What’s Up with the Boots on Your Feet?

(Written 9/17/2008)

I have often been criticized by local Malagasy for the shoes I wear. Most days, I wear a pair of cheap flipflops, which is not really a problem. But when it rains a lot, and the roads become slippery sheets of mud, the flipflops get no traction and my feet go in an opposite direction from my shoes. In other words, I fall. A lot. The flipflops also sometimes get submerged in mud and I have to dig them out. Everyone told me to buy a pair of (the very popular here) Jellies. That’s correct, the plastic sandals that encase your feet. I think I last owned a pair when I had neon orange shorts to match (we are talking early-90s, not 2 years ago during an Apt. 427 one-time-only exception). I resisted my desire to own such hip footwear until today, when my flipflops broke. Actually, they have broken before, and already have more shoe goo in them to hold them together than original material. But I got a pair of Jellies. Early returns are mixed, but we’ll see how they hold up in the muddy rainy season in a few months. I have a feeling that nothing can keep thus uncoordinated pile of awkwardness from falling. But maybe they will help a little?
Speaking of footwear, I often wear my hiking boots on longer trips. A few days ago, riding on a taxi-brousse (van) returning from my banking town, I was very glad I had these boots on. After about an hour, the Brousse had to go back to the bigger town for some part, so we got out and walked for about 4 hours until the brousse returned for the final hour or so of the trip. By now, I am perfectly used to walking long distances (this is what all that “training”, like walking from downtown South Bend to the airport or DC to various Northern Virginia locales, was for). In spite of some rain and steep hills, the walk was relaxing, and I even found a cool Omby (cow) horn en route. Still, I am not yet Malagasy enough to have made the trip barefoot, so I was thankful for the boots.
Today I was sitting with a friend, watching him make watering cans and lanterns from scrap metal. Pretty cool, but while he was working, I was talking with an older man who asked if we had “Olona Akoho” in America. This confused me, because it means “Chicken Men.” I thought maybe this was an insult meaning cowards? But after some charades explanations, I realized he was talking about Native Americans and their feathered headresses. Naturally!
Finally, today I was also working with the staff of the nearby Primary school. This school, Mitsinjo, is the private school that recently had its official grand opening that I wrote about. I met with all the teachers because they wanted to apply for a grant to improve their school, but had some differing ideas about what to work on. So we used one of those PACA tools I mentioned a while back: Priority Ranking. In this, we took all of their ideas and put them in a grid on the top and the side. Then we voted on each idea in a head-to-head match up. It was an interesting process. Their ideas included new uniforms, a library, an infirmary, new equipment… even a faculty lounge. As we voted, we also discussed the merits of each, and eventually decided on building a library for the kids. It was exciting to watch the people reach their own consensus (I only facilitated); that, I think, is what development is supposed to look like. So we will see if we can get the proposal in order, and perhaps eventually christen a new library for the local children!
I mentioned how walking long distances no longer phases me. Other things that seem normal now, but may be odd to you reading at home: little boys wearing dresses; massive group meals where the side dish (sauce with a little meat) is served from buckets and everyone eats from communal rice bowls; going to a movie that is supposed to start at 6:30 and then sitting through an hour of music videos before the movie actually starts (most recently, I saw Redbelt, an MMA movie with Randy Couture and a very fat Tim Allen… it was dubbed in French, and I had no idea what was going on, except that it was terrible); eating 3 plates of rice and then being told, by someone who did not finish their first plate, that I and all Americans do not and cannot eat rice; looking at my plate in a restaurant and finding a hair or bug or something else unacceptable in the States and, instead of not eating or complaining to the staff, scolding myself for actually looking at what I was eating (ignorance is bliss!)
I know I said “finally” a while ago, but for real this time – I have to brag about a few recent care package goodies. My mom sent a harmonica, so now I can retaliate with odd noises against the chickens and dogs in my neighborhood. And my dad sent a classic Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade poster, which if you know me you can imagine how perfect that is. It looks especially cool by candlelight. And of course, congrats to the 2-0 Irish, I have the local kids working on the cheers so I think that is helping. By the time I leave, maybe we will have even mastered the complex drum/clapping/handgestures/chanting ones!