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.

Environment Day! June 6th

I awoke to the sound of a car engine slowing as it pulled off the road into my neighbor’s dirt yard….I thought to myself  ”already!?”, after a long night of tossing and turning due to chills, fever, and upset stomach I was not feeling at my best and yet my supervisor, the director of one of the local NGOs (non governmental organization, aka non profit) had just arrived to pick me up.

I luckily had thrown together most of my things the night before, however 7am seemed early to start our journey. Pulling my mosquito bed net up from under my mattress, creating a hole just big enough for me to duck through, I flung open my door and shutters so as not to appear lazy, and to have been awake for longer than the last 5 minutes. Little did I know, but the neighbor’s wife and daughter were catching a lift to the large town we were passing through, so we piled into his car that so closely resembles a life sized Jeep Barbie car. We stopped at the NGO’s office (more like a complex of 3 concrete buildings and yard with small houses clustered down a path) beforehand to eat breakfast of rice and beans followed by sweet fried bread balls with coffee.

The president of this NGO, who had come down from Tana for the weekend’s events, joined us. He has spent several years doing research in the special reserve close to my town and has several projects going on in Madagascar. Besides teaching at the University in Tana, he works closely with an American university to promote environmental education and conservation, and used to live in the US as well. I tried my best to only use Malagasy to express myself, but it was just too easy to find the words in English.  It was also refreshing to see his familiar face, from my swearing in ceremony where we first met, affirming I had indeed survived my first 3 weeks at site.

The drive to the nearest large town- a nice trip in comparison for what was in store-followed a smoothly paved road which helped my stomach stay settled. Here we stopped to buy soccer cleats for a coworker (unfortunately they only had men’s sizes-not shocking in this country-and they were all too big for me) and he joined us on our drive to the event. I had heard that this road was bad, but I had no idea just how bad it really was. The dirt road began with small pot holes, followed by large chunks of earth that had broken away from the side of the road. Rocks and compact clay made up the path, wide enough for barely 2 cars width, for the entire 3 ½ hour drive. With no seatbelt to hold me in my seat, and the afternoon heat reaching it’s peak, my initial excitement and joy melted into stomach pain and headache. Thankfully we stopped for lunch, where I forced myself to eat pork and rice, that was actually quite good but I instantly regretted it once we got back into the car. The breeze at least somewhat helped but the road only got worse! A few steep hills with protruding boulders didn’t prove to be too challenging for our Barbie- car stead, but I maintained my tight grip on the side bar to somewhat steady myself from the bouncing and jostling inside the vehicle.

Finally arriving in Vondrozo were the celebration would be held the next day, we met fellow NGO colleagues at the high school’s outdoor basket ball game, women then men teams. This was the largest crowd I had been around yet, being the only white person. I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious but nevertheless tried to make small talk with the leaders of the local NGOs who were present.

We ate dinner, as it was getting dark, at a “hotely” aka restaurant. Afterwards, I went straight to bed but not before stuffing cotton into my ears which only partially blocked out the blaring music from the restaurant directly on the other side of the window above my head.

ENVIRONMENT DAY-some breakfast (soup again) and then set up of our stand. Reminded me of setting up for events when I worked at the chiro’s office in Colorado, except these stands were bright blue plastic for roof and walls, only 10 in total, 5 booths facing each other in front of an official building. All day event: 9am-9pm

A caravan started off the event, which I learned is very common in Madagascar. First motorcycles and cars, then groups on foot carrying banners and wearing special dress followed. Our procession ended at the booths, where at least 150 school kids had crowded around holding signs of their schools.

The officials of the region, district and town gave speeches over a loud speaker system, which I’m also learning is popular for events here. Some of the men gave very long and drawn out speeches and with some political highlights too (paraphrased translations were supplied by the supervisor and president I was with). After this, each booth was introduced to the officials. I walked around to meet people and even given some food by the Red Cross booth promoting better nutrition. I explained some posters of animals to the children, ages ranging from 7-teenager years. Some talked with me, others just stared and laughed, which I thought was odd because this larger town must get at least some foreigner traffic, plus there is a volunteer lives here (unfortunately out on vacation).

HOT HOT HOT The sun beat down and the booth didn’t provide much relief.

