be challenging, since most towns don't have reliable voter or population records, or reliable forms of identification. (Hopefully, Peace Corps volunteers may be able to work in their towns to help monitor elections and register people).
This much is clear: the next year or so will be pivotal for the future of the country, moving it towards continued development or on a path of regression, it will be interesting to see. Either way, I look forward to being here amongst the people and witnessing the events as they unfold.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Isalo
Looking at the dates of the last entry here, I can imagine (and have heard) that some people were frustrated by the lack of updates. I never wished that to happen, but as most of you know, events of the months succeeding December made new writings and updates a difficult task. Right before all of that happened, however, I did write most of an entry concerning my vacation in December, and so feel as if it merits at least a post, albeit many months late. Hopefully, a few additions on the details of the events since then will appear in a few days following this post. Thanks for your patience!
Isalo National Park: The Blue and Black Pools
The final weeks of December 2008 in Madagascar found most volunteers headed out on vacation, looking to celebrate the holidays with fellow Americans. Trip plans found me on my way South, with plans to stop at various locales and parks along the way. The first destination was an expansive national park called Isalo in south-central Madagascar. It is the result of a former seabed being pushed up out of the ocean into rocky outcrops, and so topographically, has an astounding variety of landscapes, from mountainous plateaus to tree dotted plains to shadowed rainforest. For three days, we hiked up and down, left and right, back and forth and right side up and upside down, receiving much help from our Malagasy guide. More than once as we ascended to the tops of the plateaus, the views elicited feelings of a Tolkien-esque panorama, the craggy rock pushing out of the rolling fields of green below into the skies, rising in layers of green grass and shady stone, spectators upon the birds coasting in the empty space between them. We would absorb the scenery of the high places, only to then descend down between them into the midst of trees, the canopy a shield from the outside world; protectors of the natural pools and waterfalls hidden below. Ring tailed lemurs came and went, the babies clinging to their mother's backs while they jump from tree to tree, scamper across the path or simply stop and stare at the human intruders upon their world. All of these places were picturesque, but none could compete with the our last destination: the Blue and Black Pools. From the camp it was only a short trek, but the whole of it might be the most beautiful walk I have ever been on. Nestled in a narrow canyon between two mountains, a small stream begins the walk to the pools. Never more than a foot deep, a white, sandy base gives the current of water an almost beach like feel, and it glides gently around intervening rocks while accompanying the surrounding tropical shrubbery with a quiet burble. The canyon is not quite 20 feet wide at the base, and the walls slope skyward dramatically, but not so sheer as to prevent trees, plants and tropical flowers from clinging to its sides. Occasionally, a small trickle of water from above tumbles and falls down the walls, combining with the hushed sounds of wildlife to give the entire, enclosed place an intimately personal feeling. One could imagine, despite the few people you are with, that nothing else exists outside this tiny world. And so we walked along in silence, zigzagging back and forth over the stream to the patches of dry land on either side of the waterway, on our way to even greater things. At last, the path ends, and we clambered up a few feet onto the outcrops blocking our path and faced the new wonders of the pools. On the left sits the blue pool, a circular basin of azure water, into which from 30 feet above shimmers a waterfall. The expanse is like an upside down bowl, with the rock walls sloping inward as they ascend from the sides of the pool. A short clamber away lies the black pool, larger than the blue, with the combined forces of shadows and deepness keeping the water a dusky midnight hue. Like the previous, a thick waterfall descends into the far reaches of the pool while barren rock climbs out from the sides. It was not long before we were diving into the chill waters, floating either in the center or beneath the falls, taking a few moments to relax in the eddies and swirls. A setting sun soon shimmered towards the horizon, and the slanting rays glinted a message we had to heed: it was getting late. Reluctantly, we gathered our things and left the pools behind to return to our camp and a waiting dinner, leaving the waters to continue their contemplative vigil amongst the mountains.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
War and Peace - with Animals
Since it appears that all volunteers must suffer their readers an obligatory post concerning their adventures with the creatures of the animal kingdom, it would be remiss of me to omit this tribute to our organic friends...and enemies.
In general, I think I maintain fairly cordial relations with my winged and many legged neighbors. This is due in large part to the summit I held early on to negotiate some ground rules, and I owe a lot to my representative Mr. Bolton, who worked unceasingly with all the interested parties to arrive at a peaceful, multilateral agreement, saving me the time and bother of trying to fight all those pesky creatures so inclined to aggravate a person. I've detailed the terms of our accord in the following:
Article 1 (Spiders): I don't get upset about the embarrassing, electrified limb flailing which ensues when some of your gossamer strands sneak attack my face, and in addition, promise to refrain from killing you. In return, you must forgive the occasional catastrophic web destruction resulting from routine cleaning and the aforementioned inadvertent face collisions. Also, you agree to try your best to catch and kill as many mosquitoes as possible.
