Where Bribes Rule

I was sitting in a taxi-brousse today traveling to the nearby town of Soavinandriana, in the front seat as usual due to my height, when the driver suddenly and urgently asked me for my frais of 1000 ariary.

I fumbled around a bit in my purse trying to find the exact change as he requested, however I was a bit slow in presenting the money, not watching my surroundings but noticing that the car had started to slow down. Just as abruptly as he asked for the money and in seeing me continue to look for the right bill even after we had stopped, the driver turned to me again and quietly said, “Stop, don’t pull out your money now, we’ll get in trouble.” Only at this point did I notice that we were stopped at a Police Checkpoint – one of the many that are scattered along most of the roads here. Realizing the implications of the delay in reaching my money, I smiled, but tried to hide it for fear of the armed policeman asking me what was so funny. Not having received the right change to pass along to the police officer, the driver instead pulled out his phone and transferred credit from his mobile account. My “frais” had nearly become that bribe, and the most ironic thing about it is that the driver thought we’d get in trouble merely for making obvious something we all know exists – and with exactly the person who is perpetuating the crime.

This experience perfectly illuminates the nature of kolikoly here. Everyone knows it’s there, everyone talks about it behind closed doors and in good company, but no one openly admits or addresses the issue and as a result it persists to the very core of this nation. It’s one of those “hiding in plain sight” situations. I know that every time we stop at a police checkpoint – where the police supposedly monitor illegal smuggling of highly valued resources such as rosewood but in reality just receive higher bribes, proportionate to the load – the driver slips a 500 or 1000 ariary note into his vehicle registration book, though at times they are less subtle. The drivers and policemen inevitably keep up this charade of hidden give and take, even though every passenger on the bus knows exactly what is going on.

While this form of corruption does reflect a rotten core, it is relatively harmless compared to other ways that corruption might play out. It merely reflects a slight redistribution of wealth from the bus drivers, who are quite well off as it is, to the policemen. For the most part, the passengers are no worse off, if anything the frais is slightly higher but they still receive the service they paid for (most of the time, but flat tires and overheating engines are not directly due to corruption). In many other cases however, it significantly affects the development of the country and the opportunities available to the Malagasy people.

Clearly this trend reveals itself on the macro level in terms of economics and politics. One only needs to read the news to see that since the government overthrow in 2009, the transitional president has worked to consolidate his own power and postpone elections for over four years. During this time, the country has fallen deeper and deeper into crisis, and an already poor nation has become one of the 10 poorest in the world in terms of GDP per capita. It is no question that increasing amounts of corruption and complete lack of accountability have contributed to this downward spiral. But instead of giving an analysis of this situation and how it affects life here (read the most recent World Bank report on Madagascar if you are interested), I am going to share the example of one of my friends and how her personal and professional development has been stunted due to corruption on an individual level.

Her name is Sambatra, and her family owns the épicerie across the street from me, a small shop that sells most daily necessities– salt, soap, toilet paper, etc. The shop is rather large and therefore Sambatra’s family is fairly well off, enough so to send her to Antananarivo to study Law. She has been studying for several years now and is soon approaching the time where she will graduate and take her final test with the hope to receive a good job placement. It all sounds very promising. But the last time we were chatting, she revealed her worries about her future once school is over. Turns out only the wealthiest of the students get the good jobs, those as private attorneys or in district tribunals. And they do this through bribing the professors and school directors. So even though Sam is a hardworking and intelligent young woman, her opportunities are severely limited because she is not in this upper class capable of paying her way to the top.

As long as things continue the way they are, it is difficult to imagine how and when it will stop. In the meantime, so many individuals with the potential to make something of their lives are left behind while their nation struggles to stay on its feet.

