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....

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.

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)

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

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)

Loan Disbursement Day

July 25, 2007

It’s disbursement day in Mandritsara. Clients have come a long way for this, and they’ve been waiting outside since early morning. Most are dressed up, not quite as fancy as Sunday, but more than typical Tuesday-wear. All have brought their guarantor along, which means that two people are forgoing their income generating activity to be here. This town is literally at the end of the road. Having now made the multi-day trek myself, I have a renewed understanding of what it means to be remote. I also understand quite well why traditional banks have always ignored the region: They probably couldn’t find a single client to fit their rigid requirements.

Marceline is finally called by the cashier. At the same moment, she is also called upon by her hungry baby. Not thinking twice, she whips out her breast and nurses her daughter with one arm, while signing the contract and counting money with another. In Mada's conventional banks, such multi-tasking would never be tolerated, assuming she was allowed in the door at all.

She appears to be signing a loan agreement, but it is so much more. This is the first time a financial agency has ever extended its hand toward her. The affirmation of her trustworthiness, morality and business acumen has been built by endorsements coming from her own community. It looks like a loan, but it really the preservation of a woman’s dignity, the support of a mother and family, and the launching of a business that will serve a community in desperate need.

( For my food friends:
What's in season? Sakou, oranges, bananas)

Rice Rice Everywhere

July 19, 2007

Over the past few days, I have taken advantage of the fact that I straddle two Aga Khan Development Network organizations to learn more about how the network operates in the Sofia region of Madagascar.

When I first approached the Aga Khan Foundation in Antsohihy about visiting their field projects, I was met with mild resistance. “You work for PAMF (The First Microfinance Agency). Why do you care about AKF’s work here?” I explain that while I am a micro-finance intern, I am here on an AKF-Canada program, and am interested in all of the development projects in the area. “Okay, so why won’t the micro-finance people accept our certificates as collateral for a loan?” I am getting used to smiles and avoidance, and the direct hit catches me off guard.

The tension that exists between the two organizations is expected and healthy. AKF operates a technical assistance program in the region that aims to increase farmers’ rice yields. PAMF runs a very new micro-finance institution that is terrified of losing its shirt over bad loans during its start-up phase. One prioritizes social, the other financial. Despite this, their high-level mission is the same: serve humanity by providing tools for the poor to help themselves.

I return to the PAMF office and start asking (probably too many) questions. Unsatisfied and even more curious than before, I score an invitation to attend an AKF field session less than an hour’s drive away. However, timing is such that I can’t go by myself- the whole mission team has to come with me. I am now taking a full half day of four people’s time for my pet project.

The field session is about to begin when we arrive at the big tree in the village (Randy said that all important things happen around the big tree in the village. I thought he was being poetic, but I guess not). The interpreters have arrived in tandem on an old motorcycle, with flipchart paper and seed samples strapped to the back. Women and children are sitting on mats on one side; the men are on benches. My presence causes a minor stir, but after the requisite photos and baby kisses, I fade from center stage.

The session is very participatory. Both women and men contribute to the discussion on weed management, and after an hour or so the 40 members descend to the test plots to put what they’ve learned to practice. We stand on the dirt walkways while turns are taken trying out the equipment, gathering and sorting weeds, and spreading urea. AKF provides the amount of seed and fertilizer necessary for the sample plots, and sells these same goods in larger quantities if the farmers decide to use the new practices on a broad scale.

In the end, my co-workers admitted that the AKF operations seemed better and more organized than they expected, and even expressed interest in checking out other sessions if time permits. The facilitators welcomed PAMF’s curiosity and happily answered questions. While the farmers might still not yet qualify for loans from PAMF, their activities are better understood. It is likely that as PAMF’s portfolio grows and riskier loans are permitted, these farmers will be first in line, ready to pitch their case to the loan officer.

I suspect that this field trip wouldn’t have happened for a long time if I hadn’t requested it, and in a small way contributed to strengthening the relationship between two supposedly allied agencies.

I could go on about all this, but the rolling black out just hit our neighbourhood. Candles are being passed around so that we can keep working, but I must preserve laptop power. Love, peace, patience!

Zebu in the sky with diamonds

Riding at night, I bump bump bump along with one eye on the road and another in sky, following a celestial map to Antsohihy. I am not relaxed- the road is just too bumpy, but I am at ease. I have come to trust Zou on these night time treks. My mind starts slipping toward a state of highways hypnosis until all I see is stars, low in the sky....

Zou slams on the breaks and kills the lights. We are surrounded by 100 zebus, each pair of eyes piercing my daze. As they trundle past, we share a few laughs about the power shift that has just occurred. In the day, Zou blasts his horn and screams past the two wheeled carts, but at night, our quatre-quatre surrenders to the zebu.