Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Goodbyes, Farewells, and Other Celebrations

During the September teacher’s strike, I stayed in my village and had the opportunity to do some things that I normally miss because I’m at school during the day. It was a great time to experience village life more thoroughly and cement some friendships.

One such opportunity came when a close friend of my host mother died. She was the grandmother of one of the boys who comes to my house often and she spent many an afternoon at our house sitting under the shade tree sharing laughter. Funerals here in rural South Africa are sadly not uncommon. Saturday mornings are for funerals and it is not unusual to have 3 or 4 going on in the village each Saturday. No, the village isn’t that big if you are wondering. But there are high rates of HIV/AIDS infections killing people, accidents, suicides, and many older people. A little more than 10% of the kids at school are orphans. I’ve been to two funerals for kids at the primary school, another one for a son who committed suicide, and many more for parents, grandparents, or other relatives of teachers and friends.

Up until this time, my involvement was usually going with the crowd of people to the tent set up at the family’s home. The services start early in the morning, by 7am usually, which avoids the heat of the day and is light during winter. The service is usually a couple of hours long with prayers, songs, and remembrances spoken in front of the casket. Then the people go to the cemetery, the casket is lowered into the grave, and the men shovel the dirt onto the casket finishing by covering the grave with rocks. The women sing, console, ululate, wail, and generally grieve in the truest sense of the word. We help people who are overcome with emotion, pour water and hand out toilet paper for the tears, and sing to help cover the emotional parts when someone has collapsed from either grief, heat, or exhaustion. After this ceremony is complete, everyone goes back to the house where there is a bit more eulogizing and then they are fed a meal.

Every time I participate in a funeral, I am reminded of the sense of community that is evident during this process. But I had never contemplated the amount of work that goes into the preparations for the funerals. Then Mma Kgosi (Mrs. Chief, my host mother) lost her good friend. Our family was able to participate the week leading up to the funeral in a way for which I am grateful to have been allowed to participate.

The grandmother who died sent her grandson to fetch Mma Kgosi when she knew she was ill and probably dying. Mma Kgosi spent a lot of time with her friend until she died. At which time, the body is washed and the rest of the family and friends are all phoned to come following the wishes of the woman. If she ever went to the clinic or the hospital, I never heard about it. To my knowledge, this all happened at home with her friends and family all surrounding her. The funeral home is contacted and they do come to collect the body to prepare it for the funeral that will be held that Saturday or the following Saturday. It depends on how quickly the family and friends can get to the village. Transport is not easy and it truly does take a week or more sometimes.

My host sister, Barbara, another teacher who lives here with us, and I went over to the friend’s house starting on Thursday. We started baking a kind of cookie that is similar to shortbread. The three of us worked with some other women from the village in the deceased home for at least 10 hours that day baking these cookies. I didn’t count them all, but quit counting after 1,000. These are given to the visitors to the house as well as to the people who come to the
funeral. During this week, there are women from the village who come to the house to stay with the family, pray with them, sing with them, etc. There are informal prayer services several times during the week where the ancestors are called upon to look after the soul of the newly deceased.

Friday, the women reassembled to start preparing the vegetables for all the salads that are prepared. In my village, there will always be a beetroot salad (my favorite), coleslaw, something called chakalaka that I love, a potato salad, a cooked cabbage salad, a baked bean salad, and a butternut squash or pumpkin salad. That is the minimum for salads. There will also be pap (think really stiff grits), rice, sometimes samp (looks and tastes a bit like hominy), and chicken and beef, sheep, or goat. The women cook in enormous black pots that are brought from the other women’s houses. They cook over an open fire outside. It takes all night for the preparations.

Women taking a break

The men are not idle while the women are doing the cooking and consoling. They, of course, come in the kitchen to get cookies, but they are mainly outside preparing the yard for the tent which is put up two or three days beforehand.
They also dig the grave and slaughter the cows or sheep. They collect the firewood for the women and are generally helpful. Women slaughter the chickens. The men cook all the meat for the celebrations. Again, it takes all night.

