Shahalay and Lychees

I didn’t have an easy month. I was plagued with cultural frustration and homesickness. But overall things seem to be coming together. I’ve been eating well—My favorite fish are running (an oily sardine about six inches long— Shahalay in Gasy ) that can be cooked in a soup or fried and eaten whole. I’ve also been enjoying the Lychee harvest—a sweet fruit the same size as a cherry (Do we have them in the States? I’ve never had them before).

9/26/08
Who Stole the Cookies from the Cookie Jar?

Everyone gathered around the one small shop in Amboandrika (my village, the first hamlet that makes up St. Luce) in the late afternoon. I showed up late because I was roaming around the side of the road hoping to find a piece of scrape wood that could be mounted above my door to prevent rain water from coming in, of course I didn’t find anything…

It was the largest gathering in our hamlet that I’ve seen. Kids, men, women –all village life came to a halt. Our chief of the village sat in the only chair in the center surrounded by villagers. He was angry and it was easy to tell by his body language. He sat on the edge of his chair hands cutting through the air as he spoke.
‘’It was children, children, not foreigners. I’m not playing! I will go to Ft. Dauphin and get the police. Who? Who was it?’’

A long silent pause follows as he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.

As we wait, people start talking among themselves. Some put forth alternative theories of what could have happened to the two missing coconuts and the four missing chickens.
‘’It could have been a hawk’’ one suggests.
‘’Someone from Malatalaky’’ another yells out.

Benombie (chef de village) wasn’t convinced and sat up in his chair, again hands waving as he spoke. He spoke with such intensity that the veins in his neck and forehead started to swell.
‘’We have a problem here…It’s a big problem. Someone stole two of Rasimba’s coconuts. People are missing chickens, not a few, a lot! Children! You think I am playing? This is a huge problem and I will get the police myself!’’

The children sitting behind him muttered a few words. I couldn’t make out what was said. Benombie didn’t turn around, he maintained his position in the chair facing forward with a look the displayed both his anger and disappointment. He pointed to the sandy soil next to him.
‘’Here!’’ he said. ‘’Stand here, and speak up!’’

Two boys arose from behind him with water filled eyes—shoulders drooped, eyes frantically scanning the disappointed faces of the crowd. It was clear that they have been shamed.

They apologized to Rasimba for taking his coconuts and claimed that they did not know who was stealing the chickens and cooking them in the forest. The gathering continued for another half hour as Benobmie drilled the children until one boy finally gave him a list of four names.

Besides public humiliation, the boys had to pay for each coconut and each chicken that was taken.

(I wrote this before my accident, because people have had questions about my safety and security at site).

10/24/08
Coming to Terms with the Reality of Things—what did I get out of all this? A lesson on what Peace Corps is all about.

When I returned to my village earlier this week I wasn’t sure what I was going to be returning to. A garden full of dead plants, a house full of rat poop, a blood stained floor, and moldy food, all I knew was inevitable. But what I ultimately got when I returned on Monday was a lesson of what this experience is all about. If you have read previous posts, its clear that I’ve been suffering from a lot of self-induced doubt about my work here—am I doing enough and am I being productive? It’s clear now that assessing progress through a ‘’western perspective’’ will never work here.
Everyday when I wake-up..I’m doing something. Every smile I bring…I’m doing something. Every person who has asked about my finger or by overall well-being…proves that I’ve done something.
My progress here is displayed on the face of Juno when he greets me everyday with a grin from ear to ear. It’s displayed in the words of Sosony when he continually told me how he missed having me around. It’s shown in the newly found confidence displayed by Kolasy when he is interacting and working around foreigners. The reality of this situation is that vegetables die, food rots, and cook stoves break. But it’s the intangible, the unnoticed, and the personal relationships that matter most. That’s what is and will ultimately be ‘sustainable.’ This experience here is mine, its time I accept it for what it is. People will continually judge, ask, and wonder. But they will never really know. They don’t live here. They camp for a week, visit for a day, or read a report from an office. Non-of-which will ever fully capture the reality of my situation here.

10/27/08
It’s a Celebration
Today my brother got married. Between spreading the joy by telling everyone I know that a HUGE party was taking place in America. I spent most of the afternoon with just about every able bodied person trudging through marsh trying to distinguish a brush fire. The reality and dangers of ‘slash and burn’ agriculture on an exposed wind swept field. The good news is that no one was injured, no houses burned, and no cassava fields damaged.
The day ended with the purchase of a beer (a rarity when at site) and a communal gathering with Sosony and his family as we ‘’toasted’’ to my brother and new sister’s good fortune and future life together! Cheers!

10/29/08
The Egos in the World of Development and the Complications that Follow

Its no mystery that Peace Corps or the ‘challenge’ of Peace Corps attracts some highly qualified, bright, and very opinionated people. My closest Peace Crops friends went to Dartmouth and Yale. Half of my training group has a graduate degree (Law, Engineering, Political Science, Marine Biology, and Conservation are just a few). Even the people who work for or volunteer with my partnering organization have degrees and graduate degrees from highly reputable institutions (Oxford, Cambridge, St. Andrews, London School of Economics). On the one hand it’s great that this type of work can attract the best and the brightest. On the other hand it creates an environment of what I find to be full of unnecessary tension and competition. Everyone has the same goal in mind (Development), but it easily takes a back seat to individual gains and interests. Publications, organization/self-promotion, and thoughts of future careers can quickly over shadow any idealism.
At the organization level, you have a large number of NGOs, many providing the same services, competing among each other for the same grants, funding streams, and media attention. All adding more tension to an already highly competitive field.
Organizations create artificial boundaries, claiming ‘this’ village or ‘that’ village as their ‘territory.’ Organizational cooperation is rare (we have the funding and the staff…why talk to them..??). It’s a constant race against time. Founding streams go dry, quotas and obligations need to be met and reports compiled.

The three month tale of the Vitamin A Sweet Potato
-Steve visits my site and tells me about this new vitamin A enriched sweet potato.
-Thinking about farming sweet potatoes, I decide to try and get some cuttings.
-I email a contact given to me by Steve—not as easy as it sounds.
-I get a reply a month later and learn that CARE had run a test program back in 2004.
-I talk to a CARE worker in Mahatalaky who has no idea what I’m talking about.
-I resend an email to my contact, who never replies because I later discover that he no longer works in Madagascar.
-I talk to the regional head of CARE who says, ‘’Yea we have them, but not here.’’ He sends me to ASOS (another organization).
-I go to ASOS and talk with a representative who tells me they do have the variety, but they are ‘’not here.’’ ‘’Come back in a month.’’
-I return a month later, still no sweet potato
-I speak with the head of the nutrition program at ASOS (a frustrating experience with my limited Gasy). He gives me a map with the name of what I though was an organization 20k outside of Ft. Dauphin.
-I bike the 20k and discover that the ‘organization’ is a village and I would need to bike another 20k to reach it.

All I wanted was to help by setting up a test plot and see if it would grow in St. Luce. I walk away three months later Potato less and missing my short window to plant.


11/09/08
Damn Johnny, this sucks!

Johnny Appleseed—would have been labeled an evangelical ‘’hippie’’ by today’s standards. He spread the word of god, his love of nature, and apple seeds throughout the American frontier (at the time—Western PA, Ohio, and Indiana). He was no ‘’saint’’ by definition, although a missionary of sorts, he made his money/living setting up apple orchards. Apples were a prized possession for making moon-shine all along the frontier. Johnny was also a little odd. He preferred isolation, enjoyed sleeping outdoors in hollowed logs, and used a potato sack as clothing. Its been said that he once punished his foot for killing an ant by walking shoe-less an entire winter. None of this I particularly relate with—with the exception of having a love for nature and maybe being a bit odd. What I can relate with is the contrast between the two very different worlds he frequented. He was drawn to the wild of the outdoors—slept under trees, lived among Native Americans, and scavenged for food. He also stayed in a place long enough to establish a tree nursery, and witness the establishment of settlements and arrival of settlers, providing them with a much valued commodity. He was a frequently welcomed guest into homes up and down the frontier, receiving a warm meal and place to sleep for the exchange of tales about Indians and the gospel. Although living an entertaining life he was ‘’sandwiched’’ between two very different worlds, never fully belonging to any particular one.

I’m not sure if ‘lost’ would have best described his predicament as much as ‘awkward.’ He never really ‘fit-in’ and I have come to this realization that I, like Johnny, am also ‘’sandwiched.’’ When I run into people from the western world—tourists, volunteers, researchers I find it harder and harder to relate. Conversation quickly runs dry and stories quickly become old. I am still and probably always will be an awkward fit within my community and as my ‘’western’’ conversation skills start to degrade; I start to feel more and more isolated/trapped. I currently find myself ‘sandwiched.’ I wonder if Johnny found his situation as frustrating as I find mine to be.

11/11/08
Curve Balls
Forest Gump’s mother best described life as a box of chocolates and that you will never really know what you’re are going to get. That explanation is the best way to describe daily life here. The curve balls, the things that I don’t see coming and catch me completely off guard only add to my already unpredictable pace of life here. This past week I experienced three. First, I learned that a Gasy friend gets money and ‘nice’ things through gay prostitution (as you can imagine it’s much more complicated). He’s married with a beautiful wife and child. The thought that he is doing it just for money to support his family makes my stomach turn. Second, I discovered that a brick building down the road houses about 300 ‘improved’ unused bee hives (for increasing honey production). Another example of poor managed funding/projects within development. Third, I discovered that the person who runs the environment program for my NGO, owns land (or a patch of forest) in St. Luce. He has already cleared a large portion and plans to clear more—with the hope of building tourist bungalows. (A great example of ‘Tragedy of the Commons’?? An ‘If I don’t someone else will’ mentality??).

11/15/08
Untitled
I can’t help but wonder what everyone thinks when they see me or when they speak to me. To many people I feel like I am just my material possessions. A ball pump, a bike pump, scotch tape, a flash light, a radio. People love to come into my house and gaze wide eyed at my bike, my stove, my books, my solar panels (that run my BLU radio). I can’t stand the type of attention this brings and as you can imagine it makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable. You begin to question peoples’ motives. Why are they helping me? What will they ask for later on? Are they just being nice because they want something? I hope I am able to move past this, but I am not sure I ever will.

11/18/08
An Update
So I’ll close with a quick update on things.

My finger tip has grown back (I’m like a lizard). It looks a little odd, but not all that noticeable. People in my village love to show me injures they have had with an antsy, an axe, or a machete. We’ve been laughing a lot, mostly at my expense.

The Humpback Whales are migrating to feeding grounds up north (they move down south to give birth) and they are active— the breeching can be heard at night in my house and I live 3k from the beach.

I took advantage of a school vacation and build five cook stoves near the EPP(elementary school) in St. Luce. A food aid program cooks for the children five days a week.

My neighbor has a Moringa tree that’s maybe four/five months old and 8 feet tall already.

The big question on everyone’s mind—When will Brendan go fishing?
The answer: December

Another big question: Can I have some Tomatoes?

I have started getting informal mandolin lessons—made of fishing wire and wood carved by locals. I’m no good.

I fixed our water-pump today with Scotch Tape—A job that would make my grandfather (a well experienced master of the ‘quick’ fix) very proud.

Helped with some lemur research—I have seen all the lemurs found in St. Luce except for the Collard Brown lemur. I starting to question its existence.

I ate my first sea-urchin the other day and it tastes as you would expect…a spongy texture with a fishy taste.

Because it was written in my notebook—I’ll add it to this post. A quote from ‘One Straw Revolution’ by Masanobu Fakuoka
‘’I believe that a revolution can begin from this one strand of straw. Seen at a glance, this rice straw may appear light and insignificant. Hardly anyone would believe that it could start a revolution. But I have come to realize the weight and power of this one strand of straw.’’