NYT Travel Article: Some Perspective

(posted by Erik)


This is an excerpt from an e-mail I sent to our families, after the recent 12/17/10 New York Times Travel section article on Madagascar. It's been exactly one month since our last blog post, and Polly thought this synopsis would be an interesting post. 2 birds with one stone. YES! 


Since the NYT article seems to be the hot topic of conversation within the family, I thought I'd chime in with the "immersed" perspective. I hope our "in-the-know" insight brings another, deeper take on the article.

http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/12/19/travel/19madagascar.html

We've actually been to the park at Andasibe, which is mentioned first in the article. We went on a night hike with our entire "class" of 25 new PCVs in the park, and saw nothing, until we got lost, popped out on a road near our bungalow-style hotel, and saw a tiny lemur. I'm going to call it a dwarf lemur, just to check it off our list.

Perhaps it was our giant group of loud Americans that scared off the Indri? Polly (not I) got up the next morning and went with a smaller group at dawn, and successfully photographed them. Check out our facebook pics for proof. They're the big black and white ones that look like bears, not to be confused with the ever-awesome ringtails, which we just saw recently in Anja park.

Our next target is the jumping Sifaka lemur (Verreaux's), which we expect to see over a New Year's vacation in Morandava. We're also hunting the Baobab tree. They're easier to track than the lemurs. Go figure.

Back to the article...

The natural beauty of Madagascar is intense. The topography of the land absolutely makes travel a challenge. Coupled with intense, steep landscapes, the erosion from deforestation ruins roads, paved and unpaved. I do not recommend Madagascar travel to people with any sort of back-issues. I can feel the discs slipping in your backs now. Main roads are...OK, but a right or left off of the main drag will drop you onto some pretty intense routes. This is why travel ANYWHERE is slow. The author of the article is definitely right there. He pegged it.

The French influence is apparent, but not necessarily in a good way, as the article paints. He obviously was "rolling like a vazaha". This is pretty evident from his descriptions of the "delectable" food, and the prices he gave for his hotel stays. Wow. We pay around 15 USD a night for really decent places, with hot water, bungalows, mini-fridges, etc. He was traveling like aristocracy.

I think the fact that people travel in such stark contrast to the population is a problem for Madagascar. It's definitely affected us, in that everyone thinks we're French, and rich. People call out to caucasians with a bird call-like "AYE VAZAHA!", everywhere. I can't believe he never even mentioned the word in his article. I KNOW he heard it. Vazaha means, "white foreigner".

Most REAL malagasy food is pretty bland, and rice-based. A typical meal consists of a giant bowl of rice, and a side of either pork, beef, or chicken, or veggies. I don't do the veggies. Sometimes I have to have my meat switched out for something recognizable. They eat it all here. The author probably didn't even now he was passing restaurants, as these "hotelys" look like tool sheds, especially when the drop-down windows are closed.

The author is also right about the language. Not many people speak English. If you should come here, get an English-speaking guide, or you'll miss a lot. We could be your guides, but we still miss a lot too. We can get what we want with our language, but when the Malagasy speak to each other in their normal way, we're lost. (Me more than Polly.) My personal method is just to keep talking. (Surprise!) Eventually they understand my level, and dumb it down.

Antananarivo. It's like the author's mother-in-law described, "grubby". It's chaos. No city planning. Nno street signs or lights. No sidewalks. Lots of exhaust. It's not really THAT safe either. People slash pockets to get wallets and iPods. We have to travel by taxi after dark, and certain areas of town are "red zones". These are off-limits to us, as experienced PCVs, living in the country, with a decent grasp of the transportation systems and language. Tourists would be eaten alive.

We haven't been to Isle St. Marie yet, but a bunch of other PCVs are heading there for NYE. We opted for Morandava instead, because the baobab trees and Verreaux's Sifaka are higher on our to-do list than another beach. Pirates are cool, but they're so 2007.

We plan on hitting Berenty Reserve too, and live right near Ranomafana National Park. The place we've liked best so far is Anja Park. It's small, manageable, and filled with the coolest lemurs of all, the Ring-tail!

Overall, the article was very informative, and I hope to see the effects of the article by seeing some jet-set American NYT readers around.

It's always tough when spotting (again, like a rare bird) another vazaha. One never knows whether to say, "Bonjour", which would be correct 90% of the time, or to immediately identify as an American, with a casual "Hello". The French dress different too. We can usually spot them, and often make guesses on the nationality of the tourists we encounter, as we approach. Most of the time no one says anything. It's very strange.

It's time to eat dinner now, so I'm getting my rice-consumption gear turning. I still use a fork. Polly uses a spoon, like the Malagasy.

We hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season, and can't wait to read your feedback and/or hear your familiar voices!

Shakira! Shakira! Our chicken.

(posted by Polly)

So, about Shakira.   
(Pics have been put up on Facebook – easier to load than here.)

Shakira’s our chicken here a site. We purchased her one sunny day at the market for her ability to provide eggs, though it seems she had other ideas in mind. 

We waited a good month before Shakira laid her first egg.  Apparently we bought her a bit young.  She spent her first day getting used to our veranda, then three days on a rope (leashed to her foot) experiencing the downstairs outside.  She attracted a lot of attention during those three days from our local coming-of-age rooster, Foghorn (at least that’s what we call him).  Foghorn sat with Shakira for those three days on a small woodpile adjacent to our house, and kept her good company. 

On day four of outside time, Shakira was allowed to roam free.  Foghorn was beside himself with excitement, and was at our home crowing and dancing for her at 5:45am.  That morning he introduced Shakira to his other lover and their young chicks.  After just a few jealous attacks aimed at Shakira’s neck and back, the two ladies made fast friends.  For weeks the three amigos (and chicks) scratched and pecked every inch of land within a stone’s throw of our house.  They even ventured out to farther off fields, but never for long.  Whenever thirsty, they’d visit our outdoor water tap and drink up run-off from dishes, laundry (mmmm, soapy), and overflowed buckets of our drinking water. 

At 5:30pm sharp every evening, Foghorn would escort Shakira back to our house and call to us until we’d open the door and let her up the steps to our second story veranda.  Shakira had no trouble hopping up each steep step on her own (very cute, I’d say) and making it to her food pile and water for dinner.  She’d vigorously peck at rice, peanuts, and sometimes corn, littering our veranda with shrapnel.  Between gulps of food she’d break to drink her water, spill her water (by stepping on the side of the bowl), and crap two or three more times before deciding it was time to jump in her bed right at 6pm.  Within minutes, our veranda would transform into something like the floor of an over-run Perdue chicken barn.

During her second month here, Shakira came home with a serious head wound.  Somehow we didn’t notice at first…probably because she wasn’t making a scene over it.  She only made it halfway up our stairs that evening and sat waiting for me as I fetched water for the night and stepped over her several times.  Sometimes she’d sit on our steps before dinner, so we didn’t find it very unusual.  I grabbed her to carry her up to the veranda and saw that the skin on the top of her head was slit from one side to the other, right down to the bone!  A really bad cut!  There wasn’t much bleeding, but her skin was cut so deep and wide that it was slipping down the back of her neck!  It looked like someone had taken a large knife to her.  But it just didn’t make sense why…why just cut her?  Why not take her…eat her for dinner?  Was somebody trying to send us a message? Could it have been that big, mean rooster that harasses her when Foghorn isn’t around?  His beak?  A claw? We had no idea.

She seemed to be in shock more than pain as we cleaned the cut and loaded it with antibiotic ointment.  She didn’t fight us on treating it and she wasn’t losing much blood.  The cut would only bleed a little when she’d move her neck and head funny to feel what was going on up there.  She ate and drank some, and then I put her to bed.  She went right to sleep.