The body is brought back to the house on Friday night. This means interruption in the work for a prayer service, singing, and the women sit with the deceased that entire night. Some men also sit, but it is generally the women. Then early Saturday morning, the part I was familiar with already starts.

If you didn’t know better, you would swear that there was a big party being planned. The sense of community is very strong and I felt honored to be a part of all the preparations with my host sisters and mother while the boys all did their part with the digging and slaughtering. It is hard for me to describe how much I enjoy being in the midst of the families of the village and just pitching in as expected with all the other women. My favorite is to do the beetroot that stains my hands for days going forward. The beetroot is usually mixed with mango chutney and I love this dish. I could and have eaten just that for a day.

A year or sometimes many years later, the entire thing is sort of repeated at something called a Tombstone Unveiling. Everyone gathers again at 6am, there is a shorter ceremony with prayers, songs, and then the tombstone is unveiled at the grave. Then everyone goes back to the house again for the meal. You don’t want to go to these things after having eaten a full breakfast.

It seems odd to me that many of these families don’t have enough to eat during everyday life, but when someone dies, all this food comes somehow. It costs a lot to feed everyone and often people who come, donate 10 rands to help cover the costs involved.

It seems to me that all the celebrations have the same food and the same type of preparation with lots of people coming to help. One change is that for happy celebrations, bojalwa or a traditional beer is brewed. This tastes to me like yeast and water, but it is a sorghum beer and packs a punch. I’ve never seen this at a funeral, but I have seen it at weddings, anniversary parties, Christmas and New Years, that sort of celebration.






Now when the Peace Corps Volunteers leave the village to return home, a large celebration is held, normally called a Farewell Celebration. Regretfully, I had the chance to participate in one of these recently when the nearest volunteer to me returned to the US early to accept a job with a previous employer. My boys loved Sonja, principally for her iTunes playlists and her video games that are much more to their liking than mine since she is a lot younger than I am. She came to my house along with some of her girls Sonja's girls and my boys

(who like me, hah!) to tell the boys she was leaving early. Their reactions were almost tearful…one told me that “my throat feels like crying” and another said, “sister Karen, can’t you just talk to her and tell her to stay”. They’ve since decided that there must be a way that she can now send them Game Boys and Nintendos from the US. I’ve told them not to get their hopes up.

The Farewell celebration was held at the school where she worked and was lovely. The speeches were particularly moving with her host father saying that he was losing a daughter. That made me cry and I decided then and there that I wasn’t having one of these celebrations at my village. I love them all too much and figured I’d just be crying, as they are all already talking about how much they’ll be crying in a year when the time comes. I said that I’m planning to just sneak out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I’m sure there is no way that will happen, but it is what I’d like to do. These celebrations are big with the entire area coming to say Farewell in many cases (I’m known by name in at least a 30km radius to my village). One couple was honored with a slaughtered cow and 100 chickens…like I said, BIG. There are prayers and thanks and lots of hugging and crying. I thought it was very moving to have everyone stand in a circle holding hands, to say a prayer to wish her well in her future. Again, that sense of community is very strong here. I believe I’ll just say au revoir as I know I’ll be back many times and my heart will stay.

Saying goodbye here in South Africa when I’d like to be in the US saying goodbye to friends or family is maybe the only hard thing I’ve had to work through. Since I’ve been here, I’ve lost a beloved aunt who shared a love of cross-stitch, the husband of a good friend who was one of the kindest men I’ve known, and just this past week a coworker that I would have liked to believe was indestructible. Those times would have been easier, at least on me, if I had been there to say goodbye in my own way and to share grief with friends and family. Those have been the only times when I’ve felt like my choices have taken me away from something important or that I’ve felt alone. Somehow, just talking about it to friends here in the village or even to the one or two other volunteers I’d be comfortable sharing my feelings with doesn’t seem appropriate to me. I don’t know why, but it seems easier to me to put a smile on my face and go to school where people make me laugh all the time. Other friends are going through difficult times more or less without me, but I lend support through emails, phone calls, letters, or little packages that I send home. It isn’t the same, but my hope is that the little support I can give from here is enough for now. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything and think this past year has been one of the happiest of a truly blessed life, but there are times when it is hard. I’m grateful that those days are few and far between, but my thoughts are with the US during those times no matter where my body and heart are.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Teacher's Strike and Road Trips

