Who Needs Running Water?

Ways that Roland (our program director) described our upcoming trip to the villages surrounding Tsiromandidy:
(He did this all while keeping a perfectly straight face, which made it sooo much better.)

"You are all guarenteed shelter."

"No one has ever not finished the village stay."

(In response to a question of getting infected by going into standing water) "Well, I wouldn't spend all day in a rice paddy if I were you..."

"I'm not saying 'Don't play with children' but if you do that all day the adults will treat you like a child."

"You'll be several kilometers away from any of the other students, but maybe you will see one person during the week."

"No, don't expect electricty or running water, but maybe they'll have a car battery hooked up to a radio or TV."

"It's not that no one will speak French, but think of it as a chance to practice your Malagasy."

"Students always find some way to communicate with the family..."

"We'll be giving you flea powder to sprinkle around your bed. Oh, and some of you might have straw mats to sleep on."

"Yes, the plague outbreak in the north is the same plague that killed 1/3 of Europe. Yes, it is also spread by fleas. I don't think it's cause for concern..."

"Yes, bring your phones. No, there will not be any phone coverage in the villages."

"If there is an emergency..."
Oh, this is going to be good.
"Tell your family right away..."
Speaking what language...?
"They can alert someone who can access a landline..."
That's how far away...?
"And it is possible to evacuate someone from the villages"
hahahaha this is going to be AWESOME

So there you have it, I'm going off to the villages on Tuesday morning and wont be in contact again until the 14th... We'll see how this goes. Until then!

Chess with Laiz

Tonight I found myself playing Chess in Madagascar. This all started when Laiz asked me if I knew the game. For about 3 minutes I thought he was talking about royalty that used to rule Madagascar… and then I realized we were talking about Chess. Stunner French skills.

Things didn’t go so well for me in the beginning, as I forgot how to play. Oh, and this is Laiz!

                                                  

                                                  

                                                

But then I made a glorious comeback! Laiz was shocked! Or mostly trying to avoid having his picture taken.

                                               

My king nobly went down in the end. But it’s OK. We’re playing again tomorrow.

And as if it wasn’t enough to lose to my 18-year old Malagasy host-bro, he then guiltily told me he had had a large beer before playing and was very tipsy.

Great, I stink at Chess.

Doodle Mania

I can’t bring a camera into the city because of the high risk of theft… so instead here are some doodles that show what exactly I’m doing in class…

The first 3 pages of my notebook are comprised of these…

And then there are two sentences. These sentences are the titles of the lectures we sat through that day. Nothing more.

A couple of blank pages of later, we find more of the same.

                                                              

I really thought I was going to make note progress today with the start of this page. But then I ripped off the corner of the page, drew a bat and wrote “You’ve been bitten by the rabies bat. Pass it along.” By the end of the lecture, most of the students had been bitten. Oops, I’m the disruptive kid in third grade.

                                                          

To try to spin my TOTAL inability to focus here in a positive light, at least some of the drawings have relevance to language class.

I am a cat. I like fish.

                                                  

Unfortunately I was also caught drawing this in language class accompanied by a large explosion.

                                                             

I’m not including the explosion since my language teacher insultingly told me it looked like a tree…

“C’est un arbre!”

“Non, pas de tout! C’est une explosion!”

“Non… non. C’est un arbre…”

 This was after she made a neck wringing motion at me for asking another student if she would go “Grill the White People” in Malagasy. Hey… at least my grammar and verbs were correct.

One of these days I’ll slip back into academic mode, but it’s a nice change of pace being an absent minded doodler. 

An Alphabet Poem

(Dedicated to Molly Huggard, the only other member of our two person, self-taught poetry class located in Austin Hall during last summer)

*Side Note – If you alphabetize Madagascar, it would be called this: Aaaacdgmrs. Hehehehe

Always listening. For what?

Barking dogs, of course. Why’s that?

Cause it’s become comforting when going to sleep.

Does it really help you sleep?

Every night. It’s dependable.

Few things here don’t seem like chaos.

Good point. Where do you go to escape the chaos?

Hotel Colbert, only if I’m feeling vasha-y.

If you’re not? Where do you go?

Jeez, lots of places I guess. Depends on what I’m looking for…

Killer mojitos? (And yes I mean “killer” because usually they contain ice) Outcool.

Lemurs? Andasibe National Park. You can see Indry and Dancing Lemurs.

Mosquito bites? My room at night time. (Just killed one sitting on my arm)

No, no. That’ s much too specific.