Article 2 (Mosquitoes): Don't give me malaria. And I will try (sort of) to not kill quite as many of you as I would like.
Article 3 (Geckos): Similar to the Euro area, all geckos are allowed free movement in and out of my house, provided you continue to be cuter than spiders and chomp mosquitoes by the dozens.
Article 4 (Generic bugs, terrestrial and airborne): I tolerate your intermittent trespasses into my house...since you are willing to risk the gauntlet of spiders, geckos, and burning candles. In fact, as the casualty rate of the average insect upon entering here is so high, I am doing you a favor when I sweep, chase and bat you back outside. For those choosing to remain I wish the best of luck, you must be either very brave or very stupid. (and judging by how many have reenacted the flight path of Icarus with my candle, its not the former).
Article 5 (The mouse): Don't eat my food, multiply, or turn into a rat, and your solitary, sporadic ventures into my domain are fine by me.
The respecting of these codes of conduct has produced a pretty harmonious existence between my animal friends and I. Plus, at the last minute, Mr. Bolton thankfully managed to slip that "sort of" clause into Article 2 without the mosquitoes noticing. (He's a sly one). But alas, not all that shimmers is silken, and try as he might, there was one species that, despite all efforts to accommodate them and the full pursuit of every possible diplomatic option, now claim their place as my most bitter enemies. There are other creatures I am more scared of (snakes), and that I am more repulsed by (cockroaches), but there has been none to arouse more hatred in me than my now avowed nemesis, the ant. Instead of if not happily, tolerantly coexisting with each other and governed by a mutual non combative pact, egregious raids on my turf have entrenched us in a perpetual state of war. Perhaps the ants thought that since I was a 'Peace' Corps volunteer no retribution could be enacted from my side. Maybe they thought they could take advantage of the stranger in a strange land. They were wrong. Any hesitation I had once held for sparing their little lives disintegrated into a thousand shards of enmity on the day they surprise invaded my delicious, recently finished batch of curried potatoes. I will not go into how tasty these potatoes, which I had made just two hours earlier, were. Suffice to say that this particular round happened to be an especially excellent one, and I was quite looking forward to enjoying them again come next meal time. The battles since that, the infamous Curry-Potato Affair of October 2008 (perhaps you read about it in the papers), have raged unceasingly, with each side claiming both victories and defeats. My side is helped by several major disadvantages facing ants - namely that they can only travel along the singular line marked by the lucky trailblazer who discovered my food. The subsequent offensive of miniature marauders is thus easily spotted, and just as easily traced, and eliminated, all the way back to their point of origin. Yet, their lack of defenses and subtlety are countered by sheer numbers. There is, in the end, just one of me against countless ants, and despite the innumerable numbers I have killed, they can sustain astoundingly high rates of attrition in a single encounter and return the next day seemingly unaffected by the incredible casualties absorbed just hours before. And so my victories, while scarily satisfying (and oft-accompanied with trash talk), are equally as fleeting, with danger returning as quickly as the toxic fumes of insecticide dissipate into the air.
As it currently stands, I have conceded all territory outside my house to the ants, and have withdrawn, with minor success, to protecting my sovereign territory, engaging the ants in ferocious border skirmishes when necessary. In this besieged state, a constant vigilance has staved off most attacks before they become serious, but each day, each hour, carries with it the lurking threat of disaster. Needless to say, if you thought this job was all fun and games, take a moment to reflect on those curried potatoes so tragically destroyed (if you are continuing to read on without pausing to reflect, please stop and do so now)...yes, think of their unhappy fate, and heed this warning: it could be your potatoes tomorrow!
[This post in loving memory of last Tuesday's pot of rice, the most recent casualty of ruthless ant tactics.]
In general, I think I maintain fairly cordial relations with my winged and many legged neighbors. This is due in large part to the summit I held early on to negotiate some ground rules, and I owe a lot to my representative Mr. Bolton, who worked unceasingly with all the interested parties to arrive at a peaceful, multilateral agreement, saving me the time and bother of trying to fight all those pesky creatures so inclined to aggravate a person. I've detailed the terms of our accord in the following:
Article 1 (Spiders): I don't get upset about the embarrassing, electrified limb flailing which ensues when some of your gossamer strands sneak attack my face, and in addition, promise to refrain from killing you. In return, you must forgive the occasional catastrophic web destruction resulting from routine cleaning and the aforementioned inadvertent face collisions. Also, you agree to try your best to catch and kill as many mosquitoes as possible.