We were done by 3pm; I rested then walked down to the soccer match with the president, dancing down the road with a women’s group that happened to be walking by so I decided to join them. I already stand out so, hey, why not add to the spectacle!

As darkness neared we drove into the main area of town again & attended a debate, I snacked on the oven-baked mini pizzas and cream puffs, understanding little about the Q & A session. By 9pm, we were all tired, the president went to bed & my supervisor and some other younger NGO leaders attended the “Bally” aka dance party. Although I was asked to dance several times, and by what I assumed were officials, I danced little. Not wanted to send the wrong signals about why I was there.  My colleagues danced some and I was surprised with their enthusiasm when an Elvis song was played (that people started swing dancing to). I had anticipated on only making an appearance but as more beers joined us at the table (a 1 ½ liter bottle of Coca Cola was designated to me) we watched a cooked and fried chicken be auctioned off and by 1am I was ready for bed.

Up early, and it was a cooler –albeit bumpy and jostling -ride. I joked with my fellow passengers that this was the same as a rollercoaster, and tried to describe an amusement park.

This trip was a much-needed change of scenery, and I was so appreciative of my Malagasy supervisor for taking me with them. Making myself seen and being present at such events I feel is important, but in this larger town that doesn’t know me….it was also frustrating. Most people assumed I am French and would speak French to me. Or, pull out the few broken phrases they knew in English then ask when I could teach them, or better yet a random relative of theirs, English. This was then followed by a request for my phone number (not just males but females too), and a very quick excuse from me with a soon end to the conversation. I will undoubtedly run into these stereotypes again and again during my service. Needless to say, the return to my house was a welcomed sight, and I was ever more appreciative of my village where the kids know my name and I’m greeted with friendly smiles.

Swearing In! May 10th

Swearing in!

May 10^th, 2013

I woke up to the vibration of my phone alarm, 5am. Breakfast was quiet, due to the volunteers still being asleep or solemn as the realization that it was our last day as trainees, enjoying the amenities of the Peace Corps Training Center set in.

We had sent our luggage ahead, and the 37 trainees pilled into a bus to become volunteers. We practiced the Malagasy song we would be performing during the swearing in ceremony, as we drove the 3 hours to Tana, the capital city.

At an US Embassy official’s extravagant house and yard we listened to a few short speeches, one by a fellow volunteer, in Malagasy, and took the oath to become official Peace Corps volunteers. It was quite a short event for the build up of the last year and a half (i.e. lengthy application process and 2 months of training) but I met the president of the NGO I would be working closely with at my site. The realization that my Peace Corps experience was only beginning was starting to set in. After a reception we said goodbye to our ever patient and helpful language instructors, who’s last “lesson” was to help us buy a majority of our supplies (ie. gas stove, blankets, plastic buckets, and food) in the bustling-and overwhelming-city of Tana. We couldn’t help but be in awe of the amenities available at our fingertips, and welcomed a thai food and hookah restaurant outing.

Up at 6am to voices of other volunteers already awake & realized this would be the last morning their voices would permeate my subconscious in the moments before I awoke. My roommate and I started packing our backpacks with surprising energy for only getting 5 hours of sleep. Peace Corps cars greeted us as we brought bags down to the concrete lobby. I teared up as Briana, my roomate throughout training, left. We hugged and said our goodbyes but knew we would see each other soon because both of our sites are in the south eastern region of the country. It was surreal leaving the capital city, knowing it was the end of a chapter-pre-service training-but the start of a much larger one-my Peace Corps service.

The crowded city began to thin and countryside began to fill in the spaces between the houses. Two volunteers living in my region and I  napped off and on until we unexpectedly met another car of volunteers! We learned that our PC ceremony the day prior made it into 2 local newspapers. As we continued on the road I tried to sleep but I was too excited, nervous or excited for what lay ahead these next few days. I watched the landscape roll by, it gradually changed from terraced rice fields to brown grass and rocky hills that reminded me of Colorado’s landscape. Then rolling hills and bamboo layered on itself intermingled with bananas as we entered the rainforest and Ranomafauna, where we met 2 PCVs and stayed the night.

