watchin' the tide roll away...

As the days wind down on my time here in Mada, I find myself reflecting more and more on my life here. Walking out to have dinner with Jonathan and Mandy, two fellow Alaskans living here in Mahajanga, I took the long route that follows the coastline (and gives me a view across the bay to my old stomping grounds). I have tried to explain many a time to Gasy friends that in America you need to have money to live on the ocean. Not just a little money, but a lot of money. Here, you just need to get your hands on a bit of land. Luckily, there are still plenty of spots available, and it’s warm enough that you can build a house of minimal materials and stay comfortable. In most of the places in the bay area you are going to be surrounded by mango, guava or konikoni fruits. You can sit in your yard and wait for sellers of fish, shrimp or crab to wander by. In the non-rainy season you can catch free concerts put on by big name artists down on the ocean front. If you’re going to pick a place to make a little money go a long way, this place works.

Food for thought today:

“There is no act of faith more beautiful than the generosity of the very poor.”

From Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts

A fabulous read if you’re in the market for a book.

Metropolitan Living! of sorts...

After two years of hard, brutal living conditions (in my cute fishing village located on the ocean surrounded by mango and guava trees), I have made the move to the city across the bay, Mahajanga, the place that dreams are made of, where stars go to be born and.. no wait, I’m getting a tad bit carried away. I moved to Mahajanga, the city across the bay. It is a larger city, but nothing too crazy to be had here, although if I wanted to have ice cream and a cold soda every day, I could (although I would run out of money before the month was up). My new housing is nice, an apartment located in the center area of town, not far from the baka, not far from the ocean, not far from three different bazaars that sell more than the two vegetables that I could buy in my old town. On that hand, life here is great.

On the other hand, it’s hard to go from living in a house where I peeled my mangos out the window (compost pile!) and fetched my water from a well, regularly walked an hour on a dusty red road to visit friends, was not just a “vazaha” but someone who actually lived in the community, a farmer, a teacher, a friend. Now I am starting over again, finding my rhythm, adjusting to being indoors more, less in the environment and the field. It is probably a good baby step to heading back to the states, back to the land of offices and AC and shopping in those big, scary grocery stores…

My new job for the next six months is helping to create the new American corner, a cultural center being constructed here in collaboration with the English Teaching Center in Antananarivo. It will have computers, Kindles, Nintendo Wiis, I think iPads, and a whole lot of other cool technology that I don’t even have (or had). We’re going to try and make the environment a big part of the theme of the center, so I am hoping to start some recycling programs, and try to instill a sense of community ownership in the kids using the center.

Wish me luck; I’m hitting the ground running because I’ve learned that time flies and I’ll be moving on to my next adventure before I realize it. The only question is: where will I land next?

Organized chaos

One thing I will really miss about Madagascar: going to the bazaar every day for brightly colored veggies, freshly butchered meat, newly caught fish, buying rice by the kapoka (a tin can used to scoop out rice, beans, macaroni pasta, etc in uniform quantities), and making friends with the mpivarotras (sellers) that absolutely love it when white people show up speaking Malagasy. They want to know where you learned it, where you live now, and the ever important ‘are you tamana?’ Tamana is a Malagasy word that roughly translates to mean that it is good, you are happy, comfortable living in a place. Anytime you have been in a town for more than a day someone is bound to ask you if you are tamana being there. It’s generally best to answer yes, unless you can come up with an acceptable reason why you’re not tamana (luckily, hailing from Katsepy meant that I could tell people that I wasn’t tamana in their city because there weren’t coconut trees… no arguing with that!)

Being in Mahajanga has reminded me that people here (and in a lot of other countries) are adapted to living in a more chaotic state than we are in the States. No-rules traffic means that you, as a pedestrian do NOT have the right of way. It is your job to avoid the cars, buses, motorcycles, cyclists, cows, and any other objects that may be coming down the road at any given speed, in either lane, possibly on their cell phone. The concept of lines has not taken root, so when you go to the post office, the bazaar, the ice cream shop, you push your way to the front and do whatever it takes to get the eye of the person in charge so that you can buy your stamp. If you try to respect the natural order (that guy was here before me, so I’ll go after him), someone new will come in and cut in front of both of you. Survival of the… loudest?

The rainy season is upon us now, and that leads to flooded streets and muddy roads. Clothes dry, but at a much slower speed, and if you put them away wet they mold and make you permanently musty. Sudden rain bursts lead to invisible sidewalks – a problem that wouldn’t mean much in the States, but here where the sidewalk can disappear at any point in the form of a large gaping hole, you want to be able to see where you are putting your feet. On the plus, I’ve had the chance to make random acquaintances whilst stuck under awnings (today Karina and I were stuck under a satrona tree, better than nothing but still emerged fairly sodden).

Until next time,
chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan