« Just like everyone else who has ever had a home, she has followed the universal urge to leave. Of all the mysteries of migration, maybe that’s the one true thing that we know and share with animals big and small. The sense of seeking, finding, leaving, but above all, returning home. »
from 'The Bird' by Stuart Mclean
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Christmas Letter
I mailed out copies of this letter to some family and friends back home, and I didn't want to ruin the fun of opening a letter for those who got one. So here it is, a little late: My first Christmas letter:
Yup, it’s really starting to look like Christmas over here. The jacaranda trees that border the lake in the center of town have exploded like brilliant violet fireworks. Beneath the branches, femmes de ménage sweep the unsightly blossoms off cobblestone streets. Men amble about hawking baskets of litchis. Women nurse behind stacks of mangos, peaches. Rice farmers prepare their fields for January planting and we scramble to get their loans processed before year end.
There are a few decorations and carols playing in grocery stores, but nothing like the commercial assault that Christmas mounts on the western world. Gift giving is so far from the realm of possibility of most that the social pressure to perform is mercifully absent. People’s wish lists are so long already- transparent government, stable employment, food security, safer streets- that it seems futile to add anything more.
As I approach the end of my first six months here I feel pressure to self-reflect, to form solid impressions, to decide what I really think of Madagascar. The longer I spend, however, the more her complexities are revealed and the more difficult it is for me to pinpoint how I feel. One thing has been made clear, though : I am not in Africa.
I am somewhere so forgotten that stylized world maps often omit the world’s fourth largest island altogether. So fiercely independent that a locally-made alternative to Coca-Cola not only exists but thrives. So unique in biodiversity that most fauna and flora exist nowhere else. With all this as the backdrop for my simple life, I am rarely bored.
In fact, with the excitement of state visits, newborn babies, and travel along the struggle of living with rolling blackouts, flooding and corruption, there is always something to work on. I am supported by a great office team, and a small circle of friends, mostly other young expatriates. With determination, community can be found anywhere.
I hope and wish that this letter finds all of you happy, healthy and surrounded by people that love you.
Happy Holidays !
Yup, it’s really starting to look like Christmas over here. The jacaranda trees that border the lake in the center of town have exploded like brilliant violet fireworks. Beneath the branches, femmes de ménage sweep the unsightly blossoms off cobblestone streets. Men amble about hawking baskets of litchis. Women nurse behind stacks of mangos, peaches. Rice farmers prepare their fields for January planting and we scramble to get their loans processed before year end.
There are a few decorations and carols playing in grocery stores, but nothing like the commercial assault that Christmas mounts on the western world. Gift giving is so far from the realm of possibility of most that the social pressure to perform is mercifully absent. People’s wish lists are so long already- transparent government, stable employment, food security, safer streets- that it seems futile to add anything more.
As I approach the end of my first six months here I feel pressure to self-reflect, to form solid impressions, to decide what I really think of Madagascar. The longer I spend, however, the more her complexities are revealed and the more difficult it is for me to pinpoint how I feel. One thing has been made clear, though : I am not in Africa.
I am somewhere so forgotten that stylized world maps often omit the world’s fourth largest island altogether. So fiercely independent that a locally-made alternative to Coca-Cola not only exists but thrives. So unique in biodiversity that most fauna and flora exist nowhere else. With all this as the backdrop for my simple life, I am rarely bored.
In fact, with the excitement of state visits, newborn babies, and travel along the struggle of living with rolling blackouts, flooding and corruption, there is always something to work on. I am supported by a great office team, and a small circle of friends, mostly other young expatriates. With determination, community can be found anywhere.
I hope and wish that this letter finds all of you happy, healthy and surrounded by people that love you.
Happy Holidays !
Friday, September 28, 2007
Market, Schmarket
Tonight, I had planned to write about the new market that just opened near my house. It is a building with a concrete foundation and a strong roof that should withstand the cyclones that come through each January. However, in the case of my neighbourhood market, there was a second incentive to finish by the end of September : federal deputy elections were this week and the current president lives nearby.
There have always been vendors around my house. Some sell in shops, some from simple tables, most from wooden shacks that line a steep, narrow cobblestone staircase. The families that run these épiceries are kind, honest, hardworking; when I come by for eggs or soap or rice they help me learn the malagasy words for each, and if I am out after dark a son or husband walks me home.
I wish I could write about the bright, proud faces of those vendors who moved into the new space. I wish the focus could be on the positive change in health and safety standards, on women’s empowerment, on ‘capacity building’. Instead I have to write about what I found this morning.
Crushed stalls, burnt tables. The broken bones of our fokotany. The old vendors and their merchandise has vanished overnight, and though I don’t have an answer yet, I suspect it has to do with the current government’s effort to ‘clean up’ Tana. These hardworking community members provided critical access to food staples for those who can’t make it to the downtown Zoma market, and many were saving up to eventually rent a stall in the shiny new space. Clearly somebody lost patience and instead of lending a hand, razed the block and with it the pulse of Anjohy, Trois Chemins.
What's in Season? Mandarins and strawberries are on their way out. Pineapple and mangoes are coming in....
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Taxi, Mademoiselle?
Me: Combien pour Anjohy, trois chemins?
Driver: Anjohy? Because it's uphill, but because you are très belle, I give you good price. 5000.
Me: Vous rigolez, monsieur. It shouldn't be more than 12 500.
Driver: Ahhhh.... (he squints up at the mountain) 4000 then.
Me: 15 000, sinon I go to your neighbour.
The driver flicks the latch on the back door in silent acceptance of my final offer.
This bargaining may seem bizarre at first since I just insisted on a price three times higher than the driver's first offer, but Mada operates on two currencies. Fmg are discontinued but better understood by locals. Ariary are worth five times more and are a government response to currency devaluation. When negotiating, I try to talk in Fmg because it makes me seem like I've been here for longer and am thus less likely to be taken advantage of. The driver uses Ariary because it allows him to move in larger increments. Across Tana you can eavesdrop on these seemingly senseless interactions. And across Tana, residents are exceptionally quick at dividing by 5.
Driver: Anjohy? Because it's uphill, but because you are très belle, I give you good price. 5000.
Me: Vous rigolez, monsieur. It shouldn't be more than 12 500.
Driver: Ahhhh.... (he squints up at the mountain) 4000 then.
Me: 15 000, sinon I go to your neighbour.
The driver flicks the latch on the back door in silent acceptance of my final offer.
This bargaining may seem bizarre at first since I just insisted on a price three times higher than the driver's first offer, but Mada operates on two currencies. Fmg are discontinued but better understood by locals. Ariary are worth five times more and are a government response to currency devaluation. When negotiating, I try to talk in Fmg because it makes me seem like I've been here for longer and am thus less likely to be taken advantage of. The driver uses Ariary because it allows him to move in larger increments. Across Tana you can eavesdrop on these seemingly senseless interactions. And across Tana, residents are exceptionally quick at dividing by 5.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Geode huntin'
We are 5 vahazas up early at the dock to board a decrepit ferry across the Mahajanga delta. About a hundred people and a dozen cars are crowded around a boat not fit to carry more than 50 people. There is room for one vehicle on the back, and I feel ashamed when we budge the line to snag the spot (it turns out the driver had actually reserved in advance). We splash through 2 feet of water to get to the boat, and the crowd scrambles for space. While the roof rack is piled high with 6 mattresses others stuff cases of pop and water underneath. We want to get out of the car and meet people, but there isn’t even space to open the doors.
Upon arrival at the other side, the IMAX movie begins. The road gets rough and rougher until it disappears completely. Faced with a 100m wide stretch of river and mud, we gingerly attempt to cross first on foot and finally with the truck. On the other side we face a steep rock pile that requires us to gather logs and stones in order to build a safe passage. Next we beat down grass so tall I feel like I’m underwater.
After an hour of grass, mud, rock, river and occasionally road, we arrive at the village where we seek permission to visit a crystal mine. Stupidly we have forgotten that it is Sunday morning and everyone but us is at church. Still, a boy riding a bike with a fender that reads ‘Dieu seul le sait’ (Only God knows) leads us to the mine where our arrival sparks a scrambles to hide any stones of value (mineral rights are a controversial subject). After a brief warm-up they agree to give us a tour of the mine and slowly start bringing specimens up from underground. A particularly confusing bargaining session gets underway and after an hour we leave having paid too much for large geodes that are worth approximately nothing even before the fragile crystals are broken on the rough ride back to the ferry. We wiggle our truck past the big game hunters and squeeze onto the boat, making it back to the mainland beach in time to swim at sunset.
(What's in season? I had a delicious mango in Mahajanga but I haven't seen any since. Still a little early I guess)
Thursday, August 23, 2007
On est heureux avec peu
Life in Tana is becoming more comfortable all the time. As I get used to the energy of the city I am no longer overwhelmed by the smell, sound, and speed of activity. Compounded daily, however, urban life takes its toll on my senses and last weekend I was lucky enough to be offered an escape.