Oh, what do you mean, then?

Perhaps I should phrase the question another way…

Quand tu es libre, qu’est-ce que tu fait?

Rien. Non, ce n’est pas vrai. Je marche, je mange, je decouvert!

Seems fun, why do you complain?

Tummy troubles.

Ugly side effect of traveling.

Vasha ianoa!

Wow, even insulting me in Malagasy. How clever.

Xenophobic, I am not.

Yoda, I am.

Zut alors! Ending on a Star Wars joke, nice. 

One Last Thought

I just read this paragraph in my wonderfully fantastic book.


"I don’t keep a travel diary. I did keep a travel diary once and it was a big mistake. All I remember of that trip is what I bothered to write down. Everything else slipped away, as though my mind felt jilted by my reliance on pen and paper. For exactly the same reason I don’t travel with a camera. My holiday becomes the snapshots and anything I forget to record is lost." - Alex Garland 


It's making me wonder if it's true and if I'm spending too much time in my blog, or taking pictures or documenting everything. I'm really not sure...


That's all. 

On a happier note…

I feel like after the last entry, I need to balance out the blog with an optimistic and upbeat entry. My mood’s much improved. I’m back on what would be prescription stomach meds in the US, but can be bought over the counter here. That was convenient, I must admit. So, in lieu of the negative rant below, here is a list of 10 things that I really like, and perhaps even love about Tana.


1.  The music played in restaurants and buses is hilarious and incredibly entertaining. For example, Akon’s “Right Now” just came blasting on the speakers at Hotel Colbert, Tana’s ultra-luxury hotel where the wealthy traveling Europeans and politicians stay when visiting. Yesterday on my bus I heard “Grillz,” “Birthday Sex,” and more Eminem than I knew existed. I have to wonder if the Malagasy people have any idea of the lyrics to these songs.

2. There are Dora the Explorer raincoats and Disney Princess bags everywhere you walk, especially when the schools are letting out. You can’t possibly feel sad when there’s a 40-year old man wearing his daughters Sleeping Beauty backpack walking in front of you.


3.  When you get past the people screaming “vasha,” the men making “tss” flirting noises and the school girls who point and laugh at you, a lot of people do say hello when you pass them in the street. And, as an added bonus, they are pleasantly surprised when they discover that you can respond in Malagasy. Apparently, the traveling French do not make an effort to speak the local language, so our attempts are always warmly received.


4.  It’s normal to go to a restaurant and sit on the hot and sticky porch drinking steaming hot tea. This has almost become comfortable for me, despite my dislike of hot beverages, especially in hot places. But, it’s relaxing and gives me an opportunity to watch the city without becoming overwhelmed by it.


5.   Once you figure out the bus system and get over the cramped nature of it, it’s actually an incredibly efficient and dependable form of transportation... so far.  Despite the initial chaos and seemingly disorganized nature of the Taxi-Be system, I’ve warmed to it and often prefer it to taking a Taxi.

6. Without constant internet access and having no television, I’ve been forced to rediscover other things I like to do like read, draw and write. I’m currently reading The Beach and absolutely loving it. I’m also finding it incredibly relatable to my current experience/feelings/whatever so it’s a good outlet for my boredom or frustration.


7.  There’s milk for my tea! (This is something that just happened) This sounds silly and trivial, but given the rarity of dairy products here, finding milk, cheese, or hopefully one day, yogurt is very exciting and reason for celebration.


8.  Juliette, our femme de ménage, irons my non-underwear clothes. It’s nice being wrinkle free.

9. The pastries here are still AMAZING. Whenever I’m feeling healthy enough to eat one, it’s certainly a highlight to the day.


10.  It’s forcing me to step out of my comfort zone, often. This initially feels icky and, well, uncomfortable, but I do think I’m taking a lot from the experience and I am still glad that I’m here.

WARNING: This is a rant.

This is a long and annoying rant. I want to talk about all of the great things in Madagascar, but I would be lying if I neglected to post any of the negative entries I’ve made. So here’s one of them. I’ll try to make this the first and last one that I post online, but I’m not making any promises. Skip over this entry if you’re not a fan of rants.

Being sick during the first week feels like adaptation. To be the first one to fall sick among the group is something I chalked up to bad luck.

Being sick during the second week is unpleasant. But one can hope that this is just your body finishing that adaption process and good things are to come.

Feeling healthy during the third week was like a trick and a tease. You almost remember what it feels like to feel normal. You’re ready to take on new challenges that aren’t things like eating a meal or going to the bathroom.

