Winter

It's ridiculous really. I just suppressed a shiver and checked my alarm clock / thermometer to find that it's 9:16 PM, 78.0 Degrees fahrenheit. I'm cold. It wasn't even all that hot today, around 94 degrees with a strong and occasionally sand-filled wind. I checked my forehead with the back of my hand. No fever, I'm just cold. By morning, I'll be bundled up in socks, sweat pants, a t-shirt and a wool blanket that makes me sneeze. It might reach 70 degrees. Room temperature in the states is 73 right? I guess I'm either adjusted to the heat or dying of some obscure tropical disease. JK Mom.

I haven't posted in a while. Each time I've made it into the city I've perused my mind for recent mishaps, adventures, or particularly lucid insights. No dice. I try to have a least one misadventure a month so I am way overdue. I'll see what I can do.

Work is going fine. I spend much of my time simply waiting. Waiting for a meeting with so and so, waiting to learn more about the village or about what is needed, waiting for materials, waiting to hear back from Peace Corps. I do work in great spurts when the stars align and the gods approve. Mostly, I work on agriculture, ecotourism, and mother and child nutrition. So, for example, I might teach improved rice agriculture to the pregnant tourists with hungry children. All pretty standard peace corps stuff. 

My main project though, is working to get a community health clinic built in the village. Currently, there are no health facilities within 30 Kilometers of my village. The only medicines available are tylenal and herbal "remedies" made by the witch doctor. Women often give birth in their homes without the assistance of a trained midwife. The need for a health clinic is obvious and understood by all the villagers. The hotel has agreed to help by supplying water, electricity and some building materials. The community has agreed to provide the land and most of the labor. A French nurse, who is retiring to a bungalow at the hotel, has agreed to work at the clinic. My job is to find some additional funding, negotiate the final deal and make sure everyone lives up to the agreement. I may apply for funding through the Peace Corps Partnership. This is a program that lets American citizens (especially friends, family, and associates) donate small sums of money to help finance volunteer projects (e.g. my project). In case any of you are interested in contributing, I'll be sure to let you know how and when you can help.

That's all for now folks. Somebody should send me a letter. My mailbox has been empty for quite a while. If I have neglected to respond to one of you, don't take it personally but do remind me that you're still waiting for an answer. Peace out.

Shipwreck

A few weeks ago, Mike, my boss, came out to visit me. He took a boat from a new site South of Majunga. It was a little motor boat. He stopped in Majunga to see if I was there and I actually was waiting for a car to take me up to my site. So we gathered up my giant load of stuff and threw it on the boat.(Mary and 5 guides from her park were coming up to my site a few days later so I bought lots of provisions)

We enjoyed the 30 minute ride up to my village. The ocean was calm and the view of the beaches was picturesque. We arrived outside my village and found 2 big pirogues anchored a ways off shore. Our captain rode the boat in-between the pirogues and we made our way toward shore. Once we entered the surf things got really bumpy as we were pounded by waves. Our captain threw out the anchor as a very large wave turned the boat sideways into the surf. A few seconds later the anchor line went taught. We stopped our quick progression toward shore. The waves, however, did not stop their progression toward shore. As the first waves hit, Mike and I were slightly amused. "What in the world is this guy thinking, this is a terrible place to throw anchor.' A few moments later, the boat is being hammered by wave after wave. We are struggling to stay in the boat, which is now quickly filling with water. I look over to see a look of absolute terror on the "captain's" face. I look over at mike as we both come upon the same realization, "OH MY GOD WE ARE GOING TO SINK!!!" I pick up a bucket and start the futile task of bailing water out of the boat. Mike is using cupped hands in an even more futile effort. Spaghetti, oatmeal, and apples are floating around our knees. The captain jumps out of the boat and swims toward the anchor. I prepare myself for what seems like the inevitable swim to shore. Amazingly, Gilligan manages to free the anchor and toss it into the boat. He struggles with the outboard before finally getting it going and taking off into the waves and out to deeper water.

