The End

I’m leaving Madagascar today. After two years on the Big Red Island, having only left to visit Egypt, I’m heading to the West—I’ll be in South Africa for ten days and then I’m back in Seattle, and starting the job search in DC.

(So if you have job leads or ideas of work in the DC area, please do let me know…:)

Bye Madland—it’s been interesting. Hello South Africa…

Malaria Month--BAMM!

If you follow multiple volunteer blogs, you may be experiencing a bit of deja vu this month--it’s BAMM! (Blog About Malaria Month). During April, Peace Corps Volunteers all over Africa are blogging and tweeting about their experiences with malaria during their service. Admittedly I'm on my way out, but that doesn't prevent me from sharing a little info as I leave.

Malaria is a blood-borne parasite that hitches a ride on the bite of a certain type of nocturnal mosquito. When it gets into your bloodstream, the parasites multiply in red blood cells and then burst out of them, which causes initial sign of illness like fevers, aches, and chills.

When I asked my community about major illness during my initial site surveys, malaria was always at the top of the list as a reason why people ended up in the hospital. This is especially dangerous in my area since we have a high rate of falciparum malaria, a.k.a. nasty deadly cerebral malaria.

A combination of prevention (like mosquito nets) and early treatment sharply reduces the incidence of malaria.

Malaria was eradicated in the U.S. in 1951. No kidding. It was one of the CDC's first major initiatives. With organization and education, complete eradication is a possibility.

Malaria is the number one killer in Africa. Over 90% of deaths from malaria occur in Sub-Saharan Africa. 60% of deaths are children under 5.

In Madagascar, malaria is the second leading cause of hospital mortality and the third leading cause of morbidity for children under five.

April 25th is World Malaria Day.

Want more info? Check out the official Stomp Out Malaria webpage, and get on Facebook and “like” the Stomp Out Malaria page.

Stealing Posts, Part 2

In which I continue to borrow other volunteers' hard and hilarious blog work...

Leslie, a volunteer in my region of SAVA, just wrote a great post called "The Weirdness of being in Peace Corps". " Food. Never has it been so precious to me, and I am thinking it never will be again. " Ohhh, so true.

Katie writes wonderfully thoughtful and interesting stuff on her blog so it was hard to choose one, but "Tany Andalampandrosoana: Development in Madagascar" deals with a lot of the difficult issues we have to deal with and think about as we do aid work. Actually, I'll link to the great video she did of her site as well, since I haven't been able to upload videos. Like me, she's dealt with staring children, hauling water, overstuffed taxi brousses, and world map mishaps (Eastern Europe is way outdated on my mural as well, since the source material was so old, and I accidentally turned the Caspian Sea into a large unnamed country. Oops).

Kristen uploaded a video of something that happened to me and my mom as well: a tire falling off the brousse we were on.

If you find yourself craving Mad news after I leave the country (not long now!), never fear: there are lots of Mad volunteers blogging. Peace Corps Journals has a list.

Stealing Posts, Part 1

Sometimes, I just can't say it better myself. This post and the next one are going to be stolen: reposted writings from other Peace Corps volunteers here in Madagascar.

This was written my buddy Vanessa:

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Here is a list of some of the things you can expect out of me after my return from Madagascar.

I may prefer sitting on the floor to sitting in chairs, especially during meal times.

I may be unable to eat with a fork. Certain foods- actually, most- may require the use of a spoon.

I will take extremely long, hot showers, because indoor plumbing is the greatest invention in the universe.

I may stumble over seemingly easy English words or expressions, which might leave you feeling like you're playing a board game. For example: "What's it called... when you wanna sweep the floor... you need to use a... it's got a long handle..." A broom? Yes.

I may not be able to enter your house without taking my shoes off.

I will probably- with or without my knowledge- use Malagasy words as a regular part of my speech. It doesn't mean you're not mahay, it just means some Gasy words stick and have no good English translation.

I may want to dedicate long periods of the day to going on solitary walks or laying on the floor. Don't be alarmed- I don't have a social disorder- I just spent two years living alone in a shack and that's what I've been doing for most of it.

If I talk about being Gasy, or Gasy foods, I mean one s, not two.