Sept 30, 2010

Teacher’s Strike and Road Trips

We started out the third term at school with a pending teacher’s strike. We were at school for about 3 weeks and during that time it seemed that the major topic of discussion was if the teachers would strike or not. It seemed inevitable to me that they would because the main thing I heard was that they all deserved a pay increase because other sectors had received one. I didn’t hear anything about whether or not the work they did was improving or if the kids were better off now than they had been a year or two ago. Just that they deserved a pay increase because others had gotten one. Sure enough, the strike came and work ground to a halt.

I should say here that the Peace Corps wants us to remain uninvolved and say nothing despite the fact that we are working in the schools so my comments on this are my own opinions and have nothing to do with Peace Corps policy or the US government’s policies.

The terms are each usually about 50 days long. There are 4 school terms per year. This year, our second term was cut short because of the World Cup that was held in June/July. The government didn’t want extra transport on the roads during the games so that they could better facilitate the traffic to the venues. On the whole, I agree with this because SA traffic is horrendous at best. On the downside, there were no games within several hundred kilometers of where a lot of kids go to school and they were adversely affected by not being in school. Couple this now with a strike that wipes out the third term and kids have learned very little this year.

To be fair to the teachers, the government officials earn about R700, 000 per year. They are given a very generous housing allowance and a car allowance. I’ve heard them say “they must drive a Mercedes Benz because their position demands they have that type of status car”. I have yet to hear anyone suggest something like a company car to be driven on the rare occasions when they have to ferry someone who demands to be driven in a Mercedes. There is a fair amount of nepotism and in fact it appears that man can be and are corrupted by power at some point.

In contrast, the often better educated teachers with more experience can earn as little as R150, 000 per year, receive a R600 housing allowance per month, and have no car allowance. This also applies to nurses and most public officials. They often cannot afford to buy a house and sometimes live in poor conditions. Most of the teachers do a fantastic job, but there are many that need to be culled from the herd because of absenteeism, alcoholism, and abuse. Those give the majority a bad name. On strike, they were destroying property and injuring those who chose to go to school and teach.

The disparity provides perfect conditions for a strike. The unions do not solve the problems within their ranks and the government officials do not admit that what they are providing for themselves is unjust. In the end, the kids are not learning what they need to learn to succeed. It is a shame. Our kids went to school at about a 50% rate during this time…I went to one or the other of our schools everyday and did all sorts of things from painting the schools to playing math games. During this time is the first time in 14 months that I thought of going to Canada (it is hot in Texas this time of year!) and telling them all to call me when they get their shit together. I hate seeing the kids suffer because of grownups and their power struggles.

Once we did get back to school, it was time for me to get my mid-service dental and medical checkups. I went to the most advanced dental clinic to have my teeth cleaned. There was a machine there that would image your mouth for a crown, cap, veneers, etc. and it would make a mould that would be ready in an hour. It was really cool to see. The dental hygienist who cleaned my teeth really did a thorough job of it and it felt good to get the gunk off. I’ve got a generally clean bill of health and am glad that part is done. I don’t think anyone likes medical work except the doctors.

At school, I’ve been on three school road trips in 2 weeks. The volunteer before me said it best. I love her phrasing: “I think most Americans would fold on a South African road trip with the kids.” First of all, in 14 months I have yet to be on a school trip where the adults were not all drinking alcohol first thing in the morning on the bus—kids or no kids. It is irksome and dangerous and many volunteers can attest to the fact that the bus drivers will also indulge when they are waiting for the kids to show back up, usually all day. Second, the primary school kids will sing at the top of their lungs standing in the aisles and anywhere else you can imagine—for the whole trip. If it is 16 hours, then there is 16 hours of singing. The buses are always overcrowded and you will not be in the lap of luxury. If you are going with older kids, they will expect a stereo system on the bus and will play music at really, really high volume. They will sing and dance along with the stereo. I used earplugs and my ears were still muffling sound more than 8 hours after I got off the bus. You must shout to be heard even by the person sitting immediately on top of you and you will be hoarse by the time you get where you are going. It is not restful. Third, in SA the gender roles are pretty strongly defined. Men are in charge of barbecues (they call it braai), some cooking (i.e., they will fry eggs), and making sure there is beer. The women do most everything else. There are exceptions, of course, but this is the general trend. It can be frustrating. But, if you are prepared, you can have a fantastic time.

