Over the River and Through the Woods

Written August 4, 2008; posted by MOM)

Well, as I predicted, my trip to the “the Great Above” was quite the experience. It was a long journey, about 5 hours maybe, but part of it was on a river. I was taken down the river in a “Lakana”, a slender, long dugout canoe that is poled down the river. It was a relaxing trip on one of the few sunny and dry days, and I spent part of the trip teaching the boatman some English. People often ask for strange words in English; for instance, I was teaching a group of kids body parts they would point to (“orana”=nose, “maso”=eyes) when one of them asked me to translate “faneva”, a word I had never heard. We had to walk halfway across town to a “faneva” so they could point it out. It ended up being a flag. Sure, nose, eyes, flag...makes sense! Well the boatman and I were going over things around us, like “rano”=water, “masoandro”=sun, when he asked me about a word that ended up meaning “to be arrested/to be in jail”. Natural progression!

While in the new village, I sat in on a fety (party) celebrating the anniversary of the town becoming an official fokontany. At least, I think that is what they were celebrating. When the large town hall style meeting, in which townspeople asked the community leaders questions, became a heated debate, they decided to end things on a funny note by having me address the crowd. So I spoke briefly to the few hundred people, cracking some cheesy jokes, and changing the attitudes of the children from pure terror to intense curiosity. I may have mentioned this before, but somewhere the rumor started, and has passed along the generations, that “Vazaha” (white foreigners) eat children, or at least misbehaving children. So, many kids run away screaming when they see me. To make matters worse, the older children find it amusing to carry their screaming younger siblings up to me to terrorize them. After a series of hand pounds (Tona kely), high fives and some jokes in Malagasy, most children warm to me. Although they still run off when I casually mention I am hungry...

At night, the town had a “Bal” or dance/party. It is common for men to dance together or at least in male-only groups. So a number of the town elders wanted to dance with me, which was a bit strange. After dancing, they would try to set me up with a girl as a “sipa” (girlfriend). They also would try and give me “Toaka Gasy”, a homemade rum that is incredibly harsh to drink. I expect a cartoon-like burst of flames to emit from my mouth after a sip. Eventually, we headed home, where I found out that as well as being a breakfast, lunch and dinner, Vary (rice) is also a late-night snack! Late-night parties at Notre Dame used to consist of frozen pizzas and Tostitos, in DC it was 7-11 snacks and jumbo slices, and in Madagascar it is cold leftover rice!

Speaking of rice, since I was a guest, everyone wanted me to eat with them. At every meal, I made the rounds and would eat rice. Each time, I did not expect to be soon at another house eating rice. So I would eat my share, until I was full, and leave...only to be invited in somewhere new and encouraged to eat until bursting again. I had 2 or 3 of each meal. It was not only filling, but downright exhausting!

All in all, it was a fun trip, even if I managed to get soaked on the trip home in the river. I taught some people the Gospel of Compost according to Chris, and met plenty of interesting new people (like the man I met walking through town who is, according to him and everyone I asked, 105 years young!) Now I am preparing for a Peace Corps training, which means it is time to shave my rather ridiculous 2 month old beard into an even more ridiculous moustache. I know this is the kind of information you all need to know. It will also be the first time my training group gets back together, so I am sure there will be plenty of crazy stories to hear. But I think the moustaches will be the real treat.

Tying up a few loose ends, I mentioned previously eating something called “Fary” and said it was a sweet root crop. Well, upon further inspection, I am an idiot: Fary is sugar cane. So, no wonder it is (almost painfully) sweet! It is also what Toaka Gasy is made from, although I have yet to learn this art.

As part of my daily experience, hearing my name shouted repeatedly by children is always a bit weird. For one, my name is pronounced by everyone here as “Krees” or like the English word “crease”. For another, it is repeated endlessly until I respond or wave, which of course only further encourages the kids. And finally it is now always followed by “Bama, Bama, Bama, Who!” It is kind of like having your own theme song or batting music or entrance music. “Crease! Crease! Crease! Bama! Bama! Bama! Who!” It announces my presence long before my actual arrival, and builds the excitement to a fever pitch...or something like that.

I also forgot to mention another odd thing about Malagasy music—the prevalence of Malagasy Pop Country music. A number of Malagasy artists have become popular by making country music in Malagasy, even adopting the look of country stars. So a music video will have the group in cowboy hats, chaps, boots...never mind that there is no real correlation to traditional American country staples like horses. But there are lots of cows. One popular video in particular makes me laugh: Tselatra, a group of Malagasy male singers, are dressed like cowboys, hanging out in a pickup truck and throwing their arms around each other in a brotherly fashion like good ol’ boys. Seriously if you muted the music and dubbed over the current American country song, it would fit perfectly. Wild!