Happy 4th! in Madagascar

I picture my friends and family barbecuing, playing frisbee or soccer in a park, along with crowds of other Americans taking the day to relax. I imagine people sporting red white and blue shirts, hats and even socks (as my dad proudly wears) to show their patriotism and passing by houses with flags hung high. 

These images swim through my head, not as a longing to be back in the US but as a fond remembrance as I search for traditions and stories to share with my Malagasy friends and acquaintances. This is my train of thought as I stroll down the paved road which splits my town in half, leading to the market and the sole Epicerie (1room store stocked with staples such as rice and coca cola). I have a troop of 10 kids beside and behind me, chanting "USA" but sounding more like "oooo S ahh". I am making my rounds congratulating my neighbors and fellow visitors on the arrival of American Independence Day! To mirror the Malagasy custom, this greeting is exchanged then a few kisses on the cheek. People were mostly surprised when I extended my hand to them but interested in the fact today was an American holiday. Most conversation centered around how old America is, in comparison to Madagascar whose Independence on June 26th marked its 54th year. I also explained similarities between our country's celebrations such as singing the National Anthem, playing games, dancing and spending time with family.   

I utilized a bag of American Flag button pins which people happily received. I helped many of them pin it to their shirt, explaining blue should always be at the top, some probably never having seen any other flag besides their own. These pins had been passed down to me from a volunteer who had just completed his 2 year service; as is PCV custom to 'scavenge' those possessions no longer needed by volunteers returning to the wondrous 1st world. These most often being nonperishable foodstuffs, highly prized here in the 3rd. 

After my walk-around I held a "Bon fety" in my house. Following Malagasy custom this time, I invited the women's group I have worked closely with, my neighbors & the people I talk to the most for a taste of American holiday..or at least what I could throw together for the occasion. This turned out to be Apple cider (instant 'just add water' packets thanks to another PCV who left the country a year ago) and some sweet crackers I had bought in my banking town 30k to the north of my village earlier that day. 

First thing first, a short speech welcoming everyone and thanking them for coming to share the holiday with me. I expressed my desire to be in my village this day, because they are my family & this is my home. I received a round of applause & then the doctor, neighbor & Epicerie owner gave speeches, followed by a member of the women's group as well. I was wished good health and thanked for being in the village& that I would be missed when I was gone. The epicerie owner said they are happy for this day of American Independence as well because the American & Malagasy peoples have a partnership & hope to continue working together for many years to come. Barack Obama was also wished longevity and good health, which I said I would pass the message along to him.

Because I only arrived back to my site earlier in the day, and was walking around most of the daylight hours, 12 adults and at least 5 kids were now crammed into my small house, all of us sitting on my floor lit by candlelight eating the biscuits and apple cider. I played the National Anthem for them and talked about what most people in the US would be doing today. With every drop and crumb finished they thanked me collectively & wished me goodnight. My unusual but fulfilling Independence Day had come to a close, just my cat & I now staring at each other. I don't know how much of my stories or descriptions of the US & its customs will be remembered but I hope at some point in the future if they see an American Flag they will at least have some memory of that white girl who hung around speaking broken Malagasy but attempting to show respect of the Malagasy customs & providing even just a passing glance of the world of America and its culture. 

Oh what WOMEN can DO!

 Seamstress Training and Mosquito Bed Net Repair

The women in my village expressed interest in forming a seamstress group within the first month I arrived at site over a year ago. After IST I worked with my counterpart to organize a group with dedicated and reliable members who were interested in a self-sustaining group with a long-term goal, not simply interested in the activities of the "vazaha".
This group started with several interests: learning new farming techniques, weaving floor mats and forming a seamstress business. Establishing a constant and trusting membership has taken several months, with ups and downs in membership attendance, reshuffling the executive board and defining rules, however with reliability achieved, the women were ready to focus on a seamstress business.

Although many women in Madagascar know how to sew, very few can afford sewing machines to increase their level of skill beyond the basics. Through SPA funding, the women and I agreed on a project framework incorporating and addressing a concern all families in my village, in some way, have been affected by: Malaria. A ten day training was planned, daily lessons led by two guest seamstress trainers, partnering with the community health workers and neighboring Peace Corps Health Volunteers. Rules for the training and use of materials were decided upon by the women's group, emphasizing the shared ownership and responsibility of the sewing machines, not by the individual. Preperation of the agenda and logistics of the program were organized by me however, together, the executive board and I made the final decisions. I prepared business training lesson plans, while sitting with the women listening to the hum and clicks of the hand powered sewing machines busily working around me. Chatter and friendly banter insued, jokes and laughs exchanged around the room. The sense of commradery became tangible with each progressive afternoon. Seventeen of us sat on floor mats with scissors, thread, cloth and pens strewn about, only shutting the doors for the night as light faded behind the hills. The community health worker in my village and a neighboring health volunteer, joined the women's group to lead educational Malaria games and hold a Q & A session addressing myths about the disease. Proper mosquito net washing and hole repair (with implementation of both) were also part of the schedule. The training concluded with the women displaying the skirts, shirts, and pillowcases they had sewn with their newly acquired seamstress skills.