Basket Weavers

A new year has begun and already started to fly by in Madagascar. Lots of exciting things have happened over the past few months, including a fabulous visit to Ampefy, Isalo National Park and Andasibe National Park with my family. My projects are starting to pick up and I have become most involved with the association of women basket weavers that live in a rural town outside of Ampefy. A few months ago, we received some funding from a group of Americans living and working in Tana (largely Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) to purchase raw materials for the women to scale up their production of weaved baskets, pocketbooks and wallets. They have gone through several trainings with Prosperer on topics ranging from basket weaving techniques to organizational management, however did not have the start-up capital to purchase the materials to start weaving. Additionally, the women are very poor, live in rural Madagascar and are limited in their access to microfinance due to a lack of collateral and high interest rates. Based on these limitations, it was very fortunate to have the group of Americans in Tana who are very eager to help current Peace Corps Volunteers and chose to support our project.

The trip to Tana to buy the materials was an experience in itself. I was in a meeting on a Wednesday afternoon when I received a call from one of the basket weavers saying they had found a ride and were leaving that evening. At that point I had no warning or made any preparations, assured by them we would have a place to stay with family members in Tana. Of course, upon arrival the one woman’s aunt had moved and was unreachable by phone, so we ended up staying with some friends of the family – I shared a bed with the two women from the association that had volunteered to go, as well as one of the younger girls in the family. They left the lights and the TV on all night, so instead of sleeping I watched Skyfall dubbed in French and dozed in and out. The family was incredibly welcoming, although the lack of sanitation combined with the crowdedness of Tana was slightly appalling – when I asked to use the bathroom in the evening, one woman showed me to a darkened alleyway outside.

The next day we woke up early to buy the materials, which was a huge success. We found everything we needed and I went back to Ampefy that same day, materials in tow. The women stayed an additional night to visit other family but I needed a good night sleep in my own, spacious bed! Over the course of the next few days, we moved the materials out to the women’s village, about 8 km away from Ampefy. Since then, we have held a meeting to share the materials between all 18 members as well as elect officials for the association to promote more effective leadership and management. Now the women are hard at work, weaving away after having set the goal of being ready to sell by the end of March for Easter when the masses descend on Ampefy for a long weekend. It’s exciting to see the women so motivated and even thrilled to have the opportunity to finally put to use all they have learned and to pursue an alternative source of income that holds promise for improving their livelihoods.

I have also become good friends with the Directrice of the local primary school in the village of the basket weavers. We have been working together to grow moringa, a plant with leaves very high in nutrients, and are starting to bring a school lunch program to her school. They already cook lunch for the kids twice a month, and the day I visited last week just so happened to be school lunch day. When I arrived, I was greeted by over 100 children singing, dancing and banging on their bowls with spoons, absolutely delighted by the prospect of eating lunch at school. They devoured vegetable soup and bread, and with this newfound energy chased me back down the road as I began my bike ride home. I always leave that place feeling happy and fulfilled, and it is no wonder why.

Hiking in Andringitra

-->It seems like every time I go to write a blog post, I’m at a loss. Things here have become so “normal” for me that I find myself unable to express how different things actually are from that on the other side of the world. I’m looking forward to my family coming in a few weeks so that they are able to experience the madness that is Madagascar.

Thanksgiving was a few weeks ago and I went down to a city called Fianarantsoa to celebrate with some other volunteers. Afterwards, some of us continued further south to hike in a national park called Andringitra. The landscape changed immensely as we worked our way towards the park – the entrance is located a several hour hike from where the taxi-brousse dropped us off, which gives some indication of the level of isolation of the park, named for the mountain range that runs through it, as well as of the surrounding villages and people that live nearby. I have to admit; we didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into, which in hindsight was probably a good thing. After staying at a campsite outside the park on our first day, we set out on a three-day trek to climb the highest accessible peak in Madagascar, Pic Boby.

The different landscapes as we made our way up the mountain were absolutely incredible. I think the pictures tell the story better than I can. The hike ended up being a stair climb for the most part, literally climbing up a mountain within a mountain range and then back down again which hurt even more. It was exhausting, and my body still felt the effects days later, but I can honestly say it was the most awe-inspiring hike I have ever experienced. One of the things that amazed me the most was how variable the landscape was, from what is called the “moonscape” to a green valley dotted with grazing cows that somehow climbed the mountain to sheer rock cliffs, which we zig-zagged our way up as we approached the peak. The climate got considerably colder as we made our way up the mountain, and the cool breeze was very welcome during the hot afternoons. We seemed to follow a mountain stream all the way up that was chillingly cold but incredibly refreshing after a few long days of hiking.

