The Small Joys

Last night I went over to one of my coworkers house, along with a few of my favorite people from the équipe.  We grilled 3 whole chickens, and had head cheese (I had some, but I don’t really know what it is…), salad, Malagasy rum, and a cake I baked too.  10 of us were eating around their coffee table, and Rivo was in the corner with the electric piano facing us.  He played, and we all sang for a good 2 hours.  Malagasys can sing…can hardly get people together without hearing 3 part harmony.  I sang along with even the Malagasy songs I didn’t know, and Rivo played a whole bunch of American stuff too.  He even played “America the Beautiful” and our national anthem for me.  Towards the end, we started in on Christmas songs, since everyone knew them.  We all joked that the neighbors were probably checking their calendars wondering if a month got skipped.  It was just so wonderful to be surrounded by great people, happily making music together just for the fun of it.  Everyone was making jokes, laughing, singing, and having a high ol’ time.  Laughter and music are about all most of us need…

Community-based Ecotourism in Andrambovato

 

On Thursday-Friday, after election day euphoria, I took the train to Andrambovato, a village along the FCE, to check out their ecotourism hiking circuit for one of our success stories.  We did quite a long hike, up to the top of a cliff, and back down through the rainforest.  As far as wildlife goes, there were no lemurs, but it was an awesome circuit!  Money to enter the community managed forest is gradually going to help build a new school in the town. 

Looking up at the cliff we wound up on top of 

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on top of aforementioned cliff – they don’t do swichbacks here…just straight up the mountain!

 

this spider is really neat - the little triangle on his back is supposed to make him look frightening to predators

 

this one was just...huge...

 

also huge

 

big black milipede

 

red and black millipede - like my use of of scientific names...?

 

this chameleon looked just like the leaves he was sitting in

 

well camouflaged frog

 

not as well camouflaged

 

mongoose - normally nocturnal, but awake for some reason

 

outside the borders of the community managed forest, people are still burning...

 

post-tavy

 

rice pounding in the village of andrambovato

Wild Silk

Ambalavao has various wild silk shops.  The one I visited is part of a women’s foundation, providing work to single women and widows.  The process of making silk was explained from start to finish – it’s really a lot of work, and it now makes sense to me that wild silk is so expensive.

silkworms being raised (there are also wild ones nearby)

silk is extracted from these cocoons and then boiled for a few days

spinning the boiled product into threads

weaving it into products (dyes are all natural, and come from various flowers, leaves, and barks)

Ambalavao

 

In the last 2 weeks, I’ve now been to Ambalavao, a town about 45km South of Fianar, 3 times.  The first was an overnight stay with work to watch a farmer training.  The other two times have been with Maya for the afternoon, and then passing through on the way home from Miora.  I rather like it as a city, because it’s small compared to Fianar, but there are still things to see and people out and about.  From a tourist standpoint, there are 3 things of particular interest : the largest zébu market in (i think) the entire country (at LEAST in the region), an artisan paper factory, and a couple of artisan wild silk workshops.  

Here are the photos I took during my visit to the paper factory:

the plant used to make paper before it’s processed

woman pounding the soaked plant product into a pulp

taking shape in a frame

flowers are added

paper is dried in the sun (both before and after flowers i think)

final products – hanging decorations, cards, albums etc.

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.

Brief thoughts about excrement

Upon arrival in Madagascar, general bathroom habits had to make a big change. My gut feeling about using a pit latrine was nervousness about missing the hole and making a big mess. Luckily, as long as your feet match the footplates, everything goes where it should, so any feelings of apprehension were soon gone. Another thing to note about Madagascar is that really, everywhere is a toilet. It’s not just men that pee in alleys here. It’s also a common site to see men just peeing on the side of the road without searching for properly camouflaging bushes. Many beaches (Manakara included, but not the beach I vacationed at) are not even safe to walk on barefoot for those wanting to avoid some sort of parasitic worm found in the sand due to locals treating the beach as a public toilet. I have read that in some areas (mostly coastal?) it is fady (culturally taboo – it’s also fady to wear red in sight of water in the Manakara area, eat pork in many places, or point directly at some monuments) to bury feces. This creates huge sanitation problems where latrines of some sort aren’t available.

In many village areas, there are long drop pit latrines (as opposed to composting). The pits are extremely deep, and strike me as pretty labor intensive to construct. They’re often plagued by flies, and I’m not sure what ultimately happens to the waste, or how it breaks down. It’s sure that they are by no means cement lined, and therefore I’d imagine they pose a problem with groundwater depending on their location.

