Fostering Dependence

During the lunch stop of the taxi-brousse ride from Toliara back to Fianar, I witnessed a sad phenomenon.  I was just standing outside, since I had snacks and didn’t want to eat at a hotely, and there was a man and his son standing next to the vehicle.  The kid was maybe 3 years old, although it’s hard to judge.  The man said to the child, “Bonjour, Madame”, trying to teach him how to say hello to foreigners in French.  It was kind of cute, and I though, “Oh good, teaching kids things in another language…that’s good.”.  I just smiled and maybe said bonjour.  However, I was quite dismayed to hear the next phrase he decided to teach the little kid for future run-ins with white people:  ”Donnez-moi l’argent, madame.”  (Give me money, Madame)  Rather than teaching his child a general language skill, or something useful, he was teaching his child how to beg from white people.  These people weren’t starving.   It was just a sad display of the attitude that many Malagasy people seem to have about vazahas.

There are plenty of children who beg in Fianar.  Leaving the grocery store there are always at least 2 that chase me for half a block before giving up.  It’s hard to tell their actual situations of course, but I’m convinced that many of them have been trained to beg out of habit rather than true need.  Why does this happen?  It seems that an attitude of dependency has permeated this country, and that many people learn to ask vazahas for help rather than learn how to help themselves.  I suppose one could look at the father teaching his child to beg as sort of a micro-view of the larger picture of development in general.  At the micro level, parents are teaching their children to beg from vazahas.  At the macro level, NGOs come and go, help with certain projects, but when they leave, it’s up to the Malagasy people and government to maintain sanitation or environmental standards (or whatever an organization has helped with).  The government definitely doesn’t always pick up the slack – after the FCE (train) rehabilitation project, the government has not made efforts to maintain it (or privatize it, another option).  There’s a dredge sitting in the port of Mananjary (maybe 40km from Manakara, but closer than that I think) that was bought with something like $100,000 of aide money with the aim of getting the port of Manakara up and running again.  The port in conjunction with the railway could be a very real way for people living between Fianar and the coast of Manakara to transport goods (thus helping income, food security, and general livelihoods), but the port is currently all but out of commission.  The dredge could get things moving, but it’s just been sitting in Mananjary apparently stuck in some sort of government/bureaucracy limbo, not helping anyone.

I’ve gone around in kind of a circle with this, but mostly I just hate to see a young generation that thinks rich white people are going to help them, and that it’s ok to just rely on that belief.

Awesome

Today for the third time one of the field agents asked me how much I weigh.  (different one each time, not one asking 3 times)  I know that I am fatter right now than I have been in quite awhile, but Jesus Effing Christ.  There are plenty of Malagasy women who are fatter than me even if I’m taller than most of the population here.  When one of them asked me what my hobbies were a few weeks ago and I mentioned that I liked running, he smiled and sort of laughed like he didn’t believe me.  And, all of the weight questions have come out of the blue, not during a discussion about nutrition, food, exercise, or clothes.  I’m eating nothing but lettuce for the next month.

At long last – sort of at least

Well folks, I am officially legal until October 28th. Everything went so easily in Fianar. I went to the bureau du district when the right woman was there. Her name was Françoise, and she verified that my papers were in order – I just needed Sophie to come to the office with me so that we could do signatures together. In the meantime though, I could extend my visa another 2 months at the police station in the immigration office. So, I went there, and talked to another Françoise. She verified that I only needed a signed letter from Sophie, and to pay the 80,000 Ar fee, and I’d be all set until October 28th. I paid the fee, got the letter from Sophie last night, and got the correct stamps in my passport this morning. I can now relax a little, and Sophie and I can go to the bureau de districte next week to make the final request. After that, even if the visa doesn’t come, I’ll have proof/a receipt that I started the process. Alleluia!!!!

Also, even before all of this was done, I reread my visa frustration post, and I have to say it made me laugh. Is it ever really another way when dealing with foreign bureaucracy???

