A Complex History

Tourist season is starting. Some places here in Fianar, don’t look much different during the tourist season and the off-season, but my neighborhood is drastically different.

I live in the Old City. It’s the tourist destination in Fianar. It’s a nice walk up to the top of the hill where the city of Fianar began. During the off-season there were groups of tourists every so often. Now, large groups of vazahas (foreigners) are there daily.

I use this as entertainment, mostly. I try to guess if they are French, American, Norwegian or something else. It also reminds me of how much I am a part of my community here, but also how much I am not. It’s a reminder of how I am in the middle, again.

The tourists coming are also a reminder of the history of Madagascar. Tourism is expected to be up this year because the political situation here is calmed down from past years. When this comes up in conversation with people who haven’t been to Madagascar they say, “Political situation? What happened?”

I don’t have an excellent understanding of what happened either, but I have done some reading and would like to invite you to do some reading as well.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2009_Malagasy_political_crisis (I know, Wikipedia, but it’s the best detailed summary that I could find in English)

So, the uprising is over now. But, the tourism here is a reminder of the consequences of the uprising. Aid from governments around the world was cut. Tourism went down drastically because of an “unstable” political situation. This caused hotels, restaurants and tourist attractions to close or suffer. Now, the tourism is coming back. But, slowly.

The situation with tourists also reminds me of the complexity of Madagascar’s relationship with France. Madagascar was a French colony until 1958, when Charles De Gaulle granted Madagascar it’s independence. You can read more about the colonization here:

http://www.air-mad.com/about_history.html

http://www.content.eisa.org.za/old-page/madagascar-early-french-colonialism-1896-1945

The two cultures are still very visible here in Mada today. French architecture is everywhere in Madagascar, there are still roads, gutters and other infrastructure that was clearly built by the French government. Now these pieces of the infrastructure are falling apart, and the Malagasy government does not have money to fix it.

French language is everywhere here. Most Malagasy people (at least who live in cities) are fluent in both French and Malagasy, and some children learn French before they learn their own language of Malagasy. French numbers are used more often in the market than Malagasy numbers.

French food is also a very common thing here. Crepes, delicious pastries, French bread, etc. are very common here. These things I don’t mind. Sure, I wish that people would address me first in Malagasy considering that I don’t really speak French, and I wish that the infrastructure had more upkeep. But, these things aren’t bad.

But, it’s complex too. What does it mean to be a visitor here? How can we, as people from other places, be sure that we are honoring and respecting the Malagasy culture? How can I, as an English teacher, be sure I am teaching a skill but also honoring the Malagasy language? How can hotels, restaurants and other tourist places help visitors to feel comfortable, but also educate and help visitors participate in Malagasy culture?  Tourism and having foreign visitors here in Madagascar, brings in a lot of money and support to the country, but it also furthers the process of losing Malagasy culture through globalization, how do we value both things? And so many more questions.

I don’t have the answers to these questions. I can’t have the answers to these questions. But, as the world becomes more interconnected, as more people travel, how do we travel responsibly? And, how do we tell their stories respectfully?

Newsletter!

I recently sent out my most recent newsletter. Here it is, if you don't already get those e-mails!

An Easter Monday

Easter is a big deal here in Madagascar. Schools get two weeks of vacation or more, people spend time traveling to see family, and having big parties. For the Lutheran church here, there was worship each night of Holy Week for about 3 hours. Then on Sunday, Easter is pretty similar to how I am used to celebrating in Minnesota. Go to church in the morning (except extend the service to four hours), then have a good meal (except replace ham and potatoes with rice and chicken).

The one big difference for Easter celebrations here is Easter Monday. Everyone picnics. People pack up their rice and loaka (the meat or vegetables that you eat with the rice) and find someplace outside of town to have a picnic. I celebrated Easter Monday with Solofin’Davida, the choir at Masombahoaka and Skouts (similar to boy scouts but based in the church and pronounced skoots).

