The Black Hole

My region (region Sofia) has been labeled the Black Hole among Peace Corps volunteers.  It acquired this nickname when the main road was almost completely impassible.  Even though the road has been renovated the name lives on, and this is because of the scarce number of volunteers who are placed here.  I asked my APCD to place me in the desert and to isolate me from other volunteers.  Even though I was deathly afraid of these things I asked for I decided that I wanted to go the whole nine-yards since I was already in Africa, I never expected to be placed here in the first place.  The label makes this region seem uninspiring, but in reality its quite the opposite.  And because it takes me one full day to reach the closest volunteer its become important for me to identify true friends and to not take them for granted. 

The nine weeks of training I had in Mantasoa did not prepare me for my life at site.  People say that PST is a necessary evil.  But really I think if Peace Corps had given me a quick crash course in health and security and dropped me directly over a ‘copter at my site I would still be in the same place I am now.  When I was first installed I felt I was in a different country; the culture, the environment, the people, the spirit are all so strikingly different from the highlands.  The training I received in Malagasy official was almost useless for me here.  I appreciated PST for it exposed me to Merina culture and language.  I wouldn’t have had that experience otherwise. But when put at site I quickly realized I needed to forget everything I learned during my training and that I would have to run harder and faster to reach the same level of language with everyone else.  I started learning how to say the basics again on my own: dog, cat, bed, morning, night, tomorrow, yesterday, girl, boy, etc.  I had to learn how to sing when I speak, to pronounce the nasal “ng” sound, to roll my “r’s”.  There was no small Peace Corps community that I could turn to exchange ideas and language with.  For the most part I relied upon myself and the support from my community.  I suppose I sound like I’m bragging, no not really, just completely honest like I’ve promised to be.  I’m writing this as a warning to future volunteers in this region.  You will struggle.  It’s not the easiest region to live in, but in the end it will be so rewarding and you’ll feel accomplished for making it to the finish line.  You will realize how strong but on the same token how vulnerable you truly are.

As far as work goes, I explained a little about what this would look like in my region from my previous post.  The population here will not listen or respect you unless you prove yourself in their eyes, and even when you do this they already have instilled in them a stern independence and sense of self that is challenging to work with.  When my director came to this region and talked to many of the inhabitants and non-profits she was surprised to find this out.  It truly is a different world up here.  

Food: if you are in the sticks, you will either gain tremendous weight or lose it. Carbs, carbs, carbs, on carbs.  Before the road was fixed there was widespread famine here.  I’ve had children, particularly the girls who do most of the chores but get a smaller portion of the meals, come begging at my door for scraps. I’ve had children scrape the burnt rice at the bottom of my pots when I turn my back, and eat it quickly out of embarrassment.  

PCV’s don’t know much about the Black Hole volunteers nor do they know much about the region.  Most of what other volunteers know about me is from our short training together over a year and a half ago.  The black hole kind of sucks you in to it.  But to be honest I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’m offering a window into this place where no number of adjectives can justly describe.  

A Fighting Spirit

I have lived with the Tsimihety tribe for more than one year and a half, I think its about time that I say a little bit about them.  Their name literally means people “who do not cut their hair”, Tsy mihety.  This is due to their refusal to cut their hair after the death of a Sakalava prince, which traditionally was done by the population to show deference towards royalty.  They are known to be stubborn and rebellious in nature.  They refuse to submit to anyone, and are the only group in all of Madagascar who have never been dominated by a king or have a monarchy imposed upon them.  They are said to be born from the intermarriages of two tribes, the Sakalava and Betsimisaraka, groups who both inhabit the coastal areas of the island.  Most of the Tsimihety can be found in the north central area near Mandritsara but are moving West and can be found as east as Tamatave and mostly found in the northern region of Sofia. 