We finish bailing out the water from the boat. I'm furious about the food. I can think of only one thing to say, "Tsy Mahay Ianao!" <You don't know what your doing!> I cool down as we dump the water out of my cooler and collect my stuff that is now scattered around the boat. Now what? We are basically stranded out to sea, but within good sight of the shore. I take off my shirt, watch, and shoes and dive in.

I swim to shore and am greeted by a group of very surprised villagers. "Shawn, how did you get here, why are you wet?" I explain twice because the first time I am constantly interrupted by laughter. They quickly dispatch a small pirogue to the boat to get my things and my boss." The first question they ask the captain is, "Didn't you see our boats out there? Why do you think we would leave them all the way out there?" Gilligan stares at his feet in response. If I wasn't so angry about my food, I'd have felt bad.

Tromba- Partying with the dead

The Kabosy (traditional guitar) could barely be heard as the clapping, singing, and screaming (in a musical sort of "aeeaeeaeeaee" way) reached a feverish peak. Wind whipped into the small hut frustrating the single lit candle in it's meager attempt to light the proceedings. Lightning flashes in the sky and rain begins to fall on the palm-leafed roof. Quickly, the rain cooled air circles through the room forcing out the stale air and smell of 100 villagers.

Thunder strikes- loud roaring thunder, the kind that sends sharp pains deep inside your ears- makes you close your eyes, tight, while you wait for nature's anger to dissipate. Another flash, anxious silence, CRACKACKAKKK- and I'm injured.

 Now I'm confused. Where am I? Why can't I see? And who is flailing widely about ontop of me? I hear somebody say, "Hey get her up, Shawn's under there!" A rush of bodies around me pull the offender off of me. They pick her up and I see that it is my friend's wife, except it isn't really her. She's screaming and kicking, swearing and fighting. Then she stops. Stands still, and patiently and docilely accepts the help of the other women as they wrap traditional clothing around her. Soon she is sitting politely with the other "possessed" villagers, answering questions regarding her health and happiness. Apparently, she is good on both counts.

Really, this was more excitement than I ever could have expected from my calm and quite natured villagers. This night, however, because of the council of one of the village elders, a Tromba has been called, the spirits have been invited, and spontaneous possession can happen at any moment.

The Tromba is a ancient Malagasy custom not unlike a séance. In response to sickness (as in this case), mysterious death, or any kind of social anxiety an elder skilled in "sikidy" (divination) can prescribe a Tromba. A Kabose player is called for, along with several other sacred objects from the forest, most notably the seed of a certain tree which, when burned releases a pungent smell that is said to attract the spirits of the dead.

The ceremony starts with music and a prayer welcoming the spirits of the dead. The spirit of the "Topontrano" (founder of the household) is invited first. The spirit will then enter one of the family members sitting near the "alter" (the small table holding the incense). The moment of possession is a spontaneous and, as I described, rather frantic affair, but soon develops into a calm and formal interaction between the spirit, acting through a medium, and the community. After a generous time spent with the spirit, he or she is asked to sit tight while another spirit is invited. After an initial orderly procession of spirits come and go, the fun starts. The spirits take control of the event and are no longer respect invitations to come and go. They jump into unsuspecting bystanders (thereby causing them to jump up and fling themselves backwards into the crowd and especially, onto Shawn). These poorly behaved spirits often act in strange ways causing laughter and sometimes anger. It is not uncommon for them to say unpopular or offensive things.

The Tromba lasts well into the morning, giving even the shiest of spirits ample opportunity to make themselves known. I suspect that the passing around of "Toka" (moonshine) helps to keep the process going, while also keeping it interesting.

