‘‘Yea man, it’s true; he has been stealing money and taking land. All the News, he tells them what to say. None of it…It’s not true. The people don’t like him man’’
My heart sank when a friend said these words to me yesterday while sitting around a table over a bottle of rum in Ebakika (the next village north from St. Luce). We stopped in Ebakika because we needed to make arrangements with the village regarding tree planting next month (we are planting 24,000 trees, many native). The rum…an inviting cultural gesture by the Chief of the Village.
I was on my way to Ft. Dauphin because Peace Corps has ‘consolidated’ us because of current political unrest. The article below does a better job than I could on the details of the current situation we face here. Please know that I am safe!
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090130/wl_nm/us_madagascar_protests_1
The following is my journal from this last month. A friend over-vacation told me that my ‘blog’ was a bit depressing. I apologize if it comes across that way…Writing seems to have become an excellent outlet for the stress I experience and wonderful tool for me to process what is going on around me.
1/8/09
Out and Back
The ‘out and back’ was my least favorite run. I cringed when the words would come out of coach’s mouth. The sheer thought of running 45-50 minutes on a straight flat trail, knowing that when the watch hit ‘the mark,’ I needed to turn around and do it all over again. The general rue—going is always easier than coming back and that rule defiantly applies to my little trip across the ‘belly’ of the south (i.e. Tulear), referring mainly to the transportation of course. A three day journey that is mostly non-stop with the exception of a few hours sleep during one night (which I later learned was a luxury). My ‘wheels’…a Camion—a military truck that had the roof and seating of a school bus. Benches made of wood and packed tight with people.
The trip going out, as expected wasn’t bad. The ride was equipped with music and a light (also a luxury) but doing anything other than staring, sleeping, or engaging in light conversation was impossible. The road across southern Madagascar (R10) is one of the worst. On a few occasions I was amazed that our vehicle managed to stay ‘up-right’ as it navigated around deep holes, debris, and through water that reached far above the wheel-well at times.
Bruised with feet swollen the size of softballs. I did finally arrive in Tulear.
My List of Favorite Moments
1- Getting out of my little corner of the island. I got to drive through most of my friends’ sites (those that ‘bank’ or get money in Fort Dauphin). Its a beautiful country, filled with beautiful people.
2- My New Years—What do you get when you mix a bunch of Rastafarians and Peace Corps Volunteers together on a beach with a fire, a guitar, drums, and a roasted goat. A Good Time!
3- Christmas Breakfast (the Madagascar equivalent to a Denny’s Grand Slam) followed by a Banana Split (No Lie!) DELICIOUS!
4- Epic seaside battle between Flipper Boy (me) and the evil Dr. Able (Ryan Marsh). His technology will never be able to match a high flipper kick/upper cut/followed by a forward motion dauphin kick. (Unfortunately it was one of those moments; you just had to be there!)
5- Maureen telling the story of how I shouted ‘’I’m a Dauphin!’’ while continually diving in and out of water—apparently I managed to interrupt the romantic sun-set being enjoyed by a French couple and the looks on both faces--annoyance and puzzlement were priceless.
6- Movie Mania: The Dark Night, Happy Feet, The Happening (made me miss PA), and Last King of Scotland…oh yes, I must not forget! ‘DRAINAGE! DRAINAGE, ELI!’ ….There Will Be Blood.
7- Snorkeling in the 4th largest coral reef in the world (I think…?)
8- Coco Punch, Café Punch, Sunrise Punch….I tried them all…twice.
9- An intense game of Sof Boccie on the Beach—Its like regular Boccie, only ‘you can play it anywhere. Inside, outside, in the dorm room, or on a table…..’
10- Getting the DJ at a popular night club to play ’Tsara Taolgnaro’ by DaDah de Fort Dauphen and showing the Veso what the Antanosy are all about….
The ride home…far less enjoyable, I was stuck in Tulear an extra night and sat at the station most of the next day—finally leaving at night. Our ride was packed with bags of rice and beans under or feet making an already uncomfortable wooden bench unbearable. We stopped (or broke down) in every town along the way. The journey ended 5k from Fort Dauphin when our ride ran out of gas. I hitched a ride with an aid worker the last 5k.
Overall a great trip! I’m happy I did it! I needed to remove myself from my very small pocket/world on the island.
1/8/09
Untitled
I finally caught that rat that has been living in my roof. I have a rat trap (think oversized mouse trap) and its effective—I’ve killed six to date. But the one I got last night was not only the largest I’ve seen (think small cat), but my trap wasn’t so effective on it. The trap clipped its front leg pinning the Rat it a position that prevented it from being able to free itself.
I had to kill it—I crushed its head with a rock this morning. A task I didn’t find enjoyable.
1/12/09
Moringa, Sales, and New Religious Movements—they all have something in common.
Today as I was walking from Amboandrika (my village) to Manafiafy (the village by the sea), I was continually stopped along the way by people asking about the trees I was carrying in my tanty (think hand-bag?..but much more socially acceptable here for a male to be carrying) and I started to realize that my work with Moringa is no different than a Salesman selling a product, or even a Prophet (or self-proclaimed prophet) recruiting individuals to join a cult religion (New Religious Movement is the more suitable term). When in college I took a Sociology course on New Religious Movements and I remember learning about a simple sociological theory which attempted to explain why people join or get mixed-up with such movements. The name of the theory I can’t remember, but I do remember it was based on a model of gradual socialization. On the fact that people who join cults join them because they have a friend or relative coerce them in attending an event or ceremony initially. At first they usually don’t believe it, they are hesitant and even skeptical of what they hear. But slowly as time goes by and they are continually listening to the religious rhetoric of friends, family, and charismatic individuals they begin to think otherwise. It’s a slow process—it takes time, but an effective way of creating a base (so the theory goes). You start small—with one person by slowly building trust and that person tells a friend, who also tells a friend. Thus, creating a (hopefully in the case of Moringa) a self propelled ‘’snow-ball effect.’’
Today when I returned home from my ‘Sales’ Trip, I stopped to visit a friend, who without any encouragement, help, or coercion was sitting on the floor of her hut picking Moringa Leaves to add to her vary sosoa (watered-rice). At the immediate site of this, two things crossed my mind (the first a thought and the second a feeling).
1-I never thought to even ‘preached’ to people that they should add Moringa Leaves to watered rice (Innovation! Brilliant!)
2-A slight feeling of hope, although small—I’ll take whatever I can get.
Today I made a Sale! I’ll end with a popular quote from the father who built his career in the sales industry. While growing-up when these words were uttered as he walked through the door it usually meant he had a ‘good day.’
‘’I be the Man!’’
1/16/09
Hidden Agenda
Development….sometimes I feel like it’s just the ‘nice’ bow that’s placed on something much deeper. Peace Corps is without a doubt in America’s best interest, sending mostly young Americans abroad and in two years time getting in return a individual with international experience working in and living among the poor. Many Returned Peace Corps Volunteers choice to pursue careers in foreign policy (State Dept. or USAID), or get graduate degrees and pursue careers contributing greatly to both the private and non-private sectors.
My NGO is no different—they use terms like ‘client’ and ‘package’ when it comes to providing people (clients) with a quality volunteer experience.
So what? Why does this eat at me?
I think it’s because when you peel all this ‘shit’ away at the core are people. Individual lives’, livelihoods’, and futures’.
My neighbors don’t own their land…legally. Sure, they farm it; build on it; plant papaya and coco trees. They also raise their children on it. But in an office 45k south sitting in a file cabinet is a piece of paper (or land deed) and its not in their name. It’s in the name of some guy who 15 years prior decided it would be a good investment to start buying up land. At any point this person can decide to build, farm, or just take claim possession of what is legally theirs. Literally pulling the ‘rug’ from under peoples’ feet (or lives).
How can you ever be expected to climb any ladder without ever having firm ground to put it on first?
1/20/09
Untitiled
My response to friends/NGO who are amazed and equally angry at the face that people do take wood from the well marked and well known ‘protected areas.’
‘’It happens…ever get a parking violation, litter along a highway, or urinate in public?’’ (I know I have received and done all three numerous times)
1/23/09
I just ate a watermelon that I grew from seed. It amazes me that I was able to produce a fruit of that size from a seed that was so small. It brings a sense of accomplishment that rivals no other.
1/26/09
Last Monday at market I watched as people traded baskets of leaves for cash. A kilo of leaves for 200ar. I was told that leaves are used for medicine and they grow naturally in the area, where do they go? First to Ft. Dauphin to be packaged, and then on a boat heading for china where they are…processed into some pill…made into some type of tea…an anti-acid elixir…? I’ll never know…
According to people around here the local name of the plant is ‘tonga’ and used for stomach ailments.
1/29/09
Consolidation
I got a phone call from Peace Corps today with instructions that we are in ‘consolidation’ phase. This means ‘get to Ft. Dauphin ASAP.’ I’ve heard that things are getting heated in the nation’s capital. Riots, looting, and the destruction of the headquarters of MBS (Madagascar Broadcasting System)—which all ties into unresolved political disputes (mainly true or untrue accusations) revolving around the current Madagascar President and the current Mayor of Tana (the capital).
‘Consolidation’ is one step away from evacuation and the thought of leaving St. Luce now at this point in my service in a bit painful. I don’t think and desperately hope it’s a situation I will have to face. But, I have very little idea of what is really going on and how serious the situation really is here. The only issue experienced in St. Luce as the result of all this is that I no longer have 3 radio stations to choose from. Life is going on as if nothing is happening. I have no idea how this is going to end…..
Jan 30, 2009
Dec 17, 2008
Heat, Giardia, and Fish
The three things that sum up this past month at site. It’s been hot and some days unbearably humid. My day starts earlier and earlier (4am is now the norm), but life seems to slow from 11am to 3pm.
During my last trip back from Ft. Dauphin I brought back an unwanted guest in my gut, which caused a continuously need to go to the bathroom and for well over a week prevented me from traveling far from the comfort of the hole in the ground near my house. The good news is that it cleared up by itself—I suspect it was Giardia.
Fish….. I’ll save the explanation for this below. Overall, life has been good. We’ve had many good fishing days—light wind and a calm sea. People have money! Just in-time for the holidays!
FYI: I heard this bit of news from the hour of BBC news I get each day (about a week ago). Mining giant Rio Tinto is going to be cutting 14,000 jobs (14% of its workforce) worldwide, mainly because of the current economic situation AND particularly the decline of growth in the markets of Developing Countries (i.e. India and China). The implications this will have on the Madagascar Project are unknown—to me anyway.
I’m off to visit friends in Tulear for Christmas. I looking forward to the ride (although I’m told it’s a bit torturous). The route cuts directly through the ‘belly’ of southern Madagascar.
I wish everyone a Happy Holiday and/or Merry Christmas!
11/28/09
‘’We have no money’’—The words that keep the ‘poor’ in poverty?
I was paid a visit by Peace Corps yesterday. Part of me was excited to see what impressions my friends from Tana would have of St. Luce, but as always the trip was quick and brief. We bought fist, we talked about what I was doing, they swam, and we eat fish until we couldn’t move. We also went through all the ‘standard’ site visit formalities (interviews, paper work, etc.).
I was eager to show them some of the results of the cook-stove project, so we walked over to the elementary school in Manafiafy. The World Food Program feeds about 250 kids every school day (they provide pots, corn, rice, oil, sugar, and peas) After a quick introduction, the PCMO (peace crops Doctor) was quick to point out all the signs of malnutrition—disproportionate hands, feet, and heads; frail limbs; dry skin and skin infections; discolored hair and runny noses. In conversation he asked the local ladies who cook for the kids why they don’t treat the water they use with Chlorine (available at most shops throughout Madagascar), and than began instructing them on how they could clean the dirt off the plates with some vinegar.
As the doctor spoke, the faces of the two women became cold and serious. They lost all the facial glow that I was use to seeing. Immediately broke all eye contact with my ad the doctor and became fixated on the sandy soil at their feet. Shoulders dropped. It’s a posture I’ve seen before—a common sight when interning with a CYS agency during college. It’s the posture of disencouragement / disempowerment.
When the Doctor finished, he immediately got the response heard a lot, ‘’we don’t have money for that.’’ (a response or move of an excuse…?) I had a teacher in High School who would tell students (myself included) that if you say you ‘cannot’ do something, it actual means that you ‘will not’ do something, which ultimately means you ‘never’ tried. The ‘I have no money’ excuse is the ‘I can’t’ of the developing world. It justifies the current situation that the poor find themselves. When these words are uttered the doors of innovation and self-improvement are slammed shut. The advice given is being heard but processed defensively— Who are you? Why should I listen to you?
Of course this attitude can be overcome; all that is needed is trust, which is built through personal interaction. Andy’s successes as a social worker (my formal CYS supervisor) where the clients he continued to see and check-up on after they aged out the CYS system, the people he connected with on an individual level and was able to spark a willingness for self induced change.
12/01/08
The Politics of the Pump
In short, I returned from town to discover a new fence equipped with pad-lock around the water pump at the School near my house. My main source of drinking water and a favorite of many in my community because it doesn’t have a strong sulfur smell and the same discoloration like the water from the village well.
