Fly Me to the Moon...(or Madagascar)

A town: Part I

2010-08-09T01:26:00.002-04:00

Is there a typical Malagasy town? Well, not anymore than there is a 'typical' American town. Even as New York City is a different species of town than say, Bismarck, North Dakota, so goes the stratum here in Madagascar. Certain factors separate the various tiers of population centers, for example, in the United States, it can be the location of a major national sports franchise which elevates a city to the next level, or perhaps its hub as a major industry (New York – finance, L.A. - entertainment, Chicago – industry, DC – politics, Detroit – cars, Boston – annoying sports fans). Smaller towns have their own designations, such as 'secondary city', or 'fly over country', or 'one stop light', or the dreaded, 'not even a Wal-mart.' In Madagascar, the gradations of cities can be categorized as well, but the criteria are slightly different. One measure is electricity – if you live in a town with electricity that runs 24 hours a day, it must be one of only about 8 cities in the country. As electricity becomes less consistent, the size of the town rapidly decreases, until you get to the places where darkness reigns supreme and beer is never cold. Paved roads are another indicator. The more you have, if any, the bigger you are. Finally, the market also says a lot about a town. Is there a market every day? Some towns just have a market once a week, when everybody buys all their food at once, while some towns don't have a market at all. Those unlucky citizens have to hoof it to the nearest populace selling produce to get food. If the town does happen to have food regularly, then the more diverse the selection, the better. If you have people selling food every day, but the only options are rice, beans, onions and cucumbers, well, your settlement is still pretty low on the totem pole.
And while these indicators illustrate some of the differences in how we classify cities here to those in the United States, they only provide the most basic glimpse into the makeup of a Malagasy town. And truly, there is much more left to be heard. But in order to delve deeper, to its necessary to change tactics, move from the general to the specific, and employ what in academic parlance is termed “A case study.”

Ambato-boeny
A mid sized, average Malagasy town, Ambato-boeny’s melange of both big and small makes it a great vehicle for getting a sense of village life. It has electricity roughly 17 hours per day (2pm-4pm off, 3am-8am off), and while sometimes sparse in number, sellers are at the market every day with their fairly diverse – if erratic – supply of produce. Its roads remain its greatest downfall, as they are a travesty of disrepair. There once were paved roads...30 years ago. They have long since eroded to a bumpy, dirt expanse with a few desperate islands of pavement jutting up from the ground, tenaciously managing to avoid joining the sandy ocean that claims asphalt piece by piece, year after year.

Coming into Ambato-boeny, one of the first things you will notice (aside from the awful road you've been enduring for the past couple hours), are the buildings, businesses, and residences of the town. Like it's roads, the general structure of Ambato is one battling the deterioration of time, and typically, not winning. Before we begin that discussion, however, it's important to note that the majority of the houses in town are NOT made of mud. I think that the vision of Africa often presented (or imagined) among Americans is a tiny village of mud walled houses, occupied by a cadre of sparsely clad inhabitants. To be sure, these places DO exist in Madagascar, and there are some small farming villages out in the countryside with the complete set: mud formed walls, thatched roof (actually, they use palm fronds), and little children screaming and running around outside. Even Ambato-boeny, a larger town, has its own contingent of similarly constructed homes, interspersed with those of the more familiar materials of brick and mortar. To gain a sense of what these homes and stores look like, first imagine a small boxy structure, usually just one floor, but occasionally with two floors, and then take away Quality. I struggled with the best way to describe the differences in these buildings from their American brethren, but eventually settled on Quality as the most accurate term. This quality comes in two parts:

First, it begins in quality of materials and construction. Before time has had a chance to wreak its magic hand on them, it is these initial materials and their combination which shape the look and feel of Malagasy buildings. You will quickly discover walking down the street of Sometown, Madagascar (and certainly Ambato), that almost anything can be used for, well, anything. Building a fence? Why not use the beer bottle caps from last night as washer-esque devices for your nails. How about a door/window? Coconut oil cans, once empty, can easily be hammered into flat sheets for that purpose. Similarly, larger barrels of vegetable oil can turn into gates, windows, or even entire buildings. A decorative border for your flower bed and garden can be achieved quite easily by burying empty coke and beer bottles along the edges.

Aside from the improvised nature of some materials, it’s the lack of precision that I notice most. As Americans, we expect a certain exactness in our supplies that is rarely possible here. Factories in the United States create clean lines, straight edges, perfect corners and an implied uniformity. If you're buying siding at Home Depot, you take as given that each piece will be exactly identical to its brethren, and that the table you buy at IKEA will have a perfect trim and smooth finish. As you might already be guessing, such is not the case for Madagascar. Because most everything is hand made – chairs, tables, beds, even the bricks are fired by a couple random guys with little kilns next to the river. Uniformity of supplies is not a given, but a luxury. Paint, often applied without the aid of painter's tape, can be a little sloppy on the edges. And all of these things work together to give buildings an imprecise look that, to our trained American eyes can seem...shoddy. (but if I was a real estate agent I'd call it a handcrafted rustic with a unique personality).