Of course, many houses, businesses (including my office), and government buildings have Western, flush toilets as well (used mostly by the upper class and foreigners I’d imagine). Despite this being more sanitary, during the dry season there gets to be a water shortage in many places. The tap up in the Old City that gets turned on twice a day for everyone to fill up their buckets has only been available once a day lately because water’s starting to run short (the wet season starts soon). With this shortage in mind, it seems pretty silly to have flushing toilets. I suppose I could say the same for Arizona – if water’s going to run out at some point, why not revamp the waste disposal system?

At my own house, we have a composting latrine. Solid waste goes in the hole, which is covered by a plug. Urine drains out in front of you and exits into a soak pit that I believe also contains sawdust and ashes. Once the pit is full, it’ll be left to sit for awhile, and will eventually compost. Since it’s dry, it doesn’t take nearly as long as if both solid and liquid waste were in the same pit. Toilet paper will compost with the feces too. This latrine is not smelly at all (before I got here I was picturing something more like a smelly outhouse). It seems like about as environmentally friendly a shit processing system as could be found.

I came across this book review on slate.com today. The energy we put into disposing of excrement in the Western world is astronomical, as is the damage it does to the environment and human health. The picture painted is sort of an end of the world caused by poop scenario, but it really is something to think about. I ask myself, would it be realistic for households in the US to start using things like composting latrines instead of toilets? Perhaps jobs could be created when said pits need to be emptied. Surely the cost of hiring someone to pick up our composted human manure would be balanced by the money not spent on water for conventional toilets as well as an environmental credit of cleaner water that needs less treatment before hitting the tap.

Somebody tell Obama to put dealing with the financial crisis on hold and run with this. Joe the Plumber can become Joe the Latrine Emptier. This is huge.

Mid-Internship Reflections

Well, I’ve been here for nearly two and a half months, and I come home in about 2 months.  I think Madagascar has gotten as used to me as I have to it.  In retrospect, I really didn’t like my first few weeks (maybe even close to a month) here that much.  I always felt lost, didn’t know how to react to people shrieking ‘vazaha’ every other minute, didn’t have a social circle, and had a hard time not focusing on negatives like the pollution spewing from vans on my walk home and missing Patrick.  I realized this morning that people don’t bother me so much anymore.  There’s still the occasional vazaha, but not so often as it used to be.  In the Old City when I come home, there are often kinds crowded around tourists to get them to buy greeting cards and take pictures, but they let me pass right though with nothing more than a ’salama’.  Last week, a guy was walking next to me on my way home, which always makes me immdiately suspicious, weary that I’ll have to ignore yet another flirting attempt.  Instead, he said, “Excuse me, do you speak English?”.  I cautiously said yes, and he walked me all the way up to the Old City so that he could practice some English.  It was probably the first time talking to someone in the street has lead to a positive experience.  

Especially after being out in rural areas, and around people who don’t really speak French, my comfort threshold is definitely higher.  I’ve also thought a lot about how wasteful and materialistic we are back home.  Now, I’ve gone on about that many times before, but it has a bit more perspective now.  Every day I have one bucket of hot water with which to bathe.  And it’s plenty.  I don’t even always use it all, even when I wash my hair.  After this bucket bath, I feel refreshed, clean, and warm.  It doesn’t take 20 minutes standing under running water to get the same feeling!  

I don’t have a refridgerator, and therefore spend a lot of evenings having egg and ‘vache qui rit’ cheese sandwiches for dinner.  Being the lover of food that I am, I do miss all of the food options back home and how easy they are.  However, on the weekends when I got out for pizza and beer, I appreciate it SO much!  It’s a special treat that I recognize not everyone around can take advantage of.

As much of a coffee snob as I am, I make coffee most mornings by putting coffee grounds and boiling water in my teapot, and then filtering it through  a cloth filter with a handle (looks a little like a tiny butterfly net).  (Granted, I asked Gabe if he would get me a French press in Tana this week if he happens to see one, as I’ve unsuccessfully scoured the shops of Fianar for one), and it works fine!  

I don’t have a single pair of fancy stilettos, nice dresses, or a TV, and it’s all fine.  The sad part of this is that when I get back home, I’d imagine I’ll fall back into my wasteful shower habits, taking food, refridgerators, and running water for granted.  I will continue to accumulate things, and probably buy yet another pair of $50 jeans.  It seems to me that unless we’re willing to go all ‘Walden’, this kind of hypocrisy is nearly unavoidable.  I do hope that my time here will in the future at least remind me how lucky we are concerning resources available to us.