We took a dip in the natural hot springs the next morning, the rainforest mountain backdrop with low hanging clouds was just beyond the river we crossed to get to the pool area. The smell of sulphur reminded me of hot springs in Idaho: rustic and rural. Continuing on the road we passed through clouds of locust, these insects have crippled many rice crops in throughout Madagascar. At one point, I recall looking into a valley and seeing what I thought were clouds of smoke but were actually the swarm of insects.

Only six more hours to what would be my banking town, we stopped to meet several volunteers living in the region, who welcomed us with cards and signs for each of us. We finally arrived in Farafangana and met our “zokys” meaning “older siblings” but is what more experienced volunteers are referred to as. At the first sight of the ocean, the three of us had our faces pressed against the windows. Palm trees lined the dirt road that took us to the volunteers’ house who lives here. We were treated to drinks, pizza, and some second hand blazers, hand picked for us by the volunteers. Our nighttime bonfire was a great way to start my familiarization with the area.

I wrote a brief speech, filled with thank you’s and expressing my happiness and hopes of becoming family with the village. My excitement built as we stopped at my counterparts “camp” an office with a large grassy field and some cement buildings and then continued onto my town. Pulling off to the side of the road we walked down a small slope and my two bedroom house appeared, the town was expecting us that day, and many people gathered as I greeted the important people of the town and gave my speech with many “ums”. We started moving things into the house, and the items the previous volunteer left for me appeared carried by men, women and children. As most large items made it inside, the men gathered outside and presented us with a traditional drink and soda, with folded banana leaf cups, and toasted with us to my arrival.

This warm welcome left me elated, stressed and comforted all at the same time. I tried to keep the thought that I was only hours from being completely on my own at bay. Me, my 2 fellow stage mates and my installers went to the neighboring town for lunch and in this time the roof and floor of my pit toilet was repaired. A volunteer in this town was kind enough to give me one of her cat’s 2 month old kittens, to address the rat issue I had been warned of earlier. The thought ran through my mind “I’m being dropped off, alone in rural Madagascar with no electricity or running water, and not only am I suppose to somehow take care of myself, but now a kitten!?” I was comforted though at the fact that I had a friend and companion from the start.

Returning to my new site, my installers arranged for me to eat with my neighbors for the next few days, because there had been no gas tanks (and therefore no gas to cook with) in the entire town of Farafangana. After the checklist of safety and security questions and measures was complete, my installation was complete and I hugged my companions and waved goodbye. I stood inside my house as dusk set in, simply exchanging stares with the 10+ kids who stood in my doorway. With all my possessions in boxes or bags on the floor in heaps I didn’t quite know what to do with myself, but Uno, the card game came to my rescue. I explained the game by candlelight, and the kids caught on quickly. I was thrilled with how friendly they were.  After at least an hour of the game I was invited to dinner at my neighbors, and I tried to speak as much as possible, however awkward silences were inevitable. Back at home, I unrolled my sleeping bag on my foam mattress, said goodnight to my cat, whose bed I constructed in a cardboard box cushioned with clothes and went to sleep. The first day of my 2 year service!

World Malaria Day

World Malaria Day!

April 25^th 2013

Long, strong, easier to hang

There are several organizations in Madagascar working with Malaria prevention and awareness. Stomping Out Malaria in Africa is Peace Corp’s Malaria initiative, and has pooled resources and programs in 23 countries throughout Africa to reduce the transmission and spread of this illness.

The day started with anticipation! Breakfast was early, 6:30, but I wake up at that time normally. My group “How to make your bed net sexy” had met the night prior to make 2 flip charts, which are Peace Corps “go-to” demonstrative tools. We wrote out 3 sentences in Malagasy conveying our goal of teaching people to add cloth on the top and bottom of their mosquito bed nets. The purpose: 1) to make them longer- to tuck them under their mattresses for better coverage and thus protection 2) stronger-so they won’t fray or get torn on the bottom or the top where they are being hung 3)easier to hang the net-if it’s reinforced at the top you can put it up and take it down faster and with ease.

After breakfast we met briefly to finish our chart, I wrote two basic sentences:

“Inona ny asa tianao atao rehefa lehibe” meaning: What do you want to be when you get older?  And “ Raha tsy voan’ny tazo ianao dia afka mahavita izay irinao” meaning When you don’t get sick with Malaria, then you can do anything! The second part of our goal was for children to draw pictures of their dreams, which can be pinned to the net to encourage its use and make it more fun for kids.

