Vingt Six Juin *aka June 26th*
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 1st 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 4th 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.
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