We met the bus just outside of church at 8:00am, and finally headed out around 8:30. Everyone came with their rice and loaka and lasary (like a cucumber or carrot salad with a vinegar dressing) and me with my salami and veggie sandwich, trail mix, and raw cucumbers (very strange food that we eat in the US.) We packed tightly into the bus, making six people fit in every four seats (in true Malagasy fashion) and thankfully, arrived quickly to our picnic spot.

When we arrived we found a good picnic spot and all laid out lambas (I guess one of the Malagasy versions of a picnic blanket). We spent the morning doing various activities. There we different games of pass the volleyball or other things happening, some people just chatting, but my favorite was the guitar. A few people brought guitars and I had my phone with all the lyrics to our choir songs. So, we spent hours and hours singing songs together.

When 12:30 came around we decided it was time for lunch. I got out my strange lunch and my Malagasy friends became terrified that I didn’t have any rice, so they made sure that I ate rice too. I was very full. Then they saw the trail mix that I brought with me (and that my parents brought from the states in December, thanks!). You know, a delicious mix of almonds, cashews, craisins. Pretty normal, right? This mix of strange things got passed around the group and each person timidly took one thing from the mix and usually responded with something like, “it tastes good but looks weird.” They said that you can find cashews in the south of Madagascar, and almonds are available here but just very expensive and raisins are available here but craisins are very strange.  Overall, lunch was delicious and we all got to share what we brought, they their rice and loaka with each other and me some trail mix.

For the afternoon, we spent some more time singing. Then, there was a group of us that played many icebreaker type games which mostly involved being super silly and dancing and singing. Of course, having a vazaha (foreigner) singing and dancing with a group of people is a site to see. So, there were huge groups of children that came to watch us play games.

Around 5, we started to make our adventure home. We decided to walk home without really realizing how far it was. We finally completed the 6 kilometer walk around 8pm. And I immediately fell asleep.

Easter Monday was a great day to spend time with my community. As my time here in Madagascar gets shorter and shorter these are the types of days that I am so grateful for. The days that I will remember fondly for years. 

Also, I apologize for the lack of pictures! Internet has been a struggle today. They will come soon!!

One more also, I would like to request your thoughts and prayers for my community here in Fianar. This past Friday, the 15 year old son of a Pastor in my community passed away. Please keep the family, the community here at Masombahoaka in your thoughts and prayers. Also, please remember the others here in Madagascar suffering from diseases that are preventable and treatable but often cause death here because of a lack of resources.

Spoiled

I’m spoiled. It’s official. I’m spoiled with fruit. I’m spoiled with fresh and awesome vegetables.

The amount of food processing that exists in Madagascar is drastically lower than in the states. Malagasy, and often me too, go to the market daily to buy the food that they will cook that day. Sure, they keep some things around the house, a little sugar, some salt and of course, rice. But with most Malagasy having no refrigeration and little storage in their kitchens, they buy what they need that day.

I don’t follow this lifestyle completely. I do have a fridge, and I buy things at the supermarket here as well as the market. I buy strange things that Malagasy would never know what to do with like baking powder, canned chickpeas and peanut butter! But, I do my best to buy as much as I can at the market. I know that when I buy things at the market, I am helping to pay for the food of the family of the seller that I bought from directly. As I wrote about in a recent post, I have become friends with many of the sellers at my nearby market, and I know that the tomatoes that I bought today directly help them as well as helping me make fantastic guacamole.

Fruits and vegetables here are also much fresher than what most people eat on a regular basis in the United States, especially in the winter of Minnesota. You can see this directly at the market, when you see potatoes still caked in dirt or when the seller takes the white beans out of their shell as you come to see how much they are. Also, it’s common to have fruit trees in your yard that you can pick fresh fruit off of. Mostly, these are just plants that grow and the only work that the people nearby have to do is pick the fruit when it’s ready. I have banana trees in my yard, avocado trees and grape vines nearby as well as some other things. I picked some fresh bananas in December and just the other day helped my neighbor pick some avocados, and got to take a few home for myself.

