Thursday, November 24, 2011

Baby Girl, tiako ana, we love you

What does it feel like to have everything important to you, all that you love, vanish before you? Last night I could feel the weight of sadness fall over my village, as we had just received news that one of our own beloved had just hours before passed away. She was the daughter of my friend Hugette. She was merely 1 and a half years old, beautiful, with a sunny disposition. Her name was Cynthia. She had suffered immensely for two weeks, having lost dramatic weight, swollen lips, and could not hold any form of sustenance down. The doctor could not figure out what illness was afflicting this infant. I can still hear her piercing screams of anguish in my mind along with her young mother's worried face. They had left on a brousse a couple nights ago and the next morning when Hugette had reached the hospital in Tana it was too late. This is a bit hard for me to write but I feel its important that we understand that there was little Hugette could do. How can I blame her for what had happened to her little girl? She couldn't afford the taxi-brousse freight. I had found out to late about her illness, and by that time it seem that she was on her way to recovery as her swelling had calmed down, her diarrhea had stopped, and she had started eating again.

I don't know how I can express this more but everyday, especially on this day let us be thankful for our health and access to doctors. Rest in Peace Cynthia

Shit

Human excrement has never been the sexiest conversation topic but an important one nonetheless. The United Nations has declared November 19th to be World Toilette Day. To the average Westerner this title may evoke some chuckles but billions of people in developing nations are afflicted by poor or no access to proper water or sanitation. After having a conversation with the Minister of Water and Sanitation Region Sofia I learned that in my region only 6% of the population has access to latrines or toilette facillaties and 19% to clean water. I see this even in my community. Many children bath in the same streams where cattle trod and women do their laundry, as well as where some people relieve themselves. It's a problem now especially now during rainy season the stream will run down carrying all of the feces where the children bath. They receive parasites that make them lose hair on some places in their scalp. Water, a human right...right? My village pumps are locked during some hours of the day, especially now when water has been become more scare. I've been trying to educate children to wash their hands more often with soap, which is hard to do since at home this is not enforced as well as washing their hands after going to the bathroom (going outside, i.e. my backyard). I know I'm not a health volunteer but I feel like health issues are some of the largest concerns in my community.

so today on Thanksgiving be thankful for having access to toilettes, clean water, and access to hospitals and doctors.


Desert Flavor

My nine year old sister Zipe came over last night for dinner as she always does. This is on the basis that she helps do some of the chores i.e. wash the dishes, fetch water, sns. Eating alone can also be a drag, so the company usually lightens my mood. It was like our typical evenings together except that night we had meat on the menu! I decided that afternoon that I would purchase a few pieces of raw chicken to cook for lunch. This is a luxury I can't always afford on a regular basis, plus buying meat in front of my community makes me appear as someone with money. Being careful not to waste I used the bones for soup afterwards with bouillon.

We both slurped happily enjoying the hardy flavor of the ginger/ chicken broth. A nice break from our usual meal, which consists of dried shrimp with onions, topped on rice. Zipe suddenly stops eating, looks up at me, and out of the blue asks, "Who is someone rich in the U.S?" The first person to come to mind was Bill Gates so I said his name.

"He is probably not suffering with food," she remarks. This is the closest translation I can think of for, "Mety tsy mijali sakafo izy."

She continues, "Does he have a child?"



"Yes," I answer.


"He is probably not suffering with food"


"No, probably not."


"Are you suffering with food?" I ask her.


She nods.


"How about me?" I point towards myself.


She nods again.


At which point we both start to laugh uproariously. Even though you probably aren't smiling too, I've found that a good sense of humor helps me get through most days.

My friend Cecilia, a volunteer in the same region and I both agree that in two years when we've returned to the States, we'll look back and think it's hilarious that all we had to eat was rice and rotting tomatoes on some occasions.

But for people in our community this is their life and always was, and will be for many years to come. Around 90% of my village are subsistence farmers. Their fields provide the staple for their diet. Half the day when my eight year old neighbor girl is not at school she spends collecting rice for her family or pounding the husks off in oversize mortar and pestles.


Mijali is a perfect term that cannot be properly translated since it combines those who are poor with those who suffer. These concepts aren't necessarily divorced from each other in English but nor are they linked together like in Malagasy.


When I was conducting my community diagnostic survey one of the overarching concerns was food security. Unlike in the highlands the plateau area where I live is not conducive to growing varieties of vegetables because of its arid climate. And my desert is far from having the designer buffets that are available in the Las Vegas desert. Coming from a family of cooks I have always been surrounding by ample amounts of tasty things, which has probably helped instigate my vivid food dreams. I will refrain from describing them here since they may edge on sounding pornographic.

Just having my propane tank refilled for my gas stove was quite an ordeal in itself. I needed to carry it all the way to the big city. After having it loaded onto the top of the taxi-brousse, I lugged it around town while fulfilling other errands just to find out the gas stations couldn't refill it for one reason or another. I waited two weeks to be able to cook on a gas stove again since the epicerie owner who I had commissioned to get it refilled kept forgetting. During this time I made an attempt at using a charcoal cooker. There was no BBQ. My failure at being able to cook on a charcoal stove is a bit embarrassing so I won't discuss the details.

Finally, when my tank was recharged Mama "epicerie" looked at me and exclained, "you look skinny! Did you lose weight because you were hungry?" At which point she chuckled loudly while pinching my arm remarking to the people around me, "Haha, I feel her bones". This was the first time I've ever become upset at a comment that I look skinny. In this place in Africa, being called skinny is not a compliment.


No, I am not telling you all of this to make you feel sorry for me. And, no I am not malnourished. Not having many foods readily available in my market has made me more conscious of how much of each food group I am consuming and forces me to plan out my meals carefully so that my body receives a sufficient amount of vitamins and minerals.


Living in such conditions also motivates me to educate my community more about health and nutrition because life in the ambanivohitra (countryside) is no walk in the park.

So every time you take a bite into a hamburger, you savor the taste of the meat juices seeping onto the fresh sesame seed bun, or let the ice cream melt in your mouth so that you can soak up all the creamy rich flavor.

And also, turn off the television during meals. Actually look at your food, taste it, understand its texture, indulge in its scent with your nostrils before cramming it all in your mouth. And once in a while give whoever cooks your meals a big hug, whether its your mother or the restaurant chief.

Happy Thanksgiving! Now, go eat a turkey dammit!