All of life in Madagascar can be summarized in two simple words: mora mora (slowly slowly). This covers everything from communication tactics to transportation issues, and even police work, which I have had the pleasure of experiencing first hand over the last couple weeks.
As most of you who follow my blog regularly know, my house was recently broken into in the middle of the night and my ipod was stolen as it lay beside me on my bed. After moving out of my village and waiting for a week for Peace Corps to organize themselves with a plan, today I was finally able to go to the Gendarme (armed police, who most of the time do absolutely nothing other than stand on the side of the road flagging down passing trucks and asking for money or something that they want from the driver, like fish, mangoes or whatever). I had this silly hope that I could simply swoop in, pick up the Gendarme and return to my village home.
When we arrived, we made all the formal, passive introductions and shuffled papers around the antiquated office for a bit of time. There is no electricity, no computers, no phones... just a couple of moldy rooms with large, open windows looking out onto mango trees and sugar cane. A couple women squatting in the shade. Chickens scratching in the dirt. In the background you could hear the click-clacking of a typewriter from the 1970's... the only piece of machinery in the entire building.
The Gendarme officer informed me that if I wanted them to actually go to my village and do something (ie go the guy's house that I believe did this), I would need to file a report, fix the old report I filled out before (requiring Malagasy language skills far exceeding my own), bring the paperwork to the Tribunal Court in Diego, wait three days, then they will go to my village with the proper paperwork and then, maybe then, something can be done. But only if this guy is still there by then (it's been nearly two weeks now since the incident).
Three hours later, typewriter still clacking away, the report was filed. The mora mora way of life continues.
As most of you who follow my blog regularly know, my house was recently broken into in the middle of the night and my ipod was stolen as it lay beside me on my bed. After moving out of my village and waiting for a week for Peace Corps to organize themselves with a plan, today I was finally able to go to the Gendarme (armed police, who most of the time do absolutely nothing other than stand on the side of the road flagging down passing trucks and asking for money or something that they want from the driver, like fish, mangoes or whatever). I had this silly hope that I could simply swoop in, pick up the Gendarme and return to my village home.
When we arrived, we made all the formal, passive introductions and shuffled papers around the antiquated office for a bit of time. There is no electricity, no computers, no phones... just a couple of moldy rooms with large, open windows looking out onto mango trees and sugar cane. A couple women squatting in the shade. Chickens scratching in the dirt. In the background you could hear the click-clacking of a typewriter from the 1970's... the only piece of machinery in the entire building.
The Gendarme officer informed me that if I wanted them to actually go to my village and do something (ie go the guy's house that I believe did this), I would need to file a report, fix the old report I filled out before (requiring Malagasy language skills far exceeding my own), bring the paperwork to the Tribunal Court in Diego, wait three days, then they will go to my village with the proper paperwork and then, maybe then, something can be done. But only if this guy is still there by then (it's been nearly two weeks now since the incident).
Three hours later, typewriter still clacking away, the report was filed. The mora mora way of life continues.
In Jamaica the pat reply is "soon come." When will be bus be here? "soon come" Is this restaurant going to be open for dinner? "soon come"
ReplyDeleteBeing that today is my baby's due date and she's not here I am guessing that she's "soon come" or "mora mora" 'ing her way here.
See you soon. Hang in there. The end can be the hardest. I know. - Mamie