Depending on when you see me, I may look like a homeless person. My clothes have been scrubbed by hand, beaten against rocks and dried in the sun for two years, and they're not in very good condition. If you would like to donate your old clothes to me, or buy me new ones, I promise I won't object.

I may use baffling acronyms such as PST, IST, MSC, COS, ET etc. This is a result of working for the US government.

I will have no idea what you're talking about if you bring up news, events, pop culture, TV shows, commercials or trends that occured after February 28, 2010. Please don't be alarmed. It's scary to me too.

I may walk very, very slowly.

I may be overwhelmed and/or frightened by large groups of white people.

I will probably irritate you by greeting you with a statement of the obvious. For example, it's early morning, you're making coffee in the kitchen. Instead of "Good morning!" I might say, "Making coffee?" Or perhaps you're washing dishes... "Washing dishes?" Reading the paper? Drinking tea? It's annoying. I apologize ahead of time.

If you have good bread, olives, wine, cheese and/or apples, you may serve them to me. You do not need to ask if I want them, but you certainly may. The answer will be yes.

I will not want to eat white rice.

I may not have a good answer if you ask, "How was Madagascar?" How would you respond to, "How were the last two years of your life?"

Updated Library Pics

What Kids Do When I Take Their Picture

Market Ladies and Kids

You Know You’re (Still) A PCV in Madagascar When…

Even after two years, the neighbor kid still sometimes runs screaming at the sight of you.

You classify all your storage containers as either rat-proof or not rat-proof.

A Malagasy person’s evaluation of your Malagasy language ability can range from fluent, completely incompetent, and back to fluent again, all in the same conversation.

When someone gives you a time for something, there is one thing you are certain of: it will not happen at that time. Maybe two hours early, maybe four hours late, maybe never. This includes flights.

Depending on the time of year, it takes 35-110 hours to get to the capital from your site. Google Maps says it takes 13 hours.

Would-be suitors scream offers at your back, but turn and run if you walk towards them.

Telling a Gasy man “I’m married” is not considered an acceptable excuse for not getting involved with him. Telling him “You’re ugly and you have no teeth” is accepted.

You no longer have any standards for entertainment.

80 degrees is a cold snap. (SAVA!)

Riding in a taxi brousse with a functioning speedometer is so noteworthy that you text another volunteer about it.

You can sharpen a machete with a rock and use it for anything.

You listened to the BBC list Golden Globe winners and didn’t recognize a single movie.

After two years, you’re surprised you still have some functioning electronics.

People only want to know the time when you’re wearing a watch.

Lost in Translation

Random Dude: Bonjour, Madame—ou bien mademoiselle?

Me: Tsy francaise zah fa americaine. (I’m not French, I’m American.)

Random Dude: Ah! Vous etes americaine, c’est tres bien…

Me: Efa niteny zah, tsy francaise, tsy azoko teny francais. Mahay teny Gasy zah. (I just said, I’m not French, I don’t speak French. I speak Malagasy.) [This isn’t true, my French is decent, but who respects the French here…]

Random Dude: Fa manino? (Why?)

Me: Voluntaire Peace Corps zah ndreky miasa ambanivolo zeny mila mianatra teny Gasy satria tsisy olo maro mahay teny anglisy. (I’m a Peace Corps volunteer and I work in the coutryside, so I need to know Malagasy because not many people know English.)

Random Dude: [It’s all Malagasy from here on…] Ah, Peace Corps, so you are American!

Me: Yes.

Random Dude: Me, I do not speak American, it is too hard, I learn English.

Me: Americans speak English, too.

Random Dude: So you are English from Britain!

Me: No, but we speak the same language.

Random Dude: But if you speak English you must be from England.

Me: The English colonized America so that is why we speak English too.

Random Dude: They colonized you, so you ARE British.

Me: The French colonized Madagascar. Are you French?

Random Dude: No, no no, I am Malagasy.

Me: It is the same with America. We are no longer British but we still speak the same language.

Random Dude: You know what is good about the Malagasy people? We all speak the same language. Not like all you foreigners. You British, French, Americans, Italians, Australians, you can’t understand anything the other is saying.

Me: It’s very nice that you all speak the same language. But many people do speak the same language, like the British and Americans and Australians, but we speak with different accents so it sounds different. Like dialects of Malagasy. It’s like the Tsimihety dialect and the Antaimoro dialect.

