last weekend some of my community members took a trip to the neighboring village of anketrekabe to celebrate the religious holiday of pentecost. a fellow PCV also happens to live in this village, so i went along on the trip to visit her site and spend some time speaking english and asking cultural questions. even though the villages are some distance apart on some pretty bad roads, everywhere is far and all the roads are bad in madagascar, so why not? i am always up for an adventure.
in madagascar though, you don't just hop in the car or bus and ease on down the road to your destination. most vehicles are rusted-out, dirty and always breaking down for some reason or another. the typical way of getting around here is on a taxi-brousse (bush taxi). the vehicles are usually 12-passenger vans carrying 25 people squeezed inside with baskets, chickens and bananas strapped to the tops and sides, or larger deisel trucks spewing black smoke and hauling loads of rice, peanuts, buckets of fish and sometimes upwards of 40 people sitting or standing where they can.
it was on one of these larger trucks that i returned from my weekend visit. it seemed that half my village was squeezed into this taxi-brousse. unbelievably, more and more people piled in and on top of this truck. as a kind gesture, i got to sit up front next to the driver and four other people, which meant uncomfortably straddling the stick shift, covered with greasy motor oil, for several hours.
to no one's surprise, as we were slowly making our way down the bumpy, gullied dirt road, the truck broke down. some guys happily jumped out to help make a quick adjustment, and several women and children gathered small fruits growing on the trees nearby. in not too much time, we were on our way.
but then it happened again, as the innards of the truck's engine groaned and creaked and came to a lurching halt. the repairs took longer this time, and people stood around cracking jokes. no one really seemed to care if the truck repair took ten minutes or ten hours. a group of children entertained themselves staring at me and intermittently scribbling in the sand. as the sun began to set, we once more piled into this monstrosity of a vehicle and crawled further down the road.
in no time at all, someone called out to the driver that there was a flat tire. at this point, everyone poured out of the vehicle. a large group of men began not to fix the tire, but promptly formed a circle under a tree, rhythmically singing, clapping and drumming, faces beaming with smiles and merriment. this went on for probably a half hour as a few other guys worked on the tire.
i sat in the grass, struck with wonder and amazement, taking in the beautiful sunset.
if this sort of thing happened in the states, people would be angrily grumbling to each other and cursing into their cell phones. here, it was an opportunity for togetherness, and celebration.
i kept asking myself, "if this happened in the states, would people be joyful?"
and would there be singing?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
words i love.
some malagasy words are just plain fun to say, if you can say them, that is.
here's a small sampling.
mitsangatsangana- to walk or wander. everyday, as i meander around my village, someone asks me, "ehh... mitsangatsangana?" yep, just wandering around.
mitkitkitki- to touch. essential to know, for when traveling on crowded bush taxis, one must be able to say clearly, "k'aza mitkitkitki!" ("don't touch me!")
madinky- small. i think it's funny.
ravoravo- happy, glad. like a lot of other malagasy words, "ravoravo" can mean so many different things, it just depends on the context.
adaladala- crazy, weird. i like to make jokes about me being "adaladala" when i do weird things, like take my coffee black.
ladosy- to bathe. remember, o's are pronounced "ooh" in malagasy.
posspossy- a cart pulled by a person. just "possy" alone means "to push."
mahafantatra- to meet. this word used to trip me up a lot when i first moved here. unfortunately, you have to say it a lot, because when you meet someone, you say, "faly mahafantatra anao!" ("happy to meet you!")
here's a small sampling.
mitsangatsangana- to walk or wander. everyday, as i meander around my village, someone asks me, "ehh... mitsangatsangana?" yep, just wandering around.
mitkitkitki- to touch. essential to know, for when traveling on crowded bush taxis, one must be able to say clearly, "k'aza mitkitkitki!" ("don't touch me!")
madinky- small. i think it's funny.
ravoravo- happy, glad. like a lot of other malagasy words, "ravoravo" can mean so many different things, it just depends on the context.
adaladala- crazy, weird. i like to make jokes about me being "adaladala" when i do weird things, like take my coffee black.
