
Monday, June 11, 2012
Madagastro: The Breakfast Edition
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Madagastro: Sakay!
Madagastro
a taste of english
Front:
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
World Malaria Day
The Winged Scourge (Disney '43)
Friday, April 6, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Blog About Malaria Month!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012
silky smooth malagasy dancing
Our silk-making tour in Ambalavao finished strong with a little dance rehearsal for our entertainment--and now yours!
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
it's raining avocados

I love Mexican food. There is no doubt that this is the thing I miss the most when living outside of America. I don't just mean when I'm in Africa. Even in Paris I couldn't find something as simple as hot salsa. What they call salsa is actually tomato sauce.
I do my best to satisfy my cravings by making what I call queso (I'd rather not tell you the recipe—unless, of course, your pity inspires you to send me packages of hot pace picante salsa and meltable cheese). Now that I have an oven, I can also bake my tortillas into some kind of chip. Not the same as regular tortilla chips, but they crunch and they scoop queso and I'm happy.
When I lived in Madagascar before, once I year I would supplement this self-Mexican-medication with guacamole. For a brief period of time, avocados were in season. A certain merchant would get them, and he'd call out to me during my daily market trip—and I would promptly purchase every single avocado he had, which usually meant 4 at most. And then I'd have a few glorious meals of guacamole. Every bite was heaven. This was no fake queso. This was the real thing. Better than most Americans eat. For a few days every year, I had my moment in Mexican sunshine.
I'm about 5 months into my second tour of the island, and needless to say, the Mexican cravings are strong. Here is the general schedule: First 2 weeks fine—you haven't realized yet what you've given up. Weeks 3-7 so so much pain—you never knew you could dream about tacos or that they would feel slightly like nightmares. Weeks 8-10 fine—you appreciate where you are and you know you'll be eating free chips and salsa while waiting for your meal in no time. And then weeks 11 until the end are depressing. You know you love Mexican. You know you can't have Mexican. Even the last handful of weeks are hard—you are so close yet still a half a world away.
Note: If during the course of this reading you at any moment pity me or decide to eat Mexican some time soon—please feel free to send me something as simple as Taco Bell hot sauce packets (I mean, they're free, right?). It's the little things that count. I'm told to just make sure to package them in such a way that if one bursts open the rest don't get messy. No, scratch that—I'm not that picky. A little pre-cleaning will only prolong my possession of those little spicy packets.
As I was saying, I've reached the point where Mexican is among the top ten things I think about every day.
And then it hits me. The avocados. They have arrived.
I heard rumors while I was still in Senegal (oh sorry—I'll explain that some other time). But I played it down, not wanting to get my hopes up. And then our first weekend back in Fianarantsoa, we walked to the market.
And there. Row. After row. Pile. After pile. Avocados. Everywhere.
I guess I always knew that a city like Fianarantsoa—large, near the rainy East Coast, the whole shebang--receives a larger variety and larger amounts of food. In Mahabo (my village on the West Coast near Morondava), I had rice, tomatoes, onions, bananas. I'm exaggerating, yes, but only slightly. I left out potatoes and mangoes. My apologies. Oh and beans. Dried beans. But in Fianar? In less than 5 months I've encountered so much more than I did in my 2 years before! Endless pineapples. Passion fruit. Litchis. Pumpkin. Grapes. Apples. Oranges. Green tomatoes. Random things I don't recognize. It's unreal. We eat so well here! Sure, we'd get a token handful over on the hot and dry West Coast. But usually in Morondava, not Mahabo. And usually expensive and already half rotten from the travel. So I've known and appreciated that my taste buds will be infinitely more satisfied now than the first time around.
But I never imagined the impact it would have on avocados. If anything, I was just crossing my fingers I'd get as many as I did before. But seriously—my old tactic of just-buy-them-all could never work in a million years here. I couldn't afford it—and I'd need a semi to transport them.
I can't think of a better scenario—cheap and giant avocados (10 to 20 cents each, depending on size) and an unlimited supply. I can literally eat guacamole until I burst. It's incredible. If I don't appreciate this experience to the maximum, shame on me—I don't deserve Mexico or her cuisine. So I will count my days in avocados and be grateful for every one.
Do I still miss queso? Obviously. Do I continue dreaming of tacos? Absolutely.
But my abundance of avocados makes the wait a little bit easier.
8 mars
I think I have a new favorite holiday: International Women's Day.