The next morning she was called by Foghorn bright and early, as usual.  When we opened up her bed, we saw that her wound was starting to scab.  Good!  She was acting like her normal self – talky, energetic, and ready to take on the day; but we felt she needed to stay up on the veranda for at least a day of healing.  We were getting ready to walk up to a nearby community I work with on farming-based projects, so we leashed her to a door on our veranda.  That way she could walk around and eat, but not jump up on the railing and fly down to a calling Foghorn (something she got very adept at doing in previous weeks).  

That early afternoon we returned to a happy Shakira and…her first egg!  She had laid one in her garaba (her bed – an open-weave basket with a straw nest in it) and was back up walking around the veranda.  So exciting!  Also, kind of perplexing…did the head wound from the night before trigger this first egg?  Weird.  But, who cares!  We were just so psyched she had the egg.

We left the egg in her bed for a few hours before taking it into the kitchen.  We didn’t want to upset her by grabbing it right away.  Like clockwork, at 6pm she got into her garaba for bed and didn’t seem to mind the missing egg.

The next morning we felt Shakira’s wound had scabbed over well enough (enough for a badass chicken, that is), so we let her go strolling with Foghorn again.  The following day, a Saturday, she laid another egg!  Foghorn brought her back to our house mid/late morning (that’s about 8:00am here) and started making a huge fuss for us to let her up.  He had never brought her back to the house at this hour, so we knew it had to be important.  (He’s such a good BF.)  We let her up, and she went running right into her garaba.  If we walked anywhere near Shakira’s bed while going about our business, she’d ruffle her feathers and cuss us out.  But an hour later she had laid her second egg!  She had become a true egg-bearing chicken!  We were going to let her stay with her egg for a bit while we went to the Saturday market, but she was clearly ready to get back to Foghorn.  After just minutes with her egg she jumped out of her garaba, flapped her way onto the veranda’s railing, crapped all over our hatch door, and then flew down to her BF.

This pattern went on for a couple of weeks.  She laid a total of nine eggs…maybe even ten – we lost count.  A couple of eggs went to neighborhood kids who babysat Shakira when we were out of town one weekend.  Everyone agreed they were delicious. 

But as Shakira neared the laying of her final egg in the sequence, she started acting much differently.  She would want to sit in her garaba for longer periods of time throughout the day, and she started giving Foghorn the cold shoulder.  She wasn’t interested in eating or drinking unless I’d pick her up out of her bed and place her on the veranda to eat.  Even then, she’d stay in her nesting position (sitting as though she was covering up a pile of eggs).  Her once charming personality had turned into something defensive and irritable.  She’d get very upset when we neared her in her garaba, trilling high-pitched noises and “barking” for us to get back. 

This behavior continued days after her final egg.  She didn’t want to leave her garaba, but no eggs were there.  We asked our Malagasy friends what was going on.  Each friend had a different take on the situation, but ultimately the consensus was this:  Shakira wanted to be a mother; she had caught on that we were swiping her eggs and was ticked off; and the reason she wasn’t leaving her garaba now was because she thought she was incubating at least part of her batch of eggs.  Phantom eggs.  OK.  Sooo, what now??

To cure this mess, one friend suggested we get her some fresh eggs at the market that she could sit on for a few weeks and hatch.  Then, raise…for 3 months.  At month four she’d be ready for another go at having eggs.  (Not quite the egg-laying plan we had in mind when we got her.)  Another friend thought we should just put egg-like objects under her to keep her company for now.  Soon she’d give up on them and start a new egg-laying cycle.  Then another friend offered the tougher-love approach:  kick her out during the days and make her start roaming again.  Finally, others believed we should leash her to something outside for 3 or 4 days and then she’d be fine. 

Confused, we tried a medley of approaches.  We gave Shakira a few ping-pong balls and an egg-shaped rock to keep warm.  She really loved them.  We also started taking her downstairs a couple times a day for her to stretch her legs and think hard about being a free woman again.  Eventually we took her fake eggs away and made her go out first thing in the morning.  But she fought us on this – any time she’d see us coming home or outside doing chores, she’d run up to us and plead to be let upstairs.  Whenever the door to the steps would swing open, she’d beeline her way through it.  When I’d go to get water below our house, she’d meet me at the tap, scowl, and threaten to jump on me from her higher perch.  Or she’d peck at my legs once or twice when she’d walk by the get a drink.

Feeling bad, we started to cave.  We’d let Shakira sit in her garaba for parts of the day again.  She went back to protecting her phantom eggs from us, or any visitors walking by her garaba.  This pattern of us caving (all very confusing for Shakira, I’m sure) went on for maybe another week.  She was so obsessed with nesting that she wasn’t eating or drinking enough…even when we put her down right in front of her dinner.   

We decided she needed to stay out all day again.  At least then she’d be up walking and back to her food-searching instincts.  So she went out…and she seemed OK with it this time!  Foghorn was not around, but the family living below us had purchased four young chickens that were now roaming the grounds.  Shakira took to them.  They’d walk, scratch, and search for food together.  Hang at the water source and cluck.  Find shady spots to sit and relax as a group.  Foghorn even came back.  Granted, he had become friendly with some new gal pals in the interim, but he was so happy to see Shakira roaming again.  He stomped and danced around her like he used to when he’d fetch her from our veranda in the mornings.  They played around and Shakira introduced him to her new friends.  It was good.

Unfortunately, though, I must tell you it was good only for a few days longer.  While I was writing this blog update, Shakira went missing.  It’s been a week since she’s been home.  Last Sunday, after finishing up afternoon kickball with the local kids, we went home and started a handful of evening chores.  As the sun began to set, Shakira was nowhere near our house.  Very strange – she’d typically start hovering near our place in the late afternoon.  Erik and I walked the grounds looking for her.  Then Erik searched more distant areas with the kids, all calling for Shakira.  A group of girls even went with Erik into town to see if they would find Shakira along our dirt road.  Alas, they came back empty-handed.

That night we kept the door to our veranda stairs open very late hoping Shakira was only out with Foghorn and planning to tardily ascend them.  But she didn’t return.  Not the next day either.  Now a week later, we’re pretty certain she’s gone for good.  (We were pretty certain of this when she was just ½ hour late.) 

When chickens go missing here, it’s usually due to theft.  It’s easy enough for a hungry family to grab a roaming chicken from the road and be on their way.  Likely, that’s what happened to Shakira.  She was getting plump, and certainly quite attractive to a family in a pinch for ample food (something that happens here around this time of year due to the farming schedule).

So, let us apologize for a sad ending to the story of Shakira.  She was a stubborn one, but she taught us much, and we loved her.  How could you not love your first chicken?

~polly

All Caught Up?

(posted by Erik)

TODAY

After looking at the date I’m typing this against the date of our last post, I’ve realized that MY hopes of blogging once a week were “a bit” ambitious. (Polly immediately expressed her standard “yeah right!” after reading our last post by me. In this case, “a bit” means the ambitions were 4 times the reality.

…Our apologies (again). I hope we can get one solid blog entry up a month.

In this entry, for my memory’s sake, I’m going to work backwards through our past month from today, Saturday, October 16^th. This also follows the “blog format”, in which more recent posts are before previous posts.

Today we went shopping. This was our big adventure for today. It was a big adventure because we just returned from a small vacation in Manakara. (…more about Manakara in paragraphs below.)

The whole town knew we were gone, because before we left, I told everyone. I don’t possess THAT MUCH Malagasy, so when I have something I can articulate, I do. Unfortunately for us, I know how to say I’m going somewhere, and for how long. Bonus!? …not really.