The second part of this quality concept is what I call control. Again, I'll use the U.S. as an example. Our buildings, yards, lawns in America exist as persistent examples of our mastery over the elements. With their manicured lawns, pristine white walls and unbroken bricks, they have subdued nature to their liking. And we have come to expect this level of control as a matter of course, for everything to be well groomed and in its proper place. Those buildings not meeting the standards are referred to as 'dilapidated,' with a hidden implication that the buildings are in such state only because of the neglect, irresponsibility or laziness of their owners. Here in Madagascar, however, such frenetic upkeep is something few are able to afford, and so where paint has chipped from the walls, it stays chipped from the walls. The bottom few feet of anything colored white is stained a rusty brown by the signature Madagascar red dirt, and matches the rusty colored skyline of corrugated metal roofs suntanned by oxidation. Walking through the debris of broken bricks, fallen plaster, I sometimes imagine that every night, nature and settlement do battle like two superheroes in Metropolis. Missed punches explode bricks from buildings, and the impacts of their falls splinter concrete and asphalt into pieces. The struggle leaves a trail of collateral damage behind, of twisted metal and wooden beams knocked askew, which the residents must try to fix up the best they can before the next nights troubles. The patchwork of repairs, and lets be honest, the far more numerous places where such maintenance has yet to occur gives each facade a scarred appearance. It would be easy to look at most of these buildings and think of words like tattered, derelict, ramshackle, or dilapidated, but it would be incorrect, and a disservice. I think of the battles and struggles they go through day and night, and the first word that occurs to me is one more representative of the personality that is innate in the strange splotched facades of these buildings. Instead, they are merely stubborn and dogged, like some gritty cop in a film noir production, a monologue of contemptuous defiance written across their walls.

Delays...

2010-06-05T03:39:00.004-04:00

As often happens, email and slow internet have overwhelmed me and I haven't been able to complete a blog entry as planned. Apologies for the long delay on Part II of the series. In two weeks when I return to Mahajanga for a meeting never fear that I will have a fresh entry ship shape and ready to go. Until then...enjoy the first weeks of June. It's delightfully cool here in the 'winter' of Madagascar. (I don't even have to keep my fan on all night!). Although it can still be in the 80's around midday, I'll take the cool nights when I can.

Portrait or Landscape

2010-03-13T03:54:00.008-05:00

Perhaps the most frequent question I received from people in the United States when they discovered I had been in Madagascar was simply, "so...what's it like there?" The sheer breadth of the question made it impossible to realistically answer, and so often I resorted to the equally broad response of "it's nice," imparting a very enlightening perspective on this giant island of the Indian ocean. I find that I often still think about how to answer that question, since "it's nice" is far from adequate, and the question itself reflects much of how I felt in the weeks before I arrived in Madland for the first time. I had researched on the internet, looked at pictures, read previous volunteer blogs, and still could scarcely imagine living there. The conjectures and predictions I did make at best managed to skip off the surface of reality while most never made contact at all. I realize then that this must be the perpetual feelings of those people who count themselves among my avid readership, and I feel as if I need to make a concerted effort towards a satisfactory answer to this lingering query. Thus, in a new, wittily titled series beginning today, I will endeavour to put it to rest. Introducing:

Wow Madagascar! So, what's it like there? A multipart series.

Part I: Setting the Scene: Landscape or Portrait?
Teachers and instructors over the years have made it clear that authors must start and end strong. Start well to grab the readers' attention and end skillfully to leave a good impression behind. So to begin the series off with climate and terrain may seem a poor choice, as many of you may be thinking the weather channel is a more exciting alternative. However, one doesn't build the sets or paint the backdrops after the play but before, and so goes the logic here.

I think the first thing to understand concerning Madagascar as a whole is that it is big. Very big. It is an island, sure, but this is not one of sandy beaches bordering a rainforested interior. Beaches and rainforest exist, but do not dominate or even make up a large portion of the setting. (and what rainforest there was has been decimated by the rapid expansion of the human population). Instead, this is more a place of sweeping panoramas, the wide open spaces which greet an intrepid traveler leave the feeling not of an island but of far reaching lands extending beyond the horizon. It is the corn fields of Midwestern U.S.A., where the uncounted miles can stretch on and on until they merge with sky. At near the size of California, all this space encompasses a medley of topography and climates which make 'tropical island' seem like a bit of an over generalization. So let's take a helicopter viewpoint and travel with its wide lens across the island, starting in the South. Toliara and the southwest is the Texas of Madagascar: cattle ranching country. Dry, dusty and flat, the landscape, like the swells and valleys of an ocean surface, undulates slightly across the miles. Grass clings to the ground amidst the short brush, but trees are markedly absent, with only a few shooting up into the air to provide shade, until you happen across the intermittent baobab tree majestically gracing the skyline, a patch of remarkability standing tall against the vastness around it.