I suspect that the tromba serves a social and perhaps political purpose beyond it's obvious spiritual and cultural meaning. It seems to me that the ceremony gives villagers a safe place to debate personal and community problems all the while consulting the memories of passed elders, leaders, and loved ones. Certainly, It would be disingenuous to recast the whole the ceremony as an elaborate game of "what would Gramma say about Fara getting pregnant?" but I couldn't help but peer behind the religious ceremony and wonder about a more practical side to the event. Sadly, the background noise of singing, clapping, and screaming combined with my still noobish language skills meant that most of the actual conversation with the dead was completely unintelligible to me.

Next time I'll be sure to get a better seat, closer to the spirits, but hopefully out of the way of their victims. Anyone have any questions they'd like me to put to the ancestors? Maybe your ancestors know my villagers' ancestors?

Quick Note to My Frequent Readers

To my dedicated readers (i.e. Mom),

Just a note that instead of checking my website periodically for updates and being frequently disappointed. You can subscribe to my homepage using the Subscribe button located at the top of the screen. This means that whenever I update the website you will get an email notification (along with the entry).

Also, Maya should be logging on soon to post some pictures from our trip. This will add to my truly pitiful Madagascar Pictures section.

I have a backlog of entries already written, but not yet posted as internet time is a precious and rare commodity. So do not despair, dear reader, there is plenty more to come. 

Visitor!

On January 23rd, Maya came to visit.  I waited on an overpass overlooking the baggage claim area while her plane unloaded. I quickly spotted the only young and lost-looking Vaza (foreigner).  I counted to 10 before climbing down to run after her, just to make sure.

We were thrilled to see each other. She looked exactly as I remembered her, maybe better. I negotiated the taxi fare and we headed off for the hotel. Back in the room, we exchanged pictures and stories from our travels and tried to get over the surreal feeling of seeing each other again.

The next day we took the night taxi-brousse to Majunga. We stayed in the run down, yet quant and safe hotel that I usually stay in, Hotel Kanto (ironically, "the well built hotel."). The very next morning we left for Antsianitia. We arrived around noon with far too much baggage and a kilometer to walk, fortunately some villagers were there to help. As the footpath opened up revealing the village and my house a huge crowd of at least a hundred villagers were already scattered around my house and my yard. The goat was already dead and boiling in the pot. My villagers clapped and cheered as we approached. Once inside, they began the "mamangy" (official visitings). Starting with the oldest and most respected village men, small groups of 4 to 5 villagers would come into the house and chat with us for several minutes while we offered them soda. The villagers understood that Maya didn't speak Malagasy, but somehow couldn't quite accept it. Her blank looks helped to reinforce the message that, no, in fact there was no way to communicate with this girl, save for me translating.

When the goat was properly boiled (until it resembled truck tire on a stick) and the rice sufficiently cooked, we laid down several large woven reed mats on which to sit and eat. Amazingly, the floor of my small hut accommodated more than 15 Malagasy, albeit uncomfortably.

After dinner we accepted more visitors, wandered around the crowd, and then slowly began dropping hints that we needed to unpack. First however, we had to do the "Kabary" (speeches). Malagasy speeches are fun contests where the speakers compete to see who can convey the idea of "thank you" in as many different and verbose ways as possible. The last speech was reserved for me. Not being skilled in Kabarying, however, I had to make do with apologizing 3 times, 3 ways for not being a good speaker, then moving on to giving thanks in only a handful of awkward and probably grammatically incorrect ways. Then, when I thought it was all over, they looked to Maya for a Kabary. She didn't really know what to say except thank you, so I told her to just say English sentences while I pretended to translate. I repackaged the speech I had just given while cleverly replacing the word for "I" alternately with "she says" and "Maya says." The villagers nodded in appreciation, although they probably were just being polite.