In Madagascar, when one travels, one is expected to return with volondolana, or “fruits from the road”. Since Manakara is a beach town, everyone wanted coconuts because they are not readily available here in the highlands.  We purchased 12 small coconuts in Manakara, and will give them to our favorite people. Everyone else will receive candy, which we bought from Alakamisy Ambohimaha, our friend Bill’s town, about 30k South of Ambohimahasoa on RN7. They can get the candy here, but it’s really the thought that counts. I’ve already given out about 50 candies today, to the neighbor kids and swarms in town during our shopping trip. I actually OFFER the volondolana to people we see every day, however, much to Polly’s chagrin.

Saturday is also market day in Ambohimahasoa, so we were greeted with more “bonjour, vazahas” than usual, because all of the country folk who don’t know us are in town to shop for the week. Saturdays aren’t our favorite day, but we’re “done” for today.

Polly is currently cooking a “more complicated” lunch than dinner for today, so we can chill out this evening. She is the main cook, and I am the main dish washer. She makes great, spicy sauces, and seems to have mastered the rice/rock dilemma that so few Malagasy have yet to conquer. I have a very specific, efficient, secret method for dish washing. I truly believe it is my one singular superpower.

We’ll probably watch a few more episodes of “Weeds”, season 1 tonight, or maybe an entire movie. There is a big movie/TV show trade among volunteers, and I am at the center of it, it seems. We’re currently into “Lost”, “The Wire”, “Weeds”, “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, “Community” (finished season 1), and the most recent “The Bachelorette”. I’ve also been downloading season 2 of “Jersey Shore”. What a train wreck! I can’t wait to blow some Malagasy minds with THAT show. Sharing American culture IS the 2^nd goal of Peace Corps!

MANAKARA TRIP

Yesterday, we left Manakara and took a taxi-brousse home. We stopped briefly in Bill’s village, Alakamisy Ambohimaha, to check out his art and furniture-laden pad, buy some cheap candy for the Ambohimahasoa kids, and say good-bye to John. We’ll probably see Bill soon (possibly for kickball), but won’t see John until Halloween. We see these 2 volunteers the most, as we try to coordinate visits to Fianarantsoa, our banking town.

We were in Manakara from Tuesday (my birthday) evening, until Friday (yesterday) morning.

Our adventure began when we took THE (only one in Madagascar) train from Fianarantsoa. The train stopped for about 20 minutes in each town along the way. I think if it had gone directly to Manakara, it would have taken about 5 hours, but it took 10. Since it was my birthday, we celebrated on the train with a few beers each. These beverages were gone before noon, so as the Southern hemisphere summer heat took hold in the early afternoon, so did our hangovers. Needless to say, the 2^nd half of the train ride was less fun than the 1^st half. The train was a great experience to have had. It passes through some beautiful county, and many villages that we would never see otherwise. We rode reserved seating, 2^nd class. This means we had assigned seats, but crowded.  On the train, everyone gave me gifts. I received a “frip” (2^nd hand), official, Olympique Lyonnais Adidas jersey from Polly, which Bill secretly purchased in Fianar via text message correspondence, and a tacky, yet refined t-shirt depicting many wolves. Good stuff. Look for pictures soon of these awesome 2^nd hand finds!

After arriving in Manakara, we were shuttled around the town in search of lodging by 3 pousse-pousses (rickshaws). Since there were 6 of us, each small Malagasy man carried 2 people, with luggage. I ended up walking briskly along-side, because our guy was struggling. I was easily the biggest person of our group, and Polly and I ALWAYS have the biggest bag. Our combined superpower is over-packing.  We went to 3 different hotels before finding a place for the night, because the multiple French tourists on the train were quickly whisked to the hotels in buses, while we utilized the slower pousse-pousses. We were completely overcharged for our pousse "rides" (as is par for the course with vazaha), but we ended up giving them the “take it or leave it” option (half of their “fare”), which they took. We probably still overpaid.

In Manakara, we hung out on the empty, beautiful beach for a couple of days, and basically chilled. The seas were rough, and apparently there are sharks, so we only swam in a little cove behind a break wall. We should have pics up on Facebook soon. It was also reported that the beaches were gross, due to people using them as toilets, but we saw no evidence of this. The guide books are mistaken.

I’m amazed that more of a beach community hasn’t developed in Manakara. It was odd, actually. There were 2 resort-style bungalow hotels, separated by over a kilometer, personal ramshackle houses, a couple of schools (why on the beach near the cyclones?), and 2 banks on the beach “island” of Manakara. A community looking to develop should start utilizing their main asset.

We eventually found karaoke for Bill on our last night in town. He would have died otherwise. I truly believe this. Bill, only 22 years old, has just recently discovered his super-power: soprano karaoke. 

We ended up figuring out that a taxi-brousse was cheaper, cooler, and faster than the train, so we got up early on Friday, and headed out to Alakamisy Ambohimaha, and then grabbed another for the last 30K home.

AMBOSITRA TRIP

Before our big beach trip, we spent 3 nights of the previous week (10/5 to 10/8), in Ambositra (about 89K North on RN7), working with the NGO (Non-Government Organization) Human Network International (HNI) in their telecenter (cybercafé) there. Ambohimahasoa is the next in line for one of these telecenters, so I’m trying to get in as much time as possible working with HNI before things start to move here in our town. Chris, a former Madagascar PCV who now works for HNI in Madagascar, Polly and I spent our time getting 3 computers in their training room “up to speed” and assessing the situation there as a whole. Hopefully, some of the problems experienced during the first three months of the Ambositra telecenter can be prevented in Ambohimahasoa.

We stayed at Sara’s, a Peace Corps Response Volunteer, house while we were there. She was out of town seeing the famous baobab trees in Southeast Madagascar, so we had the run of her place. Sara is here for 6 months as a PCRV, and completed her “regular” 2 year Peace Corps service before the evacuation a few years back. She also has written a guide book about Madagascar, which is on Amazon.com. Madagascar (Travel Companion) by Sara Lehoullier

FUNERAL

On Mondays, Polly usually works with her counterpart, in his fokontany (small village), about 4K north on RN7. They’ve been building a tree nursery with Peace Corps seeds, purchased in Antananarivo during our IST trip.

This particular Monday, 10/4, Polly received a vague text message, in Malagasy, from him, about a death in his family. The last time there was a death in his family, we basically dropped off an envelope of cash at his house, and walked home. He had to travel out of town for the funeral last time, so we just assumed that work for the day was cancelled, and Polly had the day off to pack for Ambositra.

WRONG.

He called us a few times, which we missed on our phones, so we started to get a little miffed. Our initial thoughts were, “boy, he must really want his money”. When we finally connected with him, we told him we’d stop by the next day and pay his family our respects, before Ambositra. Ampanidinina is also North of Ambohimahasoa, so we assumed that we’d hit his place on the way out. This was unacceptable to him. He said we HAD TO come that day. It was already 3 o’clock, and we try not to be out after dark (PC “suggestions”), ESPECIALLY walking along treacherous RN7, so we headed out on the 45 minute uphill walk, disgruntled.

On the way, we met and chatted with a man also headed for Ampanidinina.  He was going to pay his respects too, and informed us that everyone would be drinking "taoka-gasy", rice moonshine. I then informed him that I hate talking to people when they’re drunk. It’s a very “sensory” experience. Speaking Malagasy, hearing French, smelling alcohol, and being personally touched, is all part of taoka-gasy for a vazaha. I’ve actually only tasted it once.

When we arrived, we were amazed to see every person in the village out, sitting on the hills around the deceased’s family’s home. Some were drunk, but most were very polite, and glad to see us. As it turns out, Polly’s counterpart was related to the deceased woman, but not as a direct family member. I believe she was his cousin. She was only 25, and died from Malaria, in a different town. The loss was tragic.

We came prepared with our envelope full of money, and Polly’s counterpart helped us with the proper things to say to the parents. We saw the body wrapped in white cloth, and the wooden, hand-made coffin. I felt like a jerk because I was wearing shorts and a Han Solo t-shirt. I think it was OK, as there were others in shorts too. I really had no idea it was a formal event. I honestly thought we were dropping off cash. It’s what we do.