But slowly, as the road stretches hundreds of miles northwards, zigging across rivers and zagging through rock formations, the land on its borders begins to change. The road must climb and fall, baobabs disappear to be replaced by an abundance of rather less exciting trees, and the greenery increases. The growing hills and valleys become tiered in rice paddies even as the elevation climbs. It is the high plateau. Madagascar central. Home to the nation's capital and several other major cities, this area covers a large swath of central Madagascar. The mountains and hills make for cooler climes, and the road is forced to snake along the sides of hills, down into valleys and over the tops of benignly sized mountains. This is no Rockies or Himalayas, it is a sedate range of mountains which never become real peaks, but remain mild crests. The elevation is higher, the ground jumps skyward in places, but never to the extreme that it is uninhabitable. Far from that, it can be some of the most densely populated areas of the whole country. It is a scenic place, with quaint looking villages bordering verdant rice fields, while the occasional river flows down the hills and shimmers through the paddies. It's a unique area that sometimes doesn't even seem a part of Madagascar, but a region and place all it's own.

The road northwards, however, soon takes the traveler on a nauseating wind out of the cool weather of the Highlands and into the hot plains of Mahajanga and green hills of Diego. The occasional village populates the emptiness of this sparse area, where raw outcrops of red dirt and ridges of long grass break up the horizon. Like the south, trees are in short supply, their numbers decimated by the incessant hunt for cooking fuel and carpentry wood. With the constant heat, and the rapid erosion caused by the trees' disappearance, the nothwest is a gritty, dusty experience. Nevertheless, the panorama retains an aura of grandeur, borrowing from the grand vistas of mainland Africa while adding the Martian red earth and palm tree tropicality that flavors all the parts of Madagascar.

In essence, this island nation contains a number of different climates and terrains, making it impossible to define in a simple portrait or two. Think of the landscapes, think of sitting in a car for days on end, traveling through these countrysides, and you'll be on the way to picturing life in Madagascar.

Next: Part II: Can you live on $2 a day? Poverty in Madagascar

An Island Holiday

2010-01-23T03:38:00.002-05:00

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.

On the road...again

2009-11-22T07:38:00.000-05:00

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.

Isalo

2009-05-13T15:48:00.000-04:00

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.

War and Peace - with Animals

2008-12-14T08:31:00.003-05:00

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.]

At site

2008-11-01T05:21:00.002-04:00

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 Vocabulary Lesson

2008-09-27T03:32:00.001-04:00

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.

Transportation

2008-08-04T14:17:00.002-04:00

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.

Host Family

2008-07-15T19:02:00.002-04:00

Manaohana!
Oh the unreality. Or perhaps it is the reality, just an overwhelming amount of it. Either way, the thought has occurred to me numerous times since arriving here in Madagascar.
First, before going to the training site, we spent the night in the Peace Corps UST house, where we talked to some volunteers, and eventually watched Rocky IV. Nothing more Madagascar than that. This was followed by pancakes the next morning, completing the experience of a butter side up America disembodied, picked up, and moved into a butter side down, Seussian state. Such a Picasso-esque feeling of a world which is discernible, but innately jumbled, were not soon to dissipate. For it was time to go to the training site, and meet/ move in with our homestay families.
Now, before I discuss that first night, let me first say that my family is absolutely incredible, and couldn't be nicer. They are unfailingly patient in trying to communicate, and in teaching new Malagasy words to me over and over and over and over. That said, there is little which can compensate for the absolute purity of awkwardness that is the first night. weekend with them. If somebody is looking for a distilled form of awkward to sell, it could be bottled in excess during that time. I mean, they don't really know English, I definitely don't know Malagasy, and I don't know about your charade skills, but I've found that communicating one word is a tough task, nevermind a whole sentence, at the dinner table, at meal numero uno with your host family. So what happens? They fall back into what they know...Malagasy... and I go back to long pauses/ silences and lots of 'Tsy masava' (I don't understand). Eventually we setttled upon learning various names for objects on the table, and me pretending to understand. Anything else. After dinner, they thankfully mercy-killed the situation and sent me to bed... it was 7:30pm. (Though I was tired). So I was pretty grateful to sink into my nice, mosquito net shrouded bed, where it is warm, because it's cold here, since it's winter. And naturally, we eat outside. Oh the unreality...
-Brian
P.S. Though it was just as awkward as described, they really are super nice to me- and my Malagasy is rapidly improving. So it's all good.