The first phase of the training complete, the women set out on the next phase. My small village was divided amongst the women, questionaires in hand about mosquito net use in each household. They exchanged an information sheet for the household's mosquito net, and sewed cloth on the bottom of one net per household making it stronger and increasing the longevity of the net. All holes in the net were also fixed by the women's group, educating each household on the importance of using a net, and washing and hanging it correctly. Follow-up visits will be done in another 6 months to see if behaviours have changed and corrected actions have been applied.

Besides the obvious new skills developed in this village, this women's group has now taken ownership of their now fully operating seamstress business. Their confidences were built further by participating in the Malaria parades at the end of April in neighboring towns, supported by several volunteers throughout the region. Volunteerism was emphasized within the group and explained to the community, calling on every person to protect one another from Malaria with the women's group taking the lead, mending and strengthening each mosquito net free of charge. Next order of business: sewing 30 outfits for the EPP student's Vingt Six Independence Day Celebration; the women are ready, machines are set, time to sew!

One year in Madagascar

One year in Madagascar- 

My strengths: comfortable with the way of life... Confident in my surroundings-whether finding my way around a 2 million person city like Tana-which I am no longer intimidated by- or a rural and painfully impoverished village.

Being a vazaha-I own it!  Still explaining to people who I am as Peace Corps with patience. Other volunteers tell me I am friendly w/ strangers and don't hesitate to strike up conversation with people whom other volunteers may ignore. This is important to me because maybe, just maybe that conversation could help to break the stereotype of a white person in this country. Contrary to beliefs in the 'back woods countryside' no we are not all the same. I would hate to be jaded & sour towards the Malagasy culture at the end of service. I say this because I've seen some volunteers who are.

I am more realistic about my expectations of what I can motivate people to do (ie small things, behavior change baby steps) & my role in Mada. I don't hold onto any grandious ideas that I will save the world, but try to stay grounded in the fact that I am leading my women's group, meeting by meeting, showing them that they can and should take charge of their lives. Financial security & independence is a very real possibility.

It could be the fact that I just finished training the new wave of trainees so I have a refreshed perspective on where I started out and how truly 'EFA zatra' I am (aka already used to/accustomed to). The life I have made myself here was reaffirmed- I am doing it, I'm really making it here! I have survived & even thrived, not without the days where I questioned everything but at the end of the day, month, and now 1 year-come out feeling on top. Looking forward to the next day & still trusting that each hour, even if it's painfully quiet and idle is worth it.

Here's to another year of struggles, shocks, unforgettable nights & cultural curiosity, exchange & appreciation-US & Malagasy.

The day I lost my watch

The best thing that could have happened to me!

Sept 3^rd, 2013

I didn’t even notice, as I walked under hanging branches, over fallen logs, and dodged vines along the rainforest trail, that I had lost it. The watch I had bought, only hours before leaving the US, from the DC drugstore, had found a new home amongst the dried leaf forest floor.

I spent the morning afterwards searching around my house but when I realized it was gone…my entire concept of times evaporated….and I almost felt free.

I spent the rest of the day creating a vertical garden out of 1.5 L empty plastic bottles. I become totally immersed and the children helped me throughout most of the day. Even when I got hungry, I made a quick snack and then was back at my construction. Even as the rain became a steady drizzle I continued my work; no longer pre-occupied with it being “time to start making lunch” or “only 2 hours until it’s dark, I better go on my daily stroll through the town so they know I’m interested in Malagasy life”.

It was so refreshing to not be concerned with what others may think or expect of me…which had been a discussion going on in my head for the past 3 months as I adjusted to life in Madagascar on my own. I think I am finally able to embrace my own life here, and that it does not revolve around others. Balancing work and rest but in the Malagasy lifestyle, is more and more natural with each passing day of my new life here. 

Circumcision Celebration - September 2013

Differences exist region to region – 4 hours north (in Manakara) there is a large celebration once every 7 yrs. But in my area, a family or group of families, will get together in order to pay for the Doctor to come to the town.