When someone dies in the Betsileo region of Madagascar, a cow (NEVER a pig) is slaughtered by the family. Small amounts of meat are presented to every person in attendance that day. At first, I was given a small morsel, about the size of a golf ball. Because I always talk about how I like meat more than vegetables, Polly’s counterpart made sure I got more. I was presented with a HUGE, still warm, cut of meat, about the size of a 20-25 oz broiling steak. I held the raw meat in my hand for about 20 minutes before we went to Polly’s counterpart’s family’s home, where I was given a plastic bag for it.

We then walked in a huge procession down the main road (RN7) with everyone in town, behind the casket and flowers. Songs were sung along the way. After about a kilometer walk, we all took a path into the woods toward the tomb, a building similar to a mausoleum. Upon reaching the tomb, the casket was placed on the ground beside it. While the men separated to begin the digging beside the tomb (not inside?), all the females started to cry and WAIL around the now flower-covered casket. It was if they all had lost control, and were overcome by the Holy Spirit. I have never seen anything like it, except in the movie “Jesus Camp”, when the kids are overcome with evangelical emotion, and convulse.

While the digging is still being done, but after the crying, an elder (the Priest?) stands up over the spot where the body is to be buried, and says a few words. The flowers are then placed on top of the tomb, on the cross, which still has flowers on it from the last funeral.

(Pics of all of this should be up on Faceboook very soon. Polly is sorting her pics for upload now, but we’ve had a problem with the signal being slow lately, so we’re going to wait until we get the EDGE back. GPRS is ¼ the speed.)

Before we left, we got to see one man kung-fu kick another man in the chest. Apparently there was a disagreement over the burial technique. It was crazy. One could hear the “thunk” of the kick very clearly, and the man receiving the blow then tumbled down the hill next to the tomb.

I’m not sure if a riot was going to break out next or if it was getting dark, but Polly’s counterpart’s wife informed us that we should probably be heading home soon after the kung-fu kick incident. We then walked down the 4K hill back to Ambohimahasoa with some other funeral-goers. It was definitely not the day we thought it was when we received that first text message at 7am.

The phenomenon of having a completely different day than we expected is a common occurrence here in Madagascar. We’re beginning to expect the unexpected twist on our days.

RADIO

As part of my expectations with Prosperer (French NGO) and Tiavo (Malagasy microfinance institution), I am to educate people on money management. At my pre-wine industry job at Consumer Credit Counseling Service, in Rochester, NY, I’d developed budgets for people with credit card debt, and given advice on where to cut expenses.  Eventually, I’d like to be teaching classes on a 3 month cycle, once a week, but for now I’m building a curriculum of translated templates for radio broadcast.

I’ve been on the radio 3 times now. The first 2 were with Polly and our counterparts, and basically explained our presence in town, and what Peace Corps is all about. It was pretty bad, as we had JUST landed in town. I doubt any of it was understandable.  

My 3^rd experience on the radio (9/29) was the pilot of my very own money management show entitled, “Money Matters”. I’m sure I stole this name from somewhere. The pilot’s theme was Budgeting Vocabulary. I went over the basics. Things like: income, fixed expenses, variable expenses, emergency funds, saving, needs, and wants were all covered in lesson 1. I hope to build the vocabulary, and re-iterate the key words before each subsequent episode, so we can build up to bigger topics.

Episode 2 is on “Income and Income Tracking”. Many of the people here do not receive a regular salary, and go through peaks and valleys with their income. If I can get them to track all incoming money, and then have a general understanding of ABOUT how much they make in a month, the end result will hopefully be them saving money from the high-income months to utilize in the low-income months.

Episode 3 will cover “Expense Tracking”. The Malagasy people spend it when they have it. They feast and starve. Expenses must be tracked, budgeted, and fixed.

My method for creating the show is to write out the script in English, and then translate it with our tutor. She is also now the co-host for episode 2. I told her I’ll make her famous. After translating, we record our voices into my digital Dictaphone, sentence by sentence, ensuring proper pronunciation. I take the sentences, in .mp3 format, one by one, and build them into a show with the program Garage Band, on Macintosh. I open and close with a fade in/out of Pink Floyd’s, “Money”. I used the cash register sound clip after each vocab word in lesson 1. The first episode was more music than content, as I used a Malagasy rap song called “Vola”(money) as an interlude when people were supposed to be getting their papers and writing utensils.

Here is a link to my first broadcast which I uploaded to Google Docs. 

EH - RADIO PROGRAM 1 - vocab

It won’t make sense to anyone but the Malagasy (and PROBABLY not to them), but it will give you an idea of what the language sounds like, and you can hear my voice for the first time in a while.

I’ll post subsequent episodes as they’re created.

I’ve also traded music with the radio station, Radio Ainga, which is about 200 yards down our eroded road. It was semi-disturbing to hear Rage Against the Machine’s “Bombtrack” on a Sunday during church hours. If only they knew how relevant that particular song is to their current political situation! I won’t be translating THAT ONE with our tutor. We also heard 50 Cent’s (unedited)“P.I.M.P” at one of the local epiceries (think wooden bodega). They asked for hard rock and hip-hop, and they got it.

This is all I have for now on the radio show.  More to come.

CONCLUSION

I am completely exhausted from typing this blog update. Hopefully this will get everyone up to speed with what we’ve been doing, and make up for our slack posting schedule.

I plan to lock Polly in our bedroom and force her to create the next blog entry. 

Her excuse has been that: “It’s been so long since we’ve posted! The task is too overwhelming”.

Hopefully this diligent effort will remedy the quandary she is in, and we can get to posting shorter posts about little tidbits of interesting things that affect our lives as we engage Madagascar.

I also completely neglected to mention our chicken, Shakira. I'll let Polly elaborate.  

We now have a cliffhanger blog...Stay Tuned! 

The Blog/Facebook Dilemma

(posted by Erik)

Before I begin my brief post, please allow me to apologize for the lack of updates on this blog. For those of you still following us, we thank you.

Hang in there with us!
I’m aiming to get one of us posting, once a week.

After not posting for so long, the task of catching everyone up and recapping 2 ½ months seems daunting and impossible.

We’ve been fairly active on Facebook since the acquisition of our Zain USB modem, which has satisfied our immediate gratification need to express ourselves to the world back home. Not everyone uses Facebook, despite my recruitment attempts (get an iPhone too!), so it is absolutely necessary to get the blog up and going again.

I, being the primary technology geek among us (and the entire country, it seems), have found that uploading pictures is much easier on Facebook. Perhaps Blogger.com will enhance their upload interface, someday. (They’re connected to Google, so one has to think SOMETHING is in the works.)

I have made all of our Peace Corps albums public, so everyone should be able to hop over there with their high-speed internet connections and check us out. Polly puts different photos up than I do, so it’s definitely worth it to check on us both.

A blog is a well-crafted journal, whereas Facebook is more of a blip about the moment. We owe our friends and family the courtesy of craftsmanship.

BUT…if you want to know the day-to-day stuff, join Facebook and “friend”us.

Madagascar Taxi-Brousses

Madagascar Taxi-Brousses (Posted by Polly)

These things are nuts. We took a trip to Fianar (our banking town) last week and had two of our most “interesting” taxi-brousse rides of our time here in Madagascar so far. (For those who are unaware, taxi-brousses are vans of various sizes used to shuttle people around the great country of Madagascar.)

On the way to Fianar, we ended up getting seated next to one of the large speakers in the van. It was about six inches above my head, actually. I was next to the window because I get motion sick on long rides here; Erik sat pressed between my right side and a happy old man. Once we got properly squished into the van – about 25 people in all – the music videos (yes, there was a small TV for these above the rear-view window) got started and we pulled out of Ambohimahasoa (our town).