Adventures in Tana

This is a long one…

This past weekend I spent in Antananarivo to get my visa renewed. The visa that I originally received from the Malagasy embassy in DC was valid for a month, but renewable. It will be up on the 31st, so this weekend was a good time to take care of it. Gabe had to go to Tana on Thursday to meet his family who was flying in on Friday, so I was able to go with him on a taxi-brousse. Theresa from the Tana office said I could stay with her for the weekend, and she had to come to Fianarantsoa on Monday with Rebecca (girl who works in DC office but is in Mad for 2 weeks), so I could just ride back in an ERI vehicle. All seemed that it would work out. Last week Olga, the receptionist at the Tana office told me she’d go to the Bureau des Affairs Etrangères to inquire as to what I would need to bring. She left me a message a few days before I left that she would go with me on Friday to get things taken care of, so I went to Tana with high hopes of everything working out just fine. And now, after that little bit of gloomy foreshadowing, a synopsis of my weekend, both good and bad: Much of it I wrote in my notebook while I was waiting here and there, so you can watch my optimism slowly degrade: I chose not to edit them to seem less frustrated now that I’m publishing them.

Thursday PM:
Well, I have now survived a typical, Malagasy taxi-brousse experience. Gabe and I arrived at the taxi gare as planned at 6:30 AM. The van we were supposed to be on was broken, so the replacement for it wouldn’t leave till 8 instead of 7. After waiting around till about that time, the new one wasn’t filling up with people, so it didn’t seem remotely ready to go. (The taxi brousses typically wait till they’re pretty much full before leaving) The wait was getting a little ridiculous, so we jumped ship and went with another company, and left within a half hour. The driver, perhaps wanting to make up time took the hairpin curves at quite liberal speeds, and the row behind Gabe and I contained 3 carsick children and 2 mothers. The kids didn’t cry or throw up on me, but still. Gross. Nevertheless, we did arrive in Tana before dark in one piece, and we split a taxi to take Gabe to the Carlton and me to Theresa’s.

A general observation: I definitely don’t like the taxi brousse station in either city – just lots of taxi brousse workers competing for everyone’s business bugging you to go all over as you walk in.

Theresa’s house:
Ah, lovely Western comfort. Theresa has a beautiful house, complete with stand up shower, toilet, hair dryer, microwave, and satellite TV. She enjoys relaxing at home, so we spent Thursday and Friday night mostly parked in front of the TV. She also has 2 cute small dogs, one of who likes laps.

Visa preface:
Before planning my trip to Tana, I did some research about what I should need. I emailed the Malagasy embassy in DC (who originally issued my visa) to ask where I needed to go, and if there was anything I needed to bring. They told me nothing about what to bring, but gave me the website for the Ministère des Affairs Etrangères. On the website, there was no visa information. There was also no contact information, in email or phone form. The phone number that DC gave me did not work – it was an old number. When I emailed them to tell them of the contact mistake, they told me that they had no other contact information. I just needed to go to Tana no matter what – I could not do anything from Fianar.

Friday:
In the morning, Olga (receptionist) and I took a taxi to the Ministère des Affairs Etragères to see someone who works there that she went to high school with. “Excellent! She knows someone!”, I thought naively. We went out to the parking lot with him (kind of weird not to stay in the building) so that he could examine my passport. He seemed to think that it would be no problem – but we’d have to come back in the afternoon to see the right person. In the meantime we went to some other office where I got a notorized copy of my passport – because I would have to leave the original in Tana for a few days – the notorized copy will be perfectly legal for me to carry around with me in Fianar. Notorizing was sort of weird. Waited in 3 different lines, and had to pick up the copy a few hours later.

For lunch, I went to the American Cookie Shop, which happens to be a 2 minute walk from the ERI office. It’s as close as Madagascar gets to a Starbucks (although there’s only one, and the coffee comes from within the country). I had perhaps the best latte I’ve ever had (something to do with the fact that I haven’t had one in a month), a bagel pizza, and a cookie. I sat down and wrote in my journal, and it felt like a nice comfy American (or French) coffee shop. After having such a lunch, I felt even more confident and optimistic that I’d have my visa request in order in time to go shopping with Theresa and Rebecca at 2PM.