The first circumcision party I went to was in early September, but this was just kicking off the season! I went to the neighboring town with my Malagasy supervisor and his coworkers. We had missed the actual procedure, but the party was in full swing, lasting for 2 full days, ending on Sunday.

We greeted the president and important people of the town, and gave an envelope of money to them. This was called “atody ny akoho” or egg of a chicken. The amount dictates how much alcohol and food the hosts will provide for you. For example, today our donation of over 10,000 Ar dictated a 1.5 L bottle of rhum, bottle of beer, and bottle of Limonade (Bon Bon Anglais) with some plates of fried fish. The women beckoned me outside to dance to the blaring loud music, while the men sat in the small huts and talked and drank. The women’s excitement was let loose by the whoops and hollers that I received, and of course many wide-eyed stares.

Later this month, I attended a circumcision ceremony in my own town, 5 children were circumcised and all between the ages of 3 and 8 yrs old. Did I mention there is no anesthesia involved in the procedure?! The celebration began on a Thursday evening. A generator was brought and 3 light bulbs were strung up over the wooden frames built between a cluster of houses. I only danced a bit in the lit area, then was beckoned to join a group of women dancing in a house (when I say house I mean open floor with woven mat -no furniture- and cooking corner where ashes and a grill reside). We danced in a circle, and I greeted the leader of my town. Everyone was very faly “happy” and many extended family members where there and interested in who I was and what I did. The party raged all night.

The next morning the procedure was underway. I heard yells of “don’t be scared” chanted in unison by the women, which carried across town to me in my bed, at the early hour of 5am.

I visited around 7am, congratulating (shaking hands with the boys) and sharing coffee with the many people visiting. I danced a little and talked with people about the absence of this type of celebration in America until a fellow volunteer arrived. He had never seen this cultural celebration so he joined me in giving the traditional “atody ny akoho” and we danced with my neighbors and kids until the generator was turned off, as twilight approached.  

We retired to my house across town but the townspeople drank into the night, each small hut housing numerous guests.

The following weekend I was invited to a circumcision in the neighboring town south of my town. It was a large celebration, more money involved than what had occurred in my town. The surgery was done in Farafangana, the closest large town, and the celebration was carried out the next day.

Small paper invitations were distributed; I think I was invited as a courtesy, being the only white person for several kilometers. Four other people from my town were also invited to the home and hotely/epicerie owned by the wealthy family. I suggested we walk, leaving around 9am, taking us 1 1/2hrs to get there on foot.

We entered the house, gave the atody ny akoho” and then were led outside to a shaded table, next to the open dirt courtyard where many women were dancing within clouds of dust they were kicking up with each step. We were given soda, beer, and homemade moonshine (toka gasy). My table scanned the crowds and told me about the apparently well-known pastors and educators in attendance.

Being the only white person here, I was called out to the courtyard/dance floor by the local women, and danced with them briefly, as I didn’t know any of them. We watched processions of women enter the gated yard, holding a stick high for everyone to see the paper money that was attached to it. The women sang (or rather chanted, yipped and yelped) showing off the money they would give to the family. This I found out is called “maromanga” which translates to “a lot of blue”, and did not happen in my town. One group of women presented about 30.000 Ar and the other, 50.000 Ar (about). After entering the home of the family they exited with bottles of beer and bon bon Anglais (sweet soda) again singing and dancing in a circle throughout the courtyard.

The final circumcision party of the “season” that I attended was in my town, which translates to: a small affair. Three brothers underwent the procedure and the party lasted only one day.  I awoke at 4am to the calls of women running up and down the street for cold water…for the procedure I assumed. I congratulated and danced for only the morning, and other people visited but only briefly. People told me this family did not have enough money to throw a large party so that’s why it was so short and not many people hung around. The boys lay in a corner of the house with a crisp white sheet (showing it was purchased just for this occasion) draped over their spread legs. This was a shield against the flies and kept the naked boys covered but cool as the day warmed up. They were given biscuit crackers and women sat cooing over them, trying to make them as comfortable as possible.

From what I could gather from asking people in my town, this tradition is carried out to prevent disease, but I’m suspicious it may be a practice the French instilled in the Malagasy.

In other areas the uncle of the boy actually eats the foreskin once cut free. How glad I am that this is not a practice in my area!!

Independence Day June 26th Celebration

Vingt Six Juin *aka June 26^th*

Preparation is similar in some ways: putting the country’s flag outside your home, showing your patriotism. Vendors supply children with obnoxious noise-makers and kazoos, even the lit up multicolored wands.  Music is played throughout the day and well into the night. Alcohol, especially the moonshine, is widely available and on many people’s breath.