The women in particular play an interesting role in this society.  I spoke to Madame Norline, the daughter of the first president of the republic Philibert Tsiranana, and her views of Tsimihety feminism.  The Tsimihety women sexually are very free, up to the point where their sexuality is extolled and has become an expectation, otherwise they are considered frigid.  The Tsimihety traditionally are allowed to move out of their parent’s home after one year of giving birth, with or without a husband, to where they please to start a life there.  No one is to stop her on her way.  In the past, when a man wished to marry he would be put in a room with his prospective spouse and she would push him against walls and bruise him a bit to see if he can withstand the abuse, a test to see if he can protect her and her future offspring.

Their stubborn character, which has proved to benefit them in the past, has rendered them as a difficult group to work with most NGO’s and other international organizations.  I have found this to be true in my own attempts to work here during my service.  NGO’s come in with a Western methodology towards work and are highly results oriented.  When coming in to this region one must consider the fact that these are free people, they will fight you directly or indirectly to maintain this freedom.  Even though the suggestions made and the resources of outside organizations are meant to help they are viewed with suspicion. 

This is my tribe.  I am proud to have the opportunity  with these energetic, loud, vibrant, and perhaps even a bit flashy people.  I’ve been asked on a few occasions whether I’m from Tamatave because of the large mixed Chinese/ Malagasy population there and because I speak this dialect.  This of course is very flattering.  Even though frustrating to work with at times I am so grateful I’ve had the opportunity to live amongst the Tsimihety people.  

One mind, one body

Being sick in a developing country really blows.  You are isolated in an inhospitable environment, away from family and friends, with no access to reliable medicine or doctors within reachable distance, you must travel hundreds of kilometers to the capital to reach your Peace Corps Medical Officers (PCMO).  The travel is exhausting and sometimes takes days.  And when you are sick, sitting in a brousse for hours on end on bad roads takes a lot out of you.  I understand fully now why the medical examinations was such an extensive portion of my application process.  Everyone groans and moans about it but really its completely necessary to make sure that volunteers already with health troubles are put in accommodation zones such as South Africa or in Eastern Europe.  I rarely saw the doctor before joining Peace Corps except, most only during annual physical checkup.  I’ve underwent many changes in my health here in Madagascar.  Most of illnesses were mild in nature, however there was one health concern that lasted for an extensive period of time (four months and ongoing) which eventually caused me to be medically evacuated abroad. 

When I became ill in February of this past year the PCMO had me come down to Tana so that he could inspect what I was describing to him.  He cleared me after the exam with a packet of antibiotics.  I never knew that antibiotics were going to be my worst enemy and savior for the next four months while I suffered physically.  My issues ceased to end.  I went between clinics in two major cities in Madagascar and numerous doctors and examinations.  Every doctor would diagnose me with different maladies and prescribe me with the “appropriate” medication, but no one was tackling the cause but just the symptoms.  My distaste for taking medication was brought to a standstill by my desperation to get better.  At one point I was using homeopathic remedies and even considering visiting a traditional healer or to be exorcised by a small Christian cult whom are currently preparing for the end of the world this year. 

And finally after a taking a long series of ineffective treatments the PCMO’s and D.C. decided that they’ve dried up all the resources in-country and it was time to medevac me (medically evacuate me).  This meant that I would be sent to South Africa.  All PCVS with major health concerns in Africa who are unable to be address in their country of service are sent to South Africa.

What I’ve learned that it’s important to not only treat one’s physical symptoms but to also to assuage the psychological issues that concurrently arise.  I’ve seen numerous doctors in Madagascar , in the best clinics, and each would indirectly address me to one another without actually talking to me.  They would hand me a sealed envelope with the diagnosis with no discussion included unless I pushed for it, otherwise they would discuss about me to my PCMO vs. to me directly.  I felt more like a problem than an actual living person who needed help.  In the doctors defense I can see how this is a defense mechanism.  They can’t become attached or humanize every patient who walks in their door.  Personally I can see how I would get emotionally drained by that.  Really its not that different in the U.S.  Patient/ doctor relations aren’t always the most cordial but rather have an impersonal vibe.  However after this experience I feel that a doctor can remain professional and be warm and comforting towards a patient at the same time.  Actually I think it’s crucial in order to facilitate the actual healing process.  There must be trust between the patient and doctor.  Also to have people in support of you is indispensible.  Even though I didn’t have this support in-country, which made things very difficult, my friends and family from home reached out to me when I most needed it.  People always joke about being medevaced to be able to visit South Africa, however when you truly are sick the idea evokes less excitement.