So, now when I get water people run after me with buckets in hand—lines form and what before only took 10 minutes now takes an hour. But the pump has been breaking and needs to be fixed every other day. First, I was told that kids shouldn’t use it, now people say I shouldn’t let other people use it (with the exception being a select few), and today Sosony suggested the I unscrew the handle and keep it in my house—what happened here! How did this become my pump and my problem? QMM built it, they should fix it right?
11/30/08
‘’Must remember that your role in development is not to become a hero, but rather make heroes out of the people with whom we are working.’’
I was disappointed and annoyed today when I showed up (as prearranged) only to discover that a cook-stove was already finished and build wrong (or differently). But later I came to the realization that this is how it should be. Who cares if they don’t like air vents, a certain mixture, or technique? It’s all about people taking ownership, taking an idea and making it their own. After all, creativity always sparks enthusiasm.
So…what have I contributed to this cook-stove project? At times it feels like I’ve done little, but help people construct them. But after some thought it seems I have actually supplied my NGO with heroes. Key people who advocate and help family, friends, and neighbors build improve cook-stoves, while saving money, time, and ultimately trees. They each have their own way of doing it, that doesn’t make it ‘wrong,’ its just ‘different.’
12/7/08
Wedding Season
As the sun slips southward (the north goes cold and Mad-car goes hot). Wedding Season also seems to accompany the rapid rise in temperature and just starting to pick-up down here. My village (Amboandrika) has had two this past weekend and it’s ‘different’ alright….
Everyone piles into a small house (a how many people can fit inside a phone booth situation—literally). Struggling for cool air and enduring the awkward position of sitting with my knees in my face, we all watched as a chicken’s neck is cut and blood collected on a flat stone, at which point the Bride is escorted inside. Both Bride and Groom sit in front of an elder from each family. Both say some words and place a dot of chicken blood on the forehead of both. Everyone cheers! Next, enters the jug of moon-shine (a rum made from sugarcane) and everyone drinks. Following all the drinking a table and chair is placed outside the hut and the newly married couple take a seat. Everyone shows their encouragement by giving money (putting it inside a hat), giving handshakes, and close family and friends give cooking utensils.
12/09/08
It’s the Night Before….
I helped build 3 cook-stoves today and I am exhausted, but no rest for this guy because tomorrow I… Armed with a hook, a tatava or stick, and 5 kilo line, tomorrow at 3am I get to experience… I don’t know how this is going to go… I’m going to get sick and based on past experiences (mostly around man-made lakes in PA) my changes of catching anything are slim. That’s right! Tomorrow I fish!
12/10/08
Sun Rise, Sun Rise
There is something exciting about getting up before the sun. Maybe it’s because I only do it on rare and special occasions, the anxiety and anticipation experienced as a child, always arousing the emotions of waiting for the sun the break through the horizon on Christmas mornings.
I was up before I heard the knock on the door. Grabbed the things I had set out the night before and bolted out the door. As we walked by my neighbors I made sure to yell and make as much noise as possible (a rare opportunity for a little pay-back).
In the morning darkness we sat, drank coffee, and laughed (mostly at my expense as usual). I told them that I was probably going to throw-up and how I didn’t need paddle because I had my hands. Conversation mostly revolved around me and of course, fishing.
We walked under the light of the stars, greeted in the darkness along the way by friends, family, and neighbors. Mostly with jaws dropped with amazement at the sight of me going to fish.
The Boys Club
We walked on to the Beach, which at that point was bustling with activity. People pulling boats into the water and getting gear ready. Yesterdays catch, todays calm sea, and yes…girls were all common topics of discussion. This is without a doubt a ‘boys club’ and I was honored to have been invited to experience it. We sat and waited as the other three in out fishing party paddled the boat around the rocks from the southern beach.
‘’Its going to be hot, did you bring water?’’ A friend asks with a touch of laughter accompanied with a look of amazement.
‘’Yes I have some thanks.’’ Thanks dad—I think to myself.
By now the sun crept above the horizon and lit-up the sky with every shade of pink and red imaginable. With the palm trees in the background it reminded me of a photo you would see on someone’s’ Windows desktop.
The boats are small one piece canoes carved out of large trees from the rain forests up north. I can’t imagine experiencing a rough sea in one and I wont any time soon because today the sea is as calm as a swimming pool. The boat arrives, I throw on my life jacket (a PC must) and hop in. Balance is critical in these hollowed out tree trunks. Each man has to sit on alternating sides to keep the ‘sea-worthy’ craft from tipping.
Fishing
We paddled around some rocks and about 2k into the body of water known as the Bay of St. Luce. But don’t be fooled by the name, this is nothing like the protected bay side I was use to seeing at the Jersey shore. It is unprotected open water. We paddled into a group of about 20 boats. All making some reference to the fact that this canoe was carrying a tall lanky ‘white’ guy.
Did you ever see a game show where the winner gets the chance to stand in a box and grab as much money out of the air as possible as $ bills are continuously blown all around? I don’t think I have.... But anyway fishing for Sihely is a similar experience (I can imagine).
You throw your hand-line into the school of fish below and pull up a 7 inch fish. I used one line, which continually became tangled with every fish I brought out of the water. Everyone else in the boat worked three at a time. Drop the line into the water, pull on it quickly when you feel a tug, bring up the fish, grab it (without getting your hand hooked), drop it into your basket, rebate if needed, and repeat. We fished like this for four hours, interrupted periodically by the Dauphines who also were enjoying the bounty of the sea just a few feet away. I could have fished longer—the time past quickly. But I was interrupted by a shout from the rear of the boat saying we needed to get back quick. The logic was that other boats were already heading back and if we get back early enough you could sell less for more (8 for 200ar) I rolled up my line and was handed a paddle.
This part I particularly enjoyed—because it was a mad dash to get back to the beach. We rowed in alternating unison, right side and left side continually sprayed by a mist as we cut through the swells. My chest burned and arms ached, but I found the sound of the paddles cutting through the water and the quick propulsions forward almost hypnotic. It was exhausting, but it was accompanied with a rhythm that made it pleasurable. We passed numerous boats—most stopping at the site of me rowing a boat. We finally approached the beach, which by mid-morning was littered with people and bustling with activity, I walked onto the beach trying not to fall over and was greeted with laughter, amazement, and Sosony.
‘’Fa nahazo hanoa?’’ He yells out from the top of the beach.
His face was lit-up at the sight of the full basket of fish I was carrying.
After selling my basket of fish for 2000ar (12 fish for 200ar), Sosony and I started walking home as the rest of the group geared up to head back out. Our walk home was frequently interrupted by people stopping and asking questions— Did you get a lot? Did you throw up? You can fish?
I broke two taboos while fishing. The first was whistling—a hard one to restrain from and I broke it a few times. Apparently is attracts whales and sharks. Yelling out ‘Fuck!’ when I would catch myself in the mindless act each time brought about more laughter among my fishing mates than the actual fear of attracting a large predatory fish. The second was bringing a banana with me on board (which I later learned if eaten would have spoiled the catch).
In all it was a good experience and I have been on a natural ‘high’ all day. It’s fun to see the reactions on faces when people find out that I fished. Even people who don’t fish for a living have expressed interest in going after I tell them about my experience. As if I have made it ‘okay’ to fish—not just a job for the uneducated and poor…
What happens to my fish?
The journey doesn’t end on the beach (except for the six I ate for lunch). They will get smoked and tomorrow begin the 15 hour walk from St. Luce to Ranomafana. Where they are sold for 200ar a piece or traded for rice (sold around 250/300ar a cup in Ranomafana). The rice gets transported back to St. Luce and sold at 400ar a cup.
People can make a lot of money and it all revolves around supply, demand, and accessibility. Ranomafana is not accessible by road from St. Luce. Only by a steep and difficult to navigate trail that cuts across a mountain range and through the southern tip of Madagascar’s rain forest corridor. The town is a Commune head that is highly populated (and relatively speaking) wealthier than St. Luce. Most of the wealth coming from agriculture, supplying the region and Ft. Dauphin with coffee, rice, beans, and other agricultural commodities.
The fishermen know it’s not particularly ‘fair.’ They fish all day (with at times a lot of risk involved), pull in a catch, sell if for pennies to a foreigner on the beach who transports it (one could argue with an equal amount of energy input) and sells it for dimes. ‘’It’s not right.’’ Kolasy tells me as we sit on the floor of his hut and he takes a sip of rum.
According to his reports the second trip out was not nearly as bountiful as the first. I received an open invite to go again. I told him when it’s really calm I’ll consider it, we both laugh and I headed home to cook the rest of my fish for dinner.
During my last trip back from Ft. Dauphin I brought back an unwanted guest in my gut, which caused a continuously need to go to the bathroom and for well over a week prevented me from traveling far from the comfort of the hole in the ground near my house. The good news is that it cleared up by itself—I suspect it was Giardia.
Fish….. I’ll save the explanation for this below. Overall, life has been good. We’ve had many good fishing days—light wind and a calm sea. People have money! Just in-time for the holidays!
FYI: I heard this bit of news from the hour of BBC news I get each day (about a week ago). Mining giant Rio Tinto is going to be cutting 14,000 jobs (14% of its workforce) worldwide, mainly because of the current economic situation AND particularly the decline of growth in the markets of Developing Countries (i.e. India and China). The implications this will have on the Madagascar Project are unknown—to me anyway.
I’m off to visit friends in Tulear for Christmas. I looking forward to the ride (although I’m told it’s a bit torturous). The route cuts directly through the ‘belly’ of southern Madagascar.
I wish everyone a Happy Holiday and/or Merry Christmas!
11/28/09
‘’We have no money’’—The words that keep the ‘poor’ in poverty?
I was paid a visit by Peace Corps yesterday. Part of me was excited to see what impressions my friends from Tana would have of St. Luce, but as always the trip was quick and brief. We bought fist, we talked about what I was doing, they swam, and we eat fish until we couldn’t move. We also went through all the ‘standard’ site visit formalities (interviews, paper work, etc.).
I was eager to show them some of the results of the cook-stove project, so we walked over to the elementary school in Manafiafy. The World Food Program feeds about 250 kids every school day (they provide pots, corn, rice, oil, sugar, and peas) After a quick introduction, the PCMO (peace crops Doctor) was quick to point out all the signs of malnutrition—disproportionate hands, feet, and heads; frail limbs; dry skin and skin infections; discolored hair and runny noses. In conversation he asked the local ladies who cook for the kids why they don’t treat the water they use with Chlorine (available at most shops throughout Madagascar), and than began instructing them on how they could clean the dirt off the plates with some vinegar.
As the doctor spoke, the faces of the two women became cold and serious. They lost all the facial glow that I was use to seeing. Immediately broke all eye contact with my ad the doctor and became fixated on the sandy soil at their feet. Shoulders dropped. It’s a posture I’ve seen before—a common sight when interning with a CYS agency during college. It’s the posture of disencouragement / disempowerment.
When the Doctor finished, he immediately got the response heard a lot, ‘’we don’t have money for that.’’ (a response or move of an excuse…?) I had a teacher in High School who would tell students (myself included) that if you say you ‘cannot’ do something, it actual means that you ‘will not’ do something, which ultimately means you ‘never’ tried. The ‘I have no money’ excuse is the ‘I can’t’ of the developing world. It justifies the current situation that the poor find themselves. When these words are uttered the doors of innovation and self-improvement are slammed shut. The advice given is being heard but processed defensively— Who are you? Why should I listen to you?
Of course this attitude can be overcome; all that is needed is trust, which is built through personal interaction. Andy’s successes as a social worker (my formal CYS supervisor) where the clients he continued to see and check-up on after they aged out the CYS system, the people he connected with on an individual level and was able to spark a willingness for self induced change.
12/01/08
The Politics of the Pump
In short, I returned from town to discover a new fence equipped with pad-lock around the water pump at the School near my house. My main source of drinking water and a favorite of many in my community because it doesn’t have a strong sulfur smell and the same discoloration like the water from the village well.
So, now when I get water people run after me with buckets in hand—lines form and what before only took 10 minutes now takes an hour. But the pump has been breaking and needs to be fixed every other day. First, I was told that kids shouldn’t use it, now people say I shouldn’t let other people use it (with the exception being a select few), and today Sosony suggested the I unscrew the handle and keep it in my house—what happened here! How did this become my pump and my problem? QMM built it, they should fix it right?
11/30/08
‘’Must remember that your role in development is not to become a hero, but rather make heroes out of the people with whom we are working.’’
I was disappointed and annoyed today when I showed up (as prearranged) only to discover that a cook-stove was already finished and build wrong (or differently). But later I came to the realization that this is how it should be. Who cares if they don’t like air vents, a certain mixture, or technique? It’s all about people taking ownership, taking an idea and making it their own. After all, creativity always sparks enthusiasm.
So…what have I contributed to this cook-stove project? At times it feels like I’ve done little, but help people construct them. But after some thought it seems I have actually supplied my NGO with heroes. Key people who advocate and help family, friends, and neighbors build improve cook-stoves, while saving money, time, and ultimately trees. They each have their own way of doing it, that doesn’t make it ‘wrong,’ its just ‘different.’