ladosy- to bathe. remember, o's are pronounced "ooh" in malagasy.
posspossy- a cart pulled by a person. just "possy" alone means "to push."
mahafantatra- to meet. this word used to trip me up a lot when i first moved here. unfortunately, you have to say it a lot, because when you meet someone, you say, "faly mahafantatra anao!" ("happy to meet you!")
my fat ass.
the malagasy people are known for their brutal honesty. in fact, during a recent cross-cultural training with the peace corps, one of the malagasy instructors told us that malagasy never "stomp around the bush."
so, it should have come as no surprise that my ass is often the topic of conversation in my village. just the other day, while helping dig a hole with a group of people who are building a new house, a couple guys turned to each other and said, "vanessa's ass is bigger than julia's. but maybe not as big as eleanor's." (both julia & eleanor served as volunteers in my village before me.) the conversation ensued with bantering back and forth amongst everyone present for some time, not that i actually know what they were saying. i just kept swinging my shovel in wonderment, speechless as usual.
another example. a friend was over at my house just before we were going out fishing. "you have a big ass," she said matter-of-factly, while i stood at the stove, uncertain how to respond. "julia was small, but you are big." what can i say to that? i usually just smile and nod to these types of comments, and sometimes respond in english if i'm feeling particularly weary, such as "yeah well, you have a big nose," or "it's a wonder you all don't have big asses, with all the fried bread you people eat!" they mean nothing by it, it's just the way it goes here. you call 'em like you see 'em.
and while i'm on the topic, the malagasy people seem to practically worship asses. not a day goes by in my village that i don't happen to wander past someone's house and see african music videos playing on a tiny TV, with upwards of fifteen to twenty people gathered around, glued to the screen. these videos usually consist of an occasional shot of one guy singing, rhythmically swaying side to side, while featuring african women girating maniacally in strange and sometimes disturbing outfits, their asses shaking and shimmying impressively to the music. i have never seen anything like it, and i've seen some african dancing in my day.
so, it should have come as no surprise that my ass is often the topic of conversation in my village. just the other day, while helping dig a hole with a group of people who are building a new house, a couple guys turned to each other and said, "vanessa's ass is bigger than julia's. but maybe not as big as eleanor's." (both julia & eleanor served as volunteers in my village before me.) the conversation ensued with bantering back and forth amongst everyone present for some time, not that i actually know what they were saying. i just kept swinging my shovel in wonderment, speechless as usual.
another example. a friend was over at my house just before we were going out fishing. "you have a big ass," she said matter-of-factly, while i stood at the stove, uncertain how to respond. "julia was small, but you are big." what can i say to that? i usually just smile and nod to these types of comments, and sometimes respond in english if i'm feeling particularly weary, such as "yeah well, you have a big nose," or "it's a wonder you all don't have big asses, with all the fried bread you people eat!" they mean nothing by it, it's just the way it goes here. you call 'em like you see 'em.
and while i'm on the topic, the malagasy people seem to practically worship asses. not a day goes by in my village that i don't happen to wander past someone's house and see african music videos playing on a tiny TV, with upwards of fifteen to twenty people gathered around, glued to the screen. these videos usually consist of an occasional shot of one guy singing, rhythmically swaying side to side, while featuring african women girating maniacally in strange and sometimes disturbing outfits, their asses shaking and shimmying impressively to the music. i have never seen anything like it, and i've seen some african dancing in my day.
Friday, May 28, 2010
a typical day.
5-6AM. listen to roosters crow, cows wailing, dogs barking. smell neighbor's fire being stoked. sunlight pours through my stick-walls and the coconut trees outside my window.
6-6.30AM. very loud malagasy music begins. an interesting mix of reggae, african hiphop and accordian polka music.
6.30-7.30AM. sweep floors, go to the bathroom in the kabone (kah-boo-nay), which is just a small outdoor hut with a hole in the ground. fetch water from the well. wash dishes in a bucket outside my doorstep, pour dirty dishwater on my garden.