At the peak

Once we reached the top, we were at over 2500 meters, well above the clouds. Other than a few lizards, we were the only living creatures in sight. Supposedly, on a clear day, you can see all the way to the Indian Ocean. The way down was considerably quicker, and upon arrival at the base camp we collapsed in accomplished exhaustion. A few days of travel later and I found myself back in Ampefy, as if the whole thing had been a dream if it weren’t for the stress that persisted in my knees.

I’ve now been back for almost a week and my mango addiction has officially been reignited with a vengeance. Peaches are also in season, but nothing quite compares to the lychee – they are everywhere, including in my backyard, and are so sweet and absolutely delicious. I’m discovering the perks of living in a tropical climate during the rainy season.

Lunch with the President

It’s been a busy past few weeks. I feel my work and my life here beginning to clarify as I become more comfortable with the culture and the language and begin to develop more meaningful friendships. A few weeks ago was the first annual Festival de Barohoah in Ampefy, a celebration of a type of fish that is famous in my region and throughout all of Madagascar. It was quite an event – on the first day of the festival, the President of Madagascar, Andry Rajoelina, arrived and gave a speech. It was very interesting to hear what he had to say, especially with elections scheduled for next May, and then to hear the responses of people in town to his words and ideas. I was even invited to have lunch with him, granted amongst nearly 100 other people, but I was very clearly the only non-Malagasy in the crowd and for that reason certainly stuck out. It was a tasty fish lunch at a beautiful hotel in Ampefy, and luckily a good friend of mine who speaks English was invited as well so we sat together and were able to chat about politics and the food so that no one else could understand.

That same weekend, I went to my first concert here in Madagascar of a group called Mahaleo that has been around since the 1970s. It was really neat to see Malagasy people of all ages at the concert – older people who knew the group from their early days, but also a fair number of younger people who nevertheless knew every word to every song. I promised myself to learn the lyrics before the next concert so that I can sing along with them. It was a great time, largely because many of my Prosperer co-workers also attended and they are a really fun group, dancing and singing the entire time. Since the concert, I have had many people in town compliment my dancing skills – for better or worse, it’s impossible to be invisible here!

Today, I biked out to a neighboring town called Ambatomboro where I have been spending quite a bit of time lately. It’s about 7 or 8 km outside of Ampefy and is located right on Lac Itasy. It’s a beautiful place and I really enjoy spending time with the people that live there, including a women’s association of basket weavers and the Directrice of the local elementary school and her husband. Every time I go out there, I inevitably return home with bags full of fresh green beans, tomatoes, and cucumbers. I anticipate continuing to spend quite a bit of time out there; not only is it a beautiful bike ride along the lake, but it’s a town where I see a lot of potential to develop and really improve the lives of the people that live there. Additionally, it’s the place here where I feel the most at home – it’s hard for me to describe exactly how but I feel that my sense of connection to other people is the strongest when I’m there, perhaps because it is more rural (about 300 people) and they are very open and kind to me. Regardless, it’s a place I think will stay with me for a long time.

On my bike ride home, an older man insisted on walking back with me for the part of the journey. He’s a funny man who I’ve befriended through my visits to Ambatomboro and from seeing him from time to time in Ampefy. Inevitably, on the ride home, there are little children who say to me, “Bonjour Vazaha!” which means “Hi there, foreigner!” Every time, this man yelled back at them “Tsy Vazaha fa Gasy!” which translates as, “She’s not a foreigner, she’s Malagasy!” I was not only honored to be considered Malagasy, but got a kick out of how offended and quick to defend me he was. These outbursts were peppered with comments about the inefficiencies of the Malagasy government and further animated by the occasional spitting out of remnants of chewing tobacco. So, perhaps he’s just a bitter old man, but I hope that I was able to brighten his day or at least provide some comfort by listening to his ramblings.

