One of the many things I love about the Malagasy culture (and which I hope to bring back with me) is the word karibo- but more importantly, the intention behind it.
Karibo (pronounced kah-REE-boo) is actually a Swahili word but has become part of the dialect of northern Madagascar, known as Sakalava, as have many other words and cultural aspects from east Africa. In fact, about 10% of all Malagasy words are Swahili in origin, the other 90% most closely related to the languages of Borneo, Indonesia and the Philippines.
Since there are only about 7,000 words in the entire Malagasy language (English has more than 12,000 commonly used), many words here have multiple meanings depending on the connotation. Karibo is certainly an example of one of these words.
In Madagascar, when someone approaches a person's house, they call out "Ody!" as a way of letting people know they're there. Always- no matter what you're in the middle of or what time of day it is (yes, I've been woken pre-dawn by someone ody'ing), whether you're sleeping, cleaning, napping, or cooking- your immediate response should be, "Karibo!" It translates to "welcome" in this circumstance. And you really, truly mean it.
This is funny in contrast to the American culture, in which people often hang signs on their door to keep people away (No Solicitors Allowed!) or often just don't answer the door altogether. People in my village swing by my house daily to sell things- and I always give a karibo upon their arrival, even if I have no interest in what they're selling. I usually want what they have anyway: ripe bananas, mangoes, litchis, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, leafy greens. Wouldn't it be amazing if these were sold door-to-door in America instead of vacuums or Tupperware?! In any case, if I'm not interested in buying, a simple "not ready to buy yet" sends people on their way down the path. But to not first give a karibo would be considered extremely rude.
Another way in which karibo is used is during meal times. You must always use karibo to invite people to eat with you- no matter what. This is a cardinal rule in the Malagasy culture and one which used to cause me extreme anxiety when I first moved to my village. Since I live alone, I almost always cook for one. How could I possibly say karibo if I only have enough food for myself?
Often I would remedy my uncertainty by eating (i.e. hiding) inside my house at every meal. Eventually I couldn't stand it anymore and started eating on my mat outside like everyone else. This took about five months. But still the karibo haunted me. If I say karibo, will every person walking by my front yard yard as I eat want to sit down and help themselves to my single bowl of rice or pasta? What if I don't feel like sharing? Nowadays reflecting on this kind of anxious naivete almost makes me laugh.
Karibo simply means "please join me," as a kind, friendly gesture. When I finally started saying karibo to those passing by during meal times, people were so happy I was starting to learn Malagasy culture and would respond with a cheerful "Mazotoa!" (enjoy). They never ate all my food as I feared, though occasionally some do saunter over to wonder upon my bizarre (non-Malagasy) cooking.
Next time you're making a meal at home, I want you to pick up all your plates and serving bowls, put a mat down in the front yard and cheerfully invite every passer-by to join you for a meal. This may be difficult for those in cold climates, but it offers an excellent opportunity for cultural reflection: how nice would it be if the next time you were hungry and had no food (or didn't feel like cooking) you knew you could simply walk past any neighbor's house and be offered a delicious, nutritious meal, no questions asked? The best translation for karibo may just be: Take off your shoes, grab a spoon and dig in.
It's amazing Americans don't embrace more of a culture of karibo considering the surplus of food we have in our country. This isn't to say there aren't very generous and welcoming Americans out there. It's just that considering how little people have in Madagascar, the karibo is something that offers me constant hope & inspiration.
Just yesterday, I sat at my friend's house after a simple meal of rice and vegetables. A woman and her young son came up selling a heavy load of bananas, having traveled quite far and obviously fatigued. "Karibo!" said my friend straight away, and the mother and son gratefully (and voraciously) ate what little was there of remaining rice and bits left in the pot.
The Malagasy never hesitate to share what they have, and are always happy to converse over a plate of rice. I hope I can bring back this mentality in my own life upon return... so don't be surprised if you show up at my home to visit and are met with a huge hug, a big smile and genuine exclamation of karibo!