 I’ve never even once amused the idea of E.T (early termination) but I was on the verge of ending my service in order to get the medical attention I needed.  Health is the most important asset we possess.  If we don’t have our health what do we have?  Nothing mattered anymore. I lost interest and motivation in carrying out my service and in social events.   Another thing that I’ve learned that it takes a long time for things to move in D.C.  There was so much bureaucratic processing that needed to happen in order for me to be medevaced, which was infuriating and lead to a number of breakdowns. 

I was very impressed with the clinics and doctors in South Africa.  When the doctor told me that I needed to undergo surgery I actually was relieved because she had confirmed to me what I already knew: that I was sick.  The doctors’ in-country couldn’t find anything wrong with me.  I’m sure in their minds I was being a hypochondriac- simply making up my issue in my head, but in their defense they’ve tried their best and they aren’t specialist.  I still rely on them a lot.  Finally I was receiving answers, being able to go on a safari wasn’t all that bad either.

As much as our PCMOs attempted to prepare us for our environments during our PST (pre-service training)  its really inevitable that we become sick.  Coming from vacuum air-conditioned environments in the States its no wonder we are more susceptible to becoming sick.  Our bodies are weaker than the local population.  Our skin flakes and burns easier in the sun than African skin; our stomach’s haven’t been trained to handle the microbes and germs in the water, air, dirt. 

o   Overall lessons:

§  Don’t take health for granted

§  One body one mind: need to take care of both as best as possible.  Because you only get one your whole life.  

§  Regular exercise, a good diet, and healthy coping mechanisms to deal with stress since you are living under sometimes physically trying conditions

§  Getting sick: it’s the name of the game.  Hey, no one forced me to sign up for Peace Corps. 

§  You must become your own doctor for the two years of your service.  I’ve learned more about medicine and health issues than I’d ever have to in the States.  You do a lot of self-diagnosis when you are in the bush by yourself.  

§  Just because a doctor tells you one thing doesn’t mean that its set in stone and 100% correct. 

§  If you know something is wrong with your body then you probably are correct, you live with it not your doctor,

·         Become aware of your body’s needs and/ or abnormalities, weaknesses. 

Guilty Pleasure

Mangos + new blender= heavenly fruit smoothies.  Mango season has arrived folks and for most of the day you can find either me or one of my roommates snacking on this scrumptious fruit.  We will go through at least eight altogether every day in every variety.  I never knew there were so many different kinds of mangos until I came to Madagascar; manga lava, manga be, manga bory, manga hetsy, etc.   I consumed this many just myself when there wasn’t too much else to eat in my old village.  I was hesitant in buying a new blender since I won’t have so much time before I have to part with it, but I thought that it would be a nice gift to the people I live with, plus if we’re able to enjoy blended cocktails during the weekend then it would be worth it.  It’s been very worth it! I obsessively blend things every day.  I’ve found endless uses for it such as blending coffee, sesame seeds, hummus, protein power shakes, etc.  Posh Corps life isn’t so bad after all.  

Talk of the town

Gossip plays a profound role in disseminating and receiving news, entertainment, and to caution others in small towns.  Ever since I’ve arrived I’ve heard whispers of bad men kidnapping Malagasy children so that their bones can be sold abroad to foreigners.  Graves are seriously guarded because of this.  When I ask what exactly these bones are used for no one is able to give an explanation.  Even though these bone collectors borders on urban legend it is so deeply embedded in the local psyche I am unsure whether to dismiss it simply as myth.  Even highly educated people with influence are convinced this is true and will give me specific examples and “proof” of these occurrences.  

There was one time that I noticed a large crowd form around the commune of my village.  A twelve year old girl was returned by her uncle’s wife since she was worried that the police were on her tail for kidnapping her niece in the attempt to sell her to human traffickers in the north.  I heard about the story for a week.  Children are constantly told by their parents to never play or walk by themselves at night.  The fear is pervasive.  My community wouldn’t let me leave to go to the forests or neighboring communes if I wasn’t accompanied by at least one person. 