Let me back up a few steps here. I want to note that I was actually unaware of this holiday until I joined the Peace Corps in 2007. I'm not sure which is worse—the fact that we only celebrate women for one day of the year or the fact that in America it seems that we can't even pull it together and make a big deal of that one day. Of course, now that I'm aware of the holiday, I notice comments about the day all over. Perhaps I've simply met a more women-celebrating crowd since then.
In any case, so there I was living in my village, Mahabo, when suddenly the 8th of March rolls around and let me tell you—it was huge.
One important step for this special day is to release all the women from those daily tasks like cooking and taking care of children so that they can go and get hammered with their friends. That's right. Not all of the women, sure, but man—being a daytime drunk is COMPLETELY acceptable if you are female and it is March 8th.
So the next thing you do is throw a big party for the women. You put all the important people up on the stage in seats of honor—the mayor, the chef district, the provisor, the token white girl (that's right—me). Then let the dancing begin. Not like nightclub dancing (I mean, it's the middle of the day here). What I mean is that each possible grouping of women (from different neighborhoods, from different churches, police wives—you name it) has been preparing a special dance, traditional Malagasy style, which they perform in front of everyone. It lasts several hours. I have video proof.
Then you wrap up the celebrations by giving a big goose to important people (live, obviously—to be killed prior to consumption) and then send everyone on their merry little ways to drink more. Pretty great.
And the men? Where are they in all this? In America, you would assume creeping on the edges, ready to take advantage of the mass drinking and general elation. But no—not in Mahabo. This is WOMEN's Day. Men have no place here.
On a different note, I find this rather amusing. I can't think of another holiday where only the people being celebrated are allowed to partake in festivities. I mean, Americans celebrate Presidents Day even though the majority of us have never been elected President of the United States.
In any case, it was only a matter of time before I realized that Mahabo's celebrations weren't necessarily universal. Here I was, imagining all the ladies of Madagascar getting down in their town square. But it turns out different towns have different variations.
I expected Morondava to have wild celebrations. I mean, they were only 40k from us, but bigger and by the beach. Surely they know how to party. I was imagining punch coco and dancing into the sunset. But when I asked about the 8th, I was a given a what's-so-great-about-Women's-Day grimace—half confused, half disapproving.
Apparently, in Movondava, International Women's Day? Not so great. It just means that all the women have to go out and sweep the streets. You know—celebrating women by making them clean. It sounds more like what International Men's Day might consist of.
In the end, I assumed that perhaps Mahabo was the diamond in the rough—truly celebrating women, perhaps by force thanks to our female mayor.
Oh but I was wrong.
Two years later I re-discovered International Women's Day with more delight than ever.
In Fianarantsoa, the 8th of March is amazing. Imagine this: I had completely forgotten about the holiday. And then I show up to work. And then I discover: women don't work on International Women's Day. That's right. Men? Oh yes. 9 to 5 as per usual. But women? Free vacation day. It would seem that—even more so than in Mahabo—women and women only celebrate their day. I don't know about you, but it's pretty great to wake up early, head in to work, and find out you can go home and bum around all day instead. Especially when you know that not everyone is given that privilege.
Were there celebrations? Dancing? Drinking? Perhaps. I really wouldn't know, because I chose to celebrate being born female by reading a murder mystery on the couch all day.
So happy (belated) International Women's Day to the feminine half of the world! A whole holiday celebrates the fact that you are capable of doing anything, so celebrate by doing whatever you want.
Even if that means doing absolutely nothing at all.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
grass is always green
Though I've returned to Madagascar, it often feels as if I live in a new world. There are obvious differences between now and then, of course. I was 22 when I first stepped onto the island, and it's amazing how the 4 or 5 following years can change a person's perspective. Then there's my job. I was a teacher then but am now working to fight malaria. Those differences can and probably will take up another day and another conversation.
But the new world I refer to is my physical location. It's the same island, sure, and they (sort of) speak the same language. But I spent 2 years in a village on the west coast, and am now in a city in the highlands—and the move from Mahabo to Fianarantsoa is striking.
It seems that everyone—whether American or Malagasy—wants to know: “Which is better, Mahabo or Fianarantsoa?”
The question is harder to answer than one might think. My gut instinct is to shout out Mahabo with pride. It's like my Malagasy hometown. But then I ask myself—if given the choice, would I leave Fianar and move back to Mahabo? The answer is a reluctant but firm no.
Which got me thinking.
There are things I love and miss about all the places I've passed through. So how do you define the best place? The ideal home? I decided to compare those things that I love and miss—the things I appreciate and value from each temporary home.
Through lists, obviously.