Random Dude: Oh, I don’t understand Antaimoro people. They talk weird. But you are American, yes, so you are from Brazil.

Me: No, I’m from the United States.

Random Dude: But Brazil is in America.

Me: Brazil is in South America. The United States is in North America, near Canada.

Random Dude: Canada! They speak French there. Also in Montreal. Is Montreal also near Canada?

Me: Montreal is a city in Canada.

Random Dude: No, it’s a country.

Me: It’s a city like Tana is a city. I’ve visited, it’s very beautiful.

Random Dude: I have an uncle whose wife’s cousin is studying there. She says it is always cold.

Me: Much much colder than Madagascar, yes.

Random Dude: Do you not have sun in America?

Taxi Brousse

The pics from here on out (including the last post) are from other volunteers because my

camera is dead dead dead. But this is the inside of a taxi brousse as it's filling up, complete with fabulous and goofy PCVs in the foreground!

Pictures--Milking Cows and Gathering Mangoes

Food Again

I was about to make rice and beans the other days when I realized that I was out of beans. This sparked off some decidedly grumpy rummaging through my shelves for what food I did have, and some moody contemplation about how easy it is to keep a variety of food in the United States with fridges and stores that regularly sell food—as opposed to the small family owned stores here that sell dry goods, supplemented by whatever happens to be sold on the road that day. And the thing is, I have no reason to complain—I had (outside of rice and live animals) considerably more food on hand than any of my neighbors and could have made a number of meals out of it.

There’s always a huge contrast between ‘need’ and ‘want’, particularly when you’re living around people who show up how little you really need. Malagasy food culture in my rural area is almost entirely subsistence agriculture—people work with their rice from seed to field to cooking pot, and supplement vast quantities of rice with smaller side dishes of whatever is nearby and in season—boiled leaves, fruit, egg, or milk for example, but rarely more than one side dish at a meal. It certainly would gain points from any local foods movement adherents (though not environmentalists, as rice fields are cleared from forest areas and frequently sprayed with strong pesticides, when the farmer can afford it).

Anyway, I made a list of all the food that I had in my house of few days ago, out of curiosity:

Food bought locally:

1 cup raw peanuts

Salt, sugar

1 egg

2 bananas

2 cups rice

Tomato paste

1 onion

Bleach

Food bought in the city:

Peanut butter

Oil

Honey

¼ kilo flour, full of weevils

Cocoa powder

Ketchup

1 bag couscous

Powdered milk

1 head garlic

½ bag raisins, full of weevils

From U.S. care packages or other volunteers:

Pineapple jam (homemade by another volunteer)

Tea

Parmesean cheese

Spices

Emergen-C, Crystal Light

2 granola bars

The weevilly stuff will be consumed after sifting and yes, bleach is a food—I filter and bleach all the water I drink. It tastes like pool water, hence the Crystal Light.

From an American perspective, this is probably the amount of food you’d bring on a weekend camping trip. From a rural Malagasy perspective, it’s a boggling variety of snack food (not enough rice to make a real meal, of course). So the question I always ask myself is—do I feel grateful for the food I have, or wish for food I don’t? I predictably try to do the former and frequently end up doing the latter—I’m grateful that I have clean pool water to drink but man! Sometimes I wish it were orange juice.

And by the way—I made banana pancakes that night, topped with honey. No complaints there.

Holidays

The number of unpleasant drunks and earsplitting “discos” in my town spikes during holiday parties, so for Christmas and New Year’s I opted to briefly flee town for safety in numbers with other volunteers. Christmas was quiet and pleasant—Secret Santa, Love Actually, and a nice Christmas seafood dinner at a hotel. Pretty American, minus the heat (It was NINETY at EIGHT in the morning the other day, and that’s not unusual).

New Year’s, though, ended up being a mixture of Gasy and American, and a lot of fun as well. One of the volunteers in my region just left this week for home, and some of us spent New Year’s at her site with her wonderful (and wonderfully protective) host family to say (a very temporary) goodbye.