12/7/08
Wedding Season
As the sun slips southward (the north goes cold and Mad-car goes hot). Wedding Season also seems to accompany the rapid rise in temperature and just starting to pick-up down here. My village (Amboandrika) has had two this past weekend and it’s ‘different’ alright….
Everyone piles into a small house (a how many people can fit inside a phone booth situation—literally). Struggling for cool air and enduring the awkward position of sitting with my knees in my face, we all watched as a chicken’s neck is cut and blood collected on a flat stone, at which point the Bride is escorted inside. Both Bride and Groom sit in front of an elder from each family. Both say some words and place a dot of chicken blood on the forehead of both. Everyone cheers! Next, enters the jug of moon-shine (a rum made from sugarcane) and everyone drinks. Following all the drinking a table and chair is placed outside the hut and the newly married couple take a seat. Everyone shows their encouragement by giving money (putting it inside a hat), giving handshakes, and close family and friends give cooking utensils.
12/09/08
It’s the Night Before….
I helped build 3 cook-stoves today and I am exhausted, but no rest for this guy because tomorrow I… Armed with a hook, a tatava or stick, and 5 kilo line, tomorrow at 3am I get to experience… I don’t know how this is going to go… I’m going to get sick and based on past experiences (mostly around man-made lakes in PA) my changes of catching anything are slim. That’s right! Tomorrow I fish!
12/10/08
Sun Rise, Sun Rise
There is something exciting about getting up before the sun. Maybe it’s because I only do it on rare and special occasions, the anxiety and anticipation experienced as a child, always arousing the emotions of waiting for the sun the break through the horizon on Christmas mornings.
I was up before I heard the knock on the door. Grabbed the things I had set out the night before and bolted out the door. As we walked by my neighbors I made sure to yell and make as much noise as possible (a rare opportunity for a little pay-back).
In the morning darkness we sat, drank coffee, and laughed (mostly at my expense as usual). I told them that I was probably going to throw-up and how I didn’t need paddle because I had my hands. Conversation mostly revolved around me and of course, fishing.
We walked under the light of the stars, greeted in the darkness along the way by friends, family, and neighbors. Mostly with jaws dropped with amazement at the sight of me going to fish.
The Boys Club
We walked on to the Beach, which at that point was bustling with activity. People pulling boats into the water and getting gear ready. Yesterdays catch, todays calm sea, and yes…girls were all common topics of discussion. This is without a doubt a ‘boys club’ and I was honored to have been invited to experience it. We sat and waited as the other three in out fishing party paddled the boat around the rocks from the southern beach.
‘’Its going to be hot, did you bring water?’’ A friend asks with a touch of laughter accompanied with a look of amazement.
‘’Yes I have some thanks.’’ Thanks dad—I think to myself.
By now the sun crept above the horizon and lit-up the sky with every shade of pink and red imaginable. With the palm trees in the background it reminded me of a photo you would see on someone’s’ Windows desktop.
The boats are small one piece canoes carved out of large trees from the rain forests up north. I can’t imagine experiencing a rough sea in one and I wont any time soon because today the sea is as calm as a swimming pool. The boat arrives, I throw on my life jacket (a PC must) and hop in. Balance is critical in these hollowed out tree trunks. Each man has to sit on alternating sides to keep the ‘sea-worthy’ craft from tipping.
Fishing
We paddled around some rocks and about 2k into the body of water known as the Bay of St. Luce. But don’t be fooled by the name, this is nothing like the protected bay side I was use to seeing at the Jersey shore. It is unprotected open water. We paddled into a group of about 20 boats. All making some reference to the fact that this canoe was carrying a tall lanky ‘white’ guy.
Did you ever see a game show where the winner gets the chance to stand in a box and grab as much money out of the air as possible as $ bills are continuously blown all around? I don’t think I have.... But anyway fishing for Sihely is a similar experience (I can imagine).
You throw your hand-line into the school of fish below and pull up a 7 inch fish. I used one line, which continually became tangled with every fish I brought out of the water. Everyone else in the boat worked three at a time. Drop the line into the water, pull on it quickly when you feel a tug, bring up the fish, grab it (without getting your hand hooked), drop it into your basket, rebate if needed, and repeat. We fished like this for four hours, interrupted periodically by the Dauphines who also were enjoying the bounty of the sea just a few feet away. I could have fished longer—the time past quickly. But I was interrupted by a shout from the rear of the boat saying we needed to get back quick. The logic was that other boats were already heading back and if we get back early enough you could sell less for more (8 for 200ar) I rolled up my line and was handed a paddle.
This part I particularly enjoyed—because it was a mad dash to get back to the beach. We rowed in alternating unison, right side and left side continually sprayed by a mist as we cut through the swells. My chest burned and arms ached, but I found the sound of the paddles cutting through the water and the quick propulsions forward almost hypnotic. It was exhausting, but it was accompanied with a rhythm that made it pleasurable. We passed numerous boats—most stopping at the site of me rowing a boat. We finally approached the beach, which by mid-morning was littered with people and bustling with activity, I walked onto the beach trying not to fall over and was greeted with laughter, amazement, and Sosony.
‘’Fa nahazo hanoa?’’ He yells out from the top of the beach.
His face was lit-up at the sight of the full basket of fish I was carrying.
After selling my basket of fish for 2000ar (12 fish for 200ar), Sosony and I started walking home as the rest of the group geared up to head back out. Our walk home was frequently interrupted by people stopping and asking questions— Did you get a lot? Did you throw up? You can fish?
I broke two taboos while fishing. The first was whistling—a hard one to restrain from and I broke it a few times. Apparently is attracts whales and sharks. Yelling out ‘Fuck!’ when I would catch myself in the mindless act each time brought about more laughter among my fishing mates than the actual fear of attracting a large predatory fish. The second was bringing a banana with me on board (which I later learned if eaten would have spoiled the catch).
In all it was a good experience and I have been on a natural ‘high’ all day. It’s fun to see the reactions on faces when people find out that I fished. Even people who don’t fish for a living have expressed interest in going after I tell them about my experience. As if I have made it ‘okay’ to fish—not just a job for the uneducated and poor…
What happens to my fish?
The journey doesn’t end on the beach (except for the six I ate for lunch). They will get smoked and tomorrow begin the 15 hour walk from St. Luce to Ranomafana. Where they are sold for 200ar a piece or traded for rice (sold around 250/300ar a cup in Ranomafana). The rice gets transported back to St. Luce and sold at 400ar a cup.
People can make a lot of money and it all revolves around supply, demand, and accessibility. Ranomafana is not accessible by road from St. Luce. Only by a steep and difficult to navigate trail that cuts across a mountain range and through the southern tip of Madagascar’s rain forest corridor. The town is a Commune head that is highly populated (and relatively speaking) wealthier than St. Luce. Most of the wealth coming from agriculture, supplying the region and Ft. Dauphin with coffee, rice, beans, and other agricultural commodities.
The fishermen know it’s not particularly ‘fair.’ They fish all day (with at times a lot of risk involved), pull in a catch, sell if for pennies to a foreigner on the beach who transports it (one could argue with an equal amount of energy input) and sells it for dimes. ‘’It’s not right.’’ Kolasy tells me as we sit on the floor of his hut and he takes a sip of rum.
According to his reports the second trip out was not nearly as bountiful as the first. I received an open invite to go again. I told him when it’s really calm I’ll consider it, we both laugh and I headed home to cook the rest of my fish for dinner.
Nov 24, 2008
Lets Talk Mining: A thick layer on the multi-layered cake I call St. Luce.
----This is meant to give only a brief introduction to the overall mining project----
The Rio Tinto Group, a UK-Australian based mining company has been studying a mining project near the town of Fort. Dauphin in Southeastern Madagascar for the past 17 years. The mining project, which is extracting ilmenite and small quantities of zircon, is called Qit Fer Madagascar Minerials S.A. (QMM) and is owned 80% by Rio Tinto with the possibility of the government owning 20%. The 20% ‘potential’ ownership depends on the availability of international funds—needing to find $117 million USD through international financial institutions to claim its full 20% capital share. The current shared ownership is only assured during the current ‘mine development phase,’ which expires at the point of first extraction (originally set for Dec. 2008), if funds can not be found/borrowed Rio Tinto would become the sole owner of the project.
Its been estimated that the mine could last 50-60 years extracting grains of ilmenite and small quantities of zircon from the mineral sand deposits near Ft. Dauphin. Mining exploration efforts have confirmed ilmenite and zircon in four sectors (villages)—the Petriky sector, the Mandena sector, and the St. Luce sector. Together they host reserves which could sustain mining operations for more than 60 years at a rate of 750,000 tones of ilmenite a year.
The Mining Process:
1) Removing vegetation cover (storing the humus layer if and when applicable).
2) Extracting sand by dredging, requiring the creation of artificial lakes.
3) Mechanically separating the heavy metals (about 5%) and returning non-heavy metals(about 95%) back to mining site.
4) Separating ilmenite and zircon from other heavy mental.
5) Returning other heavy metals to the mining site.
6) Restoration of mined areas—replanting using tree species already commonly planted throughout Madagascar. (the process will require the removal and loss of extremely rare fragments of littoral coastal forest).
The project overall is the largest foreign investment in Maagascar’s history and is the first in a series of natural resource extraction projects that the country is developing with the international mining sector and the World Bank. This project has been labeled a ‘flagship,’ raising the bar of the international mining community. Is this true? Or just another exploitation of national resources at the expense of a desperate country and its people? …You Decide…. (I encourage you to research on your own and not to interpret anything written here as complete fact).
Good Community relations have always been a priority of the QMM project. A social and Enviornmental Impact Assessment started the project back in 1990 and concluded in 2001. (this includes the establishment of two ‘protected’ fragments of littoral forest—in Mandena and St. Luce). QMM’s early community relations strategy was inspired by Rio Tinto’s (the parent company) policy—As expressed in the document ‘the way we work.’ The document uses language such as ‘mutual respect,’ ‘active and reciprocal partnerships,’ and ‘long term commitment to the communities in which QMM is present.’
If you are saying, ‘That doesn’t sound much like a mining company.’ I found this info awhile back in Jared Diamond’s book ‘‘Clasped’’
Papua New Guinea’s Bougainville Island Copper Mine
The Bougainville Island Copper Mine in Papua New Guinea was the countries largest enterprise and biggest earner of foreign exchange, and one of the largest copper mines in the world.
The mine was faced with a problem, the same problem all mining projects face—what to do with tailings or unused/unneeded material, started dumping its waste directly into a tributary of the Jaba River (a major source of water for the people). This caused monumental environmental impacts at the expense of the New Guinean people. The Government failed to resolve the situation, thus outraged and frustrated inhabitants revolted, triggering a civil war that cost thousands of lives and nearly tore apart the nation of Papua New Guinea.
Fifteen years since the outbreak of civil unrest, peace has still not fully been restored on Bougainville. The mine still remains closed (officially closing its doors in 1989) at the expense of owners and lenders (including Bank of America, US Export/ Import Bank, and Australian and Japanese lenders).
In 1990 on the heels of this disaster, top executives of some of the world’s largest international mining companies became concerned about the future of their Industry (afraid that they had lost all ‘social license to operate’). They formed an initiative appropriately named the ‘Mining Minerals and Sustainable Development (MSD) project and launched a series of studies on sustainable mining and enlisted a well-known environmentalist as its director—the President of the National Wildlife Federation at the time. They also attempted without much success to involve the broader environmental community, which refused out of pure disgust from previous mining practices (i.e. Bougainville). In 2002, the study arrived at a series of recommendations (as mandated) at which point most of the mining companies involved declined to implement any recommendations.
The exceptions is the mining giant Rio Tinto, which moved ahead on some of the recommendations, which were backed by a supportive CEO and shareholders—still scarred by the companies experience of owning the Bougainville Island Copper Mine in New Guinea.
Of course business advantages exist when a company is seen as an industry leader in ‘social responsibility.’
The Borax mine in California’s Death Valley is one of the most cleanly operated mines in the U.S. (owned by Rio Tinto).
When Tiffany and Co. began stressing environmental considerations in selecting a mining company as a key gold supplier, they went with Rio Tinto. Tiffany and Company was eager to fend off the negative attention of protesters outside of their jewelry stores protesting the use of cyanide (linked to clasping fisheries) in the gold mining process
The ilmentite deposit here in Madagascar is located in the Anosy region of south-eastern Madagascar (I speak/learned the Anosy dialect). It’s a region that has been historically plagued with poverty, isolation, and according to who you speak with—political/administrative neglect. 82% of the people live in poverty (the national average is around 74%). The regional economy is based on agriculture (sisal and rice are the ‘staple’ crops).
A word on Sisal production.
(from the Bradt Madagascar Guide)
The crop was introduced in the early 1900s with the first exports in 1922 (with 42 tons going to France). By 1950 production reached 3,080 tons annually mainly because of its use in carpet production. Requiring the clearing of endemic forest, to make room for sisal production. In 1952 a synthetic substitute was developed in the US and the market in Madagascar clasped.