About 10 children met the group of 37 volunteers at our Training Center gate, but as we started walking we realized over 150 were waiting for us just down the road! The energy changed in an instant to excitement and anticipation for the day’s events.  A Peace Corp car led the parade, as we walked the 30 minutes to Mantasoa. Many volunteers found their host sisters and brothers, but when I saw a friend of my host sister, I found out Mino was still in school. Apparently the high school didn’t take part, which I found odd. Our Malagasy LCFs (language coordinator/facilitators) joined us in the parade, showing off their paper mosquito masks and banners taped to their chests and back. Once at the Sekoly (school), with tent set up for speeches in the large dirt yard, we saw that Dee the country director was present. It started drizzling and continued as we stood around until Love, the health sector trainer, called the crowd together. Children, teachers, Peace Corps volunteers and staff, totaling no less than 300 people, gathered to sing the American National Anthem then the Malagasy Anthem as our respective flags were raised. It was a reflective moment, the sense of duty to my country brought to my awareness. And yet being so far away from my homeland, as the Malagasy anthem started and volunteers sang from the lyrics in hand, I was comforted and confident about the next two years.

Next, we were gathered to the tent and listened to welcome speeches from the Mayor, Robert-our Head PC training manager- and Dee. Raf, a 3^rd year PC volunteer, had coordinated the event and helped us prepare the past week. He used to live in the Sud Est aka South East (the region where I’ll soon be living) but now lives in the capital, Tana, working exclusively with a US NGO promoting Malaria awareness in Madagascar. After a brief overview of Malaria in Madagascar and how mosquitos transmit the parasite, he described the 6 stations then the volunteers and participants were set lose!

We had an actual bed with and a bug net (tied to a basketball hoop above) at our station, demonstrating tucking the net under the mattress. There were 2 Malagasy women who had been trained the day before in sewing the fabric onto the bottom of the nets that ran the sewing machines. There wasn’t much to demonstrate apart from them physically showing the crowd of women and children how to sew the net and how to use the sewing machine so our attention shifted focus to the other part of our station.

For the children, we positioned 3 desks facing each other and supplied paper and markers. I attempted explaining to the group of kids to draw what they aspired be when they grow up and we would pin up the picture. I only knew basic commands and sentences, like “you can sit and draw” and referred back to the question I had written on the flip chart. Luckily an LCF was there to help explain the task. But even once it was explained the kids were still hesitant; no one wanted to be the first to be involved, but after no more than 20 minutes, children were surrounding me asking for more markers and paper. It was so fun to be around the laughter and excitement of the families and children.  The concept of “what do you dream of becoming?” or “you dream job/career?” doesn’t quite exist here, so it wasn’t too surprising to see pictures of gardeners, farmers, housewives. But there were even more drawings of pilots, singers, teachers, doctors, and taxi drivers. We taped each picture to a string, 15 feet long, tied between two poles at different heights. It wasn’t long before we had to add several more lines and became backed-up taping them on. The sun came out and we were surrounded by laughter and glee, as the kids gathered eagerly showing one another their artwork. I asked each child who gave me their finished drawing their name and their profession, I even asked a girl-who wanted to become a singer- to sing a song for me, which she did and the smile on her face was beautiful. It was quite inspirational to see the children’s artwork (some having true artistic quality) as the physical form of their potential.

The time flew by before I had a chance to visit the other stations and soon it was already time to breakdown and return to Training Center.  The other stations included how to wash & clean your mosquito net, testing for Malaria with a quick finger prick test, and a mosquito piñata station, where kids were given different sized sticks (to represent how protected they were by using bug nets vs nothing) to attack the candy filled papier-mâché creatures.

A group of volunteers and I walked part of the way back to the Training Center, and exchanged stories from the day and how satisfying it was. I was content in the fact that I had been able to communicate in Malagasy, although not proficient, I was effective. Also being a part of such a big community event, on World Malaria Day, felt amazing. I am elated in the success of the event and look forward to being a part of an event (most likely on a much smaller scale) at my site. Some initial organization had already been done on a Malaria and bed net mending project by the former PCV at my site. As each day passes my anticipation builds, get closer and closer to living and breathing at my site.