Malagasies generally stay up until midnight the night of the first, not the thirty-first, but they were willing to humor us and do both. It’s a chore to stay up late when there’s no electricity, but happily the matriarch of the family brought over a pick-me-up drink—equal parts coffee and condensed milk. We were placidly playing Hearts and having our hair braided when, shortly before midnight, we realized we had to do SOMETHING to mark the New Year. We explained the tradition of the midnight ball drop our very confused hosts, who humored us by finding a slightly deflated soccer ball. (One volunteer suggested dropping a chicken off the roof and was vetoed, though I regret to say not entirely on humanitarian grounds—we thought the roof would cave in.)

So at midnight we stood in the yard in total darkness, counted down from ten, and threw the soccer ball up in the air. One of the volunteers, who had previously served in Namibia, was goaded into ululating for us, which briefly made the Malagasies think there was a witch in the vicinity. Then, confusing our hosts further after this odd ritual, we went to bed. Like I said, it’s hard to stay awake when there’s no electricity.

The next day, we got up early to see the village patriarch shoot off his gun. I’m not sure how this tradition got started, but he shot off some blanks to announce the New Year. Then, after some rice cake and more condensed milk coffee, we went to milk cows. I think the cow owner may have just been allowing us to come along for entertainment purposes, but he was very nice about it. These are not, naturally, American dairy cows—these are hardscrabble grass fed Gasy cows with very large horns. To milk them, the farmer went to their night pen the evening before we milked to close the calves off in a separate area. In the morning, he let the calves into the main cow pen one at a time. Once the calf found its mother, he looped a rope around the mom’s hind legs, pulled the calf off from feeding, and milked into a gourd that had a hole cut into it. Once this was full, he poured it into a bucket on the other side of the fence. We all tried our hand at milking, with some minor success.

Then it was time to cook, and everyone in the extended family brought dishes to a big makeshift tent where the elders made speeches to the parting volunteer.

The day after New Year’s, we went out to the family forest before we left—a lightly cultivated area with mango trees, cassava, sugarcane, pineapple, and coconuts, which we took turns finding and eating. The kids went hunting for cicadas (also to eat, though after cooking) and chased people around with the bugs. All in all, a nice New Year’s with good people.

Six Wells

So as you can see by my last post, the wells are done! As I mentioned, two NGOs (ARES and MBG) matched funds for the original set of three wells, and we were able to build six wells total—two in each town, giving them near-full coverage. I unfortunately wasn’t able to see much of the building process itself (I was gone part of the time, and forbidden in any case to go out to the sites unaccompanied because of a rise in robberies along the trail). But last weekend I arranged for a volunteer guide/bodyguard through the mayor’s office and went to each of the wells to take pictures, check that the wells were being used appropriately, and make sure there were no disputes.

Living in an area where half the population has no shoes and new flipflops are considered luxurious, I didn’t think twice about wearing flipflops on the 14 kilometer hike to the farthest town. But I was still bummed when one of them broke one kilometer in and I had to walk the rest of the way barefoot. Walking on the muddy trail was fine (even fun) but walking on the gravel they use in the towns got a little painful and my feet were smarting for days afterward.

All six wells were nicely finished (complete with USA PEACE CORPS on each—not my idea but kind of cool), and all six had a reasonably high water levels (something of a miracle given the crazy drought we’ve been having this year). The towns had appointed guardians for each well to lock it at night and make sure people were using them correctly, and this ended up being an issue with one of the wells—the main guardian was keeping the well locked most of the time to “keep it clean”. This is sometimes an issue here—most of the (very few) public latrines are kept permanently locked shut, but people are still very proud of what nice structures they are. With the well, I confirmed with several neighbors that the well should be open and free to everyone from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., and asked the community counsel to bring up the dispute in the next meeting—it’s better if they resolve the issue themselves. I told them I’d have someone check that it was open in a week or two.

Two of the wells are located at schools. And I was quite the spectacle when I was checking on those. The kids surrounded me and played their little game of urging each other closer and closer to The White Foreigner while I’m trying to have a conversation with an (oblivious) adult. Then I get to play my favorite game of Lunge at the Children and Momentarily Scare the Bejeezus out of Them, which quickly becomes their new favorite game but hey, at least it makes me Entertaining White Person rather than Weird White Person. I wear many hats, as you can tell.