You can also taste this freshness. It’s especially true with fruit. Mangoes, pineapples, bananas, guava, litche. I have been so spoiled. I’m not sure that I will ever be able to eat these fruits again when I return to the states. Mango and litche seasons are finished. But, there are always pineapples and bananas and guava season is just starting. Today I bought five guavas for ariary zato, or about 3 cents. A zato can buy you a lot street foods here, but I’m definitely going to go nuts of eating lots of guavas until the season is over. I always tell people, “tsy maintsy mihinina voankazo rehetra izao satria ratsy any Amerika!” “I must eat all the fruit now because it’s bad in America!” This always gets a laugh.

This freshness is true about the butcher too. Most chicken here is bought live and you butcher, pluck and all at home. Sometimes at restaurants in the states when the food is taking a long time to arrive, sometimes we joke that they had to kill the chicken first. Here, that’s actually quite a good possibility. If you walk around the big market here in Fianar early enough on any given morning, you will see the newly butchered pigs being carried into the market.  This used to gross me out, but at this point, I have accepted it and am just glad that I don’t have to wash the laundry of the men that do the butchering.

I currently have half a chicken cooking (I didn’t actually butcher it myself, but it did come with more parts than expected still attached), tomatoes and cilantro are soaking in bleach water to make sure they are clean. Soon, I will make chicken flavored with Mexican type spices and tomatoes and some guacamole to go with it. I will make sure to have to lots of guava for dessert. I’m making the most off all of these fresh things that grow so close to my house.

Making the Most

I have less than 4 months left in my community, the community that has taken me in, taken care of me, and showed me more love than I could ever have expected. But, my time is running out.

Sure, I’m excited to be back in the states. I am excited to see family, friends and others from my communities in Minnesota. I’m excited to eat Chipotle, speak English with native speakers on a regular basis and a variety of other things that I haven’t done regularly for a while. But, it’s terrifying to go. For now, I’m doing my best to focus on living here, remembering how far I’ve come and making the most of just being. I can think (and blog) about going closer to the time when I actually have to do it.

In remembering how far I’ve come, I’ve been trying to remember what it was like to ride the bus for the first time, go to the market for the first time, and then the first time by myself, go to my first choir rehearsal, teach my first class, all the things that have become completely normal, even mundane at this point. I know that when I return to Minnesota, I will be telling stories of these things that have become normal to me. I will be telling you all about the streets that I walk down every day and the fruit sellers that keep the best fruit for me and give me extras as presents. Some of these stories involve skills I’ve learned, some involve people I’ve become friends with, or even just getting used to things. Let me start now.

The market in my neighborhood is called Antsenakely, the small market. This market is a place not only for buying vegetables for dinner, snacks in the afternoon, or a new sponge to wash dishes with, but a place to celebrate and spend time with my community. Antsenakely is a 2 minute walk from my door step. Often, when I am in the middle of cooking dinner I will realize that I need an extra tomato or that I forgot to buy eggs. I will grab my wallet and keys, put on my flip flops, turn down the food on the stove (only because I will probably end up stopping to talk to everyone I see on the trip to and from the market so, it always takes longer than expected) and head to the market. I always see my neighbors first, the 2 year old that lives next door is usually outside while her mother cooks or does laundry outside, so I have to stop and say hi. Next, are my students who live in the neighborhood playing soccer or one of many Malagasy games. Third, I pass the Pastor’s house where some of his children are usually hanging out, often playing guitar, so a quick hello to them. Now, when I finally reach the market I head to buy my tomatoes and eggs. I decide to get tomatoes first. I pass a few stands on my way to the two women that I always buy vegetables from. I pass the woman from my church who always gives an excited, “Salama!” and the other sellers who have now learned that my name is Ellen, not “vazaha” (foreigner) and remind their children to call me buy name. I pass the butcher, and they ask if I want to buy any ground beef, I say, “not today.” When I arrive at my two vegetable sellers, I scope out who has the best tomatoes today, and see if there’s anything else that looks great. Today, the green beans look good too, so I buy green beans and tomatoes and continue on my way. As I continue to the woman who sells eggs, I pass my friend who often saves her best fruit for me and then gives me extra as “cadeau” or a present. She doesn’t have any fruit today, just charcoal. But, we still have a short conversation about what’s new. I continue on to buy eggs, and the woman says, “akory ndri,” “hey you!” I buy eggs and we chat about the news. I head back home to finish making my dinner, passing the same people as the trip to the market where they ask me what I bought and remind me to cook something good for dinner.