Well, Jacky (ERI driver) took me to pick up my notorized passport copy, which went just fine – very quick. We stopped at an ATM so I could get out enough money to cover visa costs, and then proceeded to the Ministère des Affairs Etrangères. Monsieur Donné, the man that Olga knew, took me to the “right” office, and told me to send him a text to let him know when I was done to let him know that it went ok. He told me that after I talked to the right guy, he would talk to him to try to speed things up. He was very nice, and made me feel at ease about the process.

Ok, I was writing that as I waited for the “right person”. The “right person” told me that because I have the stamp “transformable en long séjour”, I’m sort of all set – but I have to officially extend it at the Ministère de l’Intérieur. So, Jacky took me there. At reception the guy told me to go to the building next door and go to Porte 5. Porte 5 said residency permits, while Porte 7 said visas de séjour. So now I’m waiting in the hallway for the Porte 7 people to get back from lunch. Wait, I just got in trouble for sitting in the hall, so I was ushered into Porte 5 to wait…man, I hope this all works out.

So, the girl who was sitting next to me asked if I’d was there to pick up a visa or to make a demande for one. When I said I was there to apply/make a demande, she said I had to go one more door down. I asked a woman in that office what I had to do, and she handed me 3 forms without saying a word as she walked out the door. With frustration escalating, I asked a guy behind a desk if he could help me. I explained the situation, and he confirmed that the forms the woman gave me were the right ones. He then gave me a big list of stuff that I need to complete the dossier to extend my visa. Some of them had to be obtained in Fianar (like proof of where I live). When I expressed concern that I couldn’t come back to Tana again, he said it can all be done by mail through the Bureau du Districte in Fianar – ‘very simple’. I was very near tears after he said that. I repeated my interpretation of what I needed according to him about 3 times in different ways to make sure I understood properly. He was quite nice, and seemed to know what he was talking about. Still near tears, I set out back to the car feeling dejected, frustrated beyond belief, and in need of a beer.

It was nearing 3’oclock, so I called Theresa to see where they were at. Jacky dropped me off where they could pick me up, and I decided that I would just try to have fun.

After talking their ears off to get the ordeal off my chest we proceeded to a tourist store where you can get a lot of different stuff all in one spot. I did a little Christmas shopping and found myself a sweatshirt for cold Malagasy mornings. We had manicures and pedicures at Theresa’s house that evening, which was nice and relaxing.

Rebecca was staying at another friends house for the weekend, so Theresa and I had a lazy morning. I got up early and watched Larry King at like 7AM while I was doing situps and saw that Obama picked Biden for his VP. Theresa volunteers on many Saturdays at a veterinary clinic/animal rescue shelter, so I went to do that with her. We mostly just socialized with all of the dogs there to give them some extra love. We spent quite a bit of time in the puppy area, and I wanted one SO bad! One of the adult dogs was also sweet enough for me to take home. (no, I didn’t actually take her home…) On the way home we stopped at her crazy friend Sophia’s house to say hello and let their respective dogs play together for awhile. (More on expat lifestyles in a later post) In the afternoon I went for a walk near Theresa’s, and then got ready to go out to dinner and to some sort of Malagasy concert at the Carlton.

Dinner was really good – most of the people in the group of 12 or so work at the embassy, and we had a delicious meal. The ‘concert’ was actually more of a ball, and it was a little stuffy. The guy that sang seemed a lot more wild in the picture on the ticket. At our schindig he was in a suit. Nonetheless though, it was a nice time and it was fun to be at the Ritz. People were walking around selling paper hats. I tried one on, and Gabe’s brother (recently engaged) said it made me look like a stripper. The picture that I will post soon doesn’t quite capture it – I think it was more stripperish when I had it on crooked. Anyway, fortunately Theresa is also a bit of an early leaver of late night social events, so we headed home by about midnight.

Sunday we went to a brunch at the vet’s house. It was a very lovely meal, served in courses by her staff, and it was French style (i.e. lasted about 2 hours). Everyone brought their dogs, so after eating we all watched the dogs play together etc.

Riding home in an ERI SUV instead of a taxi-brousse was really nice. And now, let the visa obtaining begin…