7.30-9AM. stroll down to the beachside shack where i drink my morning coffee and eat mokary (moo-kah-ree) with some of the village folks. coffee here is drunk in a very small cup with lots of sugar (i always get comments for drinking it black- or only using one teaspoon of sugar- instead of the three or four tablespoons they like to use). morning mokary might be made of wheat, or sometimes rice flour, fried into little balls in lots of oil. i might study or talk with my counterpart- the president of the fishing association- about what's going on in town that day.
9-12PM. go out fishing, weave baskets, help with the construction of a new house that's being built in town, work on my garden, study, go for an exploratory walk or bike ride in the beautiful surrounding areas, talk with folks. i also like to gather leaves of the moringa tree, which is the miracle tree of madagascar, though it is not a native species. the leaves of this amazing, fast-growing tree have 7x more vitamin C than an orange, 4x more vitamin A than carrots, 4x more calcium than milk, 3x more potassium than bananas and twice as much protein as yogurt. not only that, it tastes delicious, grows everywhere, and there are a zillion other uses for it, including all sorts of medicinal properties. i love the moringa tree and plan on planting many more in my village and doing educational activities based on this miracle tree.
12-2PM. the whole village retreats to their cooking huts to eat a typical meal of rice and fish. this they eat two or sometimes three times a day. i can't eat that all the time, though the fish is always fresh and delicious, so sometimes i make pasta, beans or vegetables and eggs. siesta happens after lunch, sometimes extending until 3. eventhough i have never been the best napper, it is quite hot here and the swishing of leaves overhead has a lulling effect in the afternoons, so i usually end up reading and falling asleep for a bit. i am lucky to have arrived during the malagasy winter, to become acclimated to the heat. sometimes the afternoons are so hot i like to go down to a distant secluded beach area with beautiful mangrove trees, and swim in the crystal blue water. the beach stretches for quite a distance, with no one and nothing at all, and these are usually the times i will inevitably ask myself, for the umpteenth time that day, "what am i doing here???"
3PM-5.30PM. more of the same, wandering around, weaving, talking to folks, trying to figure out what i will do for work once i speak the language better and begin to understand what the community's needs are. soon i will begin an alternative-stove building project, using local materials that can be gathered in the area, to help cut down on firewood consumption. people spend a lot of time and money using charcoal or wood fires to cook over, and this is not only deteriorating the local environment, but wastes precious resources.
5PM. maybe eat some mahongo (cassava root) cooked over fire with some village folks, or begin to prepare my own meal, or sometimes eat with a family who has invited me over for dinner. i also usually go for a walk around sunset to a pretty spot on the hill, where there is cellphone reception, to check for messages and enjoy the cooling day. the landscape near ambolobozokely reminds me of utah, montana, arizona, australia and thailand all at once. there are red-rock buttes, vast expanses of land and sky, banana trees, prickly pear cactus, mangroves, baobabs and white sandy beaches all within a five-mile radius.
7PM. there is always some loud film to watch, or booty-shaking going on at the local "discotheque" (just a larger hut lined with a few ramshackle benches, a 12-inch TV screen and some serious speakers). if i do decide to dance, which is infrequently for it is hard enough being stared at all day long, never mind on the dance floor, apparently i'm already a good malagasy dancer. when i tell people i did african dance in the states for 10 years, they think i'm weird and don't understand. and if i decide to stay at home, often while reading or cooking by candlelight, one of the more annoying neighbors will come over unannounced and make comments sulkingly about me not using electricity. "why don't you use the light?" ("manino tsy mampiasa jiro anao?") she'll say, then sit there staring at me cooking, not saying anything (not that i would really be able to understand anyway). the fact that i don't want to have bright lights on at all times is also something that seems strange to malagasy, and i've heard about it plenty from people in my village. everyone wants to have electricity in madagascar, and i do mean everyone, and here i am, eating by candlelight. very strange indeed.
9PM. after a glorious bucket bath under the stars, i usually read in bed surrounded by the safety of my mosquito netting, which protects me from any number of nighttime creepy-crawlies: beetles, snails, cockroaches, geckos, tenrecs (harmless small nocturnal mammals), rats, walking-stick bugs, large spiders or whatever else may be lurking around unseen. nevertheless, i usually sleep well, with the help of my friends, the earplugs.
sleep. awake. repeat.