Finally, just a few quick snippets of life here. I have recently been conspiring with one of my neighbors to steal guavas from her neighbor (not really stealing, we have permission to take them, but still it’s fun to pretend) and goodness are they delicious. Also, one of my closest friends and I joke that when we have children, my son and her daughter will get married, a prospect which never ceases to be entertaining. Another friend of mine left yesterday for a 3-month Prosperer training about farming that I helped him sign up for, walking for over 12km to get there and carrying enough rice on his head to last him two weeks. There is a little crew of 8 and 9-year-old boys with whom I create all sorts of secret handshakes and whose faces light up whenever I see them. And of course the little girls that are too young to really speak Malagasy but are able to yell my name when I walk past (thank you to my parents for giving me a name that is easy to say, in any language). Above all, I feel like I am finally starting to break through the barrier that people here have put up regarding foreigners and although I recognize that can’t change that overall perception, I think we are making progress in that direction.

Party with the Ancestors

Last week, I went to a famadihana or the “turning of the bones” ceremony that is widely practiced in Madagascar. Every year during the dry season, certain Malagasy families dig up their ancestors from the family tomb, wrap them in new fabric, and return the remains to their “eternal” resting place. Though the practice certainly varies from region to region, I experienced what seemed to be a particularly large ceremony. Led by my dancing neighbors and a traveling brass band, over 100 community members paraded through the streets of Ampefy and then up a mountain overlooking Lake Itasy to collect the remains of two individuals – the great-grandmother (buried in 1944) and great uncle (buried in 1980) of one of my neighbors. Upon arrival, the two graves had already been unearthed by family members who then removed the remains of their ancestors from the tomb, placed the mixture of decomposed bone and dirt into the fresh fabric, and tightly wrapped them to be moved to the newly built family tomb. It appeared to be a very joyous occasion, with music playing and people dancing all the way up and back down the mountain. The only difference on the way down were the new partiers in our midst – the two ancestors in whose honor the ceremony was held; perhaps because they were getting cold.

Upon return to Ampefy that evening, the party really started. Music and dancing went all night long and throughout the next morning. Though I did not attend the morning festivities, that afternoon the procession started up again – this time, in the opposite direction towards the newly built family tomb. This time, I was accompanied by my friend Mamisoa and her husband. They were re-burying their nephew who died when he was very young – just two years old. Though I felt a certain level of joy the day before in dancing with the remains of those who lived a full life, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at seeing the wrapped up remains of a two-year old child. And as I walked with Mamisoa to the new tomb, she spoke to me about how the famadihana is a celebration of the dead filled with dancing and music however it does remind and in a way cause one to relive the sadness felt at the loss of a loved one. This sentiment really struck me when I was told the child died twenty years ago – which means he would have been about my age if still alive today.

To me, the famadihana at first seemed a joyous celebration, representing an occasion to remember and prolong the party with those who died decades ago. However, upon further talking to friends in town and experiencing the ceremony, it seemed more tragic than joyous, uprooting ancestors and never really allowing the feeling of loss to fade. These perceptions are of course influenced by my culture and our attitudes towards death, always considered a very solemn occasion. There is also another underlying implication of the famadihana ceremony – as a display of status and wealth in a time of the year when many families are running out of money to buy necessities such as food, medicine or school supplies. Several of my Malagasy friends expressed dissatisfaction with the practice as an unnecessary expense in a time when many families are struggling to make ends meet. However, it is a custom and clearly one that holds great importance for the Malagasy people to an extent that a foreigner like me cannot really comprehend. All that can really be concluded is that the Malagasy people have developed very unique traditions for coping with the phenomenon of death and loss, but one that will likely evolve and adapt to meet the changing demands of life, as all traditions eventually do.

Six months in Mada

I apologize that it has been so long since I have updated. I will try to be better about it from now on. Things have been a bit crazy the past few weeks and I feel like I am finally able to slow down, take a breath and process all that has been going on. In the beginning of August, I had a week of Peace Corps in-service training. It was great to see my fellow volunteers, share stories and hear about what they have been up to for the past several months. Afterwards, I went on a little vacation with some friends to the east coast of Madagascar to a town called Foulpointe. It was my first time seeing the ocean after 5 months of living on an island – long overdue, but well worth it! The beach was absolutely beautiful, white sand beaches and clear water. While I had a great time with my fellow volunteers doing nothing but swimming, exploring and eating, I found myself feeling a bit anxious to get back to Ampefy.