But in the 1990’s the market resurged exporting 5,000 tones in 2005—putting more forest at risk (old land was converted to other uses—thus new land needed to be found). Why?
Ironically ‘green’ consumers in the EU and USA demanding biodegradable packaging, which is made from sisal.
Even rice production is weak and the region, which needs to import 12,000 tons to meet its yearly demand.
74% of school aged children do not attend school.
When I recently asked Angelo who is 14 years old, ‘why doesn’t go to school?’ He told me that the teacher was mean and laughed (I laughed too, because this wasn’t true—he is a good friend and well respected within the community). It makes sense…Why go to School? An office/job or any future other than fishing seems so abstract and unattainable. With the mining project underway and the rapid development to come, Angelo and others like him will surely be left behind.
What is Ilmenite?
It’s been said that the project is dependant on China’s growth, which is generating much of the demand for both ilmenite and zirconium. The ilmenite is used in making a white dye that is used to give the white pigment found in plastic bags, paint, and skin lotions.
According to an article I found with 2006 figures, ilmenite stood at $75-85 USD per-ton. Zirconium was priced at $800 USD per ton. But the ilmenite will not be going straight to the open market. A special agreement allows Qit Fir (Rio Tinto) to have exclusive rights to buy the ilmenite at market price and ship it to its smelting plant in Canada, where it will be converted into titanium chloride (priced at $413-550 USD per ton in 2006).
A lot of tension exists between the mining company and my partnering NGO (the relationship between the two was even mentioned in a report by the WWF in 2006). My NGO, was created in 1994 with the intension of finding ‘developmental alternatives’ to the mining project.
When I recently asked Sosony ‘Why he didn’t like the mining company?’
He said it was ‘bad and would damage the soil.’
He than sat quietly in a daze for a brief moment, finally letting out a sigh with the word ‘unwise.’
Many in the village don’t hold this same view and are supportive of the QMM project.
The Rio Tinto Group, a UK-Australian based mining company has been studying a mining project near the town of Fort. Dauphin in Southeastern Madagascar for the past 17 years. The mining project, which is extracting ilmenite and small quantities of zircon, is called Qit Fer Madagascar Minerials S.A. (QMM) and is owned 80% by Rio Tinto with the possibility of the government owning 20%. The 20% ‘potential’ ownership depends on the availability of international funds—needing to find $117 million USD through international financial institutions to claim its full 20% capital share. The current shared ownership is only assured during the current ‘mine development phase,’ which expires at the point of first extraction (originally set for Dec. 2008), if funds can not be found/borrowed Rio Tinto would become the sole owner of the project.
Its been estimated that the mine could last 50-60 years extracting grains of ilmenite and small quantities of zircon from the mineral sand deposits near Ft. Dauphin. Mining exploration efforts have confirmed ilmenite and zircon in four sectors (villages)—the Petriky sector, the Mandena sector, and the St. Luce sector. Together they host reserves which could sustain mining operations for more than 60 years at a rate of 750,000 tones of ilmenite a year.
The Mining Process:
1) Removing vegetation cover (storing the humus layer if and when applicable).
2) Extracting sand by dredging, requiring the creation of artificial lakes.
3) Mechanically separating the heavy metals (about 5%) and returning non-heavy metals(about 95%) back to mining site.
4) Separating ilmenite and zircon from other heavy mental.
5) Returning other heavy metals to the mining site.
6) Restoration of mined areas—replanting using tree species already commonly planted throughout Madagascar. (the process will require the removal and loss of extremely rare fragments of littoral coastal forest).
The project overall is the largest foreign investment in Maagascar’s history and is the first in a series of natural resource extraction projects that the country is developing with the international mining sector and the World Bank. This project has been labeled a ‘flagship,’ raising the bar of the international mining community. Is this true? Or just another exploitation of national resources at the expense of a desperate country and its people? …You Decide…. (I encourage you to research on your own and not to interpret anything written here as complete fact).
Good Community relations have always been a priority of the QMM project. A social and Enviornmental Impact Assessment started the project back in 1990 and concluded in 2001. (this includes the establishment of two ‘protected’ fragments of littoral forest—in Mandena and St. Luce). QMM’s early community relations strategy was inspired by Rio Tinto’s (the parent company) policy—As expressed in the document ‘the way we work.’ The document uses language such as ‘mutual respect,’ ‘active and reciprocal partnerships,’ and ‘long term commitment to the communities in which QMM is present.’
If you are saying, ‘That doesn’t sound much like a mining company.’ I found this info awhile back in Jared Diamond’s book ‘‘Clasped’’
Papua New Guinea’s Bougainville Island Copper Mine
The Bougainville Island Copper Mine in Papua New Guinea was the countries largest enterprise and biggest earner of foreign exchange, and one of the largest copper mines in the world.
The mine was faced with a problem, the same problem all mining projects face—what to do with tailings or unused/unneeded material, started dumping its waste directly into a tributary of the Jaba River (a major source of water for the people). This caused monumental environmental impacts at the expense of the New Guinean people. The Government failed to resolve the situation, thus outraged and frustrated inhabitants revolted, triggering a civil war that cost thousands of lives and nearly tore apart the nation of Papua New Guinea.
Fifteen years since the outbreak of civil unrest, peace has still not fully been restored on Bougainville. The mine still remains closed (officially closing its doors in 1989) at the expense of owners and lenders (including Bank of America, US Export/ Import Bank, and Australian and Japanese lenders).
In 1990 on the heels of this disaster, top executives of some of the world’s largest international mining companies became concerned about the future of their Industry (afraid that they had lost all ‘social license to operate’). They formed an initiative appropriately named the ‘Mining Minerals and Sustainable Development (MSD) project and launched a series of studies on sustainable mining and enlisted a well-known environmentalist as its director—the President of the National Wildlife Federation at the time. They also attempted without much success to involve the broader environmental community, which refused out of pure disgust from previous mining practices (i.e. Bougainville). In 2002, the study arrived at a series of recommendations (as mandated) at which point most of the mining companies involved declined to implement any recommendations.
The exceptions is the mining giant Rio Tinto, which moved ahead on some of the recommendations, which were backed by a supportive CEO and shareholders—still scarred by the companies experience of owning the Bougainville Island Copper Mine in New Guinea.
Of course business advantages exist when a company is seen as an industry leader in ‘social responsibility.’
The Borax mine in California’s Death Valley is one of the most cleanly operated mines in the U.S. (owned by Rio Tinto).
When Tiffany and Co. began stressing environmental considerations in selecting a mining company as a key gold supplier, they went with Rio Tinto. Tiffany and Company was eager to fend off the negative attention of protesters outside of their jewelry stores protesting the use of cyanide (linked to clasping fisheries) in the gold mining process
The ilmentite deposit here in Madagascar is located in the Anosy region of south-eastern Madagascar (I speak/learned the Anosy dialect). It’s a region that has been historically plagued with poverty, isolation, and according to who you speak with—political/administrative neglect. 82% of the people live in poverty (the national average is around 74%). The regional economy is based on agriculture (sisal and rice are the ‘staple’ crops).
A word on Sisal production.
(from the Bradt Madagascar Guide)
The crop was introduced in the early 1900s with the first exports in 1922 (with 42 tons going to France). By 1950 production reached 3,080 tons annually mainly because of its use in carpet production. Requiring the clearing of endemic forest, to make room for sisal production. In 1952 a synthetic substitute was developed in the US and the market in Madagascar clasped.
But in the 1990’s the market resurged exporting 5,000 tones in 2005—putting more forest at risk (old land was converted to other uses—thus new land needed to be found). Why?
Ironically ‘green’ consumers in the EU and USA demanding biodegradable packaging, which is made from sisal.
Even rice production is weak and the region, which needs to import 12,000 tons to meet its yearly demand.
74% of school aged children do not attend school.
When I recently asked Angelo who is 14 years old, ‘why doesn’t go to school?’ He told me that the teacher was mean and laughed (I laughed too, because this wasn’t true—he is a good friend and well respected within the community). It makes sense…Why go to School? An office/job or any future other than fishing seems so abstract and unattainable. With the mining project underway and the rapid development to come, Angelo and others like him will surely be left behind.
What is Ilmenite?
It’s been said that the project is dependant on China’s growth, which is generating much of the demand for both ilmenite and zirconium. The ilmenite is used in making a white dye that is used to give the white pigment found in plastic bags, paint, and skin lotions.
According to an article I found with 2006 figures, ilmenite stood at $75-85 USD per-ton. Zirconium was priced at $800 USD per ton. But the ilmenite will not be going straight to the open market. A special agreement allows Qit Fir (Rio Tinto) to have exclusive rights to buy the ilmenite at market price and ship it to its smelting plant in Canada, where it will be converted into titanium chloride (priced at $413-550 USD per ton in 2006).
A lot of tension exists between the mining company and my partnering NGO (the relationship between the two was even mentioned in a report by the WWF in 2006). My NGO, was created in 1994 with the intension of finding ‘developmental alternatives’ to the mining project.
When I recently asked Sosony ‘Why he didn’t like the mining company?’
He said it was ‘bad and would damage the soil.’
He than sat quietly in a daze for a brief moment, finally letting out a sigh with the word ‘unwise.’
Many in the village don’t hold this same view and are supportive of the QMM project.
Nov 20, 2008
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.’’
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.’’
Oct 6, 2008
“This is a story all about how my life got turned a little up side down”
So yesterday was Sunday—should be a day of rest. But I wanted to feel productive So I did some laundry, fixed my compost pile (my attempt to make it chicken proof) and began cutting some small pieces of Cassava so I could experiment with a graft (grafting two species of cassava together to increase the plants overall yield).
But before I begin, I want to mention that these chickens are driving me CRAZY, they come into the garden (they are small so they find small openings in my fence) and have killed numerous plants, clawing at the sandy soil (which can get really dry in the afternoon sun)—Its been a constant battle to keep them from completely destroying anything I’ve planted.
8:30am
So …I’ll continue…I start cutting little pieces of cassava, they need to be small and have a clean cut in order for the graft to take.
I cut a piece and its wasnt a clean cut, I moved it inward on the cutting board so I could try again. I bring my ansty back (a universal tool-think clever). As I came down I heard the sound of rustling leaves behind me, which broke my concentration-thinking “Those damn chickens are in my garden again.”
*Wack!*
I feel a sting and adrenaline kicks in…
First thought: Fuck! You Idiot! You Fucking Idiot…I just cut your thumb off!
After realizing my thumb was still in one piece .
Second thought: Fuck! You Idiot! You just cut the tip of your thumb off!
I wasted no time—shaking, I ran inside and grabbed my med kit. It looked bad…blood was dripping everywhere…….I wrapped it and applied pressure….as I was trying to locate my telephone (my site does have cell phone reception now—although it doesn’t always work). Eventually finding it I tied my phone numerous times but no signal. Thoughts raced through my mind…
Is it really that bad? When I cut myself before (that’s right this is my second time), it looked real bad at first but once the bleeding stopped, it turned out only to be minor. …maybe this was the same…
Should I go to Mahatalaky? (the center of my commune has a hospital.) If I go…how? It’s a Sunday and a strong wind (no lobster trucks are running today) Should I bike? It was starting to get hot.
I paced my house for 3 hours pondering these questions and more. I checked my wound twice hoping that each time it would look just a little bit better than before—of course it didn’t.
Sosony (my counter-part) finally arrives from his brother’s funeral a half-day walk from my village. I apologized and told him I cut myself…he quickly gave me his phone…at which point we contacted Lala (runs the environment program for my NGO) who suggested I go to Mahatalaky. The phone goes dead in mid-conversation. I rush back to my house, grab a few things and throw them in my backpack. Sosony comes walking over and I tell him that I should be returning later that afternoon. He helps wrap my thumb up tight. While we wrap he mentions that two people died yesterday in St. Luce while fishing and one was family. I pause and let out a big sigh, he finishes the tape and says “don’t worry about it, get to Mahatalaky quick.” I jump on my bike and go!
It’s now 12:30 and Hot!
As I bike the 15k to Mahatalaky. Thoughts continue to pop in and out of my head…First, this could have been a lot worse. Second—still trying to stay positive- maybe its not all that bad….I start to wonder about the Hospital…maybe the inside is a lot nicer than the outside. This country does continually manage to surprise me….Maybe the doctor is well educated and speaks English.
1:10 I arrive in Mahatalaky.
I try to buy some credit for my phone first, thinking it would be good to call Lala back or my PCMO (Peace Corps doctor). No one has any credit to sell me. ..
I walk into the hospital (a house) and take a seat at a rusty table and the female doctor (doesn’t speak English) removes my wrapping. I try and make light of the situation—telling them how I was farming Bella Hazo and how I’m not very good with a big knife. She takes cotton and cleans the wound, but in the process she manages to re-open it, causing it to bleed again. She lets out a sigh and says that we will need to cut it off….at which point I say….What!….Hold on here!….
I suggest we just wrap it, which she does and I start looking for a phone to call Peace Corps. The hospital didn’t have a phone, but she directed me to a house about 3k away that sites on a hill, where on clear days you can get cell reception from Ft. Dauphin.