Some differences I’ve experienced leading up to this event: school and work cease for the entire week. Some kids went to school the day prior but most did not, for example, my neighbor kid-about 14, took me to a village (only about an hour’s walk away on a muddy clay path through tall grasses and crossing 2 steams) where I was surprised to come upon the sight of a butchered zebu (cow)!! The body parts had been separated and scattered across freshly cut palm leaves on the ground. The black skin was part of the meat as well, and I watched as they divided the ribs, legs, hooves and head. Had I known what I was in for, I would have stayed with the older man down the hill & continued watching him get a haircut with a pair of dull scissors.

About 5 men had a synchronized, yet unorganized method to divide the meat, using an axe and small knives. They quickly divided each small cut of meat (with bones and all-a lot of which had been hacked and shattered) into 20 piles. These went to 20 separate families and I thought to myself….this one cow was going to feed at least 90 people (My neighbor has a modest family of 9, including him and his wife). A few women cleaned and separated the stomach and intestines, which were also added to the piles.

Before I knew it, I was being handed some cooked meat on a leaf. I didn’t want to be rude, so I chose the largest chunk in my helping and popped it into my mouth…it was salty with a chewy texture but I held it down and finished my serving. I found out later that this was the brain of the cow…possibly eaten to celebrate the completion of the task at hand, or maybe it was too small to be divided reasonably. Either way, this was another first in this country that I can’t say I was prepared for or could have even imagined 4 months ago. But in hindsight, that’s probably the best way a cow brain lunch could have come!

The day’s festivities: slightly anticlimactic due to the fact I’ve been to bigger and more organized celebrations in the brief but eventful 1^st month living at my site. However the schedule of events is basically the same for each celebration. Speeches, songs drinking and dancing followed by a soccer match or athletic event with the teenage or young adults, then more dancing into the night.

After breakfast-my usual of instant oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar with powdered milk-I sat with my neighbor’s daughters, watching them braid each others’ hair with a mixture of water, wax and hair oil. They had told me they would braid my hair, and I decided to go ahead with it (really show some integration) however after an hour I was getting bored. My other neighbor that was going to walk with me to the school where the festivities were happening left without me and so after walking and asking around, I discovered that most people were already at the school yard enjoying the festivities! I threw on my wrap skirt (traditional dress) and took off up the hill.

This is the prime example of the ever-changing and blatant lack of information I am still getting accustomed to. For example: a few people that said they were going out of town that morning, low and behold were at the “fety” (party); also my neighbor was present and apologized to me saying he thought I would be coming with the other girls, even though earlier he had made sure I understood we would walk up together. I was maybe an hour late, not too sure when it actually started, but several people made sure to tell me I was late, which only fueled my frustration.

The women who were performing several songs & dance called me over, and I stood in the first of 2 lines of women and sang a Malagasy song that the 15 of us had practiced the week prior. I fumbled through the hand gestures but the town was impressed.  We danced (by taking shuffling steps which is the go-to dance in Madagascar) around the flagpole and then the teachers gathered the elementary aged school children to sing a few songs (during which I had flashbacks of my own school programs, singing Christmas carols and such). I was handed a microphone and gave a small speech to the crowd gathered between the two 2 school buildings. This was a very short and basic speech, but participating in the tradition was the goal; which several officials and elders in the community do before a gathering.

The kids were divided up and then given small candies, while the adults moved inside the concrete school house and clear rum, sweet soda (Bon Bon Anglais) and beer (THB) was passed out to each desk that was placed around the walls. A small toast/cheers was first, and holding up our glasses of soda, spilled some of the soda on the floor “for the ancestors”. Some women drank beer, I drank soda, and the men drank the rum straight, followed by some women as well. In other areas of the country, women don’t drink at all but in the east coast it’s more laid back. Dancing soon started as music blared over the sound system and I danced and talked to people, all the while people would take the chance to get behind the microphone and give a small speech.

Next, as in any celebration here, there are games. There was a soccer match, adults in the town vs younger (probably 17-20yrs old) boys. I was invited to play, so I joined them in the dirt field. It was getting close to lunch so the town returned to their homes to have lunch and prepare for the bally (dance party) that evening. One of the schoolteachers invited me to his house for lunch, which I accepted (with my entourage of kids) and learned more about who was in his family and about the celebration.

Afterwards the kids planned on going to a film that was being shown on a 10” screen television (to an audience of close to 20 people). This karate action film ended early so I took the opportunity to walk around and chat with people about the “fety” (party) and differences between Madagascar’s Independence Day and July 4^th in the U.S. As the sun went down the town gathered once more, but this time in the town “square” however it is a group of wooden stands along the one road that the town is clustered around. Here a few more speeches were given and then more of the same bass-heavy music blasted out over the loud hum of the generator.  Groups formed and we danced-walking in a circle-until the stars filled the sky.