I’ve been hearing more and more about a so-called satanic club.  Supposedly some foreigners came to spread the message of Satan in Madagascar.  One can find whole articles written about it in Malagasy journals.  Their method of indoctrination is by calling with unknown numbers, threats, and promises of wealth to those in desperate situations.  Perhaps you can think of them as the arch nemeses of a missionary.

So these are just a couple examples of stories that are discussed with hushed voices and believed by many without any concrete evidence.  To be honest I’m a little freaked out myself.  No one knows whether these things are really true, half-true, or simply make believe but it has enough of an impact on ones mentality to influence how one acts including me.  So you may think that writing about this on the internet is a bit mad but let’s be real.  How much of a threat am I putting myself in, especially if this is “common” knowledge here?  

Hospitality

I’m torn about the concept of a voandalana or gift from the road, our version of a souvenir.  This is the expectation that you bring small gifts to your family and friends every time you travel, even if it’s a place a few kilometers away.  Immediately upon hearing of my departure or noticing my arrival most people will ask me for a voandalana, even people who I’ve never spoken to once.  Understandably this is a custom meant to preserve networks and ties to one another.  A voandalana can be as simple as a baguette or produce, but it’s really the thought that counts.  What irks me a bit is that that this thought that supposedly counts is many times taken for granted, which is the reason why I’ve reserved giving voandalana only to a select few and only for when I leave on an extensive trip.

 Perhaps this is just my ethnocentric stance but to me a voandalana kind of implies a culture where more is expected than given.  I’ve been offered a voandalana only once, whereas I’ve given numerous, and its not because I’m more mobile.  I’ve had hesitations writing this blog since I don’t want to dissuade people from visiting Madagascar because I feel that in general this isn’t a very hospitable culture.  Also, my concept of hospitality is very different than the average Malagasy’s.   

Many foreigners will challenge my opinion because they’ve had different experiences than me, which makes me wonder if they’ve encountered many other cultures where most of the population lives in abject poverty.  Both sides of my family came from developing nations, but if you come to my home they will not allow you to leave with an empty stomach or at least until having some tea.  And I know that this was always true, even when their economic position wasn’t what it now.  Every time I walked into the homes of Nepali who newly immigrated to the U.S. with little material possession and disposable income I was treated to on minimum a cup of chai, and prevented from leaving until I had consumed some sort of curry meal with rice.  Upon greeting members from this community we would close our hands together and greet one another with “namaste”, which translates roughly to “I see the God within you, that is also within myself”.  Hospitality is an art in many cultures.  Before leaving to China my grandfather sat me down seriously with my grandmother and great uncle one afternoon and showed me the proper way to serve tea to guests.  Not only is hospitality an aesthetic but a concept so intrinsically interwoven in ones religion, customs, and impacts how we interact with one another. 

I spoke to my close friend Madame Florine honestly about how I viewed Malagasy hospitality to hear her reaction.  I trust her to not become offended for she’s acted as somewhat of a cultural broker for me.  She’s worked with former Peace Corps volunteers and other foreigners so she is able to explain and relate ideas sensibly.  According to her, Malagasy culture has altered so much since her childhood.  She feels that entitlement to another’s belongings and wealth has become much more pervasive than its ever been.  And to Ernest the German who lives in my town, who’s worked over forty years here as an agricultural development special will tell me that the overall economic situation of Madagascar has degraded impacting the common people.  Traditionally the Tsimihety people (my tribe) would have to first drink from a cup that they would give their guests to prove that it wasn’t poisoned.  

Maybe hospitality is more greatly linked to wealth than I think.  Most entrepreneurs leave the village setting to try their luck in larger cities because they feel that if their heads peak only slightly above those around them it will be pounded down to par with everyone else’s.  Any form of wealth that one receives is expected to be divided evenly among family and friends, but I’ve noticed that many times reciprocity is not involved.  Two years ago I would have sat there in awe, romanticizing what I viewed as a primitive communist utopia where everything is shared and where one is not allowed to have more than the other.   I realize now how condescending and naïve this was. 