As I approach the house, the family come out and greeted me. I tell them that I need to get phone reception and they point to a tree on the side of the house. I climb the tree and a few bars appear on the phone. I try and call and I loose the signal.
They finally invite me inside (realizing my desperation and frustration) and point to a basket hanging on the wall in the corner of the room. When the phone is placed directly in the basket I got a few bars. Thus, I’m standing in some strange family's house, interrupted their meal, talking into a basket (a bit odd). I don’t think these words give justice to how crazy the situation really was. ..
I finally get a hold of Dr. Bruce (PCMO) and after about 40 minutes of phone tag, he thought it would be best for me to make my way to Ft. Dauphin and than to Manambaro (a town 20k outside). They might be able to apply stitches (allowing me to save a tip of the thumb). My NGO gets a car but its about 1 hour and 30 mins away. I start biking thinking that any time saved can only help the situation. It’s now 2:00pm
As I bike I keep getting constant calls….Bruce, Lief (PCPD), Brett (runs my NGO), Rita (Volunteer in Ft. Dauphin), Eric (the driver of the car sent to pick me up). I bike about 20k and get picked up. The time is now 3:30pm
I car rushes to and through Ft. Dauphin. Finally arriving at Manambaro at 4:30pm
I get my thumb looked at be the nurse who, in a much more professional manner (it could be the atmosphere—no doubt still a third world hospital, but had funding through a Church) told me that the cells were dead and I would have to get it cut.
The Doctor finally appears. He takes me to a dark back room and tells me to have a seat on an old in-patient bed. He examines my cut, tells me its not all that bad, re-cleans and wraps it, and tells me that Jesus loves me (again Church funded).
They gave me a few pain killers and some anti-biotics for the night (both Ok with DR. Bruce PCMO) and they told me to return tomorrow when the pharmacist would be in so I could get the rest of my meds (it was a Sunday).
I get to Ft. Dauphin at 6:30pm.
Tell my crazy story a few times, eat a cup of rice, and pass-out.
5:00 am my watch alarm goes off and I start walking to the Taxi Be Station.
I’m able to get in the first full Taxi Be (they don’t leave until full, thus very unpredictable. Full means 4-5 in each a bench seat and 2 in the trunk of a very old car).
I arrive at 7:30 am and meet the two nurses. After a few minutes of small talk they invite me to go to the morning service at church (again Church funded hospital). I thinkWhy not?…Jesus love me…or so I’m told...thus I go to church.
The service ends at 8:30 am. I finally get my meds and pay my bill from yesterday.
But this story doesn’t end…
While picking up my medicine my original doctor, accompanied by another doctor, came and told me they wanted to see me again.
I went back into the examination room and one of the doctors takes another look at my thumb. Realizing the tissue was dead, he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the dead tissue and nail. It hurt! and bled again. He placed my small piece of thumb on the table, cleaned and bandaged me up, while calling the name of the other doctor. When a few minutes passed and the other doctor didn’t arrive, he told me to have a seat in the corner of the examination room. It got awkward because he started invited and treating other patients while I waited. For 30 minutes I sat through the cleaning and repacking of what I think was three deeply infected wounds of three different patients.
When the other doctor finally arrived, he picked up the small piece of thumb examined it for a minute and handed it to me saying I could keep it as a gift and that I was finally "done."
So to wrap up this long story, I am on antibiotics and a painkiller (although I’m in very little pain). I have a “prescription” to get me thumb re-cleaned and re-bandaged every two days at a hospital in Ft. Dauphin. But because I had a small piece of thumb removed (in a local hospital) Peace Corps is sending me to Tana so I can be examined by the PCMO. Under normal situations a trip to Tana would be great, but I didn’t bring anything (not even a change of cloths) when I left St. Luce on Sunday, which adds more stress to an already stressful situation.
I was examining my “gift.” It’s a small corner of my thumb and a large portion of nail—I think the nail will grow back and the cut was on an angle, so it’s hard to predict what it will look like when it finally heals. I did not hit bone, and I can still move and I have feeling. I was VERY lucky!
Overall, this was a valuable learning experience….. Ill keep you posted...
But before I begin, I want to mention that these chickens are driving me CRAZY, they come into the garden (they are small so they find small openings in my fence) and have killed numerous plants, clawing at the sandy soil (which can get really dry in the afternoon sun)—Its been a constant battle to keep them from completely destroying anything I’ve planted.
8:30am
So …I’ll continue…I start cutting little pieces of cassava, they need to be small and have a clean cut in order for the graft to take.
I cut a piece and its wasnt a clean cut, I moved it inward on the cutting board so I could try again. I bring my ansty back (a universal tool-think clever). As I came down I heard the sound of rustling leaves behind me, which broke my concentration-thinking “Those damn chickens are in my garden again.”
*Wack!*
I feel a sting and adrenaline kicks in…
First thought: Fuck! You Idiot! You Fucking Idiot…I just cut your thumb off!
After realizing my thumb was still in one piece .
Second thought: Fuck! You Idiot! You just cut the tip of your thumb off!
I wasted no time—shaking, I ran inside and grabbed my med kit. It looked bad…blood was dripping everywhere…….I wrapped it and applied pressure….as I was trying to locate my telephone (my site does have cell phone reception now—although it doesn’t always work). Eventually finding it I tied my phone numerous times but no signal. Thoughts raced through my mind…
Is it really that bad? When I cut myself before (that’s right this is my second time), it looked real bad at first but once the bleeding stopped, it turned out only to be minor. …maybe this was the same…
Should I go to Mahatalaky? (the center of my commune has a hospital.) If I go…how? It’s a Sunday and a strong wind (no lobster trucks are running today) Should I bike? It was starting to get hot.
I paced my house for 3 hours pondering these questions and more. I checked my wound twice hoping that each time it would look just a little bit better than before—of course it didn’t.
Sosony (my counter-part) finally arrives from his brother’s funeral a half-day walk from my village. I apologized and told him I cut myself…he quickly gave me his phone…at which point we contacted Lala (runs the environment program for my NGO) who suggested I go to Mahatalaky. The phone goes dead in mid-conversation. I rush back to my house, grab a few things and throw them in my backpack. Sosony comes walking over and I tell him that I should be returning later that afternoon. He helps wrap my thumb up tight. While we wrap he mentions that two people died yesterday in St. Luce while fishing and one was family. I pause and let out a big sigh, he finishes the tape and says “don’t worry about it, get to Mahatalaky quick.” I jump on my bike and go!
It’s now 12:30 and Hot!
As I bike the 15k to Mahatalaky. Thoughts continue to pop in and out of my head…First, this could have been a lot worse. Second—still trying to stay positive- maybe its not all that bad….I start to wonder about the Hospital…maybe the inside is a lot nicer than the outside. This country does continually manage to surprise me….Maybe the doctor is well educated and speaks English.
1:10 I arrive in Mahatalaky.
I try to buy some credit for my phone first, thinking it would be good to call Lala back or my PCMO (Peace Corps doctor). No one has any credit to sell me. ..
I walk into the hospital (a house) and take a seat at a rusty table and the female doctor (doesn’t speak English) removes my wrapping. I try and make light of the situation—telling them how I was farming Bella Hazo and how I’m not very good with a big knife. She takes cotton and cleans the wound, but in the process she manages to re-open it, causing it to bleed again. She lets out a sigh and says that we will need to cut it off….at which point I say….What!….Hold on here!….
I suggest we just wrap it, which she does and I start looking for a phone to call Peace Corps. The hospital didn’t have a phone, but she directed me to a house about 3k away that sites on a hill, where on clear days you can get cell reception from Ft. Dauphin.
As I approach the house, the family come out and greeted me. I tell them that I need to get phone reception and they point to a tree on the side of the house. I climb the tree and a few bars appear on the phone. I try and call and I loose the signal.
They finally invite me inside (realizing my desperation and frustration) and point to a basket hanging on the wall in the corner of the room. When the phone is placed directly in the basket I got a few bars. Thus, I’m standing in some strange family's house, interrupted their meal, talking into a basket (a bit odd). I don’t think these words give justice to how crazy the situation really was. ..
I finally get a hold of Dr. Bruce (PCMO) and after about 40 minutes of phone tag, he thought it would be best for me to make my way to Ft. Dauphin and than to Manambaro (a town 20k outside). They might be able to apply stitches (allowing me to save a tip of the thumb). My NGO gets a car but its about 1 hour and 30 mins away. I start biking thinking that any time saved can only help the situation. It’s now 2:00pm
As I bike I keep getting constant calls….Bruce, Lief (PCPD), Brett (runs my NGO), Rita (Volunteer in Ft. Dauphin), Eric (the driver of the car sent to pick me up). I bike about 20k and get picked up. The time is now 3:30pm
I car rushes to and through Ft. Dauphin. Finally arriving at Manambaro at 4:30pm
I get my thumb looked at be the nurse who, in a much more professional manner (it could be the atmosphere—no doubt still a third world hospital, but had funding through a Church) told me that the cells were dead and I would have to get it cut.
The Doctor finally appears. He takes me to a dark back room and tells me to have a seat on an old in-patient bed. He examines my cut, tells me its not all that bad, re-cleans and wraps it, and tells me that Jesus loves me (again Church funded).
They gave me a few pain killers and some anti-biotics for the night (both Ok with DR. Bruce PCMO) and they told me to return tomorrow when the pharmacist would be in so I could get the rest of my meds (it was a Sunday).
I get to Ft. Dauphin at 6:30pm.
Tell my crazy story a few times, eat a cup of rice, and pass-out.
5:00 am my watch alarm goes off and I start walking to the Taxi Be Station.
I’m able to get in the first full Taxi Be (they don’t leave until full, thus very unpredictable. Full means 4-5 in each a bench seat and 2 in the trunk of a very old car).
I arrive at 7:30 am and meet the two nurses. After a few minutes of small talk they invite me to go to the morning service at church (again Church funded hospital). I thinkWhy not?…Jesus love me…or so I’m told...thus I go to church.
The service ends at 8:30 am. I finally get my meds and pay my bill from yesterday.
But this story doesn’t end…
While picking up my medicine my original doctor, accompanied by another doctor, came and told me they wanted to see me again.
I went back into the examination room and one of the doctors takes another look at my thumb. Realizing the tissue was dead, he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the dead tissue and nail. It hurt! and bled again. He placed my small piece of thumb on the table, cleaned and bandaged me up, while calling the name of the other doctor. When a few minutes passed and the other doctor didn’t arrive, he told me to have a seat in the corner of the examination room. It got awkward because he started invited and treating other patients while I waited. For 30 minutes I sat through the cleaning and repacking of what I think was three deeply infected wounds of three different patients.
When the other doctor finally arrived, he picked up the small piece of thumb examined it for a minute and handed it to me saying I could keep it as a gift and that I was finally "done."
So to wrap up this long story, I am on antibiotics and a painkiller (although I’m in very little pain). I have a “prescription” to get me thumb re-cleaned and re-bandaged every two days at a hospital in Ft. Dauphin. But because I had a small piece of thumb removed (in a local hospital) Peace Corps is sending me to Tana so I can be examined by the PCMO. Under normal situations a trip to Tana would be great, but I didn’t bring anything (not even a change of cloths) when I left St. Luce on Sunday, which adds more stress to an already stressful situation.
I was examining my “gift.” It’s a small corner of my thumb and a large portion of nail—I think the nail will grow back and the cut was on an angle, so it’s hard to predict what it will look like when it finally heals. I did not hit bone, and I can still move and I have feeling. I was VERY lucky!
Overall, this was a valuable learning experience….. Ill keep you posted...
Sep 19, 2008
Volunteer to Change the World
Hello outside world! I needed a quick title for this post and got this one from my wrist. That’s right! Nestled nicely in one of the MANY packages I had waiting for me in Tana was a sweet red wrist band (similar to the Yellow one Lance made famous) but mine came with the Target store logo…(Thank you United Way?) hah!
Thanks to all who sent my care packages—yesterday I polished off the last item, a jar of dark chocolate peanut butter (which my body doesn’t seem to be enjoying) but I really enjoyed eating it.
Also thanks to my family for sending love from Ocean City New Jersey- sounds like everyone had a wonderful time. One of my favorites has to be the detailed map (I think my Grandmother created) which included the beach, boardwalk, and depth of the hotel swimming pool. Priceless!
8/17/08
My IST
Quick Highlights from my IST
-Learning about Bee Keeping with Stan (APCD of Env.). Clad in a green jump suite, which was difficult to see because he was covered in bees. Anyway, the moment when he turned towards us with a huge grin and said ‘’Yea…this is bad. I need smoke’’ as he proceeded to move very slowly with arms extended to the ‘safety’ of the fire. Hah! Apparently when you don’t check the hives everyday the bees can become VERY aggressive. Let’s just say if any of us do bee keeping-we’ll check the hives everyday. I think everyone got stung at least once-they got into our pants….it was crazy…you had to see it…hah!
-Going into Safeway (a grocery store in Tana). It wasn’t just all the stuff… but also what I could do with some of the ‘trash.’ ( plastic bags, containers, cases)
-Charlie lost 25 lbs-not sure about me, but I’ve been told that I look a lot better than I did during training….?? Between Fish, peanuts, and beans—I think I eat more protein than I did in the states.