Three of us took a cotton candy pink Clio eastbound in search of greener hills and cleaner air. Our packs filled with old clothes, batteries, rice and beans, we walked about 20km through every colour and texture of mud, stopping to chat and play at villages along the way. On the trail I experienced my first thigh-deep river crossing, a welcome challenge after thigh deep mud. I laugh to think that I used to take my shoes off to cross the Kananasks’ pristine creeks.
The secondary purpose of our trip was to check up on the status of Ambodolangy, a village that had welcomed an American researcher a few years ago. Jacques had worked on irrigation systems for the rice fields and the only way to get an update was to walk in and see for ourselves. As it turns out, the systems are still in place but without capital for seeds, a lot of land remains uncultivated.
The village chief welcomed us with food and drink (which is of course just fancy talk for rice and rice water) and the chief’s son made room for us to sleep in his family’s home. We were eight plus chickens, a rooster and a cat in the bamboo hut, warmed by each other’s company and a small fire. Two girls treated us to a concert of traditional songs, and dozens gathered as we led the card game Uno.
After trading much of our wares for woven raphia mats, we said goodbyes and walked back to the road. Along the way, muddy wet and cold, we were welcomed in for a sugar cane coffee and boiled manioc, which fueled us for the last leg. Back at the main road, villagers laughed at our muddiness, but were grateful when we agreed to take a few sick kids to the hospital which was on our way.
When I reread my account of a great weekend in the hills, I realize that my experience is not unique and I suppose this is a good thing. Cross-cultural linkages are formed all the time, and there will always be good travel karma out there. Every community has its searchers and its open doors. I feel exceptionally privileged to have benefited from this reality once again, and I open my door to he or she that comes my way.
What's in season in Ambodolangy: Bananas
Three of us took a cotton candy pink Clio eastbound in search of greener hills and cleaner air. Our packs filled with old clothes, batteries, rice and beans, we walked about 20km through every colour and texture of mud, stopping to chat and play at villages along the way. On the trail I experienced my first thigh-deep river crossing, a welcome challenge after thigh deep mud. I laugh to think that I used to take my shoes off to cross the Kananasks’ pristine creeks.
The secondary purpose of our trip was to check up on the status of Ambodolangy, a village that had welcomed an American researcher a few years ago. Jacques had worked on irrigation systems for the rice fields and the only way to get an update was to walk in and see for ourselves. As it turns out, the systems are still in place but without capital for seeds, a lot of land remains uncultivated.
The village chief welcomed us with food and drink (which is of course just fancy talk for rice and rice water) and the chief’s son made room for us to sleep in his family’s home. We were eight plus chickens, a rooster and a cat in the bamboo hut, warmed by each other’s company and a small fire. Two girls treated us to a concert of traditional songs, and dozens gathered as we led the card game Uno.
After trading much of our wares for woven raphia mats, we said goodbyes and walked back to the road. Along the way, muddy wet and cold, we were welcomed in for a sugar cane coffee and boiled manioc, which fueled us for the last leg. Back at the main road, villagers laughed at our muddiness, but were grateful when we agreed to take a few sick kids to the hospital which was on our way.
When I reread my account of a great weekend in the hills, I realize that my experience is not unique and I suppose this is a good thing. Cross-cultural linkages are formed all the time, and there will always be good travel karma out there. Every community has its searchers and its open doors. I feel exceptionally privileged to have benefited from this reality once again, and I open my door to he or she that comes my way.
What's in season in Ambodolangy: Bananas
Friday, August 3, 2007
Theft
July, Anstohihy
Last night, a thief broke into our house and stole my co-worker’s laptop from the room that I was sleeping in. I don’t know how I managed to sleep through that kind of excitement, but I did. Now we are being much more vigilant with our behaviour. The sensation that I am made of money is heightened, and I can’t help but feel like I was the beacon of light that told the thief our house was a good bet. Safety meetings are no longer about coffee and doughnuts- they are critical to the success of our business and the security of our people.
(What's in season: oranges, bananas)
Last night, a thief broke into our house and stole my co-worker’s laptop from the room that I was sleeping in. I don’t know how I managed to sleep through that kind of excitement, but I did. Now we are being much more vigilant with our behaviour. The sensation that I am made of money is heightened, and I can’t help but feel like I was the beacon of light that told the thief our house was a good bet. Safety meetings are no longer about coffee and doughnuts- they are critical to the success of our business and the security of our people.
(What's in season: oranges, bananas)
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