Article 2 (Mosquitoes): Don't give me malaria. And I will try (sort of) to not kill quite as many of you as I would like.
Article 3 (Geckos): Similar to the Euro area, all geckos are allowed free movement in and out of my house, provided you continue to be cuter than spiders and chomp mosquitoes by the dozens.
Article 4 (Generic bugs, terrestrial and airborne): I tolerate your intermittent trespasses into my house...since you are willing to risk the gauntlet of spiders, geckos, and burning candles. In fact, as the casualty rate of the average insect upon entering here is so high, I am doing you a favor when I sweep, chase and bat you back outside. For those choosing to remain I wish the best of luck, you must be either very brave or very stupid. (and judging by how many have reenacted the flight path of Icarus with my candle, its not the former).
Article 5 (The mouse): Don't eat my food, multiply, or turn into a rat, and your solitary, sporadic ventures into my domain are fine by me.
The respecting of these codes of conduct has produced a pretty harmonious existence between my animal friends and I. Plus, at the last minute, Mr. Bolton thankfully managed to slip that "sort of" clause into Article 2 without the mosquitoes noticing. (He's a sly one). But alas, not all that shimmers is silken, and try as he might, there was one species that, despite all efforts to accommodate them and the full pursuit of every possible diplomatic option, now claim their place as my most bitter enemies. There are other creatures I am more scared of (snakes), and that I am more repulsed by (cockroaches), but there has been none to arouse more hatred in me than my now avowed nemesis, the ant. Instead of if not happily, tolerantly coexisting with each other and governed by a mutual non combative pact, egregious raids on my turf have entrenched us in a perpetual state of war. Perhaps the ants thought that since I was a 'Peace' Corps volunteer no retribution could be enacted from my side. Maybe they thought they could take advantage of the stranger in a strange land. They were wrong. Any hesitation I had once held for sparing their little lives disintegrated into a thousand shards of enmity on the day they surprise invaded my delicious, recently finished batch of curried potatoes. I will not go into how tasty these potatoes, which I had made just two hours earlier, were. Suffice to say that this particular round happened to be an especially excellent one, and I was quite looking forward to enjoying them again come next meal time. The battles since that, the infamous Curry-Potato Affair of October 2008 (perhaps you read about it in the papers), have raged unceasingly, with each side claiming both victories and defeats. My side is helped by several major disadvantages facing ants - namely that they can only travel along the singular line marked by the lucky trailblazer who discovered my food. The subsequent offensive of miniature marauders is thus easily spotted, and just as easily traced, and eliminated, all the way back to their point of origin. Yet, their lack of defenses and subtlety are countered by sheer numbers. There is, in the end, just one of me against countless ants, and despite the innumerable numbers I have killed, they can sustain astoundingly high rates of attrition in a single encounter and return the next day seemingly unaffected by the incredible casualties absorbed just hours before. And so my victories, while scarily satisfying (and oft-accompanied with trash talk), are equally as fleeting, with danger returning as quickly as the toxic fumes of insecticide dissipate into the air.
As it currently stands, I have conceded all territory outside my house to the ants, and have withdrawn, with minor success, to protecting my sovereign territory, engaging the ants in ferocious border skirmishes when necessary. In this besieged state, a constant vigilance has staved off most attacks before they become serious, but each day, each hour, carries with it the lurking threat of disaster. Needless to say, if you thought this job was all fun and games, take a moment to reflect on those curried potatoes so tragically destroyed (if you are continuing to read on without pausing to reflect, please stop and do so now)...yes, think of their unhappy fate, and heed this warning: it could be your potatoes tomorrow!
[This post in loving memory of last Tuesday's pot of rice, the most recent casualty of ruthless ant tactics.]
Saturday, November 1, 2008
At site
I’ve had several entreaties by concerned persons (*my mother) for pictures so that they may better envision this town I call my home, and I can assure people that I am working on it. The nature of the internet (slow) and my access (once a month) make it difficult and expensive to post pictures. Eventually however, in a day of great surprise, some pictures will appear. But, in their absence, one must hope that my thousand words will be a worthy replacement.