6-6.30AM. very loud malagasy music begins. an interesting mix of reggae, african hiphop and accordian polka music.
6.30-7.30AM. sweep floors, go to the bathroom in the kabone (kah-boo-nay), which is just a small outdoor hut with a hole in the ground. fetch water from the well. wash dishes in a bucket outside my doorstep, pour dirty dishwater on my garden.
7.30-9AM. stroll down to the beachside shack where i drink my morning coffee and eat mokary (moo-kah-ree) with some of the village folks. coffee here is drunk in a very small cup with lots of sugar (i always get comments for drinking it black- or only using one teaspoon of sugar- instead of the three or four tablespoons they like to use). morning mokary might be made of wheat, or sometimes rice flour, fried into little balls in lots of oil. i might study or talk with my counterpart- the president of the fishing association- about what's going on in town that day.
9-12PM. go out fishing, weave baskets, help with the construction of a new house that's being built in town, work on my garden, study, go for an exploratory walk or bike ride in the beautiful surrounding areas, talk with folks. i also like to gather leaves of the moringa tree, which is the miracle tree of madagascar, though it is not a native species. the leaves of this amazing, fast-growing tree have 7x more vitamin C than an orange, 4x more vitamin A than carrots, 4x more calcium than milk, 3x more potassium than bananas and twice as much protein as yogurt. not only that, it tastes delicious, grows everywhere, and there are a zillion other uses for it, including all sorts of medicinal properties. i love the moringa tree and plan on planting many more in my village and doing educational activities based on this miracle tree.
12-2PM. the whole village retreats to their cooking huts to eat a typical meal of rice and fish. this they eat two or sometimes three times a day. i can't eat that all the time, though the fish is always fresh and delicious, so sometimes i make pasta, beans or vegetables and eggs. siesta happens after lunch, sometimes extending until 3. eventhough i have never been the best napper, it is quite hot here and the swishing of leaves overhead has a lulling effect in the afternoons, so i usually end up reading and falling asleep for a bit. i am lucky to have arrived during the malagasy winter, to become acclimated to the heat. sometimes the afternoons are so hot i like to go down to a distant secluded beach area with beautiful mangrove trees, and swim in the crystal blue water. the beach stretches for quite a distance, with no one and nothing at all, and these are usually the times i will inevitably ask myself, for the umpteenth time that day, "what am i doing here???"
3PM-5.30PM. more of the same, wandering around, weaving, talking to folks, trying to figure out what i will do for work once i speak the language better and begin to understand what the community's needs are. soon i will begin an alternative-stove building project, using local materials that can be gathered in the area, to help cut down on firewood consumption. people spend a lot of time and money using charcoal or wood fires to cook over, and this is not only deteriorating the local environment, but wastes precious resources.
5PM. maybe eat some mahongo (cassava root) cooked over fire with some village folks, or begin to prepare my own meal, or sometimes eat with a family who has invited me over for dinner. i also usually go for a walk around sunset to a pretty spot on the hill, where there is cellphone reception, to check for messages and enjoy the cooling day. the landscape near ambolobozokely reminds me of utah, montana, arizona, australia and thailand all at once. there are red-rock buttes, vast expanses of land and sky, banana trees, prickly pear cactus, mangroves, baobabs and white sandy beaches all within a five-mile radius.
7PM. there is always some loud film to watch, or booty-shaking going on at the local "discotheque" (just a larger hut lined with a few ramshackle benches, a 12-inch TV screen and some serious speakers). if i do decide to dance, which is infrequently for it is hard enough being stared at all day long, never mind on the dance floor, apparently i'm already a good malagasy dancer. when i tell people i did african dance in the states for 10 years, they think i'm weird and don't understand. and if i decide to stay at home, often while reading or cooking by candlelight, one of the more annoying neighbors will come over unannounced and make comments sulkingly about me not using electricity. "why don't you use the light?" ("manino tsy mampiasa jiro anao?") she'll say, then sit there staring at me cooking, not saying anything (not that i would really be able to understand anyway). the fact that i don't want to have bright lights on at all times is also something that seems strange to malagasy, and i've heard about it plenty from people in my village. everyone wants to have electricity in madagascar, and i do mean everyone, and here i am, eating by candlelight. very strange indeed.