My nearest volunteer is Sonja. She’s a lovely young lady and we share an engineering background as well as work in the semiconductor industry. She and I both lived in Austin prior to joining the Peace Corps and we both grew up in Pennsylvania. Her two schools are huge compared to mine and two of our principals are very good friends. She has invited me to go on several of her school trips and I’ve always enjoyed myself. Her teachers are a lot of fun and I enjoy learning different things with them. This time it was a sports trip to Ottosdal about 2 hours away on a Saturday.

Last year, this trip was Sonja’s introduction to life in the village and she had the best stories hands down when we all rejoined to talk about our experiences—drunk bus drivers, trips to the hospital for injuries, a principal who was freaked out by the hospital, extremely overcrowded














buses, alcohol, more alcohol…I’m pretty sure we all wondered what it was exactly that we had just gotten ourselves into. This year, the trip wasn’t quite as exciting (thank goodness!). The boys lost both soccer matches and the girls won both netball matches. One note about the village matches…soccer is played often with no shoes on rough ground. The “grass” is usually just brown dirt with nettles, stickers, and glass about so it is amazing that there aren’t more injuries. Kids don’t always have a pair of shoes…



NET BALL CHAMPS

I can say that every new place we visit, Sonja and I are the unusual ones in the crowd and generate a lot of questions and curious looks. This trip was no exception and by the end of the day, I had three new marriage proposals. Usually I say my conditions are that I won’t do your laundry, if I cook you clean and vice versa, and I am not having your babies for any reason. That generally is enough to persuade men that I’m not the woman of their dreams. By now, most of the teachers we know get a good laugh out of us. The new people get let down easily and everyone is happy.

The second trip was with my primary school to Gold Reef City in Johannesburg. Joburg is about 5 hours away. These kids are all from grades 1-6 so the little ones are 6 or 7 and the bigger ones are 10 or 11. We had 85 people and I think the
bus officially carried 60. Mr. Segatle and the sports committee who organized the trip made the right call and got another little mini-bus to carry all the kids. The bus driver was not accustomed to driving in the big city so several times I thought we were going to die. He would just stop in the middle of the motorway in Joburg while he tried to change lanes.

One huge plus was that after a year of listening to me gripe about alcohol on school trips and being a responsible role model, the principal got the adults together and banned alcohol. I didn’t know if it would work, but it did and I think the trip was much better without it. The bus drivers were also told of the rule and they didn’t run off and buy their beer while we were at the amusement park. It was a first and I hope it will continue in this vein for future kids’ trips. Maybe that will be one of my Peace Corps accomplishments along with banning the beatings at the middle school!

We also went to the planetarium. The guy operating the show started out asking everyone if they had looked at the sky and talked about Venus, Mars, and Jupiter being in the sky right now. He handed out copies of a star chart and showed them how to use it and then told the kids to look for Venus that very evening right after the sun went down. The minute he turned out the lights, there were loud oohs and ahhs as the show began. The kids learned about the planets, but all 6 of us adults had been up cooking the breakfast that we took with us since 2:30am. (We left the school at 4am.) Naturally, we all dozed from Jupiter to Neptune and laughed about it afterwards.

We then took the kids to Gold Reef City. It is an amusement park that is built around the old gold mines upon which Johannesburg was founded. The tour of the mine had them all donning hard hats, going down the mine elevator to a depth of 225 meters, and then touring the mine tunnels. It was fun, but I don’t think I could be a miner. It was and still is a hard job. In the mine elevator, the kids were all singing Shosholoza that is a song about a steam trains that is used for marches, football matches, and sort of motivational. It is a bit like The Little Engine That Could for inspiration. The kids all rode the rides until we left. It was getting dark as we pulled out of the parking lot, handed them KFC, and braved the big motorway again. We got home after midnight and again the kids stood, danced, and sang the whole way. I was exhausted.