Another reflection that I almost continually go back and forth on is living life abroad.  It’s different, it’s exciting, it’s a challenge, and sometimes I think I’d like to join the foreign service and get posted all around the world every 2 years or so.  However, at the same time, it’s friggin tiring!  After every field visit, I feel mentally exhausted just from having paid such close attention to things I don’t always understand all day.  Everyday things become difficult, and then there’s the feeling of missing things about home so often.  (Although, mosts posts through the govt allow people to live pretty comparably to how they would in the states, and don’t always come with the level of immersion I’m growing accustomed to)  So, I’ll go ahead and admit it.  Strong, Independant, can handle any stressful situation Callista misses Patrick, her family, routines like going to the gym, and grocery stores.  

Overall, I’m having a great experience, and even the frustrations all seem to have lessons.  I’m gaining valuable experience working in a foreign and developing environment, as well as learning a bit about USAID.  I’m spending almost no money compared to what I’d be spending in France ($2 for lunch instead of like 10).  I’ve made many friends and acquaintances, and can’t go much of anywhere in town without running into someone I know.  (There’re also a lot of people who know my name that I have no idea who they are!  Which is weird…and embarrassing when I can’t place where I know someone from)  I’ve developed more of an appreciation for many things back home, especially when I talk to people in my own age group.  Xavier, an older man who sells snacks along the Old City street, has gotten to know me fairly well.  He always says hello when I walk down on my way to work, and goodbye and have good dreams as I climb back up in the evening.  (When he asks what’s new, I also tell him of travel plans etc, and he always asks when I’ll be back.  If anything ever happens to me, at least someone will notice I’m gone!)  He saw a book in my hand when I was on my way up the other day, and asked if I had any novels in French.  I did happen to bring the 3 Musketeers with me (in French), so he was absolutely thrilled when I let him borrow it (he really likes reading it turns out.).  I think of my book collection back home, containing books I haven’t even read yet, and wish I would have brought the whole damned thing here to share with him.

This has gotten pretty rambly, so I think I’ll wrap it up.  I have to say, there’s a lot I’m looking forward to coming home to.  That said, I’m going to try to make the most of the my remaining time here.  I have the trip to Ifaty with Sophie, a few more field visits next week, a possible trip to Tana for the election, and camping in Andringitra for Thanksgiving.  That should be plenty to keep me occupied and always also looking forward to something.  That is all for now.

Wait, I lied.  I will shamelessly admit that I’m missing being in the US leading up to the election.  Now, I realize that I’m always totally sick of it by the time it actually happens, but I miss the excitement, the frustrations, the bullshit, and the comedy.  I’ve been able to see one of the Tina Fey/Sarah Palin skits, and it made my heart pine for the hilarity of SNL, the Daily Show, and the Colbert Report as they mock these silly politicians who take themselves and the whole process far too seriously.  I also miss bitching about all of it.  Perhaps my favorite part of politics is the bitching – and the solidarity felt with others who are bitching about the same thing.  Luckily, Gabe and Karen also enjoy this, so that’s a consolation.  I think definitively that I will be Sarah Palin for Halloween.  I just need some bangs (long ones so they’ll blend it), a brightly colored sportcoat, a lot of hairspray, and some lipstick.  Unfortunately, as Gabe has pointed out, my speaking accent is already on the way to sounding like her, so if I just exaggerate the Northern MidWestness of it, I should be good to go.  Karen and the girls have some sort of toy gun I can use as a prop, and I’ve been toying with the idea of either a spiked dog collar (if I can even find anything like that) and a pig nose.  We’ll see how it goes.  

Farmer Summer (spring/winter?) Camp

Last week Thursday I took off on taxi-brousse to meet the field agents and Sidonie in the village of Ranomafana where there were conducting a 3 day farmer field training.  I got to the taxi-brousse and saw that a few peace corps volunteers I’ve met were in the same one heading to Ranomafana Natl Park for a few days.  Weird, to get places and recognize people.  The farmer field training was sort of like a 3 day summer camp for farmers in the area.  There were different groups led by a field agent, each focusing on different things.  There was a group for apiculture, pisciculture, tanety restoration, communication, and various vegetable planting.

 

construction of a traditional beehive

 I mostly got to walk around and watch what they were doing and take pictures.  None of the farmers spoke French, so I just followed Sidonie around.  Everybody ate meals together, which were cooked by farmers’ wives.  Breakfast was always a kind of rice porriage (I think with some sweetened condensed milk added) and a couple little pieces of meat to chew on, and lunch and dinner were both giant plates of rice (vary) accompanied by giant bowls of meat, broth, and vegetables (laoka).  