Some Malaria in Madagascar Facts:

Prevalence:

0.8% in the Central Highlands, including Manatsoa(where the PC Training Center is)

1.3% in the South, the sub-desert, southern tip of the island

3.7% on the West and North West coast

16.4% along the entirety of the East coast, including where I will be living for the next two years! This is where the tropical rainforest is located, with a hot and humid climate most of the year.

Daily life in Anjozoro

Daily life in Anjozoro

Most mornings, before I even opened my eyes, I was greeted with the honking of geese and crowing of our rooster as they were released from their indoor coops (which also doubled as the kitchen during the day, with built-in pit and grill). My eyes would search for the morning light peeking through the cracks around my closed door and shutters. I’m not sure how early my family would wake up, but often times I would hear the rattling of metal bowls & mixing of batter for pancakes or fried bread while I was still laying in bed. I became accustomed to naturally waking up around 6am. By this time my family had already cleaned the dishes from the last night’s meal and finished cooking breakfast. Pulling aside my bug net, which I kept closely tucked around my bed even during the day, I would cross my room to open the wood shutters (on my 2 glass-less windows) and door. I also had a door connecting my room to the living room/bedroom of my host parents; these two rooms and loft upstairs were the entirety of our house. My room was originally the parent’s bedroom, and also twice the size of the connecting room. By hosting me, the adults now slept behind a curtain next to the dining room table, and the two girls slept upstairs in the loft. I never ventured up the ladder but I know it was a storage area and a type of open bedroom.

The “kitchen shack” for lack of a better term, connected to the living/bedroom and also had a door to the outside. The two small windows and the outside door were always open during cooking, as the only means of ventilation. I haven’t seen any “shacks” with chimneys, although it must be evident that upper respiratory infections become more common during the winter months when doors are closed while cooking (from smoke inhalation). Crouching over a small charcoal stove or sitting on a low stool over the wood fire and small grate is the extent of the cooking area. Meals were cooked in large aluminum pots, and we had 2 frying pans.

Smells of burning wood mingled with charcoal smoke and hung in the air each morning, greeting me as I walked outside to use the Kabone (pit toilet) and empty my poe (chamber pot). I also brushed my teeth outside, next to the ladosy (shower) and would return to my room to wash my hands and face in a bucket of water.

Breakfast was most often something sweet and fried. We had pancakes a few times, but usually had fried and lightly sweetened dough, which was always light and fluffy with the perfect crunch biting into it. Battered and fried bananas are also a popular breakfast and snack item that I can never seem to get enough of! My least favorite breakfast would, hands down, be the grated and fried (usually dripping with oil) carrot patties accompanied by watery rice. The Malagasy typically eat rice for all 3 meals, which fills their bellies but lacks essential vitamins and nutrients. Freshly roasted and brewed coffee and hot lemon grass tea was always steaming and ready. My family would add several scoops of sugar to their cups on top of condensed and already sweetened milk.

My host mom would leave between 6 and 6:30 to get to work, and my youngest host sister had to walk to the neighboring town for school so breakfast generally consisted of me, my host dad and Nini, the eldest sister.

Most mornings I had time to wash the dishes after breakfast, which I often did on my own while the dad tended to the chickens and geese and my host sister cleaned the house (sweeping with a small broom or a coconut brush that was a halved husk of a coconut). But on days that we ate a little later I would help clear the table and then grab my notebook and head out.

My family made sure to remind me to latch and lock my windows and door each time I left, to get into the habit. Walking past the light pink flowers that grew chest high and into the clothesline nearby I would meet the short path then small gate that took me to the narrow downhill path. This slippery clay path took me about 200 meters to a fellow volunteers homestay house. This neighbor was my host mother’s sister and had a larger home so language class was held here 6 days of the week, always from 8am-12pm. Our Malagasy language teacher was shuttled out to meet us each morning, bringing a mid-morning snack of cake or bread to eat as a group later.

This atypical classroom, lit by natural light, with background noises of clucking chickens, children laughing in the distance and even wafts of smoke from fires preparing lunch, took some getting used to. Our teacher led interactive sessions with emphases on oral participation and class was generally enjoyable despite the flattened foam couch cushions we were constantly shifting on.  By the time noon hit, the sun had brought a humid heat, and I would be damp just walking up the hill to my house.