The third trip was with my middle school to Durban on the coast, some 16 hours away. The kids here are all in grades 7-9 so they are aged 12-20. Many of them had never even been out of the village, not even to some of the smaller towns around here, 60 km away. Durban is on the coast and is the center of the Indian population in South Africa. It is the place where Mahatma Gandhi made his first forays into passive and non-violent resistance. Although the kids didn’t sing their own songs the entire way, they did make good use of the stereo system on the bus which was cranked up to concert volume the entire 16 hours—yes, even at night. I used earplugs and my hearing was still muffled 8 hours after I got off the bus. I shudder to think of what will happen when I’m 70.

There were 38 kids, the principal and me. I thought we needed another adult, but when I raised the issue I heard that it was 20 kids each to mind, which is far less than 1 classroom full. Still, I had a sneaking suspicion that I would be minding 38 kids and 1 principal. Turns out I was right. I did ban the principal from drinking alcohol in front of the kids and at least we didn’t have that problem.

Several groups of friends from Austin & Canada sponsored kids for this trip and I can’t tell you all the ways in which the kids’ lives have been changed. One example is Jeff, an orphan in grade 7. We were walking along the beach when they asked questions about things that were far off at sea. I had my binoculars that I showed them how to use to see those things. They noticed oil tankers, cargo ships, oilrigs, buoys, and closer in some surfers. One kid was so mesmerized by what he was seeing that he failed to notice the waves coming in and got his tennis shoes and trousers wet up to the knees. A few days later, Jeff found a pair of small binoculars for R60 in a shop. He came running up to me to see if I’d buy them for him, which I did. He looked at EVERYTHING through those binoculars for the rest of the trip.

The grade 9 boys, some of whom I’ve been hounding to get to school on time and show some responsibility, asked to go off one afternoon to look at other stuff instead of going on the boat. There were 5 of them and they were all really behaving well so I said yes and that I’d see them later at the hotel. The rest of us went off to the harbor to take a little cruise and eat at a burger place. There was a big soccer match on that everyone wanted to see so they watched that.

We got back to the hotel later than I wanted so I was a little worried what my older kids had gotten themselves into while we were gone. When I got back, they were all there waiting and when I asked them how their afternoon was, I was told, “They saw prostitutes, but didn’t touch them as they didn’t want any diseases”. I had already had a talk with all the kids about boys being in girls’ rooms and vice versa saying that I was sure they’d keep the door open when someone was in there. I also said I was not going to explain it to their parents when they were caught pregnant from the Durban trip, but after the snickering died down, they all knew exactly what I was talking about.

The principal and I had several disagreements, all mainly centered on responsibility. After I refused to hold the room keys (including the principal’s), I said that they all looked after all sorts of things at home. Many were orphans and/or took care of younger siblings at home. They are good kids and they can keep track of their stuff. I asked him if they weren’t going to learn this now while they are this age, when are they supposed to learn it? In the end, we didn’t have any lost keys, any lost wallets, or any pregnancies that I know of. The kids were great.

We did have forgotten toothbrushes, one case of seasickness, a discussion about why toy guns aren’t a good idea, a strained muscle, a headache, countless requests for R5 to buy X or to play video games, one kid who needed different food because “hamburgers make me vomit”, kids who were cold, kids who needed an apple or an ice cream to tide them over, a principal who was bored/tired/hungry etc. on the bus (and who got busted for smoking in the back of the bus)…you name it. We had all those normal road trip things. Mainly I doled out hugs, a lap to sleep on, R5 for whatever, explanations from evolution to AIDS and sex, and anything else you can imagine. It was great fun, but I’m so glad to be home!

The kids had the time of their lives and THANKS to everyone at home who helped me out and sent a kid or three! You are my heroes.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Spent One Year Anniversary in Madagascar!!!!



July 18, 2010

Madagascar!