I was never really able to eat more than half...

Since the rice is all hand sifted/deshelled, you get a rock once in awhile.  I have to say that I’m entirely sick of rice and tough meat, but I was more than happy to have meals with everyone.  There were 8 of us from ERI, and somewhere around 20 Koloharena farmers, so there were big tables set up to accommodate everyone.  

We (the ERI crew) camped in a field.  

Camp

I was staying 2 nights, 3 days, and on the first night, we made ‘punch’ to have around the campfire.

Punch Malagasy

Toka gasy (what’s being poured out of the clear water bottle) is a very very strong rum made from sugar cane.  It was added to a mixture of melted chocolate and sweetened condensed milk.  It was pretty damned strong, so I didn’t have that much of it.

One of the stations at the training was teaching farmers how to make a sugarcane press.  The idea is to extract the pure cane juice to make sucre malgache, rather than making toka gasy out of it…then again, we drank toka gasy at campfire the first night, so I’m not sure what the pressure to avoid toka is.  (I think that by making sugar out of it instead, it means they don’t have to buy industrialized sugar, therefore helping food security?)  While they were making the press, André offered me a piece of sugarcane.  He was able to peel his with his teeth, but I wasn’t so successful…

 

I was too clumsy with me teeth to peel it...

 

 

the newly built sugarcane press

In the morning, Sidonie and I went for a long walk to get the day started, and we all bathed in the river, which wasn’t too cold.  The second day the idea was to let the farmers do mostly their own work, but to be available to them if they had any questions.  We ate a lot of bananas, and had some fresh caught freshwater shrimp whenever we had downtime before or after lunch.  

You can just pop them in your mouth and eat everything, but I peeled off their feelers and shell a bit first...

During one of our meals, Volo commented that I’m very adaptable and not scared of stuff.  He was impressed that I wasn’t scared of bathing in the river or eating shrimp (with shell, head, eyes etc).  My response was that the river was rapidly running, and therefore not dangerous (plus I didn’t go all the way in, more like wading),  and that tasting new foods was fun.  I guess a lot of vazahas that visit are scared that everything under the sun is going to make them sick because they’re in a developing country.  Just have to use a little common sense guys…

During some downtime while sitting in the shade, we saw a parrot drinking from a ravinala.  Ravinalas are called Travelor’s Palms because they store water in the sharp things near the bottom of the fronds.

The same species, this one was domesticated and hung out in front of the house where we ate. I let him play bite my finger, and his jaws are really strong even when he's playing...

After we packed up our tents and were just about ready to go, it was suggested that they should help me with the removal of my ‘puce’.  We were going to stop in the village of Ranomafana for a drink because one of them is leaving ERI next week, and they could help me when we stopped.  (we wound up just heading home.)  I figured that if we were going to get it out, I should get my first aide kit, which was in my backpack on top of the car.  So, I climbed up to get it out so that our driver wouldn’t have to get my whole pack down.  Everyone seemed to think it was absolutely hilarious that the vazaha woman was willing to climb up top like a baggage handler or something, as can be seen in this picture of them all gawking at me and laughing.  Volo got out my camera immediately to document this apparently hilarious occurrence.  

note everyone on the right watching me while laughing

I rode on one of the motorcycles till Ranomafana (only 5 or 6k), and then got in the car for the journey all the way back to Fianar.  (And driving through the preserved area on the way back we saw a couple lemurs – one right in the road who bounded into the trees as we approached)

On the way into Ranomafana

 

another little gecko friend

 

these water lilies seem to be pretty common

All together a very fun trip, as the group really likes to have fun together.  There was a lot of Malagasy that I just had to listen to and smile once in awhile to signal I wasn’t bored out of my mind, but they usually explained it to me here and there as we went along.  

Also, an update on the ‘puce’:

Gabe and I had dinner with Karen on Sunday night and her house guard got it out for me – all the Malagasys know how to do it.  He used a safety pin to cut the skin a little and tease it out.  There were in fact some eggs, which is totally gross.  I don’t know what would happen if you left it alone until they hatched…  

Now there’s a little hole in my foot, which promises to heal quickly.  I asked Karen what it really was, since due to language I couldn’t quite figure it out.  It’s a sand flea, so ‘puce’ actually does translate to the right word.  I probably picked it up somewhere between Tolongoina and Manampatrana last week – you only get them when you’re out in the bushes.