I am writing this not out of frustration or bitterness with my host culture but to be honest about my feelings.  Temporary visitors usually have a different stance and find this place very welcoming.  I am writing this despite having built close relationships with individual Malagasy people.  I spent my service striving to integrate and respect my host country nationals with cultural sensitivity.  I hope to clarify that I am writing in generalizations which can be contested.  I can give numerous examples to how Malagasy have been so warm and welcoming to me and will leave thinking well of my service and the Malagasy people who’ve touched my heart.  I often try to think how I would act if I were also in their shoes.  Peace Corps attempts to do this by throwing us to live in the sticks isolated from other volunteers, to live in local conditions, with receiving a salary on par to the locals.  Peace Corps is as close as it gets to “living” local. Despite this I still can’t fathom what it would be like to actually be Malagasy.  If I had so little and can barely feed myself and saw a vazaha I would probably want to take advantage too.  I can’t say I would be above this. 

The legacy of colonization continues till this day and is lodged into the subconscious of the population.  I feel there is a general resentment and deference towards foreigners here.  I feel its more difficult for Caucasian people because immediately they are labeled as being French.  Every time I went shopping with a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer or my French roommates they are given a higher price than me at the market.  So, I realize a lot of what I've written in this blog seems unrelated and scatterbrained but really what I feel hospitality is for me is how one treats and shows respect to guests, guests to one’s country, family, friends, acquaintances, and even strangers.  

Miniature Adults

Children in Madagascar assume many adult responsibilities.  It’s common to find young children, particularly girls, as old as five caring for their baby siblings.  Children act as their family’s farm hands, water and firewood fetchers, zebu herders, laundry assistants, cooks, market shoppers, income generators and cleaners.  You may even spot children buying cigarettes or alcohol for the adult members of their family from local epiceries.  Just now right outside of my window my seven year old neighbor was hanging her family’s laundry on my fence with a long stick since she couldn't reach the top of it, after she will return home to cook dinner.  Earlier today I witnessed a group of five kids around the ages from three to ten from the same family I assume, each parade around a large pillow in their arms to sell at the market place.  At the market you will see young children selling vegetables, meat, and fried bananas on large platters on their heads. 

Each child has a task in his or her family and if its not fulfilled there usually is some sort of severe repercussion such as receiving lashes or a meal being taken away. Its easy to judge these children’s situations as abusive or somewhat like slavery but its important to first look at the context in which these children live.  A lot is expected of children, much more than their Western counterparts because for the majority of them it is a matter of survival.  If they are unable to kill a chicken or cook rice over charcoal they don’t eat.  If they don’t pound the husks off of the rice they've just harvested the main source of carbohydrate in their diet is cut out.  And while their parents are out in the fields they look after baby siblings. They share a limited amount of their family’s resources and income with several other siblings therefore everyone must contribute to housework and other duties. 

But despite all of this I find children here to be charming and full of life.  Honestly it’s been the children that have kept me going when I've lost all hope and motivation.  Despite the hardships in their lives they smile and play and inspire me to not dwell so much on negative thoughts.  Sometimes I wonder who exactly are raising many of these children.  Education involves much more than schoolwork and the time spent looking at a blackboard.  Really the bulk of what we learn is at home.  Sometimes I feel no one looks after these children and other times I feel it’s everyone in the community’s duty.  But its fascinating to watch children govern themselves.  Often it’s the oldest child in the group that takes the responsibility to make sure that food is evenly divided among the group or that the younger children behave.  I often entrusted one of the older and more mature girls in the pact to look after my things when I needed to run out to do an errand.

They are forced to mature quickly.  I sometimes found it hard to believe that my neighbor was only nineteen and raising three children on her own while managing a small business to support her family.  What were my concerns when I was 5, 4, and 3 (the ages of her daughters) besides play?  At three the youngest is given a small pail to fetch water from the pump, at four this daughter is asked to buy oil from the local shop, and the oldest, five, has become an expert with a knife as she is in charge of chopping vegetables for meals.