These trips to the market are a treasure. These people have been there providing me with food and smiles since day one. They have helped me when I couldn’t find the words. They worry when I don’t stop by for a few days. They teach others my name and protect me from the word vazaha (foreigner) that they know I don’t like. They have shown me love and welcomed me in more than I could have ever expected. I am eternally grateful.

Andringitra!

The other volunteers and I have just returned from second retreat. We were so lucky to spend the week in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, Andringitra National Park. We spent the week climbing mountains, seeing ringtail lemurs, and just spending time together with other volunteers. Andringitra is close to Fianar, so many people are there are from the same tribe as my friends and family here. So, I was able to see more about Betsileo culture, and impress the guides with my Betsileo language. The theme for retreat was vocation. It was a great time to reflect on my admittance to graduate school, and how my time here in Madagascar will affect my work and calling as a social worker.

Let me just share some pictures. There is no other way to describe the beauty of this place. And, I'm not sure that pictures can really capture it, but I have done my best!

Our guides walked in front of us. Ramon isn't in this picture, but he was one guide. He is 60 years old and hikes the mountain we climbed three times a week. He wasn't even tired at the top, it was impressive. 

Just some views. 

Hanging out with the mountains.

Hanging out on top of the mountain! 

That's the chameleon we climbed. That's what I was on in the previous picture. 

On the way back we saw some lemurs. 

The clouds though. We were so high up. That's the view from the porch of the tent where we stayed.

The Middle

I have vivid memories of playing pickle in the middle with my mother and sister in the neighborhood pool at my Grandma’s house. I was youngest, shortest and the weakest swimmer. The way I remember it, they would just throw the ball over my head and laugh because I couldn’t catch it. The game pickle in the middle still annoys me. But, maybe I am stuck in the middle again. This time, not so bad.

Things are going well here in Fianarantsoa. I am at a point in my time here where I feel like I will live here forever, and that I can’t picture myself returning to Minnesota. Even though I know, the time will come. I know that July will come and I will have to leave this amazing community, but in the day to day I often feel like Fianar has always been my home and always will be. I am comfortable here, I, mostly, understand that day to day conversations that I have, I know all the sellers at the market near my house and I know they will give me a good deal. Sometimes one of them will ask me for more information on what I am doing here in Fianar. When I explain that I will return to the United States in July, they are surprised and usually respond with something like, “and, when will you return to Fianar?”

Getting to know people in my community, learning language and simply spending time here has increased my comfort since my arrival. But, I also have times when it feels very obvious to me that this isn’t home. Mostly, these times come when I really want some food that isn't available here, or when I go to the supermarket (most Malagasy only shop at the outdoor market) and buy yoghurt and cans of chickpeas for hummus, or when I spend an afternoon at wifi and my Malagasy friends say, “what did you do for four hours online?” Or, even when I use my newly discovered oven to bake bread and have a sandwich.  These things are important to me as well. Sometimes when I have a fresh baked loaf I will bring a few pieces to my host family and they think it’s delicious, but they cannot grasp a meal without rice.

I am practicing finding a balance between being completely at home here in Fianar, and also being an outsider. I will never be Bitsleo (the tribe here in Fianar) even if I know their language and make jokes about being half Malagasy. I am finding a balance between my Malagasy self and my Minnesota self. These two will always be pieces of me. I will forever live someplace in between, and maybe neither Minnesota nor Fianarantsoa will ever feel completely like home. I will forever eat my small quantities (according to the Malagasy) of rice with a spoon, because it’s really more efficient anyway. When I will return to the states, I will still cook wearing my lamba (like an apron) but I will not use charcoal. I’m forever stuck in the middle, and I’m not sure that I would choose to become un-stuck if I could.