A bustling settlement in the north central part of Madagascar, my town rests in the rolling plains before the mountains which divide the island in two. This division is not merely figurative, in the upper regions there is no decent road to cross from the east, where I am, into the west - in order to do so I would have to go up to the Northern tip of the island and then come back down on the other side of the range. My town, not quite in the shadows of these mountains, nevertheless has a skyline dominated by the range of peaks. As often as I forget that they are there, it is equally frequent that I have to stop for a moment and take in the panorama. Currently, the aforementioned ‘rolling plains’ are incredibly dry, as it is the dry season, and thus are a dusty combination of long grasses and occasional trees. During the wet season though, I am told the landscape transforms from its current parched look into a greened, flowery expanse. Situated amongst this terrain, copses of small villages exist, painted onto the surrounding environment with the caprice of a blind artist. Frequently, as we pass some little island of adobe houses amidst an empty expanse, I wonder why a few hundred people decided to stake their claim on that particular spot in the middle of nowhere. As the unquestioned biggest populace in the area, my town serves as a consolidation and distribution point for most of the farmers in these satellite villages out in the ambanivohitra (countryside). At about fifteen to twenty thousand, its hardly a metropolis of epic proportions, but is big enough to carry such amenities as cell phone service and semi-reliable power (currently, a motor is broken at the power plant and thus I have electricity at random 2 hour intervals during the day). The town is mostly flat, and radiates outward from a small traffic roundabout at the center. The national road passes through this roundabout, and is the source of the only paved roads in town (including the roundabout). The mayor’s office and market which border the circle also add to its nature as the focus of most activities here. Various dirt roads spider away from this center to other parts of town - stores, street vendors, homes, etc, indeed, the road which passes right next to the market from the center leads to the Lycee (high school) where I live.
The people have been, in general, very friendly and welcoming towards me, and seem to be endlessly amazed that I can in however limited a fashion, speak Malagasy. Their surprise is usually followed by turning to their nearest companion and relating to them that I can speak Malagasy, and then, I guess instantly forgetting that knowledge, proceed with their companion to talk about me (as if now I don‘t understand??). Eventually, they tire of the topic (me), and I chime in and relate that I would, in fact, like to buy some of their potatoes. An interaction such as that happens at least three or four times a week, frequently with the same people, for whom the novelty that is me has yet to wear off. As far as describing the people goes…Madagascar, as an island nation, has acquired a variety of ethnicities through the migration of people from Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. For instance, the capital, Tana, is dominated by the Merina people, who speak Official Malagasy, and tend to look more Asian than other parts of the island. The north is far more ‘African’ and is also influenced to a greater degree by Middle Eastern culture (pork is rare, and several language elements are derived from Arabic). My region is the home of the Tsimihety people, and they speak a dialect of Malagasy of the same name. It is very similar to Official, I would compare its differences to British and American English…close, but some altered vocabulary, grammar, and a much different accent. Their dress is interesting, as it is the result of most clothes being second hand from Europe, the States, and Asia - an assortment which creates a rather…unique…style. Women generally have more ‘traditional’ wear than men, frequently wrapping themselves in lambas, a garment that is almost like a towel, except bigger, with very thin material, and stylized with patterns. I have yet to really find out what people do here for fun besides sit and talk with their friends outside or watch Malagasy music videos for long periods of time. This can make for some awkward times when people want to hang out with me. Since I can’t really sit around and chat casually in Malagasy yet, the conversation quickly dies out and then its either Malagasy music videos, if we happen to be somewhere with a tv, or just chilling in silence, either of which is not usually top on my list of things to do. Yet, I am nevertheless thankful that there are people nice enough to sit with me from time to time and bear what I imagine is my terrible Malagasy accent, and so I give the Tsimihety people a lot of credit for their patience and general good humor towards this awkward, funny looking vazaha who has fallen from the nether regions of the United States into their town.
I say nether regions, because it is apparent that to them (as perhaps Madagascar is to people in the U.S), the United States is a mysterious dreamland far far away. They only know it through the glimpses gained from movies and television, so I get an array of questions that often, to the American eye, are comically absurd, especially as they are asked with perfect seriousness. A sample: Do they have rice in the United States? Do people eat rice there too? If you don’t eat rice what do you eat? Do they have mangos/bananas/peanuts/beans there? Are there black people in the United States? Do a lot of people speak Malagasy? Is everybody rich?
The list of their questions could go on. But, I hope that in regards to the questions from you, the American audience, that by exceeding 1000 (1187 to be exact, lucky you!) words for this entry, I have managed to provide that picture’s worth (and more!) of answers to a few of the queries concerning the settlement in Northern Madagascar which has become my home.