9PM. after a glorious bucket bath under the stars, i usually read in bed surrounded by the safety of my mosquito netting, which protects me from any number of nighttime creepy-crawlies: beetles, snails, cockroaches, geckos, tenrecs (harmless small nocturnal mammals), rats, walking-stick bugs, large spiders or whatever else may be lurking around unseen. nevertheless, i usually sleep well, with the help of my friends, the earplugs.
sleep. awake. repeat.
just live.
"just live. living is hard enough."
that is what a fellow PCV, who's been in madagascar for almost a year & a half, said when helping me get settled my first day at site. i had asked her, feeling a strange mixture of bewilderment, terror and giddiness upon arrival in my village, "what am i supposed to DO here?" i initially thought her advice almost irritatingly vague, but after spending my first month in the beautiful fishing village of ambolobozokely, her words make perfect sense.
and exactly how do i live? ah, there is so much to tell.
first of all, i will start with my village. ambolobozokely (named after the small baobab trees that live in the area) is a coastal community of about 700 fisherpeople. the main "road" of town is a sandy path running parallel to the beach, and lined on both sides with thatched roof huts in various stages of disrepair, some just frameworks of houses torn apart by cyclones over the years. the rocky beach is lined with dugout canoes, which the people take out each day to gather large quantities of fish, crab, octopus, squid and other seafood to sell in the nearby bigger city of diego. yes, i eat fresh fish every single day, but i'll get to food later on.
there is electricity in my village, produced by two large windmills that were installed in 2008. this is both a blessing and a curse, for it means two things: one, i hear malagasy music all day and all night long, being blasted from my next door neighbor's house and the "discotheque" in the village center. two, every night people gather around their televisions to watch movies (there is no satellite reception, so they watch some of the strangest, worst movies you could imagine... horribly-dubbed kung fu flicks, bad american movies from the 80's or african booty-shaking music videos.) to be clear, i'm not complaining about having electricity; it is a wonderful thing to be able to keep my cell phones charged and turn on a light at night to see what thing is crawling in my house. but i never thought that village life in africa could possibly be so noisy. they like to blare the music and TV sets as loud as they can go. it is impressive. let's just say, i adore my ear plugs.
my house is small, probably about 20 x 15 feet, split into two smaller rooms. like all the houses in the village, the walls are made of sticks, which you can sort of see through, and the roof is made of leaves. i have a cement floor, a small table, a chair, a bed with misquito netting and a bookshelf. for me, it is a little slice of heaven. i feel at times i am living as i did when working in wilderness, and also as i did in alaska, for the lifestyle of living close to the land and without excess belongings is one i am used to. i have a beautiful little shower house which was built just for my use when i arrived, again made out of sticks and leaves, and i take bucket baths with salty wellwater every evening under the stars and moon with breezy coconut tree branches waving overhead.
not to say it's all ease and glory.
my main struggle remains language, and everyone says it will probably continue to be this way for at least another three months or so. everyday, depending on who i am talking with, i will either here that i am "efa mahay" (already smart) or "mbala tsendriky mahay" (still not yet smart). the fluxuation of feeling like i'm actually getting somewhere or that i'm a complete moron is a hard thing to manage. evenso, there are funny elements to the language barrier, and i try to take it all in stride and use at least five new words or phrases everyday. sometimes, just the short 30-second walk to the village center takes courage, for i know i will have to try, once more, to interact in some way with others in a language i am still learning.