This Friday I will have been in South Africa for 1 year. I can’t say that I miss America, but I do miss friends. My good friend, Lisa, was asked if I was planning to visit home during my two years here. I can imagine her answer, probably somewhat chagrinned, when she said that as long as there was some corner of Africa as yet unexplored, then I wouldn’t be home. So I can now add Madagascar to the areas that I’ve partially explored. I must say that two weeks there is not nearly long enough for me.

A year ago, my friend, Dennis, was transferred to Madagascar to work on a startup mining operation there. Needless to say, I started planning my trip just about then. Katherine and his wife, Mary, met us there and we spent a great time looking for lemurs, hiking in the Tsingy, and seeing what the markets had to offer. Seeing Katherine, Dennis, and Mary was definitely the highlight for me, but the lemurs were a close second.

This island nation is the 4th largest island in the world (Greenland, Baffin Island, and Borneo for Greg F.). It is definitely poorer than South Africa and last year’s political coup d’état didn’t help matters. On the island, the change in governments (new one isn’t recognized and old president is in exile in South Africa) is called the crisis and most of the people who we spoke to about it feel that life for all but the very wealthy is a lot worse. I’d say that although the island is rich in its ability to grow just about anything, the infrastructure doesn’t support getting the produce to the people and hence the people are not receiving adequate nutrition. The markets are beautiful in their abundance, but I would guess that the people in the villages are better fed than the ones in the cities. The fruit was so good that I think it might have inspired me to go on an island tour to see which one has the best fruits.

The capitol, Antananarivo, is built on all the high points. The low-lying areas are used as rice paddies. Rice alternates with clay brick making in one of the oddest crop rotations I’ve ever heard of. In the rainy areas in the south, the people grow 3 rice crops each year. This has got to be one of the most backbreaking jobs I’ve ever seen. Although I’m not a big fan of rice, I have a new appreciation for it from the women who do it all by hand in this nation. Although government buildings and palaces look relatively modern, the majority of the buildings looked to me like something right out of Pirates of the Caribbean, the Disney ride version. The streets are narrow and lined with markets just about everywhere we went. I walked around town the first day I was there and saw all sorts of life. Very interesting.

Madagascar is very difficult to navigate. The roads that exist are full of what they call ostrich holes, but I’d call them elephant holes. We hired drivers to take us around and of all the roads there was only one that I’d call mostly good. Otherwise, it can take 5 hours to go 90 km. I’m pretty sure most of the west coast is not road at all, but washed out river beds and I heard that they are not navigable during the rainy season. Katherine’s father thought we should just rent a car and go ourselves and I’m flattered that he thought we could. I’m not sure how the guys knew when to turn and getting on and off the river taxis was just a little more exciting than I think I want to attempt.

We did have an excellent opportunity to discuss matters with 4 of the current government ministers on a flight that we took in country. We blew it when we discovered just how high up they were after we landed and Mary happened to get off the plane in the middle of them. The entourage meeting them had all sorts of press coverage—I should have guessed at their importance when they were the only largish people we saw on the entire island. Surely, they are men with plenty and the government is supporting them just fine. It would have been great to discuss the road situation and the accessibility to tourism with them…our one chance on the whole trip to make a difference…rats.

On the west side of the island, Kirindy Forest showed us our first taste of lemurs and chameleons. The island separated from Africa and Asia something like 165 million years ago and the flora and fauna have been evolving in isolation ever since. Something like all the mammals, 90% of the reptiles, 75% of the flora, and 50% of the birds do not exist anywhere else on earth. We started our visit with a night walk and I think we were all amazed at our guide’s ability to spot inch long chameleons and mouse sized lemurs at night. We followed with a day walk and were continually surprised by the lemurs and their one mammalian predator, the fossa.

There are 100 or so species of lemurs and I think we saw maybe 15-20 of them in the two weeks we were there. The smallest is the size of a mouse and it scurries like a mouse as well. It is nocturnal and would fit in your fist pretty easily. The largest is diurnal and is about 3 feet tall with no tail. It lives in the rain forests of the highlands. There are many, many that are about the size of a cat so finding them in the forests is tough, but once you realize what they eat and about the height to look for them, spotting them becomes a bit easier. I enjoyed going out early in the mornings and walking through the forests quietly. In that way, I saw plenty of guys just waking up and getting their breakfast. The guides are amazing in their ability to find them and they are intrepid in their task of showing them to you. (You must hire a guide in the National Parks.)