Lunch was always ready and the table set with 4 plates. We never had beverages with our meals, unless it was hot water that had been boiled in the rice pot to loosen the burnt rice (called Ranon’ampango). Malagasy are hesitant to drink cold water, because filtering and purifying water is not widespread, water from the well generally equals diarrhea and sickness. Lunch was most often a bowl of beans, a larger bowl of rice, and small grated carrot salad with an oil, vinegar and salt sauce. My host dad always sat at the head of the table and Mino would return from school for lunch. I would usually be in “Malagasy mode” and eager to speak and share the new vocabulary I had learned from the morning’s class. My host dad was fairly quiet during meals but would be more talkative as the dessert of fresh fruits (oranges, persimmons, pineapple or small apples) was pulled out from the cabinet. Throughout the meal we would be shooing out the chickens that spent their day scavenging around the yard, but had learned to recognize when mealtime was and so would slowly stalk through the open door and slyly peck scraps of rice off the concrete floor.

Dishes, as with most things in Madagascar, would always take longer than I wanted it to, but if Mino helped me it went considerably faster.  We would fill 2 large plastic tubs with well water and using a foam square (our sponge) and bar of soap, wash and rinse.  The soap was extremely slippery, being made from some type of animal fat I assume, causing me to almost lose a few plates on more than one occasion. We would bring a short table out into the yard and crouch over it, working up a sweat standing in the sun. If left unattended though, those pesky chickens wouldn’t hesitate to walk all over the stack of clean dishes.

Our afternoon training was at another volunteer’s homestay house, a 10-minute walk away, just beyond some rice fields. The Agriculture volunteers met for 4 hours, sitting through powerpoint presentations and discussions, with some fun and interactive activities in between. Most of us would be starving by the time our sessions ended, attributing it to the excess of rice that was now a staple in our diets. But only acting as a filler.

Most of the volunteers would linger as we walked back to our host family houses, greeting each person that passed, adults and children. I would generally study when I returned to my house, taking advantage of the fleeting sunlight. On occasion I would squeeze into the smoky “kitchen shack” to help prepare dinner but usually felt in the way in the already small space. I would also sporadically help collect water from the well just down the hill 200 meters away. My host sisters and I would fill the two 10 gallon jugs up, although they were always the ones to carry them back up the hill to our house on their heads. My host mom would be back from work by this time and we would often sit on my door stoop and talk about the day’s events or she would explain the news from the Malagasy newspaper. As the daylight waned we closed the shutters and doors from the mosquitos (moka) that like to bite at this time, and which are the female mosquitos that carry Malaria. My host dad would let out our 2 geese from their enclosure every evening and escort them around the yard before closing them into a small wooden cage in the ‘kitchen shack’. The geese, and most of the geese I’ve encountered in Madagascar, don’t hesitate to chase and even bite passersby so I would watch from the safety of my room.

After my host dad enclosed the chickens as well, dinner would be served around 7pm. The family always prayed before our meals and I was encouraged to serve myself first, as the guest of the house. Each family member filled their plate with rice and topped it with a small portion of “loaka” which can be anything from beans, beef, fish, or soup with noodles. A cucumber salad almost always accompanied dinner, which I was allowed to assist in preparing. The thinly sliced salad was normally a specialty for my family and only eaten around birthdays or special occasions but because I was there we had it almost every night. Eating by candlelight became comfortable, five of us fitting somewhat comfortably around the small dining room table. With our five plates taking up a large portion of the table, the serving bowls would perch next to us on the narrow benches we sat on. I would contribute to the conversation as much as possible and despite the language barrier my family was incredibly patient and encouraging.

Following the fruit medley dessert and clearing the table, we would often sit around the table and I would share my new repertoire of vocabulary with notebook in hand. World news even made it to this small table in rural Madagascar when my host mom brought out a newspaper announcing the new pope in Vatican City. After dinner I was usually hesitant to continue conversing and interacting, but I was always happy and proud of myself afterwards. I thoroughly enjoyed these exchanges with my family, and developed a deep appreciation for their warmth towards me.