Anyway, after some budget paperwork is finished I’ll be turning my full attention to the library, which is already up and running but still needs advertising and a librarian training, to be held next week.

Wells-Done! Will Write Soon.

In Defense of Peace Corps

PCV Katie just added a great post about her views on Peace Corps effectiveness. Take a look!

"Here in Madagascar, the second a word of Malagasy comes out of my mouth, people know that I am American and a surprising number know that I am Peace Corps. It is this demonstration of effort and nod to longevity, this crossing of the divide, that sets us apart. Peace Corps volunteers are a presence in a country: not tourists, not disconnected development workers, but something altogether different."

"For those who criticize the world-changing effectiveness or impact of Peace Corps, this may be the crux of the issue, an incompatibility of expectations and reality. Peace Corps is exceptionally good at what it does; I just don’t think that most Americans know what it is we do."

Zah Mbo Gaga

Once again, I don't know where they find these beaches, but this is a really popular song right now--"Zah Mbo Gaga", which means "I'm still surprised":

Guest Blog

My Mom's been visiting for the past month, first at my site and then traveling on the road from Tulear to Tana. I asked her to write up some of her impressions of the country:

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We talk to the geckos on the walls – named Sherman all – and have become quite fond of the little frog who resides in the outhouse. Rowan lives in an impenetrable fort of cement and steel. The neighbors call out as we pass by, the children stop to stare, then run away shrieking and giggling. Rowan has taught them a few words of English in the 18 months she’s lived here but the white woman living in their village is still a novelty.

We walk to the small market to buy precious eggs for banana crepes and mofo-gasy (a sort of crumpet made with rice flour) for breakfast. We follow a trail to the school where I assist in sorting and shelving books for the library. After meetings with school officials and the mayor starting about 9 months ago, Rowan’s dream has finally become a reality. There will be about 400 books available to the villagers before she makes the long journey back to the U.S. and finally home.

I’ve been fascinated by the housing here in the village and as we’ve traveled around this vast island. Available materials are put to use – palm fronds and bamboo strips in the north; saplings and twigs in the south; mudded red brick homes in the Highlands.

Outside the cities, the dress is western mixed with traditional topped with colorful scarves or woven hats, bare feet or flip-flops. Sunday is dress-up day – satin and lace, sparkles and bows. Everyone looks like they’re wearing wedding finery.

Small children cry a lot, dogs are staving, oxen over-whipped. Men pull cartloads of bags of rice, gutted hogs, charcoal, poached rosewood. Women elegantly balance loads on their heads – baskets of bread, bricks, wet clothes just washed in the river. Children entertain themselves with bottle caps, a stick and an old tire, trash and stones. There is an acceptance of the way of life here. This is the way it’s always been. For most of these people, the world doesn’t exist outside of Madagascar.

Well Update

The three wells funded through PCPP are basically done thanks to the fantastically hardworking construction team that the French NGO ARES hooked me up with--and by construction team, I mean two energetic guys and a continuously rotating stream of villagers who are doing a large chunk of the manual labor as part of the community contribution. But the project's not over yet, and this time it's good news: We're building three more wells, for six total! The NGO ARES came up with money for two more, and between the five wells we'll have enough material to build a sixth. My community partner, the Missouri Botanical Garden, is helping with the construction workers' salary for the sixth well. Three of the wells will be in Antanandava, the largest town; two in Anamboafo, and the original one in Moralamba. Two of the newer wells will be on school grounds. Here are some pictures of the building process:

Food

I wish I could give you some fascinating and delicious recipes, but the fact is, despite the excellent diversity of food in country, Malagasy cuisine is generally really boring. It follows these basic rules:

1) That is not enough rice. Here, take some more.

2) Use the whole cow (or other animal). Brains, eyeballs, skin, feet, it’s all used.

3) Seasoning? I think you mean salt. Or, even better, MSG, just dump in a handful.

4) Sure you don’t want more rice? You’re going to get weak and skinny and die, only having three plates per day like that.