The west coast has deciduous forests that were mostly barren when we visited during winter/dry season. The southern coast has spiny forests that are being clear-cut to create sisal plantations for the world’s rising demand for green packaging. And the east coast has the rain forests of the highlands. We decided that it would be tough to live in this cold, damp climate most of the time. Otherwise, despite being winter, it was hot and dry. Of course, each ecosystem has different lemurs, chameleons, frogs, birds, and trees that create a unique environment. Even the beach on the southern coast had fabulous tide pools that created within me a sense that I was killing something with every step I took.

We managed to get up to Bemaraha which is where the stone forests or Tsingy are located. National Geographic did a piece on this ecosystem in November 2009 and it is listed as a World Heritage Site. We hiked through this unique stone forest for an afternoon. Millions of years ago, a sea in which coral reefs formed covered this area. Through plate tectonics, the area rose above sea level and then the limestone formations have been eroded to form some unbelievable rock formations. Grand Tsingy has peaks 70 meters high interspersed with caves and tunnels. It is ideal for hiking especially since the National Park Service has created some trails with some climbing aids to get through the rough spots. This was definitely one the highlights of our trip.


Another spot to visit on the west coast is the Avenue des Baobabs. There are 6 species of Baobab tree that grow on Madagascar. In one area, they cover the area like a little Baobab forest and I’ve never seen anything like it. The other Baobabs that I have seen were largely on their own in Botswana. There is even a dwarf Baobab that is sold potted. I wish it were something that could be imported to Texas, as I’d definitely have one. The guides managed to get you there just at sundown so it is a beautiful site and getting out of the car after a 10 hour day of driving was welcome.

The national animal is the Ring Tailed Lemur—and if a raccoon had a long tail and was a primate, it would be a Ring Tailed Lemur. We saw them in Berenty on the south coast in the spiny forest. I must say that these guys are bold as brass. They will steal your breakfast if you aren’t vigilant. They will grab your hand to get your tangerine peel if you aren’t looking. They will gang up on you to intimidate you into handing over your banana peel. And they will get into the lemur proof trashcans. Nevertheless, you will laugh and once you know that they are not aggressive, you will make Dennis hold them off while you eat your breakfast. He says they feel like lean cats and I can say that their “hands” are soft and leathery even if they didn’t get my tangerine peel. I could watch lemurs all day.

One of the biggest lemurs is called a Sifaka. This species was the only type of lemur that we saw “walk” on two legs. The back legs are longer than the front so they had a little sort of dance to move across from one area to another. It was funny to watch them. Sifaka and Ring Tailed Lemurs both live in the spiny forest and no one knows exactly how they manage to jump onto all the prickly things in this forest without getting hurt. It is hard to imagine anything spikier than the things in this forest, but these lemurs both go from limb to limb as if they don’t feel a thing.










We visited a school on the south side as well as the sisal plantation. In the village, Katherine drew a crowd with the wheelchair. She let some of the villagers try it the chair while she gave directions from a bench. Some of the men were so impressed with her that she snagged a marriage proposal and the fellow was even willing to give up ALL his other wives if she would just stay. She said how honored she was, but that she had to get back to Canada shortly.

Some of the guys we were hiking with in the forests went out of their way to gather things to show us. In this manner, we saw snakes, owls, chameleons, lemurs, and the odd cockroach. These are the kinds of bugs that you see in museums. It is hard not to offend the presenter of a cockroach, but the natural girlish reaction is a little girly scream—same reaction as a snake. Who knew?

Nearly all the guides were game to take the wheelchair places that they had never taken one before, but I thought that Katherine should have let them all try it BEFORE the hikes instead of after. She makes it look easy, but I can tell you from experience that it isn’t. As we were leaving one place, the woman told Kath that she was amazing, but in her Malagasy accent it sounded like she said that Katherine was amusing. Needless to say, Mary and I jumped all over it as Katherine has amused people the world over. In fact, sometimes life would be a little easier if she wasn’t so amazing/amusing.