By the way, I haven’t heard it yet, but I’m waiting for the day when someone asks if everybody in the U.S. has red hair. I’m contemplating saying yes.
A bustling settlement in the north central part of Madagascar, my town rests in the rolling plains before the mountains which divide the island in two. This division is not merely figurative, in the upper regions there is no decent road to cross from the east, where I am, into the west - in order to do so I would have to go up to the Northern tip of the island and then come back down on the other side of the range. My town, not quite in the shadows of these mountains, nevertheless has a skyline dominated by the range of peaks. As often as I forget that they are there, it is equally frequent that I have to stop for a moment and take in the panorama. Currently, the aforementioned ‘rolling plains’ are incredibly dry, as it is the dry season, and thus are a dusty combination of long grasses and occasional trees. During the wet season though, I am told the landscape transforms from its current parched look into a greened, flowery expanse. Situated amongst this terrain, copses of small villages exist, painted onto the surrounding environment with the caprice of a blind artist. Frequently, as we pass some little island of adobe houses amidst an empty expanse, I wonder why a few hundred people decided to stake their claim on that particular spot in the middle of nowhere. As the unquestioned biggest populace in the area, my town serves as a consolidation and distribution point for most of the farmers in these satellite villages out in the ambanivohitra (countryside). At about fifteen to twenty thousand, its hardly a metropolis of epic proportions, but is big enough to carry such amenities as cell phone service and semi-reliable power (currently, a motor is broken at the power plant and thus I have electricity at random 2 hour intervals during the day). The town is mostly flat, and radiates outward from a small traffic roundabout at the center. The national road passes through this roundabout, and is the source of the only paved roads in town (including the roundabout). The mayor’s office and market which border the circle also add to its nature as the focus of most activities here. Various dirt roads spider away from this center to other parts of town - stores, street vendors, homes, etc, indeed, the road which passes right next to the market from the center leads to the Lycee (high school) where I live.
The people have been, in general, very friendly and welcoming towards me, and seem to be endlessly amazed that I can in however limited a fashion, speak Malagasy. Their surprise is usually followed by turning to their nearest companion and relating to them that I can speak Malagasy, and then, I guess instantly forgetting that knowledge, proceed with their companion to talk about me (as if now I don‘t understand??). Eventually, they tire of the topic (me), and I chime in and relate that I would, in fact, like to buy some of their potatoes. An interaction such as that happens at least three or four times a week, frequently with the same people, for whom the novelty that is me has yet to wear off. As far as describing the people goes…Madagascar, as an island nation, has acquired a variety of ethnicities through the migration of people from Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. For instance, the capital, Tana, is dominated by the Merina people, who speak Official Malagasy, and tend to look more Asian than other parts of the island. The north is far more ‘African’ and is also influenced to a greater degree by Middle Eastern culture (pork is rare, and several language elements are derived from Arabic). My region is the home of the Tsimihety people, and they speak a dialect of Malagasy of the same name. It is very similar to Official, I would compare its differences to British and American English…close, but some altered vocabulary, grammar, and a much different accent. Their dress is interesting, as it is the result of most clothes being second hand from Europe, the States, and Asia - an assortment which creates a rather…unique…style. Women generally have more ‘traditional’ wear than men, frequently wrapping themselves in lambas, a garment that is almost like a towel, except bigger, with very thin material, and stylized with patterns. I have yet to really find out what people do here for fun besides sit and talk with their friends outside or watch Malagasy music videos for long periods of time. This can make for some awkward times when people want to hang out with me. Since I can’t really sit around and chat casually in Malagasy yet, the conversation quickly dies out and then its either Malagasy music videos, if we happen to be somewhere with a tv, or just chilling in silence, either of which is not usually top on my list of things to do. Yet, I am nevertheless thankful that there are people nice enough to sit with me from time to time and bear what I imagine is my terrible Malagasy accent, and so I give the Tsimihety people a lot of credit for their patience and general good humor towards this awkward, funny looking vazaha who has fallen from the nether regions of the United States into their town.
I say nether regions, because it is apparent that to them (as perhaps Madagascar is to people in the U.S), the United States is a mysterious dreamland far far away. They only know it through the glimpses gained from movies and television, so I get an array of questions that often, to the American eye, are comically absurd, especially as they are asked with perfect seriousness. A sample: Do they have rice in the United States? Do people eat rice there too? If you don’t eat rice what do you eat? Do they have mangos/bananas/peanuts/beans there? Are there black people in the United States? Do a lot of people speak Malagasy? Is everybody rich?