Signaling my exhaustion with “tifandy mandry” meaning “bon nuit/goodnight” I would close and latch the door to my room. Journaling each night helped me to process the day’s events, my candle burning low before I could complete a synopsis of the new sights, smells and experiences I had encountered.  The turning of restless bodies, clearing of throats and pattering of chamber pots being used would silence in the small house and I would finally succumb to sleep, anticipating another day of Madagascar life.

My Malagasy Host Family

Home stay in Anjozoro March 9th-April 5th 2013

Lucie, my “mama/neni”, 61, works as a house cleaner/cook 6 days a week at a retired French couple’s estate. She would frequently bring home fresh milk and rich baked goods they had brought from Tana. Each morning she walks about 1 km to the top of a hill then takes a canoe across the lake to their house. My “dada” is 65, and also named Paul! My Malagasy family was shocked and thrilled when I shared that my dad in the US has the same name. They farm Sweet Potato (Vomanga in Malagasy), Cassava (Mangahazo) and of course Rice (Vary). This country is one of the poorest in the world, but it certainly is rich in starch!! Dada also raises a few geese, which I would hear every morning when he fed them.

The family has 6 children; the 2 youngest live at home: Niniviane & Mino. Nini is 21, she finished high school and now spends her day cooking & cleaning the house. I think she was largely responsible for making sure I was fed & comfortable while at homestay, and probably does other odd jobs normally. She is also entrusted with buying the weeks supply of food every Monday at the large market in Manjakandriana 1 hour away (by taxi-brousse).

Mino is 18, her full name is “Christine Auria Raminoarisoa”, Mino means believe in Malagasy. She’s still in school, but I would still see her for lunch everyday. The schools don’t provide meals so the kids return home to eat, which for Meno is close to a 2 hour walk round trip. 

Most of my time at home stay was with these 4 immediate family members. Mama, Meno & Nini were always engaging and curious, even when I would take 10 minutes to explain one event. After dinner we would often talk about what I had learned during class, work on homework, or even talk about current events with the newspaper Mama sometimes brought from work. Dada warmed up after a week or so and we had several conversations, despite him missing the majority of his front teeth.

The next oldest sibling Onitiana, lives in Tamatave, a large port town on the East Coast with his wife Tojo. He’s in college studying Topography and she to be a Pastor. They also are expecting their first child soon. I wish I had the language skills to inquire about females holding such positions in religion…but I wouldn’t even know where to start to convey the topic.

Josy lives next door with his wife and their 2 children. I believe they share the house with another family, because I’ve seen different people and children there. He works in Antananarivo part of the time, but I’m not too clear on what he does there. Their son, Aina (pronounced kind of like “Ian”, another funny coincidence because that’s my brother’s name in the States!), I would call my 1^st friend in Madagascar. He’s about 6 or 7yrs old I would guess, with deep brown eyes full of wonder-at least when looking at me- along with a grin from ear to ear. I taught him how to play hacky-sack, but it would always turn into a game of ‘keep away’ and then soccer, which is just called “ball” here. I would most often see him on the weekends and at church. The rest of the days he was busy playing with neighborhood children but he would always say “manahoana” (hello) in the adorable high-pitched voice that only kids have. His sister, Hasmena, is about 1 year old and just starting to talk, but when I or my family would ask her “who’s that?” and point to me, she would look away and hide. On several occasions I’ve found myself identifying with this infant because of our similar level of language comprehension…

The oldest son, Eli, lives in Antananarivo (Tana), as a taxi driver to and from the airport. I met him twice, both times he was beaming with excitement to speak English with me, which was broken and mixed with French and Malagasy.

I never met the oldest child-she lives with her husband in Tana, but I did meet their 5 children who visited for Easter and the week following (ages 4-15).  They were all extremely well behaved and it was easy to see they all loved being together.

Easter will be another post in itself, but somehow 12 people fit in our two-bedroom house, which in square footage is probably the equivalent of one large American living room. And yet, for that many people in the house, they didn’t seem to mind the lack of space one bit.

Family and kinship I have learned, is the most important aspect of Malagasy life, so I’m incredibly grateful for this welcoming family whose time and patience has already made such an impact on my first experiences here. I’ve returned to Anjozoro (only a 45min walk from the PC Training Center) to visit my family twice since we left homestay and been received with the same warmth they bestowed while I lived there. The Malagasy people are known for this, which I am thankful for as I continue to learn and absorb the culture and language.