-Great Stories were shared—taboos, many awkward moments, and my favorite Charlie and Julia’s story about potatoes. (a young married couple, from New York City, she’s a lawyer and he’s a political scientist, both Irish I think…..anyway they no nothing about potatoes, but are charged with solving the mysterious potato famine in their Village--North of Madagascar…hah…it makes a great story!)
8/21/08
Welcome Back—Quick Update
I arrived at site yesterday. IST went well, it was wonderful to see everyone, exchange ideas and share tales of ‘’survival.’’ I also learned how to make a water filter out of sand, charcoal, and a bucket—cool stuff.
Judging by the smiles and laughter. I think my absence was felt. I was only gone for two weeks, but it felt like a month. Thanks to Sosony, the garden survived. In fact, I just eat a dish with fresh green beans and lettuce, both freshly picked yesterday. Mahatavy!
8/22/08
Give me…Give me…Give me…
‘’I….go….home…on…Monday’’ Soza says in real long, slow, drawn-out malagash sentence.
A long pause follows as Soza takes what feels like an eternity to root through his things. For what…? I have no idea… the awkward silence doesn’t phase him. I sit patiently watching, trying hard not to laugh at the awkwardness of the situation.
My last encounter with Soza was when I was sick and emerged from the kabone dehydrated and delusional to the sight of him loitering outside my house with the hope that I would teach him English (he lives 15k away in Mahatalaky)
‘’Ahh….etho’’ he finally takes a seat in the chair I offered him five minutes ago.
‘’Vanilla…..four…..thousand…..five…hundred…’’
I smile and tell him politely that I’m not interested in buying vanilla.
He proceeds by opening the plastic container in his hand, which contained a plastic bag, which contained an envelope, which contained a notebook and showed me the photo identification of himself and the words ‘security officer’ written in French.
He lets out a nasty cough and proceeds to take five more minutes and neatly re-packages everything back into its original container. More awkward silence follows.
He finally asks me for a cigarette explaining that he has no money. I’m not sure what to make of Soza, he still gives me feeling of distrust and a bit of suspicion. I gave him a few condoms and a toothbrush (thank you Dr. Goldstein) and told him I had to work.
People ask me for things all the time—a ball, medicine, soap, beer, coffee, money, food.
It’s difficult to feel integrated into a community when you feel like your constantly being ‘’used.’’ It may sound foolish, but I’m more than a ball, soap, and coffee or I would like to think that I am….
8/30/08
It’s like coming from High School and being dropped into Primary School—Frustrating??
Since I’ve returned to site, I’ve been enjoying the company of foreigners-Volunteers with a development program run by my NGO. Its been nice speaking English and having company during meals. But, one question is continually raised—‘’What do you do here?’’ Every time its asked I have to pause. Its not that it catches me off guard, its that I need to sort through and make sense of what it is I am doing here. Peace Corps (Env) doesn’t place you in a community with a nice clear path (with a clear outline of expectations, roles, and responsibilities). They supply you with the tools (support and skills) you can/could use to construct a path.
While trying to describe what I do to one of the guides he asked me how I handle the ‘shock’ (coming from the ‘developed’ place). He asked me ‘’Do you find it frustrating?’’
‘’Why’’ I replied.
‘’Isn’t it like being in High School and being dropped into Primary School?’’
Only frustrating if I knew all the answers or worse believed that I did, which couldn’t be further from the reality of my present situation.
9/1/08
The Outsider—Revisited
Imagine a group of complete strangers coming into your home and asking you personal questions about food. (we have a lot of food in the states, we need to regulate our consumption, and its necessary for our survival—all is true about wood from the forests around St. Luce). Where do you food shop? Home many calories should you eat a day? Is this particular product good or bad? How do you feel about Ice Cream? Do you like this particular super-market?
In the Western world we are conditioned and unaccustomed to filling out surveys—we constantly give our feedback in restaurants, fill out surveys to receive rebates, or go online to report on a company’s outstanding service—but to apply this concept to the developing world….what about cultural differences?
Peace is tow years for a reason—the first year you integrate and the second you aid in creating ‘sustainable’ (in most cases small) changes.
My NGO strated survying/interviewing locals and I’m a little ‘bitter’ about the whole situation (if you haven’t picked up on it yet) because I wasn’t included in the conversations during its creation or given any opportunity for feedback (it was created in the camp 200 meters from my house—not in the office 45k away in Ft. Dauphin). I know its perceived as being intrusive and the majority of answers are going to be ‘’What you want to hear.’’ I’m thinking it….so I’m going to write it…..Why the hell am I here!?
9/2/07
How do you sell an electronic tooth brush-in pieces without clear instructions on how it should be assembled (Cook stoves 2.0)
So, I’ve inherited the fuel effient cookstove project being pushed by my NGO. What does that mean? My NGO dropped off 20 bags of clay, gave me two people for 3 days to build cookstoves—with no clear plan, just a piece of paper with 30 names of people interested in being ‘trained.’
Before, my NGO held a training and built stoves out of cow manure, clay, and sand, but many of these broke (either not mixed well enough, or not dry enough before cooking). PC trained us on building them out of clay, wood ash, and rice hulls. Because its not rice harvest season, we don’t have any rice hulls—A key ingredient that prevents cracking. So its just wood ask and clay, but how much of each? I learned one ratio (with rice hulls), my NGO wants to use another (untested). Yesterday my training partners show up at my door unexpected with a bag of wet clay and want me to start a training, but the clay needs to be dry and sifted first to ensure an even mix. No one (myself included) knows what going on. It’s a big frustrating mess fueled by miscommunication, cultural differences, and ignorance (on both sides).
How to sell an electronic toothbrush—who really knows?
So, we’ve built seven small stoves over three days. We build one using the Peace Corps ratio and six with the instructions given by my NGO. In the past there was a perception set (by whom, no idea) that my NGO would build/fix/and maintain them. I’m working hard to break that expectation. We’ve told people not to use them until completely dry (two weeks). Gave them a clay brick to use to fill cracks and worked hard on pushing the idea that anyone can build one—you don’t need an NGO or an American to do it. They key will be durability. People will want it when they realize the time and money it can save (and reduces smoke). We even built one for my favorite coffee spot (My Starbucks) with the hope that she’ll use it and people will see her using it, thus maybe generate some interest..? (sounds nice, but as I type this her stove is in pieces L--not helping the sale!)
A positive note:
Its amazing how powerful encouragement can be. You tell someone they can do something, they do it, and tell them they did it well….Wow! Its all some people need. Jax (18 years old) had a grin from ear to ear when I told him in-front of family and friends how Mahay (capable) he was at building cookstoves. We’ve build two together and today’s was by far the best. Mahay be izy!
(As I type this Jax’s stove in still drying and in on piece—keep your figures crossed!)
9/11/08
Two brief moments out of a long day with many
‘’E mafana zaho.’’ I hear him mumble in Malagasy as I set my fangady (shovel) next to me. I look up to the sight of Kolasy wearing nothing buy children’s underwear (he’s 30), a cigarette resting between his lips and sweat dripped from his head, while huched over moving the soil around him. He paused for a moment to catch me with what had to have been a huge grin (trying not to let out a big laugh).
‘’Ino..?’’ he asks. ‘’mafana be…’’ He smiles displaying the few teeth he has.
Today I learned the ‘art’ of farming Bella Hazo (Cassava)
‘’Brendan Lee…Mitovy vazaha vo gasy apella?’’ He moves his hand back and forth on the wet clay cook stove (implying a sexual gesture..hah!). We all look at each other for a moment and burst into laughter in unison. I could have been in a high school boys locker room or back at Albright College under the turtle dome waiting for the days workout with the boys XC team. But I wasn’t…I was on the sandy floor of a one room thatched roof hut half a world away training two guys on how to build a fuel efficient cook stove.
Boys will be boys! Hah!
9/19/08
Wrap Up!
So I’m sitting in my house waiting for my ‘rice rocks’ to cool. That’s right! Rice with a lot of rocks. The women in the market ‘sold me’ on the fact that her rice didn’t have a lot of rocks. I even dipped my hand into the sack to inspect it myself—in short, I’m not good at identifying rocks in dry rice and I think that will be the last time I buy rice from someone who claims that it doesn’t have a lot of rocks.
Anyway, I’m looking forward to this trip to Fort Dauphin. A lots been going on it this small community. Volunteers (myself included) have been continually coming and going. A large group in early August studied lemurs and following them was the volunteer group I mentioned earlier. When you walk around its not common to hear the sound of hammers hitting rock—this is because rock collection has begun (the first step in the creation of a road). A project being pushed by both the Govt. and QMM (the mining company). Thus, it’s been a nightmare trying to set vague times to meet, speak, and teach people. I also just came from a big community meeting hosted by QMM about rules and regulations in the protected areas around St. Luce. Tomorrow our commune (Mahatalaky) will be getting electricity — they are having a big party — it also makes St. Luce another step closer towards getting it (inevitable because St. Luce is sited for a big mining project). I’ll post more about this later.
Anyway, its time to eat and I need to pack. Big bike ride tomorrow 45K on a sandy rocky road (need to leave early to avoid the heat of the day).
That’s all for now! Thanks for the love and support!
-Brendan
Thanks to all who sent my care packages—yesterday I polished off the last item, a jar of dark chocolate peanut butter (which my body doesn’t seem to be enjoying) but I really enjoyed eating it.
Also thanks to my family for sending love from Ocean City New Jersey- sounds like everyone had a wonderful time. One of my favorites has to be the detailed map (I think my Grandmother created) which included the beach, boardwalk, and depth of the hotel swimming pool. Priceless!
8/17/08
My IST
Quick Highlights from my IST
-Learning about Bee Keeping with Stan (APCD of Env.). Clad in a green jump suite, which was difficult to see because he was covered in bees. Anyway, the moment when he turned towards us with a huge grin and said ‘’Yea…this is bad. I need smoke’’ as he proceeded to move very slowly with arms extended to the ‘safety’ of the fire. Hah! Apparently when you don’t check the hives everyday the bees can become VERY aggressive. Let’s just say if any of us do bee keeping-we’ll check the hives everyday. I think everyone got stung at least once-they got into our pants….it was crazy…you had to see it…hah!
-Going into Safeway (a grocery store in Tana). It wasn’t just all the stuff… but also what I could do with some of the ‘trash.’ ( plastic bags, containers, cases)
-Charlie lost 25 lbs-not sure about me, but I’ve been told that I look a lot better than I did during training….?? Between Fish, peanuts, and beans—I think I eat more protein than I did in the states.
-Great Stories were shared—taboos, many awkward moments, and my favorite Charlie and Julia’s story about potatoes. (a young married couple, from New York City, she’s a lawyer and he’s a political scientist, both Irish I think…..anyway they no nothing about potatoes, but are charged with solving the mysterious potato famine in their Village--North of Madagascar…hah…it makes a great story!)
8/21/08
Welcome Back—Quick Update
I arrived at site yesterday. IST went well, it was wonderful to see everyone, exchange ideas and share tales of ‘’survival.’’ I also learned how to make a water filter out of sand, charcoal, and a bucket—cool stuff.
Judging by the smiles and laughter. I think my absence was felt. I was only gone for two weeks, but it felt like a month. Thanks to Sosony, the garden survived. In fact, I just eat a dish with fresh green beans and lettuce, both freshly picked yesterday. Mahatavy!
8/22/08
Give me…Give me…Give me…
‘’I….go….home…on…Monday’’ Soza says in real long, slow, drawn-out malagash sentence.
A long pause follows as Soza takes what feels like an eternity to root through his things. For what…? I have no idea… the awkward silence doesn’t phase him. I sit patiently watching, trying hard not to laugh at the awkwardness of the situation.
My last encounter with Soza was when I was sick and emerged from the kabone dehydrated and delusional to the sight of him loitering outside my house with the hope that I would teach him English (he lives 15k away in Mahatalaky)
‘’Ahh….etho’’ he finally takes a seat in the chair I offered him five minutes ago.
‘’Vanilla…..four…..thousand…..five…hundred…’’
I smile and tell him politely that I’m not interested in buying vanilla.
He proceeds by opening the plastic container in his hand, which contained a plastic bag, which contained an envelope, which contained a notebook and showed me the photo identification of himself and the words ‘security officer’ written in French.
He lets out a nasty cough and proceeds to take five more minutes and neatly re-packages everything back into its original container. More awkward silence follows.
He finally asks me for a cigarette explaining that he has no money. I’m not sure what to make of Soza, he still gives me feeling of distrust and a bit of suspicion. I gave him a few condoms and a toothbrush (thank you Dr. Goldstein) and told him I had to work.
People ask me for things all the time—a ball, medicine, soap, beer, coffee, money, food.
It’s difficult to feel integrated into a community when you feel like your constantly being ‘’used.’’ It may sound foolish, but I’m more than a ball, soap, and coffee or I would like to think that I am….
8/30/08
It’s like coming from High School and being dropped into Primary School—Frustrating??