the people of ambolobozokely are warm and gracious, and are always inviting me to come sit and talk with them, even though i really can't say much. i appreciate their invitations nonetheless, and have been overwhelmed by everyone's kindness. one woman took me out to her father's homestead nearby, where he has lived for almost 100 years (and in that time fathered 20 children). she asked a family member to climb up a coconut tree and knock down several coconuts for me. we sat drinking coconuts out of the shell in the shade, watching the fishermen out at sea. another woman who is almost the exact same age as me (our birthdays are three days apart), has been taking the time to teach me how to weave baskets, which is what all the women of the village do everyday when they're not cooking rice, caring for children, or gossiping with each other in their sing-songy lyrical way. this woman is thus far my only real friend in town, and has also taught me how to cut and cook fish the malagasy way. yet another woman, (who reminds me dearly of my grandmother, for she she is strong, capable, and never idle), makes me coffee every morning and helps me learn new words which i keep track of in the notebook that never leaves my side. and yet another kind soul has let me come along on many fishing trips out at sea to help drag in fish using makeshift nets. i feel happy in these times, even though it is marked by feelings of inadequacy and inability to express myself well, but it is good enough to just live here, among these people.
and just living is hard enough.
that is what a fellow PCV, who's been in madagascar for almost a year & a half, said when helping me get settled my first day at site. i had asked her, feeling a strange mixture of bewilderment, terror and giddiness upon arrival in my village, "what am i supposed to DO here?" i initially thought her advice almost irritatingly vague, but after spending my first month in the beautiful fishing village of ambolobozokely, her words make perfect sense.
and exactly how do i live? ah, there is so much to tell.
first of all, i will start with my village. ambolobozokely (named after the small baobab trees that live in the area) is a coastal community of about 700 fisherpeople. the main "road" of town is a sandy path running parallel to the beach, and lined on both sides with thatched roof huts in various stages of disrepair, some just frameworks of houses torn apart by cyclones over the years. the rocky beach is lined with dugout canoes, which the people take out each day to gather large quantities of fish, crab, octopus, squid and other seafood to sell in the nearby bigger city of diego. yes, i eat fresh fish every single day, but i'll get to food later on.
there is electricity in my village, produced by two large windmills that were installed in 2008. this is both a blessing and a curse, for it means two things: one, i hear malagasy music all day and all night long, being blasted from my next door neighbor's house and the "discotheque" in the village center. two, every night people gather around their televisions to watch movies (there is no satellite reception, so they watch some of the strangest, worst movies you could imagine... horribly-dubbed kung fu flicks, bad american movies from the 80's or african booty-shaking music videos.) to be clear, i'm not complaining about having electricity; it is a wonderful thing to be able to keep my cell phones charged and turn on a light at night to see what thing is crawling in my house. but i never thought that village life in africa could possibly be so noisy. they like to blare the music and TV sets as loud as they can go. it is impressive. let's just say, i adore my ear plugs.
my house is small, probably about 20 x 15 feet, split into two smaller rooms. like all the houses in the village, the walls are made of sticks, which you can sort of see through, and the roof is made of leaves. i have a cement floor, a small table, a chair, a bed with misquito netting and a bookshelf. for me, it is a little slice of heaven. i feel at times i am living as i did when working in wilderness, and also as i did in alaska, for the lifestyle of living close to the land and without excess belongings is one i am used to. i have a beautiful little shower house which was built just for my use when i arrived, again made out of sticks and leaves, and i take bucket baths with salty wellwater every evening under the stars and moon with breezy coconut tree branches waving overhead.
not to say it's all ease and glory.
my main struggle remains language, and everyone says it will probably continue to be this way for at least another three months or so. everyday, depending on who i am talking with, i will either here that i am "efa mahay" (already smart) or "mbala tsendriky mahay" (still not yet smart). the fluxuation of feeling like i'm actually getting somewhere or that i'm a complete moron is a hard thing to manage. evenso, there are funny elements to the language barrier, and i try to take it all in stride and use at least five new words or phrases everyday. sometimes, just the short 30-second walk to the village center takes courage, for i know i will have to try, once more, to interact in some way with others in a language i am still learning.