The music wasn’t too bad. It was all very religious, light rock-n-roll at first. Each video followed a similar format: footage of this mixed gender Malagasy group singing in cowboy hats and off-the-shoulder dresses along the Madagascar countryside with intermittent flashbacks to a white Jesus getting either crucified or eating with his white, bearded friends around a fire. We stopped a couple of times and crammed about five more people in the van. My hips tipped to an angle up against the side of the van, and the stereo got turned up to its maximum volume (ample with feedback).

The music was changed to a Malagasy heavy metal band of about five old guys in sunglasses and cool bandanas, and sometimes cowboy hats. The videos contained a lot of special effects, such as blue and red fire coming from the sides of the screen, and enhanced foggy mists with neon back-lighting surrounding young and attractive Malagasy women. The first song or two, on what must have been an extended album, were fairly decent; but when the driver was able to find a decibel or two more of volume, the music just became one loud ball of drum and screeching guitar static. The last three or four songs on their album turned to a speed metal style, and as we were still about 30 minutes from our destination, the album looped back to its beginning, and it started all over again.

My head was POUNDING; my fingers were plugged into my ears, and it was still too much. I couldn’t believe it. How do these people handle this absolute noise? I mean, it wasn’t like the taxi was full of teenage rockers, hungry for offensive music – the taxi-brousse was mostly filled with middle-aged to elderly men and women from the conservative countryside, as well as the token handful of breast-feeding women. I thought, they can’t enjoy this sh-tuff!? But NO ONE looked the least bit pained. They just sat quietly in each of their five inches of seating room, and looked straight ahead with emotionless faces. If anything, those who did wear some emotion upon their faces looked somewhat happy to be there. This trip confirmed, once and for all, a theory of ours that has been in the works since arriving in Madagascar: Malagasy people are completely unfazed by noise (e.g., crack-of-dawn construction; crying babies; screaming kids playing everywhere; pig slaughters heard for miles around; crowing roosters 24-hours a day; street party music turned to the max; crying cats in heat; barking dogs at 3am; etc., etc, etc.). No one blinks an eye!

Finally we pulled into the taxi-brousse station in Fianar. This is the place where you have an absolutely chaotic end to some of the worst road trips you can imagine. As the driver took his time crawling the van through the narrow lanes of other vans with yelling men coming to the windows trying to get us foreigners on their next taxi, the music did not falter. It kept at full blast until the taxi-driver scooted the van back and forth enough times to feel it was properly parked at the correct angle and spacing as compared to the other vans in the lane. At last the van shuts down and the music stops (sweet relief). As we wait for the 20 people closest to the sliding door to get out before us, we see the light at the end of the tunnel…

Our trip back to Ambohimahasoa from Fianar:
This trip wasn’t as awful noise-wise, but it was definitely the tightest ride we’ve been on so far. The day we left town was a fety, or festival, in Fianar. Many of the men in town were drunk, including the guy who worked the door to our taxi-brousse. (From what we could tell, our driver was pretty sober. Didn’t have a chance to check the tires of the taxi, as Peace Corps recommends, before departing. It’s a tough thing to check when the process of getting into the correct taxi includes a swarm of frantic people trying to sell you something, or trying to persuade you and your stuff into/on another taxi.) Anyway, the guy working the door was having a grand ol’ time finding space in the taxi for as many people as he could grab that needed to leave Fianar, and maybe needed to get to Ambohimahasoa. Keep in mind that this van was slightly smaller than the van we rode into town in…by about a row. Nonetheless we started the trip with about the same number of people: 25 again.

We stopped about five times before getting out of Fianar. One stop was for a small gas refill, and the other four were for the drunk door guy to yell back and forth with other drunk men along the street and cram one or two of them into the van with us. By the time we left Fianar, we probably had 30 people in the van. I couldn’t do an exact count because I did not have enough room in my 3.6 inches of space to twist and look behind me. We were in the second row, which had five people and half of the door guy. (Our row was made for four). The first row had ten heads (eleven if we count the breast-feeding baby), as people would sit backwards along the narrow strip of raised flooring found behind the driver and passenger seats. Then, there were four people in the three seats up front.

As we left Fianar, the music got turned up to a low roar. There was no TV this time – no music videos (sad face).

Our van stopped several times in the first two hours of what should have been a two-hour trip at most (the trip is just 60 km in distance, but the roads are very twisty and narrow over mountainous terrain…the taxi-brousse really struggles…it takes time). People got out, more people climbed in. The drunk door guy would jump up on the roof to move luggage, swap bills of cash with new passengers, then hang out the door as the taxi-brousse gathered its stride and we’d get going again. Up and down mountains we’d go, twisting and turning 'round 330 degree bends until the door guy would spot more people on the side of the road and we’d stop to see if we could crowbar in a few more. It was the ultimate shuffling game; it was the ultimate clown car. At one point four or five people got out, and there was another inch of room, but two kilometers later, our door guy found their replacements.

One time we stopped in a large town to let people out (for good, we thought); but it was just a stop for three of the drunk guys near the front to run out and pee. “People are not chickens,” is what you say (in Malagasy, of course) to get the driver to make a restroom / side-of-the-road stop for you.

We were still 20km from our destination when we picked up an old lady with a large basket, in which was a duck. She found a spot, somehow, in the row without seats – the one where you sit backwards on the raised floor with your back against the driver’s seat. The duck was a happy duck. It quacked the whole rest of the way.

As we rolled and smoked our way into Ambohimahasoa, we counted that our small taxi-brousse held a total of 32 people, two of which were breast-feeding mums, and of course the duck. Insanity. We’re still regaining feeling in our legs. The good news is that we found out yesterday Peace Corps needs us to travel back to Fianar this coming Monday!

kickball and culture

1 month, 5 days at site...

We just finished playing kickball with the neighborhood kids, and a few of Narcisse's fam, who live 3k from town. Bill and his friend Vongy were here. Bill lives about 30k away in a town called Alakimisy (Thursday). It really helped having an extra person around to show the kids how to play right. Vongy translated the finer points. They got it after a few non-rotations just as the kicking team, with the Vazaha playing the field. I really think they had fun. I know I did. I'm a bit hoarse from directing traffic and keeping everyone involved. We called the game a tie, just to keep everyone in a friendly mood. Polly and I taught them to say "good game" and high five everyone after playing. Sportsmanship.

The girls didn't play? I didn't want to step on cultural toes by pushing too hard for the ladies to join in. I asked Vongy after the game if it was OK for the girls to play sports with the boys, and he said it was. They were just shy and scared, that's all. I'll ask them again next week. One girl, seems interested, and lives nearby. She and her brother get cans and bottles from us. She might be the ice-breaker that crosses the gender divide.

I'm a bit confused about the culture in 2 ways today.

1. What's with the lingering?

There is this kid/guy who just drops by. I think he wants to be friends. He says his "problem is speaking English." Great! Mine is speaking Malagasy/Betsileo. We're dead in the water, friend. The first time I met him, it was almost dark, and he was waiting for me on our veranda, upstairs. He's showed up here like 3 times now, uninvited. I know he is waiting for me/us to invite him in, but it's not going to happen.

I invited him to play kickball at 2:30 today, and he came over an hour early. After the game today, he walked back here with us, and came in the gate. I said, "OK, Bill and Vongy are going home now, so we're not going to watch the soccer game (in town) today, so good-bye". (I had asked about who was playing in today's soccer match earlier in the day.) Polly, Bill, Vongy and I then went inside. When they were heading out, around 10 minutes later, the guy was still outside. What does this mean? I am confused. In no way did I imply that I was coming back out. I said "Veloma"(good-bye), and shook his hand good-bye. I did not look back.