Falling ill again during the fourth week just feels like an endurance battle. I don’t remember what it feels like to be healthy or normal. I’m starting to feel hopeless and sulky. It’s difficult to tell yourself that it’ll get better or to focus on other things when sickness shows no signs of letting up.

I’ll be honest. I’m miserable. I’m constantly tired. I haven’t eaten a normal meal in several days. It’s hard. Maybe this is what bottoming out on the culture shock “W” feels like. Knowing this, it’s still difficult to tell myself things will get better when all I want to do is sleep on this horrible foam pad and eat food that’s imported, packaged or guaranteed not to make me sick.

Usually when travelling, I glaze over this period of time. I remember all of the great things and not the days, or weeks where I wanted nothing more than the comforts of home and a world without mosquitos, cockroaches and spiders everywhere. So instead, here I am documenting and preserving it.

I know it will get better, but for the time being, I just want to rant.

I want a toilet with an actual toilet seat.

I want a bed with a mattress.

I don’t want to eat the meat at dinner.

I don’t want to eat rice at every meal.

I want wireless internet access that connects quickly and is everywhere.

I get angry when vendors follow me trying to sell things.

I feel guilty when I get angry because I know they’re trying to make a living and vasha are their only market.

I get frustrated when child beggars ask me for money after I buy something because we both know that I have it.

Again, I feel guilty.

Sometimes I feel like experiences like this desensitize me to poverty.

This worries me.

I want to watch Hulu.

I want to be able to drink water out of a tap.

I hate boiled water.

It tastes like salt.

I want the seven mosquito bites on my foot to stop itching.

I want to be able to speak English to my host family.

I want to stop feeling guilty and Western for having these wants.

I want to be happy here.

I want to be left alone.

I want to blend-in in a crowd.

I don’t want to be a minority.

I feel like an ass for never considering what it felt like to be a minority.

I want to hide in Vasha land like Hotel Colbert and fancy restaurants and avoid immersion.

I want to kick myself for feeling this way.

I realize that this is perfectly normal.

I realize that this is actually what they mean when they talk about culture shock depression or whatnot.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

I want to be adaptable.

I thought I was adaptable.

What does adaptable even mean?

I want to not be in a constant state of nausea.

I want to want to try new things.

I do not want to be afraid of food.

I don’t want to have to hand wash my underwear.

I want a laundry machine.

I REALLY want a laundry machine. Even more than a real shower.

I feel like SUCH AN AMERICAN.

I guess I am one.

Or maybe everyone feels this way in a different place.

I feel better articulating these things. They’re not swirling around my head anymore. I feel less guilty for having these thoughts. Maybe next week I’ll  be happier? Or perhaps I’ll keep telling myself what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. How dramatic.

Again, apologies for this one. I just couldn’t help myself. 

The Indry

After Vatomandry, we headed back towards Tana making a stop at Andasibe National Park to check out lemurs, in particular the “Indry” lemur.

We learned that lemurs like to sit… and eat… On occasion they will move and sing. But as you can see below, they don’t do this often. Now that’s my kind of animal!

                                         

Then we also spotted the species of lemur known as “The Dancing Lemur” but we only saw them swing through trees. I have a cool video of this… but since the connection in Madagascar is comparable to 1990’s dial-up… it would take me about a week to load it.

And here's people at the park... not looking at the camera at all. But you'll get over that. 

Passing Time on an Excursion

READ: Read at least one book over two days. Life without television and internet makes us do strange things. I personally went with Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, solid beach read.  

Emma doing some solo reading 

FIND STRANGE THINGS, EXAMINE THEM: Look for fruits, break them open with rocks. Try to get people to eat them.

Cassandra breaking mysterious fruit 

CONSUME BEVERAGES: Go into town and buy more THB from a vendor  in one night than he or she would sell in a month. Discover that a bottle of rum costs $1.25 here…uh what?!

Three Horses Beer and $1.25 Rum 

KILL COCKROACHES: Do this preferably after consuming beverages, as it much less frightening.

The Great Roach Massacre

HANG OUT WITH COWS: This one is pretty self-explanatory…

TAKE PICTURES OF OTHER PEOPLE: Again… self-explanatory

Kristie taking pictures of stuff

DJ Paul's New Album Cover

Peeps at the Beach 

A Step-by-Step Guide to Eating a Litchi

Step One: Observe the strange fruit, ask yourself, how do I eat this?

Step Two: Open the fruit. Do this by twisting or digging your nail into the side. For those who have difficulty doing this, lamely resort to cutting it with a knife.

Step Three: Take a moment to compare the inside of the litchi to things like: a booger, an eye ball, a fetus, etc. Do this every time you eat a litchi. 

 Step Four: Put litchi in mouth. Remark on how it feels exactly the way it looks, but enjoy it nevertheless. Take picture of self. Have Malagasy program leader sarcastically tell you that you look really pretty, in Malagasy. Who knew they were so sarcastic?

                                            

Pousse-pousse, our tiny lemur friend

We met our first lemur! He was hiding under a couch in our hotel at Vatomandry. He. Was. Freaking. Adorable.

Pousse-pousse eating a tomato

Also, if you're curious about the origins of Pousse-pousse's name, a pousse-pousse is a popular form of transportation in Vatomandty that's a little something like this: http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pousse-pousse_(Japon)
Being mature college students, we find this name hilarious and have given it to our small lemur.

How to Pass 7 Hours in a bus to Vatomandry

Backseat of the Vahsa Van

7 hours in the Vahsa Van. (This is the name we have given to our 20 passenger van which carries our group around Madagascar) 7 hours in a van in a place where AC is like a fairy tale, something spoken of but never found, and roads are littered with potholes (can they be potholes if the roads are dirt? I suppose not…) and guards often stop our large vehicle to check our papers. In between playing EVERY single car game & orientation game and telling every riddle that I know, which to be fair is a lot and passed several hours (thanks NSOP!) I took some pictures out the window.

And on that note, I’ve unofficially been dubbed the “game person” since I have so many of them. Maybe my life’s purpose is to become a camp counselor… But since we do have a 17 hour drive to Majunga coming up in March and my repertoire is almost exhausted, if you have any car games or riddles, please send them my way.

Side note for anyone this is relevant for…  – We recently played a game called “Panier des fruits” which was basically “The Wind Blows for Those…” but spoken in French. This was quite possibly the highlight of my week.

Once we got to Vatomandry we pulled up to a beach-side hotel. Staying in bungalows, living on the beach and not having to be in a constant state of paranoia was ideal. Being out of Tana was fantastic for several reasons.

Things we complain about in Tana…

                …pollution. It’s difficult to breathe.

                …thieves. Everyone wears backpacks on their stomachs.

                …cars. They honk to tell you they’re coming and have no intention of not hitting you.

                …vendors. Being vasha we have giant arrows pointing over us that attract every street vendor       within the block

                …child beggars. “You’re not supposed to give money to child beggars because it reinforces the system and usually they do not even keep the money.” This seems totally logical and rational until you’re looking at four dirty, barefoot children holding their coughing baby siblings and asking you for money. It just sucks.

                … and a whole bunch of other things like needing to wear a money belt, not being able to take your camera anywhere, perpetual catcalling, etc, that I don’t need to get into.

So, to say the least, getting out of the Vahsa Van and seeing this was like a dream.

Another pleasant change of pace was our living quarters which are better explained through pictures.

I was much happier than I’ve been in a while in Vatomandry, but then again that was before my sun poisoning, whip lash and stomach illness. But that’s a rant that’s better left on my computer than on blogspot.com.  

                                              

Weekend Adventures

My family thinks that I am a nut. They like to says things like “Tu es tres amusant, mais aussi un peu bizzare” which you can probably gather, means “You are very funny but also a little weird.” I spent our dinner conversation last night explaining the dance moves that I was planning to use at the nightclub. These included descriptions and demonstrations of the “Shopping Cart,” “Lawnmower,” “Pretending you’re in a canoe” and “Mime stuck in a box” dances. They were on the floor laughing by the end of the conversation. It seems that dance moves cross the language barrier quite easily. Dinners have been fantastic and I adore my homestay family so far. I’m going to make an entry about them soon, just as soon I take their pictures, which is can be an awkward thing to ask…

Most recently I’ve had to ask my family for directions to get to a town that’s pretty far away, where I’m (hopefully, if I don’t get lost or perish) meeting up with some Americans who are working in Madagascar. This process requires taking two buses that I’ve never taken before, understanding the Malagasy names of stops so I know when to descend and walking for a while past landmarks like “a garden” and “a circle” …vague much?

I’m pretty nervous about this adventure, because knowing myself and how I’ve managed to get lost driving to my high school in senior year, I don’t rely on myself for good navigation. But, nevertheless, I’m debarking for my journey in a couple hours equipped with a hand-drawn map the size of my fist, two telephone numbers, and a list of four buses and two stops that I have the option of taking. Ah! J’ai peur! But, if I do get there, I’ll be able to see what my host-mom calls the “American part of Madagascar” so that’s exciting.

EDIT:

Now it’s Monday afternoon, and I can actually say what the experience was like. I’ll give this description by giving you my location and interior monologue… since for some reason that seems like the best idea.

Waiting at bus stop:

What bus did they say to take again? Let me take out my copybook.. ugh such a vasha today. Oh well, it’s not like I didn’t already stand out.

Oh! 139! That’s my first bus.

Sitting on 139

Where the hell is the “pharmacia” stop?? I’m going to pathetically ask the woman next to me…

…she doesn’t speak French, which is okay because neither do I, really.

Use hopeless Malagasy. She understands! She will tell me when to get off. Success.

Descend 139

Hmm did they say go straight or walk in the opposite direction…? I’ll walk straight

This is wrong… I’m going to turn around.

Nope, straight was right, I think I’ll turn again.

The men inside a restaurant have noticed me doing this. One asks me where I’m trying to go. I try to explain in French. He stops me midway and says “Say it in English.”

Oh this is pathetic…

The man tries to walk me. That seems strange. I use all three of my languages to tell him no thank you.

I think I’m lost again… maybe I’ll go inside a cyber café?

Just learned that giving directions is not a forte of the Malagasy. The man in the cyber café tried to giving my directions while looking at a satellite map of THE ENTIRE COUNTRY OF MADAGASCAR. It was not a success to say the least.

This is stupid. I give up. I’m being American and taking a damn cab.

Haggle for cab. Only get 1,000 Ariary taken off the original price. I know I’m being ripped off but it’s hot, I’m late and tired. I will later tell people I got 4,000 Ariary off. Oh well…

Cab’s are great. I’m content. I’ll have to tell my family I used the bus or they’ll be disappointed.

Americanville

Woaaah this is dif-fer-ent.

There’s guards blocking the entrance to their apartment complex… really? Hmm…

Where am I? Wisteria Lane?

Walking down empty brick lane after passing guards. There’s bushed with flowers and not a soul to be seen. Very strange for middle of the day Madagascar. Turn corner, discover giant apartment buildings that look like a mixture of 1970’s-1980’s America and Wisteria Lane. Walk inside the apartment. Initial thoughts:

Air-conditioning?! I forgot about this…

Chips?! They actually have chips!

Top Gun is playing… huh? Well alright.

Beer pong? Am I back in America?

The whole experience was comfortable, refreshing and also a little bizarre. I left feeling a little unsure about the whole experience, living in such separation from the city and people… and everything? But everyone I met was very nice and friendly. It was nice to meet some people who had been here much longer than I and were doing just fine.

Back in Town at Dinner

I’m dizzy.

I think I have a fever.

Ow.

I need to go home.

Help!

Make friends call Rivo, one of our Malagasy program coordinators. Rivo gets a cab. I go home to my confused and concerned family. I am very sick.

Sunday

Sleep. All. Day.

Every family member comes in and asks me the same questions on a cycle. “Did you vomit? Do you want tea?”

Struggle to respond in French. Don’t make any sense. Let me sleep please.

I get bored and start taking pictures of my feet

My mom brings me in a magazine because she thinks she has found my relative. If you haven’t seen Nip/Tuck… his last name is McNamara. No relation.

I spend the entire day sleeping and reading a terrible book. Being sick in Madagascar is no fun at all.

This will be my last entry for a week or so because we're going on an excursion! But this means I don't have internet and will me MIA. However, I will have cool pictures and get to search out lemurs soo wahoo! 

This is unless the cyclone thats currently Madagascar's East Coast doesn't cancel our trip. Did you know that cyclones are just backwards hurricanes? Yep. 

Bye for now!

The 99 People You Meet in Madagascar...

I once read a blog or something that was called “The 99 People You Will Meet in College” and thought, hey Michelle, why don’t you do a Madagascar version of that. So…here we are.

The, not quite 99, people you will meet in Madagascar

1.       The Money Collector on the Taxi-Be

In order for the Taxi-Be system to run efficiently (and Taxi-Be’s are public buses, not to be confused with regular Taxis) Mr. Money Collector is vital. So far, the qualifications that I’ve noticed that are necessary for this job include:

                Ability to whistle – he does this when someone shouts “Misy Mialo” on the Taxi-Be indicating that they’d like it to stop

                Ability to occasionally be a contortionist – Mr. Money Collector is the last one to board the Taxi-Be which can sometimes have up to 20 people crammed inside. There is no sense of personal space on the Taxi-Be, so they like to run at full capacity, which is usually 17-18 people in what I believe is a 12 passenger van. Mr. Money Collector therefore must literally wedge himself into the bus, and sometimes even hang out the back. He is a bit of a thrill seeker.

                Ability to quickly count money – The system to pay for the Taxi-Be is a bit like organized chaos. It costs 300 Ariary to ride the bus (about 15 cents) so usually bus riders will pay with and 100 Ariary and 200 Ariary bill. These are the smallest form of paper currency and usually are the most decrepit bills you will ever see. Sometimes it’s very difficult to decipher which bill you have received because it is so crinkled and covered in dirt.

Money you get from the bank...

Money you get on the bus...

                Mr. Money Collector has this down to an art though and collects money with impressive efficiency. You do have to occasionally make your own change among the other bus riders or persistently demand for change when he cannot immediately give you your change.

                Ability to be Efficient - Lastly he quickly shuffles people on and off the bus since half of the bus must move out when someone in the back shouts “Misy Mialo!”

2.       The Flirt

In Madagascar, there seem to be three popular forms of getting a woman’s attention.

 The first involves a “tissss tissss” noise that one makes with their tongue. Usually these flirters are doing this from afar and are hoping that you’ll respond to the snake-like noise. I can’t imagine they’re too successful with this method, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.

The second is the strategic flirt. This flirter is one that passes you on the street; however, he waits until you’re exactly ear and ear walking in opposite directions to spit some game. This game is usually a drawn out “Bonjooour” or a “tut tut” noise or something incomprehensible in Malagasy. We’ve decided that this type of flirter fears rejection and that is why he waits until you’ve almost passed him to initiate contact.

The third is the unabashed stare. He enterprises on the cultural norm of staring and does so all day. Out the window of his car. On his motorcycle. From his produce stand. Next to you on the bus. Sitting in a doorway. At a table in your restaurant. It’s best not to reciprocate the eye contact or he takes this as an open invitation.

3.       The “Bumming It” Europeans

Aside from the Adventure French (!) who will make an appearance on this list at a later point, the other vahsa that we regularly encounter are the bumming it Europeans. These vahsa do not dress in chic adventure clothes or ride motorcycles, but rather sport Hawaiian shirts, do not shave their beards and frequent the slightly less fancy vahsa establishments. It seems like these Europeans think that by wearing Hawaiian shirts and disregarding their personal appearance, they will fit in with the locals. Perhaps they do not realize that by the very fact that they could afford a plane ticket to Madagascar, and are therefore vahsa, they cannot hide wealth with a shabby appearance. Overall, they are also much less fit than the Adventure French (!) and spend their time drinking beer and smoking cigarettes in Internet cafes. I hope not to be associated with them.

 

4.       The Phone Credit Salesmen (and women!)

The phone credit salespeople sit under little umbrellas in white plastic chairs on the side of the road. They are spaced about 50 feet from one another and sell strips of phone credit out of pocketbooks and man-satchels. The do not often speak French and interact with us vahsa through gesturing and pointing. Often, vahsa might feel shady buying 10000 Ariary worth of paper from a man or woman sitting under an orange and yellow beach umbrella, but this is the way of buying phone credit, so we get over it.

5.       The Street Vendor who sells a traditional Malagasy musical instrument

This street vendor tends to be a little bit more forward and aggressive than others. Surprisingly, most of the street vendors who sell these musical instruments have learned the exact same words in English that they will use every time they encounter a vahsa. The interactions go a little bit like this:

*Walking down the side walk, spotted by instrument vendor*

Instrument Vendor: Ah! Bonjour!

Vahsa: Tsy misy! (One of the few Malagasy phrases we all know by heart meaning “I have nothing for you”)

IV: Oh but for good price *blocks  your path so that you have to walk in the street to exit the conversation*

Vahsa: Tsy misy! No merci!

IV: But it good price and so nice *plays chord on instrument*

Vahsa: *Walk in street, avoid getting hit by car, get spotted by another IV, repeat interaction*

Other vendors have different approaches. It depends on where you are in the city. Some will follow you for up to 10 minutes saying  “Misy! Misy!” which, loosely translated would mean “You have! You have!”  Others  might choose one member of the group and try to isolate them and bombard them with items for sale. …I’ve had this happen to me by the street children and it’s been my least pleasant experience so far. Other than that, the vendors are a large part of the Tana experience. You almost can’t go anywhere and not find a few. Some are nicer than others, but it’s luck of the draw who you will encounter.

6.       The woman who wears high heels despite the condition of the streets

This woman is one of the most bizarre. She walks on her tippy toes, crosses streets slowly and refuses to accept foot-defeat in a city that is paved with something similar to cobblestone. She always looks chic and seems to be emulating Western fashions. There’s not too much to say about her, but she’s pretty easy to find on a given day.

7.       The Vahsa

This wouldn’t be a complete list without mention of the vahsa. The vasha stand out like vampires in the movie Twilight on a sunny day. Our skin might as well sparkle because we stand no chance of fitting in. Tonight while I was walking to my house it was getting dark and I wondered to myself “Maybe no one can tell that I’m a vahsa in the dark…” then I realized that I’m so pale that my skin becomes luminescent at night and my chances of fitting in were even less.

The vahsa frequent vahsa establishments which include overpriced restaurants and “Africanized Gift Shops” , demand drinks with no ice, carry around obnoxious bottles of Eau Vive and carry their bags around their stomachs like they’re 7 months pregnant with twins. The vahsa don’t know the appropriate time to cross the street, get attacked by street vendors and are hopelessly challenged at speaking Malagasy.

8.       The Taxi Drivers

The taxi drivers stand in little gatherings near their parked cars. The little gatherings are like Boy’s Clubs were the taxi drivers smoke cigarettes, talk about the girls walking by and speak in Malagasy while motioning to their respective cabs. The funny thing about the cab drivers is that each one of them will ask you if you need a taxi even after hearing your previous rejections of their taxi driver cohorts. Every single day they will behave in the same way with the hopes that we will eventually need a taxi.

9.       The man who sits in a doorway and asks you if you’d like to exchange money

I cannot imagine a sketchier situation than exchanging money with a man who sits in a doorway. As you’re walking down the street the man will casually ask you if you’d like to exchange. That’s pretty much the gist… maybe if I fall on desperate times, such as a weekend when the banks are not open, I’ll resort to taking him up on the offer.

To be continued…

Maurice, the Hissing Cockroach

I have developed a new fear! Yay! It has pushed the thoughts of scary spiders out of my head, and I think I might actually prefer the hand-sized spiders to my new pest. In case you were still dwelling on the fear of the large spiders... you can check this picture out. This is outside of my window. 

My mom tells me spiders don't come inside..

 To start out, I've named my new cockroach friend/terrifying pet because that's what I enjoy doing to inanimate objects/animals/creatures/etc., so his name is Maurice. So far, he has escaped death twice, once narrowly and once while laughing at my feeble attempt. He's the quickest bug I've ever encountered; he enjoys crawling over my belongings and so far doesn't seem to have a fear of me... which is why I've decided he's scarier than spiders. I have also just run out of phone credit after a long text exchange with MKG, so if Maurice decides to strike I will be defenseless and most likely perish. I'm including a terrible picture of him. It's terrible because when I get too close he runs at me. AWESOME. I wish Laiz was here so he could kill it. Wah. This is pathetic.

Le grand cafford 

On the bright side I did have an awesome letter from home to cheer me up. Maybe I'll leave it under the couch for Maurice to read....

Life in Madagascar is.... challenging this week, but I'll get over it. I had a "Supreme Burrito" tonight. It was almost like Chipotle... but not quite. <3 Chipotle.  

Spending too much time in an internet cafe

You know you're a student studying abroad when...
...you spend more money on communication than you do on food everyday.
...you've sampled all of the local beers, but still flock to the spaghetti or salad options on restaurant menus.
...you've realized that you're far from immortal, and something as simple as water can put you out of commission for a week.
...you've figured out that cliff bars are more valuable than currency.
...you've learned all of the curse words in the local language, but not the necessities like "Where is the bathroom?"
...your concept of hygiene and personal space has been blown to pieces.
...you've learned that, why yes, a hole in the ground can qualify as a toilet.
...you say to yourself "I will never again complain about bathrooms in the United States."
...you're angry when you see that you actually have assignments and school work to complete here. Sorry, what?
...you've mastered the art of "haggling," or at least you thought you did until the guy after you gets the same thing for half the price you paid.