Since I’ve returned to site, I’ve been enjoying the company of foreigners-Volunteers with a development program run by my NGO. Its been nice speaking English and having company during meals. But, one question is continually raised—‘’What do you do here?’’ Every time its asked I have to pause. Its not that it catches me off guard, its that I need to sort through and make sense of what it is I am doing here. Peace Corps (Env) doesn’t place you in a community with a nice clear path (with a clear outline of expectations, roles, and responsibilities). They supply you with the tools (support and skills) you can/could use to construct a path.
While trying to describe what I do to one of the guides he asked me how I handle the ‘shock’ (coming from the ‘developed’ place). He asked me ‘’Do you find it frustrating?’’
‘’Why’’ I replied.
‘’Isn’t it like being in High School and being dropped into Primary School?’’
Only frustrating if I knew all the answers or worse believed that I did, which couldn’t be further from the reality of my present situation.
9/1/08
The Outsider—Revisited
Imagine a group of complete strangers coming into your home and asking you personal questions about food. (we have a lot of food in the states, we need to regulate our consumption, and its necessary for our survival—all is true about wood from the forests around St. Luce). Where do you food shop? Home many calories should you eat a day? Is this particular product good or bad? How do you feel about Ice Cream? Do you like this particular super-market?
In the Western world we are conditioned and unaccustomed to filling out surveys—we constantly give our feedback in restaurants, fill out surveys to receive rebates, or go online to report on a company’s outstanding service—but to apply this concept to the developing world….what about cultural differences?
Peace is tow years for a reason—the first year you integrate and the second you aid in creating ‘sustainable’ (in most cases small) changes.
My NGO strated survying/interviewing locals and I’m a little ‘bitter’ about the whole situation (if you haven’t picked up on it yet) because I wasn’t included in the conversations during its creation or given any opportunity for feedback (it was created in the camp 200 meters from my house—not in the office 45k away in Ft. Dauphin). I know its perceived as being intrusive and the majority of answers are going to be ‘’What you want to hear.’’ I’m thinking it….so I’m going to write it…..Why the hell am I here!?
9/2/07
How do you sell an electronic tooth brush-in pieces without clear instructions on how it should be assembled (Cook stoves 2.0)
So, I’ve inherited the fuel effient cookstove project being pushed by my NGO. What does that mean? My NGO dropped off 20 bags of clay, gave me two people for 3 days to build cookstoves—with no clear plan, just a piece of paper with 30 names of people interested in being ‘trained.’
Before, my NGO held a training and built stoves out of cow manure, clay, and sand, but many of these broke (either not mixed well enough, or not dry enough before cooking). PC trained us on building them out of clay, wood ash, and rice hulls. Because its not rice harvest season, we don’t have any rice hulls—A key ingredient that prevents cracking. So its just wood ask and clay, but how much of each? I learned one ratio (with rice hulls), my NGO wants to use another (untested). Yesterday my training partners show up at my door unexpected with a bag of wet clay and want me to start a training, but the clay needs to be dry and sifted first to ensure an even mix. No one (myself included) knows what going on. It’s a big frustrating mess fueled by miscommunication, cultural differences, and ignorance (on both sides).
How to sell an electronic toothbrush—who really knows?
So, we’ve built seven small stoves over three days. We build one using the Peace Corps ratio and six with the instructions given by my NGO. In the past there was a perception set (by whom, no idea) that my NGO would build/fix/and maintain them. I’m working hard to break that expectation. We’ve told people not to use them until completely dry (two weeks). Gave them a clay brick to use to fill cracks and worked hard on pushing the idea that anyone can build one—you don’t need an NGO or an American to do it. They key will be durability. People will want it when they realize the time and money it can save (and reduces smoke). We even built one for my favorite coffee spot (My Starbucks) with the hope that she’ll use it and people will see her using it, thus maybe generate some interest..? (sounds nice, but as I type this her stove is in pieces L--not helping the sale!)
A positive note:
Its amazing how powerful encouragement can be. You tell someone they can do something, they do it, and tell them they did it well….Wow! Its all some people need. Jax (18 years old) had a grin from ear to ear when I told him in-front of family and friends how Mahay (capable) he was at building cookstoves. We’ve build two together and today’s was by far the best. Mahay be izy!
(As I type this Jax’s stove in still drying and in on piece—keep your figures crossed!)
9/11/08
Two brief moments out of a long day with many
‘’E mafana zaho.’’ I hear him mumble in Malagasy as I set my fangady (shovel) next to me. I look up to the sight of Kolasy wearing nothing buy children’s underwear (he’s 30), a cigarette resting between his lips and sweat dripped from his head, while huched over moving the soil around him. He paused for a moment to catch me with what had to have been a huge grin (trying not to let out a big laugh).
‘’Ino..?’’ he asks. ‘’mafana be…’’ He smiles displaying the few teeth he has.
Today I learned the ‘art’ of farming Bella Hazo (Cassava)
‘’Brendan Lee…Mitovy vazaha vo gasy apella?’’ He moves his hand back and forth on the wet clay cook stove (implying a sexual gesture..hah!). We all look at each other for a moment and burst into laughter in unison. I could have been in a high school boys locker room or back at Albright College under the turtle dome waiting for the days workout with the boys XC team. But I wasn’t…I was on the sandy floor of a one room thatched roof hut half a world away training two guys on how to build a fuel efficient cook stove.
Boys will be boys! Hah!
9/19/08
Wrap Up!
So I’m sitting in my house waiting for my ‘rice rocks’ to cool. That’s right! Rice with a lot of rocks. The women in the market ‘sold me’ on the fact that her rice didn’t have a lot of rocks. I even dipped my hand into the sack to inspect it myself—in short, I’m not good at identifying rocks in dry rice and I think that will be the last time I buy rice from someone who claims that it doesn’t have a lot of rocks.
Anyway, I’m looking forward to this trip to Fort Dauphin. A lots been going on it this small community. Volunteers (myself included) have been continually coming and going. A large group in early August studied lemurs and following them was the volunteer group I mentioned earlier. When you walk around its not common to hear the sound of hammers hitting rock—this is because rock collection has begun (the first step in the creation of a road). A project being pushed by both the Govt. and QMM (the mining company). Thus, it’s been a nightmare trying to set vague times to meet, speak, and teach people. I also just came from a big community meeting hosted by QMM about rules and regulations in the protected areas around St. Luce. Tomorrow our commune (Mahatalaky) will be getting electricity — they are having a big party — it also makes St. Luce another step closer towards getting it (inevitable because St. Luce is sited for a big mining project). I’ll post more about this later.
Anyway, its time to eat and I need to pack. Big bike ride tomorrow 45K on a sandy rocky road (need to leave early to avoid the heat of the day).
That’s all for now! Thanks for the love and support!
-Brendan
Aug 8, 2008
Liquid Sunshine= St. Luce doesn't need anymore
It wasn’t an easy last four weeks at site. We have been receiving hard rains and a strong northern wind has made it difficult to fish. No fish = no money = no loaka (side dish). This means for most people just a bowl of white/brown rice. But even rice has become less available because of a dramatic increase in price over the last four weeks. When I fist got to site a cup of Malagasy red rice was 300Ar, now that price is 400Ar and likely to keep going up. This may not seem like much, but when you have a large family that eats 8-10 cups a day, it starts to add up. I guess it’s similar to the increase in food prices experienced in the US (the end of cheap oil = the end of cheap food). Let’s just say we have all been eating a lot more Cassava.
Enjoy!
7-10-08
The Poor as Consumers?—A Seachange in Thinking
Awhile back (about 3 weeks) I got to witness the arrival of the Protector Mobile-a condom education
Vehicle funded by PSI (Population Services International). The men working for PSI greeted and identified me as Peace Corps before I could say a word (sometimes I forget how much I standout).
They didn’t waste anytime and quickly set up a pair of speakers on the roof of their SUV, opened a few boxes in the back, and than to my amazement jumped back inside the vehicle. ‘Strange’—I thought to myself. ‘How effective can they educate from the comfort of the driver and passenger seats?’
Mahagaga zaho-boy was I in for a surprise.
First came the music, creating a bit of excitement. Then came the announcement. I understood every fourth word, but the smiles said it all. A line began to from which quickly became dysfunctional as people stormed the passenger side door with 100Ar in hand. People were eagerly paying 100Ar for a condom-the incentive? An opportunity to win a ‘Protector’ hat, wallet, condom holder, and t-shirt. The shock was that people with little were willing to pay….By creating a game and charging 100Ar, PSI managed to assign value to an object that otherwise would have been valueless to an uneducated individual. (note: winning the lottery only granted you an opportunity to answer questions on the topic of safe sex/condom use-only when answered correctly would people be given prizes).
However, if you put a condom in the hands of a small child it quickly becomes transformed into a balloon, a sling shot, or enjoyed as a chew toy (remind anyone else of the movie Coneheads?)
7-13-09
The Ocean Claims Two
(that morning) As I write this I know very little about what’s going on. Cries echo throughout the village and a large group of people have gathered at the house down the road. My assumption is that a death has occurred—but whom? I don’t know… I walked past to see if I could find someone who could explain what’s going on, what happened….A gloom has fallen over the village. The usual joyful eyes of playful children have been replaced with water filled eyes and a sorrow demeanor. I’ve decided to return to my house and keep my distance.
I really dislike this feeling a mixture of isolation, confusion, sorrow, and loneliness. The cold dampness of the day accompanied with a light drizzle only adds to the mood.
(that afternoon) The ocean claimed two lives-a capsized laka in a rough ocean is a dangerous situation even for a skilled swimmer. One was family of Sosony & Kolastant. I don’t know him well other than the daily ‘Hello’ and the one afternoon we spent together talking about fishing and building lobster traps. He leaves behind four small children.
Its not clear now who the second victim is, but tomorrow I will pay my respects in Malagasy custom to both families (mamangy)
When I was in Alaska (with AmeriCorps) I spent my 4th of July in a Park with some locals from Seaward, Alaska. A few co-workers and I became good friends rather quickly with one ‘local’ in particular and the following couple of nights we invited him to spend his evenings at our campsite near Exit Glacier. One evening after hanging out and indulging in a few drinks (myself not included-because of exhaustion from work that day), our friend got in his car and drove home from our campsite for the last time. That night he flipped his car along the dark road back into town-killing himself on impact.
My experience with death is limited, but both experiences stir-up the same mixed-up batch of emotions. Both individuals were not close enough to be unbearably painful, but close enough to feel the discomfort and share the pain experienced by others-friends/family.
7-16-08
What…?
A few times throughout each week I have moments where I think to myself…’’What the hell am I doing?’’
When I first arrived in Madagascar they were much more frequent, but as I adapt and the ‘abnormal’ becomes ‘normal’ these sudden conscious moments, epiphanies, or awakenings become less apparent during the hustle of everyday activity. An example…..
Yesterday morning as people awoke from the events of the night before (when someone dies its custom to have a wake-no sleep, lots of booze and singing). I noticed the zebu (think bull) across the road was missing. I didn’t think anything of it until that afternoon when I got a knock on my door and was handed two large slabs of zebu meat (still warm).
As an advocate for ‘local food’ my first thought was-‘wow, now that’s local.’ My second thought-‘what am I going to do with all this meat?’
7-20-08
‘’You are the sun; I am the moon; You are the words; I am the tone; Play me…..’’
Hah! I couldn’t think of a title and I just heard Mr. Neil Diamond on the radio (you would not believe the excitement this man generates-and its not just middle/older aged women).
Today as I was shifting rice (removing hulls and rocks-the sand unfortunately stays). I was thinking about some of the things I’ve become really good at over the past 3 months. Here’s a quick list (a good exercise).
1-Shifting Rice: After learning the proper way to use the shohafa, I’m getting better, almost around 30 mins for 3 cups.
2- I can clean a fish pretty darn well- not bad considering the most exposure I got to the sea and its wonderful bounty growing up was the lobster tank at the Pathmark down the street.
3-To my amazement things are growing well in my garden—True, I did volunteer on an organic farm and was a member of a CSA (community supported agriculture farm), but its still like having volunteered with habitat for humanity a few times and than told that you need to build a house—I’ve been learning a lot.
The truth is that the hour/30mins a day spent shifting rice is my least favorite time because its easy for the mind to wander and thoughts of homesickness, doubts about work and/or being productive easily creep into the forefront of thought.
No worries, for every valley has two peaks! …..Neil Diamond….hah!
7/23/08
‘’No...no…its clear to me’’
‘’What is Development? When does someone become Developed’’ Maka asked me in his broken English as we huddled around my world map while sitting on the floor of my house.
I speak English with Maka twice a week and he’s been a huge help with understanding and making sense of my new community and new environment.
When Maka asked me both those questions today images raced through my head-tall buildings, paved roads, industrial farms, people working assembly lines, Jared Diamond (this one a bit odd, but if you read the book Guns, Germs, and Steel you’d know why-he was asked a similar question by a New Guinean friend). I didn’t know where to begin? Is it even possible to explain with a limited vocabulary? The development sector isn’t even sure how development should be defined. I looked development up in my dictionary, read it to him and I wrote out three works: Happy, Healthy, and Productive. I tried to explain that while it’s easy for an outsider to think that St. Luce needs help in all three of these areas and that it is obvious from my perspective (living here for 3 months)-people are happy (despite the conditions) as well as the most productive people I have ever met.