It's not good practice to let people into your house unless you trust them. We've let the carpenter building our Xanadu in a couple of times, and the lady who has helped us clean and does our laundry. She and our landlord are cousins. Narcisse and his family are always welcome, and our teacher is fine too. We have some stuff in here that we don't want the whole town talking about, like electronics. Everyone who comes in comments on our bikes too. Our food is also different, as most of it is purchased and packaged, other than the produce, meat and rice. This makes us look rich. Walking in here to a Malagasy must seem like walking into candyland.

2. Do the Malagasy work harder when we're around?

This question has perplexed us since we lived with our host family during training. It always seemed they were working extra-hard, or running the saw when we were home, regardless of time of day. I thought the Malagasy took 12-2 off every day? Nope, not the guys working all of the equipment around our place. We could never study or catch a lunchtime nap there. Polly said that when they saw her approaching, they looked very busy. Before they saw her, they were just standing around. It really was incessant. The family we lived with was wonderful. The environment was not, however.

Now, here in Ambohimahasoa, it seems to be the case too. The builder has worked every day for almost a month now. I asked him if he likes Jesus, because he works on Sundays too. He's very cool, and a good sport with us, all the time. But, it's another incessant bang-fest. Today they were making the ground solid by hitting it with big flat boards. It sounded like the gods of war beating their drums. When we went to Narcisses the other day, we got back early, during lunch, when carpenter and crew (children, family) are at home eating. We locked up the place, so we could exist, and possibly nap (with earplugs?) in peace, without the usual afternoon parade of visitors. No one came back to work. The next day, the carpenter asked us when we got back from Narcisse's. Are they trying to show a good work-ethic? Are they afraid that if we're here they have to be working, or we'll tell the landlord? I personally promise we wont tell anyone if it's too quiet. (Never look a gift-horse in the mouth!) I have no idea what is going on.

06-12-10 update - ERIK

1 month, 4 days at site...

Today (Saturday) is the big market (tsena) day here in Ambohimahasoa. I don't think we're going. I really want to buy a chicken for eggs, but don't very much feel like venturing out into the cold and rain to walk around, get stared at, and jipped on the chicken. We also need to get some cloth (lamba) to cover our 6 freshly-acquired foam hunks, so we can complete our couch (seza lava = long chair). We need some place to sit other than the bed, as my back is developing a solid kink in the lower-left region. We do have 4 wooden chairs, but they were built when the wood was wet, so they're now "leaners". Polly is afraid I'm going to break one soon, even though I've lost ~20 pounds. I believe in their solid construction, despite (in spite of) her concerns, but not really. Our seamstress is coming by to get the cloth (8m) on Monday morning, so she can make the cushions. There is a shop on our road that sells cloth, so we can go out and get some tomorrow (Sunday), if they're open, or Monday morning, before her 9am arrival at our place. I don't REALLY need a chicken yet.

The house is coming together very nicely, I think. Other than the 3-week couch acquisition, furniture has gone rather smoothly. We have a really nice bed, a coffee table, a couple of shelf units in the kitchen, a table in the dining room, and 1 dresser. My dresser is being built sometime soon. The delay stemmed from a lack of dry wood, I guess. Polly keeps her stuff in the one dresser we have. She needs it more than I do. I have a pretty good suitcase/dresser system working. It would be nice to get my pack and suitcase off of the floor, and actually use our "living room" for living. Right now it's more of a closet with a bike in it.

The house is sweet. We're on the second floor of a 2 story building. No one lives under us currently, as the construction continues, and continues. We have the most elaborate outhouse (kabone) ever. It's pink, and has electricity. A guard, his wife and their baby sleep in the empty story below each night, so no one steals the building materials. Because it's devoid of furniture, and has a cement floor, we can hear everything going on below. This has been a source of contention for me, as Malagasy wake up VERY early, well before dawn. Not only did the baby start to cry at around 4:30, the guard would have people come over to talk about rice or something each morning. (For those of you who have ever shared sleeping space around me, please imagine my attitude regarding this commotion, under my bed, in an echo-chamber!) I took it for a month, but finally had to be my own advocate and remedy my situation. I asked the guard why people were coming here in the early morning and talking under our bed. I also explained that we could hear the baby cry, and that this was not OK (mety). I explained that we got up at 6. He seemed stunned. I'm sure he doesn't realize just how much we can hear.

Our last week was rather structured, following a week without any framework. (I finished 2 books during said week.) We're now tutoring Tuesday through Saturday. Our teacher is a cashier at TIAVO, my microfinance home-base. She has an aunt who was an English teacher, so she's very mahay (smart) with English. It really helps to be able to ask clarifying questions in English. Peace Corps requires that Polly and I tutor for a while at site, because we placed "intermediate-medium" on our language assessment. Those who placed "intermediate-high" or above require no such tutoring. Because we're here together, we can use English with eachother, which slows the immersed language acquisition.

1.5 months in

Following a DC departure on March 1, 2010, a quick stop in Senegal, and an overnight in South Africa, our group of 25 Peace Corps Trainees (PCTs) arrived in Antananarivo, Madagascar, on March 3, 2010. The evening of March 3 we stayed in “Tana” at the Peace Corps Meva House. We PCTs continued bonding that afternoon/evening as we sampled Malagasy cooking for the first time and took turns meeting with our PC doctor for a series of shots. Unfortunately, Erik spent much of the time fighting a 12-hour illness caused by (we think) some undercooked food from the night before in South Africa. By the following morning, Erik felt tons better and I had finally caught up on sleep. Both refreshed, we plunged into our first day of training: medical, safety, cross-culture, and a whirlwind Malagasy language class. Then, we were on our way to our host families.

The 25 of us, and a few PC trainers, piled into two vans. Our luggage was roped to the top of the vans and squished between seats. We drove through Tana and out to the Malagasy countryside. The views and colors were stunning, as one might imagine. Everything was so lush and vibrant. I couldn’t stop taking pictures. After about 1.5 hours? we turned onto a dirt road and drove past a Peace Corps sign – we had entered the community-based training area. We drove for another hour, bouncing back and forth and side to side in our seats, over the treacherous road. The vans rolled to a stop by a congregation of locals standing at a crossroads. The doors opened and we were told, “You’re here – go find your host family,” or something along those lines. We stumbled out of the vans, a little sweaty, a little windblown and a lot disoriented. Before we could get our bags on our backs, the trainers began calling out our names one by one, and the host family members would walk forward from the crowd with big smiles, grab our hands and any bags they could help with, and lead us away to their homes. So began the host family stays.

Erik and I were greeted by our young host mother, Onja, and her two children, Capistra (a six-year-old boy) and Vanilla (a two and ½ year-old girl). Onja, a very smiley and petite woman, has 22 years under her belt. She led us directly to her home, just a stone’s throw from where we were dropped off by the vans. She walked us to the back of a large house, up outdoor steps to a second level, along an outdoor hallway, and into what is our room today. It’s a great room – spacious with many windows, and newly constructed. The back windows overlook a garden, palm trees, and a picturesque lake.

Onja gave us a quick tour of the grounds: we visited the kabone (a very basic outhouse); the ladosy (a cement and wooden room connected to the kabone that one uses to bucket bathe/shower); and the path to the lake (the lake front is where one does laundry…or manasa lamba). An assortment of animals surrounds the house: cows, pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, a rooster, dogs, and a cat. Our host family lives in a separate portion of a larger house, connected in the back, closest to the lake, and on a second story level. The main part of the house is where our host father’s parents and brothers live. There is a lot of construction on the family compound’s grounds. An addition is being built on the side of the house connected to our room, and a new house is being built by the cows’ stalls. And not only are these two projects occurring, but our host family “yard” also functions as a full-time lumbar yard where locals come to use the machinery owned by our host father’s father and brother-in-law. (More about that later.)