The list of their questions could go on. But, I hope that in regards to the questions from you, the American audience, that by exceeding 1000 (1187 to be exact, lucky you!) words for this entry, I have managed to provide that picture’s worth (and more!) of answers to a few of the queries concerning the settlement in Northern Madagascar which has become my home.
By the way, I haven’t heard it yet, but I’m waiting for the day when someone asks if everybody in the U.S. has red hair. I’m contemplating saying yes.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
A Vocabulary Lesson
While no doubt many people were hoping that this, my first writings since arrival at site, would be devoted to describing said locale, those readers are surely about to be disappointed in the following entry, which has nothing to do with my place of residence at all. The reason (or at least, what I’ve decided to be the reason) being that, the longer I wait to describe it, the longer I will have lived here, and as a consequence, the more accurate, knowledgeable, and illuminating the depiction. (so in a way, we all win)
Instead, this particular entry is focused on a curious issue of…linguistic nature. There are certain words, it seems, in languages that when learned by students, have a remarkable tendency to crossover into the speakers native tongue. Occasionally, these even make it into the general population: note, for instance, the frequent use in English of fiesta, beau and über. Of course, when surrounded by other English speakers learning the same language, such transcendent vernacular is only more common, as your fellow pupils will understand when the occasional Malagasy words flow in and out of conversation (albeit often butchered into English by adding suffixes such as -ing and -ed to convey tense). Sometimes this is just because words are funny - e.g. über, or catchy - e.g. fiesta, and sometimes its because, well, the English translation doesn’t quite have the same meaning. For the Malagasy words which have made their way into the volunteer’s routine English vocabulary, its usually a combination of all these things. The following list, I hope, provides some brief snapshots into the funny, the everyday and the unique of life in Madagascar.
Ladosy - literally translates into ‘shower,’ but the impression which, Monet like, forms in my mind along with the thought ‘shower’ - namely some sort of tub with hot running water flowing and gurgling happily from above my head - disperses in the face of the concrete room + drain which is the ladosy. On a side note, anyone wishing to cut down on their water bill should switch to the bucket shower methodology. And actually, I kind of enjoy my bucket showers now, so maybe you should try it out. (Makers of buckets everywhere, that endorsement is free of charge. your welcome.)
Mampa - prefix which adds ‘to make’ to any word. For instance, ‘to be tired’ (reraka) becomes ‘makes one tired’ (mampareraka). Naturally, the temptation to preface English verbs/adjectives with it is difficult to resist. Example? Peace Corps Madagascar cookbook, issued to every volunteer, entitled ‘Mampalicious.’
Manasa lamba - means to do laundry. but somehow, as you scrub clothes by hand in a bucket of cold soapy water, saying that you are ‘doing laundry’ doesn’t quite fit the image. Manasa lamba conveys the unfortunate experience much more accurately.
Mansaka rano - due to the absence of running water in the vast majority of homes, most families get water from a community well/pump etc. But, as this pump may be less than convenient to your home, its best to get lots of water at once and fill up big buckets in your house of which you can use over the next couple days for cooking, manasa-ing lamba, showering, etc. Hence, to mansaka rano, or literally, to carry water from the pump to your house. Much like manasa lamba though, to say that you are carrying water seems inadequate, and a disservice to the Malagasy term specifically designed to describe the process.
Panasa lamba/pansaka rano - occupations. yes, you can pay someone to carry water for you. The next best thing to running water.
Maditra - used to describe students, the maditra kids are, let’s say, less obedient than others. Probably one of the first words you learn as a teacher. (surprise)
Mikitikitika (to touch) - I mean…whoever came up with this word deserves a Pulitzer Prize.
Taxi brousse - Ah the sights, the sounds, the smells, the service. More than a taxi, not really a bus, there’s no term better than the original. Indeed, it is unique enough to, FedEx style, become a verb in and of itself. In a sentence, “The trip was long, I broussed-it all the way from Diego to Tana.”
Kabone - an awesome hole in the ground outhouse. However, an important distinction to note, anything indoors/with a toilet is not a kabone, those lucky bathrooms upgrade to the ‘W.C.’ designation.
Pô - Because your kabone may not be close by your house, and at 2am, if you need to use the restroom, flash lighting your way out to it may not be convenient, a bucket, or Pô, is provided for nighttime bathroom use. On day one they told us to make friends with your Pô, and I think that by and large, everybody develops a pretty good relationship with his or her Pô. Indeed, it was not uncommon to hear the words ‘love‘ and ‘Pô’ in the same sentence during training. (Note: At site, my kabone is right next to my house, and so I sadly had to say goodbye to my Pô.)