The smaller lemurs are prey for owls and snakes, but the fossa is the only mammalian predator that the lemur has. I’ve heard it said that the fossa is hard to find in the wild, but in fact, it wasn’t hard for us. We saw it at Kirindy Forest on our first day out. I had washed out some trousers and a shirt. As some of you know, I hate to do laundry. I probably won’t complain about it ever again when I have a washing machine, but it is done by hand in Madagascar and in South Africa and I did it by hand at Kirindy. I hung my shirt and trousers outside on the line to dry. After all-night flights and then staying up all night talking, then driving most of the day, naps were in order. I am not a good napper—I don’t do it unless I’m sick generally, so I got up after a bit and went to watch the guys play bocce. The fossa crawled into our cabin through the open door and woke Mary up by snuffling around my tennis shoes. She shooed it out and later that evening we went on our night walk. I didn’t have my flashlight on the way back so I helped Katherine into the cabin up the steps and then headed to bed myself. The next morning, I discovered my trousers ripped to shreds and eaten by the fossa. They were beyond repair and THEY WERE CLEAN! Mary had noticed them the night before when we came back from our walk, but didn’t realize the import. I was unhappy at this turn of events, but alas, what can you do when the fossa eats 1/3 of your wardrobe. Luckily my shirt was unharmed and Katherine had extra trousers.

The rain forests of the highlands are pretty fabulous for vegetation, chameleons, and frogs. I kept thinking of my friend, Susan V., as she would have loved the chameleons and the frogs. The guide here, Levi, would go around saying things like “I’ll just find you another frog” and then he would. These guys are the size of your pinky nail and just like what you see in museums. He’d find chameleons and then catch grasshoppers and place them at least a body length away from the chameleon so we could see how long their tongues were…as long as their entire body including the tail. The smallest chameleon is about an inch long and the largest is about 20 inches long. They can move their eyes 180 degrees…amazing and they change color too. The largest lemur, the Indri, lives here in the rain forest and the mines for nickel and titanium are in this area. We went to Andasibe and hiked off trail to find the brown and wooly lemurs. I could have done without the leeches, but the hikes were fabulous. Orchids grow wild on trees all over Madagascar, but the rain forests had more than the other areas.

We figured out at least two super business ideas. One is to fly tourists to Bemaraha in a floatplane that bypasses a strenuous drive through dry riverbeds and would allow tourism in both wet and dry seasons. The other is in Tana at the craft market. If one were to set up a shipping stall that took credit cards, a fortune could be made from tourists who can’t get large items home without shipping them.

All in all, Madagascar is beautiful. The countryside is idyllic, but on closer inspection you can see how poor it is. Work is all done by hand, water is hauled from rivers and I assume boiled, trees are cut down to create charcoal to heat and cook with, transportation and infrastructure is pretty much non-existent and the people are incredibly charming and nice. The roadside markets are lush and the food is fabulous. Two weeks is not nearly long enough to visit and I wish I had more time there.

Conservation is facing an uphill battle, as it is difficult to explain why the forests should be preserved when sisal and charcoal are such important parts of the economy and represent food and warmth. Mining will help create jobs, but again at the cost of the forests. Although the companies try to reforest as much as they can, pipelines need some clear-cutting to exist. The current government isn’t doing anything to repair the roads and the one good road will deteriorate rapidly with the lack of drainage and the heavy truck traffic. Since the government isn’t recognized, foreign aid has ceased to come into the country. The people, when asked, are just waiting and hoping that the old president will come back. Tourism is recovering from the 2009 coup, but is not yet at the 2008 levels. In 2008, you had to book 1-2 years ahead of time. We managed to book about 2 days ahead of time. Time will heal some of the damage, but in the meantime, this island cannot feed itself and there isn’t enough money to import what is necessary. Peace Corps has just re-established the program in Madagascar and I must say it is a great opportunity to live for 2 years…in that time, I just might see all the things that I wanted to see.

(There are more pictures on Facebook so go there to the album if you want to see even more!)