Following Onja’s brief tour, we headed back to our room and began to unpack. Feelings of shock and something close to panic fluttered through our bodies as the reality sank in of what our new lives had just become…much to digest. We had only been in the country for a day, barely knew the word “manahoana” (“hello” in Malagasy), and already we were left to navigate a completely unfamiliar life with a local Malagasy family. I took a deep breath, grabbed my basic Malagasy language cheat-sheet, and headed to the kitchen area to help Onja with dinner. Erik worked on getting our room in order.

Onja and I mimed our way though dinner preparation. She found me a cutting board from behind a large water bin that I used to slice skinny green beans down their middle. Meanwhile, Onja would cut them in the palm of her hand. (I’m not so “mahay”.) Next I helped prep some salad fixings with my cutting board (Onja found it hilarious that I preferred using the board), and then it was time for dinner.

Our first dinner: It was awkward, to say the least. Unaware of dinner table customs and conversation. We met our host father, Zo, for the first time – a very welcoming guy in his early 30s. Lucky for us, Zo knows some basic English and French, so he was able to help us stumble our way through dinner conversation. Lots of rice, lots of bean protein of some sort, more bean protein, and cucumber salad.

…then we went to sleep under our mosquito-netted bed. Erik here. I’ll try and give a quick summary of the next 5 weeks, up until this point.

If you’re reading this, it means we were able to get some form of internet access. We’re supposed to have a wireless connection (which everyone will be hitting with their laptops at once) in Tana on April 9, Friday. Hopefully we were able to post this between yellow fever shots, bank account set-up, a tech session, a supermarket-run, and a trip to some shady dude that can supposedly unlock my iPhone for 50,000 Ar (about 20 bucks). Either way, we’re both bringing our laptops, and Polly already has a yellow fever shot from Africa trip #2, so we’ll get up as much as we can! We have 26 pics to post, but we’ll see how that goes…

I’ll break it down by category, for the sake of being concise.

The physical country…
Very beautiful. Very primitive. It’s like living in the Bible. We watched “Far and Away” the other night, which is set in frontier times, and were amazed at the technology. Once you leave the main roads, prepare to bang your head on the roof of your vehicle. “Seatbelts”, you say? Good luck with that. Most of the time, we ride in two Toyota minivans that seat 12 each. Think of a VW Vanagon for a reference point. PC also has some Toyota Land Cruisers (one newer and one older) with jump seats. Our drivers are very skilled to navigate the craziness that constitutes the Madagascar road and traffic “system”. The roads are very windy, as they have been built around the terrain, rather than through or over it, as in the U.S. There are many switchbacks and hairpin turns, as you leave the plateau and head toward the coast.

We’ve only traveled East so far. Polly’s Environment tech trip was NE and my SED (Small Enterprise Development), was more SE. Our entire group was together in Andasibe for a night, on which we took a night hike in search of lemurs. Our 30-person people-train likely spooked the critters, so we saw none, except for a baby lemur (or smaller breed?), on the way back to the hotel, while walking up the road. We got lost for a bit while talking to my sister Molly via cell phone in the rainforest. We followed the sounds of our group’s voices and used my awesome LED Mag-lite to find the group again. Polly went on a smaller hike early the following morning, and saw about four or five larger lemurs (indri). (Pictures MIGHT be posted in this blog entry.)

Polly also saw prettier Indian Ocean coastlines/beaches, and had much more beach time than I did on her tech trip. I’m quite jealous. I had more time in a bigger town, and ate more Steak Frites. I tried to avoid rice as much as possible when the food options allowed for it.

The people…
Very nice. Very curious. Very difficult to understand. Our host family is extremely kind, and their kids are very cute. The other families that live in the other 2 parts of this house are related to Zo, our host father. They’re carpenters, and run a lumber mill in our yard. Saws usually begin around 6am, and end around 6pm. Awesome. Not really.

We’re called “vazaha” by children sometimes, which is a rather negative term that means foreigner (mainly French foreigner). It stems from the French colonization. I explain in Malagasy that I am not vazaha, but American and in Peace Corps. Then I must explain that I do not have any money, unlike the wealthy French vacationers in town.

Easter is a week-long blow-out around here. People set up little stands like at a festival, and drink until the wee hours of the morning. There is no centralized entertainment, just a lake. All the stands sell EXACTLY the same thing. It’s very strange. Beer, Fanta, Coke, rum…beer, Fanta Coke, rum. Sometimes bread products. All warm. Only some of the better epiceries (think bodegas) have refrigeration.

The language…
See the blip above about the people. We get our daily 4-hour injections of language training beginning at 8am. Polly and I take these together usually, so I don’t have to walk the 3K to Mantasoa and back twice a day. They gave me a Trek bike with shocks, but it’s a pain to get it out of our room and down the stairs. It takes about the same amount of time to get it out of the house and ride it, as it does to walk. We get a short break around 10am, and then break for lunch around noon. Technical training begins then at 2pm, so Polly and I spend our afternoons apart, generally.

Every Malagasy verb starts with M. Past tense is denoted by changing the M to an N. Future tense is created by changing the N to an H. Each word has about 10 syllables, several of which sound and look like “lalala”. Don’t even get me started with passive voice. I couldn’t even get started. I have no clue. We have LCFs (Language and Cultural Facilitators), who train us in small groups each day. We’re taught by dialect (Betsileo for us), based on the region of our assignment. I cannot wait to use Betsileo Malagasy after Peace Corps.

The training group…
Pretty cool. Pretty young. I’m the 2nd oldest, and there are 3 others in their 30s (including Polly). There is one 40-year-old, and the rest are in their 20s, most fresh out of college. One of our 25 trainees has already gone home, due to an opportunity to run a business in Guatemala. We all get along pretty well. We’re an eclectic crew. We all discuss the funky dreams caused by the Larium (malaria meds), which makes for animated conversations.

The food…
Rice. Sometimes meat. Lots of carbs. Pasta sometimes too. Onja makes decent pancakes, but they’re not flat. Need some syrup. I found some ketchup in a shop in Moramonga. It makes the world a brighter place. I like banana pancakes, called “mofo akondro”, but still have yet to eat a raw banana. Such is the mystery of Erik and food. Did I mention rice? I think I’d give a toe for a NY style pizza right now. I have to stop thinking about it.

We get our water from a well, which is up a road, through some yards, and down a mud path. The view overlooking the rice fields is stunning, so it’s worth the hike every other day. Polly and I have officially become Jack and Jill. I bump my head on everything here in this tiny-person land, so the line in the song about Jack breaking “his crown” fits too. I smack myself pretty hard about once a day. This number is lower than it was during my first few weeks here.

We put chlorine (called “sur eau”) in our water, after running it through a big cylinder filter. A Nalgene bottle takes 3 drops for 15 minutes to be pure. I feel that I have negated many years of Pur and Brita filters in one short month. We probably glow in the dark.

We’ve been snacking on various items such as ketchup, pizza, and BBQ flavored Cheetos called “Cracky”. Another favorite is Bolo, which is a cross between a moon pie and an Oreo. They’re absolutely delicious after 3 meals of rice and beans, one of which may contain meat or meat-like substances. They’ve tried serving us fish – they’re often goldfish-sized and fried. Ironically, I played “Finding Nemo” on the laptop for the kids the same day we were served goldfish for the first time. I explained at dinner that I didn’t like to eat Nemo. We haven’t had them since. Phew! Polly ate them. She’s very accommodating.