I discovered that the traditional food is beef, pork or chicken for holiday meals. Families save up for the holidays in order to splurge on meat-as the special meal- and alcohol. When I told a man in my town that we would eat hamburgers for our independence day he laughed and remarked that they are very big in the United States too.

My neighbors, always looking out for me and watching over me, signaled that it was time to return home. As much as the independent person in me objected, I conceded, satisfied that I had shown my cultural participation and welcomed the excuse to distance myself from the townspeople who were only getting more and more drunk off of the local moonshine.

My earplugs came in handy to block out the music that went on until 8am the next morning. The Malagasy sure do know how to party! I wasn’t surprised as the next few days were relatively quiet but they drug on, as I became inpatient with people’s lack of drive to get back to work. This is a difference I’m noticing in the Western pace of life and life in the Malagasy countryside, but I’d like to think I’m adjusting to it.

Special Reserve

First day in the Special Reserve forest!

June 9th

The coolness of the damp forest air and shade was a welcome to my hot and sweating body. No shade on the 45 minute trek in, crossing a narrow river on a single plank log serving as a bridge and through shoulder high dry grasses. We entered the forest where 10 years prior it had been slashed and burned, but now had regrown. I learned that this soil, although plentiful in nutrients, is too rich in iron, and so when farmers do actually cut it down to use the soil, it only lasts for 2 years or so and then no longer good for farming.

I was on the lookout for animals right away, and recalled from my travel book that this reserve was renowned for a diverse snail population. Indeed, I found myself stepping over many empty shells. My companions were no strangers to the forest, chatting amongst themselves as we walked along the path. They were not overly concerned with scaring away animals, as I was, still in awe at the biodiversity surrounding me. My 2 neighbors, who make up half of the guide team for the NGO presence working to preserve this rainforest, led our 6 person group. Their boss, who has recently finished research in the forest, accompanied us as well as his boss, who was in town from Tana for the Environment Day festivities.

The tree and vines grew more and more dense and you could only see 10 feet or so in any direction before the foliage layered on itself blocking the view. We passed (an easily 100 meter tall) indigenous tree to the Manombo Special Reserve: Fatsinakoho-which means “white like a chicken spur. I had to explain a “spur” to my Malagasy friends.

Then, splitting into 2 groups, the air changed and we all fell quiet, on the lookout for any of the 7 species of lemur, “gidro”, that call this forest home. I spotted the first animal, a “varaka mena” or brown lemur (which is more reddish than brown) high up in a tree. My companions told me that I was “tsara vintana” or good luck for missing what the guide and veteran researcher hadn’t seen. My eyes were as big as a kid in a candy stores’ excitedly staring at the creature. We soon joined the other group who had come across a family of “varzas” also known as the black & white bearded lemur, who were lounging and feeding on fruits in the mid day sun. I learned that the number of individuals in a family group correlate to the amount of food available. With less food, the groups split up to forage, but with plentiful food the groups have many individuals.

Our luck must have been strong because in this group was a particular individual that the veteran researcher had followed and studied 10 years prior. It still had the red tracking collar on it and was guessed to be 30 years old. The lemurs munched on the fruit and napped while the researchers sat & talked, which even though we were loud, the lemurs didn’t seem to mind. While we sat, I was told that the lemurs could sense poachers/hunters “ mpihazo” and distinguish between them and us (researchers and friendly observers), so that was why they allowed us to stay so close observing them.

We took some photos of the team and then moved on, all together in search of a nocturnal lemur, whose favorite sleeping spot was in the crotch of a tree trunk. Unfortunately, it was not there this day, so we rested then returned back to our original tree log starting point. Along the way we passed many types of trees and I was told about a new project in the forest, cataloging the tree species, size, and density per hectare of forest.  I also learned the name of a large palm, pandanos and thought of my dad, thinking he would enjoy seeing all of the tropical plants here.

We talked about research in general, and I shared my experience doing research with zebrafish in college. It was refreshing being able to explain my higher level of thought in English (to the veteran researcher who is fluent in English).

Once leaving the thick of the forest, we met two “polis ny ala”, the enforcement that patrols the forest, and stopped to chat.

As the shade of the ancient and primitive forest thinned, I was brought back to the 21^st century as a GPS locator was pulled out and the group discussed coordinates and tracking.  Although I am a world away from the 1^st world, I am still reminded of the technology and advancement over the history of the earth. Even in rural Madagascar cell phones are accessible, but I do enjoy being able to separate myself from that world every once in awhile.