In essence, I told him that it wasn't clear when someone reaches the point of ‘Developed’
I kept trying to explain that it isn’t clear and he kept saying ‘’no…no…its clear to me.’’ Answering his own question, ‘’I think people are ‘developed’ when they wash their hands, they don’t drink [alcohol], they don’t go to the bathroom on the beach….no…no…its clear to me.’’
The brilliance of an eager mind and the blissfulness of ignorance....a priceless moment….
7-26-08
A Cool Roof?
Last time I was in Fort Dauphin, I was with some fellow volunteers from throughout southern Madagascar watching a movie (Transformers) on a portable DVD player (The joyful wonders of the 21st century!). When out of the corner of my eye I saw a mouse scurry under a pile of books on the floor. At which point someone (I will not name-no not me) screamed. As you can imagine conversation quickly turned to all the critter encounters we have all experienced. I told the story of the rat that tormented me for two weeks, while scavenging around my house for food and built a nest in my thatched roof—at which point someone thought it was cool that I even had a thatched roof. I had never really thought about my roof as being ‘cool’ and I guess it does fit with the over romanticized image many (including myself) have before applying/committing to Peace Corps. But, the more I thought about it the more I would rather my roof was made of something different.
My roof is its own ecosystem with all sorts of things living and falling from it. Just the other day while reading a book a lizard fell on my lap (its home to roaches, some giant cricket like creature, and the recent discovery of scorpions!). When the wind blows hard it likes to cover everything with bits of palm.
No….my roof isn’t all that ‘cool.’
7-30-08
Feeling Uncomfortable—could this be my most effective tool?
The ‘stare-down,’ its defensive in American culture. When people walk by and continually stare at me without saying a word-well it gets old and becomes REALLY irritating. Yet, it’s this felling of ‘uncomfort’ that could prove to be my most effective tool as a volunteer. People stare because they are curious-curiosity means interest, and interest breeds opportunity………right?
8-3-08
Coming Up For Air
Did you ever see the movie the Poseidon Adventure? (the original ). Its one of those movies that can easily be found on a Saturday afternoon on TNT or USA. The main idea is that an ocean liner becomes flipped at sea trapping its passengers inside while submerged underwater. The story follows the adventures of a small group of passengers as they struggle to survive. One scene in particular requires the group of characters to swim submerged underwater for an extended period of time. Some jump right in and take the lead, but many of the movie’s characters have doubts, fears, and some even need to be persuaded and encouraged to make the risky plunge into the dark unknown.
This scene sums up my first 3 months at site. In many ways I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, maneuvering around countless hazards, trying to make sense of a very unfamiliar place. Constantly confronting continual doubts-am I doing enough?-am I moving fast enough?-am I going to run out of air? (Keeping with the analogy)
When I joined Peace Corps, I was given some of the best advice form a volunteer who served in New Guinea and Madagascar (helped start the SED program here). After training she told us that ‘‘this experience is ours and ours alone-no two PC experiences are close to being alike.’’
When a fellow volunteer from the south made a surprise visit my first week at site, I remember asking him how he handled the constant ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ experienced daily. He paused, gave a little laugh and told me-‘’You’ve gotta figure that one out of your own…’’ That’s what my first 3 months have been-‘figuring things out on my own.’
I now head to Tana in a few days to take in a breath of fresh air, recharge, and come back with fresh eyes and hopefully new ideas. There is one thing I am curious to discover…In the movie not everyone emerged from the swim—I hope my fellow volunteers and friends were able to beat those odds.
Thanks all for now
Enjoy!
7-10-08
The Poor as Consumers?—A Seachange in Thinking
Awhile back (about 3 weeks) I got to witness the arrival of the Protector Mobile-a condom education
Vehicle funded by PSI (Population Services International). The men working for PSI greeted and identified me as Peace Corps before I could say a word (sometimes I forget how much I standout).
They didn’t waste anytime and quickly set up a pair of speakers on the roof of their SUV, opened a few boxes in the back, and than to my amazement jumped back inside the vehicle. ‘Strange’—I thought to myself. ‘How effective can they educate from the comfort of the driver and passenger seats?’
Mahagaga zaho-boy was I in for a surprise.
First came the music, creating a bit of excitement. Then came the announcement. I understood every fourth word, but the smiles said it all. A line began to from which quickly became dysfunctional as people stormed the passenger side door with 100Ar in hand. People were eagerly paying 100Ar for a condom-the incentive? An opportunity to win a ‘Protector’ hat, wallet, condom holder, and t-shirt. The shock was that people with little were willing to pay….By creating a game and charging 100Ar, PSI managed to assign value to an object that otherwise would have been valueless to an uneducated individual. (note: winning the lottery only granted you an opportunity to answer questions on the topic of safe sex/condom use-only when answered correctly would people be given prizes).
However, if you put a condom in the hands of a small child it quickly becomes transformed into a balloon, a sling shot, or enjoyed as a chew toy (remind anyone else of the movie Coneheads?)
7-13-09
The Ocean Claims Two
(that morning) As I write this I know very little about what’s going on. Cries echo throughout the village and a large group of people have gathered at the house down the road. My assumption is that a death has occurred—but whom? I don’t know… I walked past to see if I could find someone who could explain what’s going on, what happened….A gloom has fallen over the village. The usual joyful eyes of playful children have been replaced with water filled eyes and a sorrow demeanor. I’ve decided to return to my house and keep my distance.
I really dislike this feeling a mixture of isolation, confusion, sorrow, and loneliness. The cold dampness of the day accompanied with a light drizzle only adds to the mood.
(that afternoon) The ocean claimed two lives-a capsized laka in a rough ocean is a dangerous situation even for a skilled swimmer. One was family of Sosony & Kolastant. I don’t know him well other than the daily ‘Hello’ and the one afternoon we spent together talking about fishing and building lobster traps. He leaves behind four small children.
Its not clear now who the second victim is, but tomorrow I will pay my respects in Malagasy custom to both families (mamangy)
When I was in Alaska (with AmeriCorps) I spent my 4th of July in a Park with some locals from Seaward, Alaska. A few co-workers and I became good friends rather quickly with one ‘local’ in particular and the following couple of nights we invited him to spend his evenings at our campsite near Exit Glacier. One evening after hanging out and indulging in a few drinks (myself not included-because of exhaustion from work that day), our friend got in his car and drove home from our campsite for the last time. That night he flipped his car along the dark road back into town-killing himself on impact.
My experience with death is limited, but both experiences stir-up the same mixed-up batch of emotions. Both individuals were not close enough to be unbearably painful, but close enough to feel the discomfort and share the pain experienced by others-friends/family.
7-16-08
What…?
A few times throughout each week I have moments where I think to myself…’’What the hell am I doing?’’
When I first arrived in Madagascar they were much more frequent, but as I adapt and the ‘abnormal’ becomes ‘normal’ these sudden conscious moments, epiphanies, or awakenings become less apparent during the hustle of everyday activity. An example…..
Yesterday morning as people awoke from the events of the night before (when someone dies its custom to have a wake-no sleep, lots of booze and singing). I noticed the zebu (think bull) across the road was missing. I didn’t think anything of it until that afternoon when I got a knock on my door and was handed two large slabs of zebu meat (still warm).
As an advocate for ‘local food’ my first thought was-‘wow, now that’s local.’ My second thought-‘what am I going to do with all this meat?’
7-20-08
‘’You are the sun; I am the moon; You are the words; I am the tone; Play me…..’’
Hah! I couldn’t think of a title and I just heard Mr. Neil Diamond on the radio (you would not believe the excitement this man generates-and its not just middle/older aged women).
Today as I was shifting rice (removing hulls and rocks-the sand unfortunately stays). I was thinking about some of the things I’ve become really good at over the past 3 months. Here’s a quick list (a good exercise).
1-Shifting Rice: After learning the proper way to use the shohafa, I’m getting better, almost around 30 mins for 3 cups.
2- I can clean a fish pretty darn well- not bad considering the most exposure I got to the sea and its wonderful bounty growing up was the lobster tank at the Pathmark down the street.
3-To my amazement things are growing well in my garden—True, I did volunteer on an organic farm and was a member of a CSA (community supported agriculture farm), but its still like having volunteered with habitat for humanity a few times and than told that you need to build a house—I’ve been learning a lot.
The truth is that the hour/30mins a day spent shifting rice is my least favorite time because its easy for the mind to wander and thoughts of homesickness, doubts about work and/or being productive easily creep into the forefront of thought.
No worries, for every valley has two peaks! …..Neil Diamond….hah!
7/23/08
‘’No...no…its clear to me’’
‘’What is Development? When does someone become Developed’’ Maka asked me in his broken English as we huddled around my world map while sitting on the floor of my house.
I speak English with Maka twice a week and he’s been a huge help with understanding and making sense of my new community and new environment.
When Maka asked me both those questions today images raced through my head-tall buildings, paved roads, industrial farms, people working assembly lines, Jared Diamond (this one a bit odd, but if you read the book Guns, Germs, and Steel you’d know why-he was asked a similar question by a New Guinean friend). I didn’t know where to begin? Is it even possible to explain with a limited vocabulary? The development sector isn’t even sure how development should be defined. I looked development up in my dictionary, read it to him and I wrote out three works: Happy, Healthy, and Productive. I tried to explain that while it’s easy for an outsider to think that St. Luce needs help in all three of these areas and that it is obvious from my perspective (living here for 3 months)-people are happy (despite the conditions) as well as the most productive people I have ever met.
In essence, I told him that it wasn't clear when someone reaches the point of ‘Developed’
I kept trying to explain that it isn’t clear and he kept saying ‘’no…no…its clear to me.’’ Answering his own question, ‘’I think people are ‘developed’ when they wash their hands, they don’t drink [alcohol], they don’t go to the bathroom on the beach….no…no…its clear to me.’’
The brilliance of an eager mind and the blissfulness of ignorance....a priceless moment….
7-26-08
A Cool Roof?
Last time I was in Fort Dauphin, I was with some fellow volunteers from throughout southern Madagascar watching a movie (Transformers) on a portable DVD player (The joyful wonders of the 21st century!). When out of the corner of my eye I saw a mouse scurry under a pile of books on the floor. At which point someone (I will not name-no not me) screamed. As you can imagine conversation quickly turned to all the critter encounters we have all experienced. I told the story of the rat that tormented me for two weeks, while scavenging around my house for food and built a nest in my thatched roof—at which point someone thought it was cool that I even had a thatched roof. I had never really thought about my roof as being ‘cool’ and I guess it does fit with the over romanticized image many (including myself) have before applying/committing to Peace Corps. But, the more I thought about it the more I would rather my roof was made of something different.
My roof is its own ecosystem with all sorts of things living and falling from it. Just the other day while reading a book a lizard fell on my lap (its home to roaches, some giant cricket like creature, and the recent discovery of scorpions!). When the wind blows hard it likes to cover everything with bits of palm.
No….my roof isn’t all that ‘cool.’
7-30-08
Feeling Uncomfortable—could this be my most effective tool?
The ‘stare-down,’ its defensive in American culture. When people walk by and continually stare at me without saying a word-well it gets old and becomes REALLY irritating. Yet, it’s this felling of ‘uncomfort’ that could prove to be my most effective tool as a volunteer. People stare because they are curious-curiosity means interest, and interest breeds opportunity………right?
8-3-08
Coming Up For Air
Did you ever see the movie the Poseidon Adventure? (the original ). Its one of those movies that can easily be found on a Saturday afternoon on TNT or USA. The main idea is that an ocean liner becomes flipped at sea trapping its passengers inside while submerged underwater. The story follows the adventures of a small group of passengers as they struggle to survive. One scene in particular requires the group of characters to swim submerged underwater for an extended period of time. Some jump right in and take the lead, but many of the movie’s characters have doubts, fears, and some even need to be persuaded and encouraged to make the risky plunge into the dark unknown.
This scene sums up my first 3 months at site. In many ways I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, maneuvering around countless hazards, trying to make sense of a very unfamiliar place. Constantly confronting continual doubts-am I doing enough?-am I moving fast enough?-am I going to run out of air? (Keeping with the analogy)
When I joined Peace Corps, I was given some of the best advice form a volunteer who served in New Guinea and Madagascar (helped start the SED program here). After training she told us that ‘‘this experience is ours and ours alone-no two PC experiences are close to being alike.’’
When a fellow volunteer from the south made a surprise visit my first week at site, I remember asking him how he handled the constant ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ experienced daily. He paused, gave a little laugh and told me-‘’You’ve gotta figure that one out of your own…’’ That’s what my first 3 months have been-‘figuring things out on my own.’
I now head to Tana in a few days to take in a breath of fresh air, recharge, and come back with fresh eyes and hopefully new ideas. There is one thing I am curious to discover…In the movie not everyone emerged from the swim—I hope my fellow volunteers and friends were able to beat those odds.
Thanks all for now
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