America. After being stateside for 2 years and change, I was pretty eager to leave again. Yet there are so many things I miss and swear I'll appreciate more when I move back.
1. Mexican food.
For anyone who knows me, this should come as no surprise. And to be clear, I'm not picky about my Mexican food. I realize we've Americanized it like crazy, but that doesn't make it any less delicious. And I realize I can make a lot of the different things I love here. But it's just not the same as going into a restaurant, ordering a margarita or corona (with lime, obviously), and eating a million chips with salsa. With good friends. And no preparation work before taking a bite. I promise myself that I will eat Mexican food once a week minimally when I return to Americaland.
2. Parks and reserves and things of nature's nature.
Yes I do realize that we have lots of national parks here in Madagascar, and that the things you can find in them are quite unique. Trust me, I appreciate lemurs and fosa and all the rest. But I have to say—I miss parks that don't necessarily contain anything special. Just some green grass and cleanliness. I miss biking down the Mississippi to have a BBQ at a park. Or walking around Lake Calhoun then lying on a blanket in the grass watching a movie projected on a big screen outside. Just enjoying regular nature with others who live in your city. Anonymous but also the same as everyone around you. It's pretty great. You should all go outside and take a walk as soon as you finish reading.
3. Central heating.
Cold is oh so very much colder when you are not in America. You never warm up. It's easy to forget how cold cold is when you can break it up by entering toasty warm buildings. But when there is no such thing as heating (unless you have a fireplace, I suppose), the cold gets into your bones and you feel every degree as it drops. We are months away from Madagascar's winter, but I am already terrified.
4. Snow.
I realize how silly this sounds after what you just read, but it's true. Especially when you are nice and warm inside looking out. Who doesn't love the first snow? Walking around in a giant snow globe—everyone you meet can't help but smile. There is something cozy about a winter with snow. Or maybe I just miss wearing cute boots and hats. Actually, it's highly possible that's the only reason I like the snow: because it's a cute outfit enabler. Which brings me to...
5. Cute shoes. Cute clothes. Shopping. Dressing up. You know--all those things.
It's true that there's something liberating about owning only a handful of clothing items and living simply. But I have to say—I'm over it. I miss the creativity involved in getting ready for the day when your closets are full. It's like playing dress-up. Fake animal print. Sparkles. Little skirts. A different pair of shoes every day. I miss it all. I'd promise myself to shop and appreciate all of this more when I get back, but I have to say—I think I did a pretty job before.
I could probably give you more—and most would probably be related to food—but let's keep things simple. Those are the first things that come to mind for right now. Let's move on to the next.
Mahabo. I spent 2 years living in this village near Morondava. In many ways, it's the standard by which I measure all things Malagasy.
1. Brochettes and beers with my proviseur.
This may sound familiar to those who read my old blog. I have to say, there is nothing better. Walking slowly into town while the sun is setting. Sitting down at a table in the sand, underneath the coconut and banana trees. Watching all the people walk by in the evening, when it's finally somewhat cool out. Drinking giant bottles of beer and munching on brochettes dipped in super hot sauce. Chatting with a good friend under the stars. My weekly routine. My main social outlet. It was always the highlight of my week, and when I miss Mahabo, this is what I miss most. Mahabo will always be precious because of the people.
2. Sunshine.
Why is it that the heat is always easier to handle when it is overpowering? It's like you have no choice but to give in and embrace it. You will be covered in a layer of salt and sweat at all times, and you might as well sink into it. You don't notice the heat, because there's never anything else. I loved Mahabo and the constant sunshine. It becomes a part of you. Of course my skin is probably way healthier being away from it. But it's silly—in Fianar it's either raining and I'm freezing cold, or it's not raining and the sun beats down on you. And no—the non-rainy hot part of the weather could never compete with Mahabo. But if I leave for work freezing and then sweat on my walk home? I am one cranky creature. Weather is more enjoyable when it's consistent. And Mahabo handed it to me on a shiny silver sunshine platter.
3. Weekends at the beach.
Seriously, can you get better than living 2 hours from the beach? In my new home it would take much longer to make it to the shore—and then there are sharks once you're there, and you're apparently not supposed to swim. Apparently I was spoiled in Mahabo. Spoiled by pure white sand.
4. My students.
The cool thing about being an English teacher is that all the children in your village know your name. All of them. And they call you Mademoiselle and they treat you with respect and give you drawings. The students of Mahabo were silly and sweet and mine. When you are a nameless white face, you don't quite have the same relationship with the kids who live around town. They mostly just ask you for money and candy.