Chicken. Those that know me well (or even slightly) know that I really enjoy eating chicken. I am still waiting for chicken from our host family. Apparently it’s a big deal to kill a chicken to eat, as they produce eggs, and a source of income for chicks. I bought a live one at the local market on a field trip for 7,000 Ariary, less than 3 dollars US. We’re supposed to learn to slaughter and butcher a chicken during training. I am still anxiously awaiting a machete and whet stone sent from my dad. If I am going to do this, I’m going to do it swiftly. Those in our group who have already performed this training rite have described the local process as slow and awful. My first target will be the rooster that crows under our window at the crack of dawn. He won’t even hear me coming. I’m going primal on him. Maybe I’ll even hunt with Dad, Seth and Eric someday.

We’re supposed to cook for our host families at some point, so we’re on the lookout for some balsamic vinegar, spices and marinara sauce for our spaghetti meal. We’ll buy the meat in Mantasoa for the meatballs, hopefully that day, as there is no refrigeration here. Polly found some olive oil on her tech trip, so we have something to dip our bread in. A spice rack will be essential at our site. There is not a lot of flavor here. If you’re thinking of sending a care package, spices are QUITE welcome.

This is all for now. Thanks to our parents for keeping all our pals in the loop. Thanks for the texts. Pass our number around if you have it. I’ll try and send a blanket e-mail out to everyone, and read the individual ones. I’m very scared to see my Gmail inbox after 5 weeks of neglect!

Much Love,
Erik & Polly

Quick! To the volcano, before we all come to our senses!

Hello, all.

We're two days away from U.S. departure. Currently in the Ithaca, NY, area visiting family and finalizing packing, it's getting down to the wire. We leave Ithaca at 7am tomorrow for DC (via Philly). In DC, we meet our Madagascar 2010 group and go through 24hours of staging/orientation. On Monday, March 1, we depart Dulles Airport for Madagascar. It looks to be a 2-day venture via plane, with stops in Dakar, Senegal, and Johannesburg, South Africa, before arriving in Antananarivo, Madagascar.

Since our last (first) blog entry, Erik and I have extracted from our jobs with Total Wine and More and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, respectively. Then, it was a rapid packaging-up of our lives in the DC area. With an immense amount of strategery :) we packed a 2-bedroom home's worth of stuff from our 1-bedroom apartment into a 16-foot moving truck. Meanwhile, the blizzard of the century (i.e, Snowmageddon, Snowpocalypse, Snownami) hit DC on a rolling basis throughout the week. Though the snow was helpful in forcing us to focus on packing, we did miss out on seeing several folks for a going-away happy hour, even when it was rescheduled (more snow hit!). :( What can you do!?

Here in NY, we have split our time among family to visit, and also to work through the process of long-term storage and final packing for travel abroad. It sounds easier than it's done. Today, one day before we leave NY, we're exhausted. Yet, the list of to-do's for today is long, and we have no other option than to push forward. In a couple of hours we will head up to Erik's mother's home and secure a few large tarps over all of our storage in her barn. So far, a fair amount of the storage has been shrink-wrapped, thanks to Erik's brother, Seth. However, we still have a number of bins and some exposed items that could use a tarp cover to protect them from 2.5 years of dust as well as any sneaky animals who'd love to leave a urine splash or more. Following the final tarping (thank you, Jim, for the free tarps!), it's the time of reckoning: We must cram all of our remaining stuff into three bags each -- two bags to check and one as a carry-on, per person. Heartburn.

As for the kitties, Chava and Roscoe, they've been adjusting to their new homes in NY for several days now. Last night was my last night to snuggle to sleep with Chava, so that was a bit sad for me (and her, I think, actually). Tonight we'll be with Roscoe at Erik's father and step-mother's place. They both have lovely homes and families to care for them these next couple of years, and we're confident we couldn't have found better options for them while we are away.

Chava has been loving the many windows here at my mother and step-father's place, watching the birds and squirrels flutter and jump through the snow (yes, more snow for us!). She's ventured outside a number of times, but not for too long as of yet. She's not a big fan of getting her paws all snowy, but when spring comes -- watch out! Being a very outdoorsy kitty, she will be more than ready to go for long prowls following the snows. Meanwhile, Chava's getting to know her new roommate kitties, Tiddle and Quarry, through indoor games and general observations as she strolls through the house.

Roscoe was here with Chava for a few days, and then we moved him over to his final destination at Erik's dad and step-mom's place. He's been there adjusting to a new life with dogs, and doing surprisingly well. Chloe is a sweet golden lab, who's trying her best to make friends. Chico, the chihuahua, is a little more skeptical of Roscoe, given his large size for a cat, but curious nonetheless. Roscoe's warming to them both slowly, and taking to the house a bit more every day. Now that Motley's visit has ended (the American bulldog of Erik's sister, Molly, and her husband, Eric), Roscoe feels he might become king of the world.

It's getting to be late morning, so I must switch gears. Get us on a plane already!!!

Until next time...

~Polly

various packing/moving/packing pics....

After much anticipation....

(The name of our blog is from the movie, 'Madagascar', when King Julien introduces the animals from the New York City Zoo to his lemur colony. [The zoo animals are much larger than the lemurs, and we're both from New York State.])

Our invitation finally arrived!

On December 29th, after an uninformative Holiday visit to see family in upstate NY, we received our Peace Corps invitation to Madagascar, staging March 1st, in a city yet to be named. We're very excited, and are beginning the steps to wrap our lives into a nice, shrink-wrapped bow, all the while consolidating down to two 50-pound bags and a carry-on each.

It has been a long application process.

We applied in October of 2008 via the internet application, interviewed in November, and were nominated in early-February 2009. We passed medical, dental, and legal clearances rather quickly, all the while answering the multiple essays promptly.

Then the waiting began...

Apparently it's more difficult to place couples, because placing two people in the same place with different assignments presents a unique challenge.

Additionally, Madagascar was evacuated due to political unrest in March 2009. Delay number one.

Delay number 2 occurred when Peace Corps personnel were evacuated from Guinea in October. Guess where many of them got sent? You guessed it, the newly re-opened, empty Madagascar!

We had our 'final interview' scheduled for November 20th, but our Placement Officer had a medical issue, keeping her out of the office for ~3 weeks. Delay numéro trois.

To further dampen our spirits, we learned in December 2009 that many Niger volunteers were also being transferred to Madagascar due to an unstable situation in their original country. Delay ìsa èfatra.

As of this moment, I'm leaving my job at Total Wine & More on January 20th, and Polly is leaving her job on February 5th. Until then, it's business as usual. I'll begin sorting and arranging the move while Polly completes her time at NOAA.

We're currently cramming French into our brains via nightly injections of Rosetta Stone, and perusing the Malagasy/English dictionary and Peace Corps online materials. Malagasy is going to be tricky, as the vocabulary and phrase sound-bytes demonstrate.

Our beloved cats are going to our respective parents' homes. Chava will stay her 27 months at Polly's parents', while Roscoe will go to my dad and step-mother's place. They'll both be in a great environment, with lots of love, nature and lake. We don't think they'll mind the separation from each other, as they merely tolerate one another in our small Silver Spring apartment. The human/feline separation will be tougher for them, and us.

Chava enters a home with 2 other unique, smaller female cats, and Roscoe's new pals will be a gentle female yellow lab and an inquisitive male chihuahua.

We're not sure how the technology situation is going to be in Madagascar, but many of the volunteers evacuated in March were kept up to date of the situation with text messages.

Hopefully, intermittent internet access will allow us to keep everyone informed of our trials, tribulations and discoveries during our 27 month term. We'll be bringing at least one laptop for word and photo processing, and the iphones should take the prepaid Orange or Madacom SIM cards. Definitely no data connection. Skype could be an option at some point.

We're in contact with handful of people with experiences in Madagascar, through various connections. Hopefully, we'll gain some valuable insight and answers to our plethora of questions and curiosities.

This is but the first of many posts, as we New York Giants embark on our Peace Corps adventure.

Thanks for checking us out.

"Quick, to the volcano, before we all come to our senses!"

King Julien, Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa

~erik