The next day we hiked to a nearby village so I could show off the rice fields that I oversaw the planting of using a new intensive rice farming technique. That evening we were invited to eat with some a bunch of the villagers who had killed some turkeys and ducks to celebrate the recovery of a boy that had been sick. That night I fell suddenly and severely ill. I kept Maya awake as I got out of bed every 10 minutes or so to go out to the outhouse. The next day I was slightly better as we napped on the beach and played backgammon. However my illness returned that night. At one point I pulled out my medical book to try to self diagnose myself. As usual, the book simply made me aware of more symptoms that I had "yet to notice" (you know, I do have a backache, now that you mention it... hey and my left ear does kinda feel weird... Oh My God I have Schistosomiasis... and Malaria... and Disentary).

The next day we returned to Majunga as planned and I slowly began to recover. After a day in Tana, we flew out to Antalaha in the North East (near the rainforest corridor). We met my friend Steven at the airport and spent a relaxed few days hanging out in Antalaha with Steven and two other volunteers.

Next, we hoped on the taxi brousse from hell (relative to all others I've taken, which says a lot). The brousse was more crowded, smelly, and overheated than usual. After a solid 3 hours of riding we began to see signs for "ANDAPA 10 Km", which was our destination. We relaxed thinking we had only 20 minutes or so left. Unfortunately, the last 10 Km are a severe uphill climb and in a antique and overloaded taxi brousse this meant that the last 10Km took more than an hour and a half. 80 year old women carrying loads of wood on their heads passed us by.

Finally, we disembark in Andapa. I ask an innocent-looking Malagasy man about the location of the National Park office where my friend Paul lives. Quickly I realize that I have made a mistake and opened a conversation with a drunk. He launched into a sob story about his brother who was killed in a park accident on the other side of the island. Then he starts begging for money. We start walking away and he followed. He was trying to convince me to follow him to the Park office, but I will have none of it. He then reaches into my pocket while asking for money. In shock, I smack his hand and threaten to call the Gandarme. Eventually, we lose him and find our way to the office. After meeting up with Paul, who should arrive at the door, but our friend the drunk. We send him away. Undeterred and somewhat creatively, he returns with a pineapple and a banana. Again we send him away.

Later that night we are eating dinner in a somewhat fancy Malagasy restaurant which is open to the street. Mid-sentence, Paul is interrupted by drunky as he lurches into Paul's face while demanding "Acheté moi une cigarette!!" After a short showdown, he retreats back into the street. After dinner, we nervously walk to our hotel, a full 7 hours after our first meeting, the drunk guy must have finally sobered up because we never saw him again.

The next day we began climbing Mt. Moranjejy. The mountain is protected as a national park with infrastructure constructed by a German NGO. It is a rainforest paradise much like that depicted in the Disney movie "Madagascar" (except the lemurs didn't have an Indian accent). As you climb, the forest changes from lowland tertiary scrub to secondary lowland to mid-altitude primary forest to high altitude primary scrub. It was damp and foggy but luckily it didn't rain much.  We climbed for 3 days, sleeping in nice nylon tent-shelters at night. The distances were short, 10K the first day, 3 k the second and 2k the third. However, this doesn't take into account the vertical climb. Day two and three were almost unbearably tough. For much of the trip we climbed hand over foot pulling ourselves up on tree roots while sliding around in the mud. If it weren't for the diverse plant life and the frequent sightings of poison dart frogs, birds and lemurs, it wouldn't have been any fun. The fact that Maya's bag was at least twice as heavy as mine (I don't have a hiking pack, just a daybag) kept me from complaining too much.  Eventually, late on day 3 we climbed up out of the forest and onto the spine of the mountain revealing a fog covered canopy of rainforest in all directions. It felt like climbing into a national geographic special on PBS. The next day we had to abandon an attempt for the summit due to poor weather (rain and wind) and head back down the mountain. I was so tired I contemplated curling up on a nice fuzzy matt of moss and dying. That day we descended more than a kilometer and a half in vertical distance.

After successfully conquering, despite not summitting, Mt Moranjejy, we flew back to Tana. A few days later I took Maya to the airport for a sad goodbye almost a year to the day since we said goodbye the last time. She leaves for Fiji in May. Maybe next April I'll take the scenic, easterly route home.