5. Relaxing in my home.
For those who don't remember or don't know, I had a pretty great house. It was a giant, one-roomed cement block, sure—but it was great. Four giant windows and two doors ensured constant breeze. Plus painted trees and sky everywhere (inside and out) made the view great. Add a little music, a hammock and a swing—what more could you want? The picture of simplicity. Sitting on the back stoop doing laundry, cooking with my solar oven and limited resources, writing letters to friends while sitting at my desk and staring out the front windows—these things I miss. Though the quiet and solitude would drive me crazy if I did it a second time around, I will always cherish the chapter of my life that revolved around acceptance of Mahabo's brand of slow.
Okay. Now on to the pleasures of my latest move.
Fianarantsoa. It is my new Malagasy home. Technically the second-largest city in Madagascar, it is a manageable city, with one main stretch of road where you can find anything you might need. That usually means ice cream or cheese.
1. Our apartment.
Two stories. Refrigerator. Hot water. Bath tub. Courtyard. Guard. Need I say more? Oh and did I mention there's a toilet? Meaning not a bucket and not a hole in the ground to squat over. This is the life! It may not have murals or excessive sunshine and breeze, but Paul and I did get a dart board. Best investment ever. And we got a set of boules for petanque in the courtyard. Oh and there's a balcony where we can climb up to to hang our laundry. No big deal. All I'm saying is that this place is arguably better than our apartment in St. Paul.
2. Accessibility.
I know you wouldn't believe it considering my current blog activity, but I have internet every day at work and a Peace Corps house nearby with wireless. Even when I'm on trips into rural communes, I have an internet stick I bring with so I can check my email. It's amazing. In many ways, I'm able to keep up to date even more than I did in my last job. And considering the electoral drama we've been experiencing for the last several months, it's a good thing! It also makes life feel faster than it did in Mahabo. And, of course, my mother will appreciate the difference whenever cyclones pass through. So there's that.
3. Edible possibilities.
There are three aspects to my new life in Fianar that have dramatically widened the range of meals I eat compared to Mahabo. One, a fridge. Leftovers? Yes. Cheese that can't survive heat? Yes. Ice cubes? Oh yes. Want to buy that giant pumpkin you'll never be able to finish? Why not—you can freeze it and use it all year. Two, Paul. He makes me things like brunch, a spicy tomato soup, and lentil burgers. It's great. I wouldn't have done it on my own. His culinary creativity is more ambitious than mine. And three, I live in a city. Here are things we've been able to buy that I never bought in Mahabo: fancy cheese, white wine, orange juice, oatmeal, and so much more! Turns out cities with white people have fancier foods in stock than do small villages in the middle of nowhere. Who knew? Needless to say, I don't have to worry about being underweight again in my new home.
4. The hills are alive.
Fianar is FULL of mountains and valleys and hills. This may annoy me at noon when I am starving and it's hot out and I have to walk uphill all the way home, true. But it really is beautiful. I'll post pictures sometime. Mahabo was flat as could be, and full of sand with some palm trees, which was also great. But Fianar has a different kind of beauty, full of colors and layers.
5. My job!
I love it. I work 40 hours a week and am therefore nice and busy. My project is working to strengthen Madagascars health systems so that more people have access to quality care--especially those in rural, hard to reach areas. And what I do on any given day varies from data analysis to visits in the field to community health workers living tucked away behind hills and rice paddies. Plus I get to focus on malaria, which is pretty cool. I love what I do, who I do it for and with, and what our goals are. Pretty great. I couldn't have asked for a better fit.
Anyway, this ended up getting long, but I guess my point is this:
I think sayings like “there's no place like home” and “the grass is always greener on the other side” just don't add up. Everywhere you stay leaves its print on you and is in some way a home to you. And you can always find something green about the grass you happen to be lying on.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
there and back again
A few words on what I'm doing:
I am here as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer (formerly known as Crisis Corps). Basically, people who have successfully completed a term in the Peace Corps are able to use their professional experience to address specific needs through short-term assignments. I'll be in Madagascar for a year working as a Malaria Technical Officer with USAID/Santenet2 implemented by RTI International. I'm be focusing largely on community-based interventions, community health worker performance, and rapid diagnostic test and artemisinin-based combination therapy use. Madagascar is one of the countries selected by the President's Malaria Initiative, and PMI's partnership with the Peace Corps is the reason my job was created!
I can give you more details later, but for now I just wanted to kick this off. I'll provide links for those of you who want to read more than the random and often irrelevant snippets I'll end up writing about. Now that I have better internet access, I may even post pictures. No promises.
So there you have it.