The FCE Railway

So, for the last field mission, I took the FCE (Fianar-Côte-Est) railway to get there.  Now, from a tourist standpoint, i had been hoping to take the train somewhere anyway, so I was like half intern, half tourist. Around the year 2000, there was a huge restoration project for the railway.  It’s really key to the food security of the people who live along it, as many of the villages along the railway have little or no access to roads.  During harvests, the rail line is often the only way to get goods to market (thus essential to farmers’ incomes), and it also brings needed goods to the communities.  

it's bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s

However, after rehabilitation, the FCE has rapidly fallen into disrepair due to lack of investment after the original restoration project.  It is unreliable, moderately safe, and goes by its own schedule.  Even the FCE guidebook says that if you’re on a tight schedule, find another way.  However, despite its problems, it has a lot of character.  At every stop there are villagers selling all sorts of food – sambos (like samosas, but with meat and onion inside), crayfish, koba, rolls, bread, bananas, and all manner of things.  

people lean out the window at stops to buy things

The scenery is beautiful, and the section before Tolongoina is the 3rd steepest (non-cog) railway in the world.  

looking out the window

On the way to Tolongoina, I got a second class ticket, and was perfectly satisfied with it.  On the way back from Manampatrana though, I decided to try out the first class car (which is filled almost exclusively with tourists).  I had plenty of space, and a nice Dutch couple sat next to me.  After the journey to Tolongoina, and the fact that the train was only an hour late getting to Manampatrana, I was beginning to feel that my FCE experience was not authentic!  I mean, taking the FCE anywhere is supposed to be almost a crapshoot for those with adventurous spirits!  

 

Oops! The train derailed!

 

Going up one of the hills, suddenly we stopped.  The first class car and the one ahead of it (the last 2 cars in the line of 5) derailed going around a curve.  (very slowly…it wasn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds)  After the train employees recanoidered for a bit, it was decided that everyone in the last 2 cars would pile into the first 3, and we would continue on our way, leaving the others on (well, off rather) the tracks.  

 

the cars we left behind (clearly not even close to on the tracks...)

 

So, all the first class vazahas had to pile in with the Malagasy folks, and we all had a big party.  People’s spirits were optimistic, and I’m glad I wound up having to stand packed into a train for the remaining 3 hours of the trip.  I talked to quite a few French people, and Patrick and I are invited to Belgium any time we wish to stay with an older couple I met – the guy has worked with the UN, and he’s been to the states numerous times for UN stuff and a few conferences about nuclear energy.

taken from one of the stops

Arriving back in Fianar, 2 hours late, and tired and dirty as all get up, I hardly even bickered for my taxi fare home.  I’ve realized how comfortable I’ve come to feel up in the old city.  As I walked into our courtyard, Mama Tendry was already there saying a warm “Tonga Soa” (welcome), and asking if I needed ranomafana (hot water) for a shower.  I was immediately comfortable after a week of not really ever knowing what the hell was going on…  But, I think it’s always good to push our personal comfort limits – not only does it make us stronger, and more appreciative of what we have day to day, but it makes for some decent stories too.

Field Missions – Part I

Ca fait longtemps…  Last week I went on 2 different field missions – Ialamarina with André from Tuesday to Wednesday, and Tolongoina/Andrambovato/Manampatrana from Thursday to Friday with Bruno.  The purpose of sending me to these places was to allow me to learn about them, and thereby lend my own perspective to the Success Stories, and also to take care of photodocumentation.  This post will be longish since it covers a whole week, but I will detail events including, but not limited to:

• eating tongue yet again
• the derailment of the FCE train I took home on Friday
• going to a ball with some French people and the mayor of Manampatrana, who looks like Barack Obama
• riding on a motorcycle for the first time ever

So, to start from the beginning of the week:

Trip to Ialamarina:

On Tuesday, Christian (one of our drivers) took me out to Ambalaké to meet up with André, where we would start our journey on moto.  So, I’ve obviously met all of the field agents before, but their offices are in a separate building, and I certainly don’t know them very well.  So, it was a little weird to be like, “hey, André…I don’t know you much, but let’s hop on this motorcycle in the rain together… ” Yeah, it was raining.  I do have to say that I liked riding on the motorcycle though (never had before), and it is a lovely way to see the countryside.  It is less lovely with rain and mud everywhere, but overall a great method of transportation.  We stopped for lunch at a hotely in Sahambavy, which is also where the paved road pretty much ended, and continued along through the muddy, curvy, hilly ‘road’ for about 3 hours to get to Ialamarina, where we dropped off our stuff.  Originally André told me there was a building of some sort there that we could set up sleeping bags in.  What actually happened was that we stayed with a family who had ties with the Koloharena.  After dropping off our bags, we went for a ride a bit further to see the land of a Paysan Vulgarisateur in the area and take pictures of how well they were doing.  Apiculture (beekeeping) is quite a big new thing for many Koloharena farmers.  This facility had beehives, fish ponds, and off season white beans planted.  The house on top of the hill was in the process of being added to, demonstrating how well the farmer was doing.  It was a beautiful ride, and it quit raining for a lot of it.  Here are a few photos, as well as a photo showing the moto and the ‘road’.

where we had to leave the motorcycle before continuing to see the PV's field

seemed a little like motorcross sometimes...

one of the many beehives (producing eucalyptus honey)

The house we stayed at did have a nice spare room with beds.  However, it was quite a primitive accommodation compared to what I’m used to.  André showed me the small bucket on the back porch that was the ‘toilette portable’ for nighttime (the pit latrine was across the street and locked most of the time).  We had our meals at the house as well, so I had rice for like 4 meals in a row.  They were very accommodating and nice, but I can’t say that I really felt 100% comfortable there.

our dinner, hanging from the same back porch that contained the portable toilet

They spoke some French, but mostly it was André translating.  He is a nice guy – he much prefers being in the field to being at the office, which is where the field agents have largely been the last few months, in an effort to see what the effects of ERI’s impending shutdown will be.  In the morning, we were meeting with the Ialamarina Koloharena president for me to “ask my questions” and take some pictures etc.  I can’t say that I was looking forward with confidence to the meeting, but I wrote down a series of questions, and decided not to act like a pussy about it.  Rodolphe, the president, was absolutely wonderful it turned out.  He spoke French well, and was excited to tell a visitor about the evolution of the facilities there during the last 10 years.  After talking for 20 or 30 minutes, he said he would take me on a tour of the champs, a short walk away.  André had other business to attend to, but I felt totally at ease talking to Rodolphe, so off we went.  I have to say, that the field area was quite impressive – it’s a little like an example field that they use for farmer training, but also for harvesting from of course.  Here are photos of various crops:

a young pineapple

Rodolphe picking the best orange on the tree for me

Rodolphe chastised me for not bringing a big enough sac, as he just kept giving and giving me fruit.  He showed me the different species of oranges, picking one of each for me so that I could taste everything.  From one of the bigger orange trees, he made sure to find me the prettiest one, which was like the size of a grapefruit, and it was delicious.  These terraced plantings he hand dug with the help of just one other.  When I expressed amazement at it, he said they just did it little by little, and eventually it was done.  The same with the steps that lead down to the whole field – every time someone came down or up, they’d dig a step or two, and after a while there were steps.  After our visit of the field was over, he had me stop at his house to taste some of the honey that comes from the beehives there.  I thought it was excellent, so I asked if I could buy some.  It is a very high quality dense honey, usually sold to very nice bakeries apparently.  I could buy some, but he had a liter and a half bottle, that would be hard to transfer to something else, so I bought a liter and a half of honey…

He was so generous, and excited to show off his hard work in the field, and I had a wonderful time learning from him.

Part of the field that Rodolphe (Koloharena president in Ialamarina) gave me a tour of

press for extracting sugar cane juice - really hard to turn...

The juice is used to make ’sucre naturel’, which is sort of like candy.  Sugar cane juice gets cooked, molded, and dried, and produces a moderately hard substance, that can be chewed and eaten.  My understanding is that it is given to children/others who feel hungry to get hunger pangs to go away.  (But is also eaten as a sweet treat)

water lily near the field

During the ride, I had a moment of reflection where my approximate thoughts were, “How on earth did I arrive to be here, riding around on the back of a motorcycle through the deep rural countryside of Madagascar?”.  It was sort of a weird sensation.  Sometimes it’s just so interesting to see how situations evolve, and how we find ourselves in different places, or with different people.

After lunch, André and I took off, for him to take me back to Ambalaké to catch a taxi-brousse back into Fianar.  The route we took was shorter, but also really near some cliffs and hilly terrain.  I wasn’t really ever scared, as André was very careful about everything (and it wasn’t raining, so there wasn’t mud, which was nice), but it was a pretty intense road.  Arriving back in Fianar, I had had a great time, but wasn’t necessarily looking forward to setting off for the train in the morning for the next field visit.