Mivalana/mandoa - Since intestinal trouble is inevitable, talking about diarrhea/vomiting in Malagasy somehow manages to soften the regrettable reality, and has the double advantage of being much funnier.
Vary - rice. Anything you eat three times a day takes on a life of its own.
Instead, this particular entry is focused on a curious issue of…linguistic nature. There are certain words, it seems, in languages that when learned by students, have a remarkable tendency to crossover into the speakers native tongue. Occasionally, these even make it into the general population: note, for instance, the frequent use in English of fiesta, beau and über. Of course, when surrounded by other English speakers learning the same language, such transcendent vernacular is only more common, as your fellow pupils will understand when the occasional Malagasy words flow in and out of conversation (albeit often butchered into English by adding suffixes such as -ing and -ed to convey tense). Sometimes this is just because words are funny - e.g. über, or catchy - e.g. fiesta, and sometimes its because, well, the English translation doesn’t quite have the same meaning. For the Malagasy words which have made their way into the volunteer’s routine English vocabulary, its usually a combination of all these things. The following list, I hope, provides some brief snapshots into the funny, the everyday and the unique of life in Madagascar.
Ladosy - literally translates into ‘shower,’ but the impression which, Monet like, forms in my mind along with the thought ‘shower’ - namely some sort of tub with hot running water flowing and gurgling happily from above my head - disperses in the face of the concrete room + drain which is the ladosy. On a side note, anyone wishing to cut down on their water bill should switch to the bucket shower methodology. And actually, I kind of enjoy my bucket showers now, so maybe you should try it out. (Makers of buckets everywhere, that endorsement is free of charge. your welcome.)
Mampa - prefix which adds ‘to make’ to any word. For instance, ‘to be tired’ (reraka) becomes ‘makes one tired’ (mampareraka). Naturally, the temptation to preface English verbs/adjectives with it is difficult to resist. Example? Peace Corps Madagascar cookbook, issued to every volunteer, entitled ‘Mampalicious.’
Manasa lamba - means to do laundry. but somehow, as you scrub clothes by hand in a bucket of cold soapy water, saying that you are ‘doing laundry’ doesn’t quite fit the image. Manasa lamba conveys the unfortunate experience much more accurately.
Mansaka rano - due to the absence of running water in the vast majority of homes, most families get water from a community well/pump etc. But, as this pump may be less than convenient to your home, its best to get lots of water at once and fill up big buckets in your house of which you can use over the next couple days for cooking, manasa-ing lamba, showering, etc. Hence, to mansaka rano, or literally, to carry water from the pump to your house. Much like manasa lamba though, to say that you are carrying water seems inadequate, and a disservice to the Malagasy term specifically designed to describe the process.
Panasa lamba/pansaka rano - occupations. yes, you can pay someone to carry water for you. The next best thing to running water.
Maditra - used to describe students, the maditra kids are, let’s say, less obedient than others. Probably one of the first words you learn as a teacher. (surprise)
Mikitikitika (to touch) - I mean…whoever came up with this word deserves a Pulitzer Prize.
Taxi brousse - Ah the sights, the sounds, the smells, the service. More than a taxi, not really a bus, there’s no term better than the original. Indeed, it is unique enough to, FedEx style, become a verb in and of itself. In a sentence, “The trip was long, I broussed-it all the way from Diego to Tana.”
Kabone - an awesome hole in the ground outhouse. However, an important distinction to note, anything indoors/with a toilet is not a kabone, those lucky bathrooms upgrade to the ‘W.C.’ designation.
Pô - Because your kabone may not be close by your house, and at 2am, if you need to use the restroom, flash lighting your way out to it may not be convenient, a bucket, or Pô, is provided for nighttime bathroom use. On day one they told us to make friends with your Pô, and I think that by and large, everybody develops a pretty good relationship with his or her Pô. Indeed, it was not uncommon to hear the words ‘love‘ and ‘Pô’ in the same sentence during training. (Note: At site, my kabone is right next to my house, and so I sadly had to say goodbye to my Pô.)
Mivalana/mandoa - Since intestinal trouble is inevitable, talking about diarrhea/vomiting in Malagasy somehow manages to soften the regrettable reality, and has the double advantage of being much funnier.
Vary - rice. Anything you eat three times a day takes on a life of its own.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Transportation
For the patient observer, travel in Madagascar is quite a spectacle. For the intrepid explorer, however, that spectacle becomes the adventure. Many volunteer stories come not from their sites, but from the wide array of experiences to be had just moving from place to place. It is important to note, that from the Malagasy perspective, this is the normal way of doing things...but to the rest of us, its a little less typical.