Bus Poetry

I'm going to call this section, "Bus Poetry" because it serves as my outlet for boredom while sitting in "embouteillages" (traffic jams) every morning at 7 AM. I'm by no means saying that it's any good, after all, I did write it on a teeny bus.

L'embouteillage
Turn the engine off.
Tick, tick, tick.
Time has no bearing here.
Turn the engine on.
Roll past the walking hordes.
A girl in a pink Barbi poncho rides past the bus.
Turn the engine off.
Tick, tick.
Clock's are not often found here.
They serve no purpose.
Turn the engine on.
Roll down a hill.
Rush hour seems to last all day.
A fear of being late enters my head but quickly rushes out.
One cannot be late in a place with no time.
Turn the engine off.
Tick.
Need to learn how to just sit.
Not doing well so far.
All I hear is tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

A petit haiku 
Darn, Madagascar,
Is too many syllables
For writing haikus.

Fancy Footwear 
Barefeet, walking in a line
Flip-flops, with a business suit? How very casual!
White Adidas Airwalks, perfectly untied in that "Oh so fashionable!" but entirely impractical way.
Black patent stilettos, on the back of a moped.
Crocs... they've made it to Madagascar.
Bright orange flats, that perfectly match a bright orange shirt.
Simple black dress shoes, worn in from walking.
Strappy women's white woven sandals, on the feet of a man smoking a cigarette
Purple walking sandals, perfect for carrying the baby clinging to your back like a monkey.
No feet on this street, where did everyone go?
Velcro pink princess sneakers, marching happily to school.
More high heels, on these cobblestones? Good luck hunny.
Soccer cleats, sans cleats.
Red booties, which have probably never touches the ground.
All of these feet are moving faster than my bus.

Cribs: Madagascar Edition

 Wanna see my crib? (Apologies if you're of an older generation and are missing this MTV reference of show that gives virtual tours of celebrity mansions)

Hey, it's a dining and a bedroom

 
And then there's the puppy that lives outside of my room in a narrow veranda. I would guess that he wakes up around 5 or 5:30 AM, decides that he wants to be inside the house around 5:31 AM and continues to scratch at the door / cry until about... oh, I dunno, all day. He is a lovely little alarm clock, but also the cutest thing to walk the planet. Unfortunately, and this isn't something that I completely undestand yet and don't presume to fully understand, the Malagasy have a really interesting relationship to dogs in the sense that they're not treated the same as pets in the US. I don't want to step too much into making a claim about the culture, but it seems that it wouldn't make sense to treat dogs very well when there's people starving and living on practically nothing everyday. It's confusing and hard to watch injuried or dying dogs on the street be completely ignored, but at the same time I guess there are much bigger problems. Ya know?

To wrap up this quick entry, here's a picture of some murky water that I've been told has been boiled and is safe to drink. On the bright side, I don't have trouble distinguishing my water from others since it looks like.. this... Life sure is different here. 

Le Nettoyer
I've now experienced bucket showers twice and can say that they're pretty much the same as you could imagine. You have a bucket of hot water, a small pale--similar to those you'd find at a beach, a faucet with cold water and 2' by 2' square box that is sunk into the ground a couple inches with a drain. Here's a picture to clarify.

I'm probably a little soapy and have yet to find an efficient way for using the bucket shower; however, all I have is time when I'm in the house at nighttime since I'm without internet, television and people who are awake and I'm not allowed to go  out. I do have a cheap mobile phone that I pretty much use to call my mom at odd hours.

 Yes, my life in Madagascar is quite thrilling. If you're ever free around 9:00 PM or 1:00 PM US time and want to drop a couple dollars on international calling rates you can have my digits :). But back to bucket showers. They're interesting, easy enough to figure out, and I'm pretty sure that I'm cleaner now than before I got into the "shower"... but it's hard to tell.
After the bucket shower, I decided to use my leftover water to clean my underwear. In Malagasy culture you have to clean your own underwear! Woohoo! I can't complain too much, since Juliette our "femme du menage," which I suppose is comprable to "domestic help" but isn't exactly the same indicator of wealth here as it is in the US, cleans the other clothing.

It's about as exciting as swirling clothing in soapy water gets WITH the added uncertainty of where to hang them in the house to dry. These are the types of questions that don't cross the language barrier very well and lead to confusing hand gesturing and incomprehensible Franglish, so I avoid asking them.
While I was spending extended periods of time in our shower room, I thought it would be a good idea to take a Magadacar Myspace picture since... when else am I ever going to have this oppurtunity again? I can't say that mirror pictures have quite  the same appeal here...