A letter from Brian

2008-07-06T17:42:00.002-04:00

Hey y'all, this is a message from Brian that I got in the mail (dated June 15). I had trouble with some of his handwriting, but I think that I got it all. I'll keep posting as I get them; email me at amy.v.ogorman@vanderbilt.edu if you want me to let you know when there is a new one up.
Thanks, Amy

Hello all!
So what's been happening since June 8th? Well, more than usually happens in one week, that's for sure. So let's break it down into parts shall we?

Pre-departure Training Philadelphia:
This is actually... not that exciting. In fact it'll only take one sentence to describe. It was a chance to get to know my training group-26 of us- and learn some non-country specific Peace Corps ideas, strategies, and philosophies. Voila

In Transit- JFK via Dakar to South Africa:
Seventeen hours of pure awesome economy-class flying on South African Airlines (An Airbus A330-300). The highlight of the flight? When I pounded fists with my flight attendant buddy Robert (we bonded and he gave me the 'hook -up' for wine) while he left in Dakar as the flight crews changed. The not so good moment? Seconds later, realizing that while Robert gets to leave, we have to stay on the plane for seven more hours. A great feeling only encouraged by the new crew, who emptied aerosol cans of bug spray throughout the plane to kill off any stray malaria-ridden mosquito that inadvertently boarded during the stop. Any worried passengers were assured its 'non-toxic'. Oh, and don't worry, despite our late departure in JFK, we arrived in Johannesburg early because we 'made up time in the air'. This is just a snobby way for airlines to describe what us on the road would call 'speeding'. Don't get so cocky airlines. I could drive, microwave a crappy meal, speed, and watch a movie too if there weren't cops on the road.

South Africa to Madagascar:
Peace Corps was nice enough to put everyone up for a night in South Africa to catch our breath before the plunge into Madagascar. The hotel even greeted us with glasses of wine, crackers, and cheese. Classy stuff. What's not so classy though? Air Madagascar. When the latches meant to keep the tray tables locked and upright are about 50% effective... one starts to worry (aren't you glad you didn't know about that one Mom and Dad?). The lone African American in our group described it best by saying, "I mean... that plane was ghe-tto, it had more soul than I do..." Nevertheless, to finally land and be there was fantastic, and the welcoming reception of the current Education Volunteers at Tana Airport was a major boost to anxious, tired travelers. After the airport we piled into some cars to a... mystery location revealed next post! It'll be soon I promise, and it accounts for some of the best stories yet!

Thanks to any who are writing/ have written, haven't gotten any letters yet but I am appreciating it in advance!
Brian

Welcome!

2008-06-05T11:07:00.002-04:00

Welcome! Thanks for taking some time to stop and view this account of my experience as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Madagascar. Don't forget to bookmark it so you'll never forget how to come back, it would be tragic if you couldn't always satisfy your desire to know all things Brian. After you have bookmarked, then you can periodically come back to check in on the amusing stories I'll be posting and eventually turning into a multi-dollar book deal.

I'm not going to introduce myself really, since I'm assuming that if you are here you are familiar with my identity, but for any rando who ends up here, you can just go to view my profile on the right there --> and find out all sorts of cool facts like my favorite book and thoughts about 1% milk.

To non-rando's, I'm going to take this welcome post as as an opportunity for some shameless advertisement. One, updates to this will be infrequent, and dependent on my occasional access to internet. As a consequence, if you really want to hear about what's going on, how about writing a letter? I can guarantee that any letter I get will receive a personal response from yours truly. Then all those questions you have which I haven't covered can get some answers, and you can gloat about your knowledge to all your friends (if you have them). Also, this response is conditional on the fact that you include your return address, because if you assume I have your address memorized now, you are wrong. The address to send me mail is as follows:

Brian Ernst, PCT Peace Corps
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 12091
Poste Zoom Ankorondrano
101 Antananarivo
Madagascar

Note: Write airmail or Par Avion on the envelope. This address will always be valid. But keep an eye out in August or so, when I move to my permanent site, and will then get a direct address there.

Advertisement two: If you want to send me gifts, that's cool too, and will expedite a response from me. Some great things that can fit in a padded envelope and probably won't be stolen by greedy postal workers -- this, apparently, is a problem -- are powdered drink mixes like crystal light, gatorade, kool aid etc, data cd's containing lots of cool music, books, and anything I request in future posts (so you better keep reading).

Ok, thanks for stopping in and checking this out. Seriously, I will love any letters I receive, any communication from home will be really nice to have. I can't be checking your blog to find out what you are up to, so let me know what is happening on the home front snail mail style.

Bye!
Brian