The experience is caused by a perfect storm of factors existin within country that add up to an all around fun time. One is the lack of paved roads. They are present in bigger cities, but between towns, the number of highways is...low. A map of the paved roadways reveals a rather sparse picture, the number is less than 10, and none of these are more than two lanes, though its not as if they are overloaded with traffic, so that's not a big deal. And, of course, even the use of the word 'paved' can be misleading. From Tana to Antsohihy, it is paved the whole way, except for the one, short, 50-60km section which appears to have been the subject of an enraged giant's sledgehammer. Add in a minor flood of dust, and the paved road becomes more of a stop and go, weaving obstacle course o' fun. It makes for slow journeys.
Another factor is economical. Most people don't own their own cars, and those that do, probably don't want to pay for gas for long trips, if its expensive to Americans, its really expensive for them. Trains aren't an option. As a result, the first choice method of getting around any distance is the system of taxi-buses and taxi-brousses (literally - bush taxi), but of course, to offset fuel prices they cram as many people into these as they can. Like, unbelievably many. Kids, by default, sit on parents laps. After all the seats are filled, they fold down seats into the aisles to add an extra7-8 people. I think, if, you took a 'full' van in the U.S. and doubled it, then added a chicken every once in a while, you'd have a similar result. If you're thinking lots of people + bumpy roads = nausea, you'd be correct. Mostly among little kids though, which is fine with me as long as the parents have a bag or something, which unfortunately, is not always the case (that time they used the kid's shirt. I'll let you decide about that plan's relative success).
The last factor is Malagasy culture. They looove their music, and loud is the only way to go. Your car may be a little worse for wear, but it's speakers are ready to rock, and rock and roll all night. No joke. My night-brousse (an overnight taxi), which left at 5pm and drove through the night until it arrived at the destination at 9am the next morning, had a rocking techno dance party at around 2am. Not that it was really possible to sleep anyway, so I guess I'll accept whatever makes the driver stay awake.
Either way, with all these things going on, nobody gets back from a long trip without a story from their ride. Could be a breakdown, could be a flat tire, could be a middle of the night detour through a village field for a reason, still now, unknown to this author. No matter what, its quite a way to get around.
The experience is caused by a perfect storm of factors existin within country that add up to an all around fun time. One is the lack of paved roads. They are present in bigger cities, but between towns, the number of highways is...low. A map of the paved roadways reveals a rather sparse picture, the number is less than 10, and none of these are more than two lanes, though its not as if they are overloaded with traffic, so that's not a big deal. And, of course, even the use of the word 'paved' can be misleading. From Tana to Antsohihy, it is paved the whole way, except for the one, short, 50-60km section which appears to have been the subject of an enraged giant's sledgehammer. Add in a minor flood of dust, and the paved road becomes more of a stop and go, weaving obstacle course o' fun. It makes for slow journeys.
Another factor is economical. Most people don't own their own cars, and those that do, probably don't want to pay for gas for long trips, if its expensive to Americans, its really expensive for them. Trains aren't an option. As a result, the first choice method of getting around any distance is the system of taxi-buses and taxi-brousses (literally - bush taxi), but of course, to offset fuel prices they cram as many people into these as they can. Like, unbelievably many. Kids, by default, sit on parents laps. After all the seats are filled, they fold down seats into the aisles to add an extra7-8 people. I think, if, you took a 'full' van in the U.S. and doubled it, then added a chicken every once in a while, you'd have a similar result. If you're thinking lots of people + bumpy roads = nausea, you'd be correct. Mostly among little kids though, which is fine with me as long as the parents have a bag or something, which unfortunately, is not always the case (that time they used the kid's shirt. I'll let you decide about that plan's relative success).
The last factor is Malagasy culture. They looove their music, and loud is the only way to go. Your car may be a little worse for wear, but it's speakers are ready to rock, and rock and roll all night. No joke. My night-brousse (an overnight taxi), which left at 5pm and drove through the night until it arrived at the destination at 9am the next morning, had a rocking techno dance party at around 2am. Not that it was really possible to sleep anyway, so I guess I'll accept whatever makes the driver stay awake.
Either way, with all these things going on, nobody gets back from a long trip without a story from their ride. Could be a breakdown, could be a flat tire, could be a middle of the night detour through a village field for a reason, still now, unknown to this author. No matter what, its quite a way to get around.
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