the people of ambolobozokely are warm and gracious, and are always inviting me to come sit and talk with them, even though i really can't say much. i appreciate their invitations nonetheless, and have been overwhelmed by everyone's kindness. one woman took me out to her father's homestead nearby, where he has lived for almost 100 years (and in that time fathered 20 children). she asked a family member to climb up a coconut tree and knock down several coconuts for me. we sat drinking coconuts out of the shell in the shade, watching the fishermen out at sea. another woman who is almost the exact same age as me (our birthdays are three days apart), has been taking the time to teach me how to weave baskets, which is what all the women of the village do everyday when they're not cooking rice, caring for children, or gossiping with each other in their sing-songy lyrical way. this woman is thus far my only real friend in town, and has also taught me how to cut and cook fish the malagasy way. yet another woman, (who reminds me dearly of my grandmother, for she she is strong, capable, and never idle), makes me coffee every morning and helps me learn new words which i keep track of in the notebook that never leaves my side. and yet another kind soul has let me come along on many fishing trips out at sea to help drag in fish using makeshift nets. i feel happy in these times, even though it is marked by feelings of inadequacy and inability to express myself well, but it is good enough to just live here, among these people.
and just living is hard enough.
Friday, May 7, 2010
lists.
i wrote the following in my journal back on march 20th.
malagasy food i love:
-mofo akondro (fried banana). but it's so bad for me. but i can't stop eating them.
-all the different bean dishes my host mom makes\
-caroty and cocombre salads with lots of vinagre
-mofo gasy with voanjo (malagasy fried bread cakes with peanuts)- yum.
-manasy (pineapple). to die for, sweet and juicy.
-ananas (bitter greens, akin to chard).
-atody with tomatoes, peppers and onion. the eggs here taste better than any egg in the states.
malagasy food i don't love:
-mofo de pain- like wonderbread, but stale and hard.
-mofo de pain, fried, in lots and lots of oil.
-trondo (fish)- my sister catches these little fish the size of my thumb. lots of bones, and fried in so much oil it's more like a fish cracker.
-paty or other "american" dishes my mom makes (pasta).
-sort of corn porridge. meh.
things that i enjoy:
-the weather; rain, sun, warm
-walking around village at dusk or dawn
-learning, studying, discovering daily
-the people here, incredibly kind and patient
-having healthy intestines
-time at the training center to shower and relax away from village life
-walking everywhere
i don't enjoy:
-not being in control of what i eat
-not being able to communicate with my family better
-feeling so uncertain of what is acceptable behavior/ dress
-my moldy, crumbly room
-not having alone time
malagasy food i love:
-mofo akondro (fried banana). but it's so bad for me. but i can't stop eating them.
-all the different bean dishes my host mom makes\
-caroty and cocombre salads with lots of vinagre
-mofo gasy with voanjo (malagasy fried bread cakes with peanuts)- yum.
-manasy (pineapple). to die for, sweet and juicy.
-ananas (bitter greens, akin to chard).
-atody with tomatoes, peppers and onion. the eggs here taste better than any egg in the states.
malagasy food i don't love:
-mofo de pain- like wonderbread, but stale and hard.
-mofo de pain, fried, in lots and lots of oil.
-trondo (fish)- my sister catches these little fish the size of my thumb. lots of bones, and fried in so much oil it's more like a fish cracker.
-paty or other "american" dishes my mom makes (pasta).
-sort of corn porridge. meh.
things that i enjoy:
-the weather; rain, sun, warm
-walking around village at dusk or dawn
-learning, studying, discovering daily
-the people here, incredibly kind and patient
-having healthy intestines
-time at the training center to shower and relax away from village life
-walking everywhere
i don't enjoy:
-not being in control of what i eat
-not being able to communicate with my family better
-feeling so uncertain of what is acceptable behavior/ dress
-my moldy, crumbly room
-not having alone time
new address & phone.
26132 797 7927
vanessa many, PCV
bureau corps de la paix
6 rue comandant marchand
place kabary
antsiranana 201
madagascar
both my old phone and address work, but things will get to me faster if you send to my new address or phone.
i would love letters from home, photos, and umm... cheezits, please!
i'll be back around internet in a month.
love to all.
vanessa many, PCV
bureau corps de la paix
6 rue comandant marchand
place kabary
antsiranana 201
madagascar
both my old phone and address work, but things will get to me faster if you send to my new address or phone.
i would love letters from home, photos, and umm... cheezits, please!
i'll be back around internet in a month.
love to all.
tomorrow's the day.