Most rural Malagasies work on their family’s rice fields, which means they plant, tend, harvest, thresh, mill, sift, and cook every bit of rice they eat, and they eat A LOT. It’s impossible to overstate how much Malagasies love their rice. In comparison, most Asian countries have a passive relationship with rice. Malagasies have the highest per-capita rice consumption in the world, at (I’ve heard) ½ a kilo per person, per day. When you ask a restaurant if they have food (you have to check these things) they will say no if they don’t have rice. There’s a “pizza” place in Sambava where volunteers asked hopefully several times if there was food today, and were rebuffed several times before they figured out they had to ask specifically if there was pizza, which isn’t food. Because it isn’t rice.

Moderately well-off rural families in my area have a giant heaping plate of rice at every meal, accompanied by a comparatively tiny amount of ro, or side dish. Often the ro is just boiled leaves that the family has harvested. For nicer meals, the ro might be boiled milk, pounded cassava leaves, a scrambled egg, or a small amount of meat or fish (including oil or tadpoles) in oily tomato or yummier coconut sauce. Dried fish often make an appearance since they’re fairly cheap—I’m not a huge fan but they have lots of nutrients, so it’s a good food. There are very few vegetables in my area. In the highlands, there is a bit more money and a lot more veggies, so meals tend to be slightly more balanced; in the south (and in my area, during the driest and poorest parts of the year) people eat cassava.

I really hate cassava. The idea of it more than the actual boring cassava root (cassava leaves are quite good). See, the root is flavorless and fibrous and has almost no nutrients and—here’s the kicker—has cyanide in it, so you have to cook it well or you risk poisoning yourself. Obviously people figured out a long time ago that this was the case and cook it adequately, but every once in awhile I read a story about kids who were accidentally paralyzed or someone who committed suicide with cassava and my dislike is renewed. Incidentally, Americans do eat cassava occasionally, in the form of tapioca pudding—did you know tapioca was made of cassava? I didn’t. Presumably it’s precooked in the factory.

I’ve already mentioned ranampango, which is boiled burnt rice water (better than it sounds, it tastes a bit like tea). The cook will intentionally leave a bit of rice at the bottom of the pot, generally fairly burnt from the fire, then will dump in a bunch of water and boil it, and drink the resulting beverage as a tea. Ranampango.

Madagascar does have some good fruit and street food. Obviously you can get bananas—many types, all year round. Papayas, mangoes, litchees, oranges, jackfruit, and other fruits turn up seasonally, and Malagasies eat whatever’s in season as a dessert or snack. Street food-wise, there’s mofo gasy (‘Malagasy bread’, a little rice flour cake that’s dry like an English muffin), fried bananas, roasted bananas, bananas dipped in batter then fried, a kind of banana bread (really, lots of bananas), samosas (beef or fish filling), a type of peanut brittle or roasted peanuts, fried or baked cassava (argh), kaka pigeon (yep, that’s the name—it’s a flavorless baked mini breadstick), and godjogodjo (spelling?), which is, let’s see, rice flour with a lot of sugar, baked? I think. One of the better non-rice dishes Malagasies make is a kind of soup called Soahaba (soh-ah-bah), which is essentially some starch (banana, cassava, corn) boiled in coconut milk with a little sugar til it’s a pretty uniform texture—not pretty to look at, but pretty tasty. PCV Felicia has a more complete recipe here.

My favorite breakfast is sabeda and brochettes—sabeda is wet rice (the water isn’t all cooked off) and brochettes are like basic kebabs, tiny little beef chunks on a skewer. Usually served with either grated green mango or grated cucumber in vinegar. Salt is the primary flavoring in most Gasy dishes, but most restaurants will have sakay, which is mashed hot pepper with a little vinegar. I’m not a fan (all heat, no flavor), but sometimes the cooks make it interesting with garlic or mango chunks in the hot sauce.

I cook for myself, and although selection is pretty limited in my town (rice, beans, tomatoes, bananas, often eggs and cucumbers) I do pretty well. Banana pancakes make a frequent appearance, and I can make a good tomato sauce for pasta. I often make kusherie (basically rice and lentils with garlic tomato sauce, subbing small beans for lentils). When I go to the city (Sambava) I buy veggies and ground beef and make a stew. A store in the Sambava started stocking oatmeal and peanut butter, which has made breakfast easier (I gave up on making my own peanut butter immediately, all natural does not make up for it being a pain in the butt). Leftover rice with mashed banana, peanut butter, and honey? Delicious.