Karibo (pronounced kah-REE-boo) is actually a Swahili word but has become part of the dialect of northern Madagascar, known as Sakalava, as have many other words and cultural aspects from east Africa. In fact, about 10% of all Malagasy words are Swahili in origin, the other 90% most closely related to the languages of Borneo, Indonesia and the Philippines.
Since there are only about 7,000 words in the entire Malagasy language (English has more than 12,000 commonly used), many words here have multiple meanings depending on the connotation. Karibo is certainly an example of one of these words.
In Madagascar, when someone approaches a person's house, they call out "Ody!" as a way of letting people know they're there. Always- no matter what you're in the middle of or what time of day it is (yes, I've been woken pre-dawn by someone ody'ing), whether you're sleeping, cleaning, napping, or cooking- your immediate response should be, "Karibo!" It translates to "welcome" in this circumstance. And you really, truly mean it.
This is funny in contrast to the American culture, in which people often hang signs on their door to keep people away (No Solicitors Allowed!) or often just don't answer the door altogether. People in my village swing by my house daily to sell things- and I always give a karibo upon their arrival, even if I have no interest in what they're selling. I usually want what they have anyway: ripe bananas, mangoes, litchis, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, leafy greens. Wouldn't it be amazing if these were sold door-to-door in America instead of vacuums or Tupperware?! In any case, if I'm not interested in buying, a simple "not ready to buy yet" sends people on their way down the path. But to not first give a karibo would be considered extremely rude.
Another way in which karibo is used is during meal times. You must always use karibo to invite people to eat with you- no matter what. This is a cardinal rule in the Malagasy culture and one which used to cause me extreme anxiety when I first moved to my village. Since I live alone, I almost always cook for one. How could I possibly say karibo if I only have enough food for myself?
Often I would remedy my uncertainty by eating (i.e. hiding) inside my house at every meal. Eventually I couldn't stand it anymore and started eating on my mat outside like everyone else. This took about five months. But still the karibo haunted me. If I say karibo, will every person walking by my front yard yard as I eat want to sit down and help themselves to my single bowl of rice or pasta? What if I don't feel like sharing? Nowadays reflecting on this kind of anxious naivete almost makes me laugh.
Karibo simply means "please join me," as a kind, friendly gesture. When I finally started saying karibo to those passing by during meal times, people were so happy I was starting to learn Malagasy culture and would respond with a cheerful "Mazotoa!" (enjoy). They never ate all my food as I feared, though occasionally some do saunter over to wonder upon my bizarre (non-Malagasy) cooking.
Next time you're making a meal at home, I want you to pick up all your plates and serving bowls, put a mat down in the front yard and cheerfully invite every passer-by to join you for a meal. This may be difficult for those in cold climates, but it offers an excellent opportunity for cultural reflection: how nice would it be if the next time you were hungry and had no food (or didn't feel like cooking) you knew you could simply walk past any neighbor's house and be offered a delicious, nutritious meal, no questions asked? The best translation for karibo may just be: Take off your shoes, grab a spoon and dig in.
It's amazing Americans don't embrace more of a culture of karibo considering the surplus of food we have in our country. This isn't to say there aren't very generous and welcoming Americans out there. It's just that considering how little people have in Madagascar, the karibo is something that offers me constant hope & inspiration.
Just yesterday, I sat at my friend's house after a simple meal of rice and vegetables. A woman and her young son came up selling a heavy load of bananas, having traveled quite far and obviously fatigued. "Karibo!" said my friend straight away, and the mother and son gratefully (and voraciously) ate what little was there of remaining rice and bits left in the pot.
The Malagasy never hesitate to share what they have, and are always happy to converse over a plate of rice. I hope I can bring back this mentality in my own life upon return... so don't be surprised if you show up at my home to visit and are met with a huge hug, a big smile and genuine exclamation of karibo!