After two months of intensive training and living with a Malagasy host family, I am officially ready to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. Perhaps "ready" isn't exactly the right word, for I still barely speak the language and desperately want to spend more stime studying, but nonetheless, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. And tomorrow's the day... the day I finally haul my two bags and a carload of newly-bought household items to my beachside hut and settle in for two years. In keeping with the theme of most of my experience in Peace Corps thus far, I feel fairly relaxed about the great unknown.
Perhaps one of the best things about living in Madagascar is the sense of contentment here. Not only does it eminate from the kind actions of the Malagasy people who speak always with quiet voices, but I have found such joy in the beautiful and diverse environment. At my village, I was surrounded by green rolling hills, lush with trees, flowers and interesting songbirds, as well as vast expanses of rice paddies, rivers and red earth, and each day enjoyed both sunrise and sunset. And now I have moved to the far north, with its crystal blue ocean, white sand beaches, coconnut trees and much more vibrant African culture. Women in beautiful brightly-colored lambas sell tropical fruits and vanilla on the street, and delicious and cheap seafood is available everywhere.
I truly feel at home, which is strange to say after only two months- and a few days in the north- but the pace of life and mentality of the people are things I feel very much akin to.
However, it is not always easy to live here, where life is always happening right in front of you. All the cruel parts, the parts that get hidden in American culture, are exposed here. There is no hiding the trash in the trash can that magically gets taken away to a place where we never see it again. There is no perfectly-wrapped meat in sanitary packaging kept at just the right temperature; here you see (and smell) all parts of the animal on the chopping block at the sweltering outdoor market, complete with flies. And again, there is no hiding from the stench of human waste in the toilet houses (called kabones). There is no avoiding being shouted at by street children who live everywhere and call out, "Vazaha! Vazaha!" (a derogatory word for "French foreigner.") Life is exposed here, sometimes uncomfortably so.
But I like it this way. It feels real, the way I think life should be lived.
One thing I especially long for is privacy and the chance to cook my own food after two months of living in an extremely small house with my host family, which consisted of my host mom and three children, the youngest crying incessantly. And soon, very soon indeed, I will be living alone! Then there will be all new challenges to face and experiences to be had. I am blessed to be here.
More to come...
Perhaps one of the best things about living in Madagascar is the sense of contentment here. Not only does it eminate from the kind actions of the Malagasy people who speak always with quiet voices, but I have found such joy in the beautiful and diverse environment. At my village, I was surrounded by green rolling hills, lush with trees, flowers and interesting songbirds, as well as vast expanses of rice paddies, rivers and red earth, and each day enjoyed both sunrise and sunset. And now I have moved to the far north, with its crystal blue ocean, white sand beaches, coconnut trees and much more vibrant African culture. Women in beautiful brightly-colored lambas sell tropical fruits and vanilla on the street, and delicious and cheap seafood is available everywhere.
I truly feel at home, which is strange to say after only two months- and a few days in the north- but the pace of life and mentality of the people are things I feel very much akin to.
However, it is not always easy to live here, where life is always happening right in front of you. All the cruel parts, the parts that get hidden in American culture, are exposed here. There is no hiding the trash in the trash can that magically gets taken away to a place where we never see it again. There is no perfectly-wrapped meat in sanitary packaging kept at just the right temperature; here you see (and smell) all parts of the animal on the chopping block at the sweltering outdoor market, complete with flies. And again, there is no hiding from the stench of human waste in the toilet houses (called kabones). There is no avoiding being shouted at by street children who live everywhere and call out, "Vazaha! Vazaha!" (a derogatory word for "French foreigner.") Life is exposed here, sometimes uncomfortably so.
But I like it this way. It feels real, the way I think life should be lived.
One thing I especially long for is privacy and the chance to cook my own food after two months of living in an extremely small house with my host family, which consisted of my host mom and three children, the youngest crying incessantly. And soon, very soon indeed, I will be living alone! Then there will be all new challenges to face and experiences to be had. I am blessed to be here.
More to come...
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