I have been back in Ampefy for about 3 weeks now, and I am beginning to see some projects come together. I have been talking a lot with farmers about ways to improve production and access to markets, as farming is one of the main livelihoods of people in town. In addition, I hope to get involved with youth in town to empower and inspire them by working with various youth institutions in town, including schools and scout groups.

Several big events are coming up in Ampefy – tomorrow is the international day of literacy which is to be celebrated here, and next week is something called Pelerinage. Though I’m not sure exactly what this event is, I do know military and policemen will arrive from all over the country for two days of prayer. The population will essentially double over two days next week. These kinds of events do provide great opportunities for the town to gain publicity and community members to gain a little extra income from the influx of people. It’s one of my goals to help people take advantage of such opportunities, as they happen fairly often in Ampefy. Next week, I plan on spending a day or two helping a Scout group prepare food for some of the visitors. It will be a lot of rice!

This past Tuesday, I visited a few agricultural NGOs and an agricultural training center with the President of the Fokontany of Ampefy. It was great for him to see all of the resources that are available in the area for farmers, and a group of 10 or so traveled yesterday to the training center to learn about compost. I plan to make the trip with him and any interested farmers next week to learn about rice farming. There is so much potential to improve the livelihoods of farmers here – through trainings about methods to increase production or organizing farmers to sell their products together to increase market power and improve access to markets, among other strategies. Although it would be a lofty goal to try and help the farmers implement these strategies in my short time here, I hope to at least plant the seeds of potential ideas for improvement.

Well, that’s all for now. If you want to read a good book about a Peace Corps experience, check out Living Poor by Moritz Thomsen. It is about one volunteer’s experience in Ecuador in the 1960s, and although it was clearly a very different time and place than Madagascar in 2012, I couldn’t help but draw several parallels with my experience here so far.

A Trip Up North

It is crazy that it is already July! The second half of June was filled with traveling which made it absolutely fly by. The first trip came as a surprise – my counterpart organization, Prosperer, informed me and the two other volunteers in my region with three days notice about a business trip to visit Prosperer offices and co-workers up north to promote cooperation and communication between regions. I was unsure if I wanted to go at first at such short notice, having planned other activities for that week and worried about language and community integration. However, I decided to go and am so glad that I did. The north is like another world from the highlands. I am beginning to learn why some people call Madagascar “the eighth continent”. It was not only interesting to see how the landscape changed during the 700km trip to Antsohihy, but also to see how different the culture seemed once we arrived. Not only is the language different, as the people speak a different dialect of Malagasy, but I couldn’t help but notice the culture felt much more African. I found myself being reminded of my time in Senegal – something I had experienced living in the highlands but to a much lesser extent as the culture reflects a more Asian influence.

The “business” part of the trip was great. It consisted of visiting various MERs, or Micro-Entreprises Rurales (Rural Micro-Enterprises), who are the primary beneficiaries of Prosperer activities and include blacksmiths, basket weavers, beekeepers, and seamstresses among others. It was interesting to see other projects and get some ideas for projects I can try to incorporate in my work in Ampefy. I also loved getting to know my Malagasy co-workers and counterparts. Nothing like long car rides and late nights singing Malagasy songs (or listening, in my case) to bring people closer together. Many times I found myself thinking, this would never happen on a business trip in the states! Though I have to say, one of the highlights of our time in Antsohihy was the coconut sauce. Coconuts abound up north, and they make an absolutely delicious sauce that is even better when paired with freshly caught ocean fish in which I indulged several times over a 24-hour period.

On the way back down south, we stopped in a town called Port-Bergé for some more visits. We had a bit more time to wander and explore the town, which was a nice respite from sitting in a car all day. It was interesting to chat with people from the town, both to hear just how different the language is (and see just how little I could understand) and to learn a bit about culture in the north. Every evening for the two weeks leading up to the fetim-pirenena (independence day) in Madagascar, which was on June 26^th, there is a type of boxing called Morengy (sp?) that takes place in the town center of Port-Bergé. Men, women and children alike seek out opponents by strutting around the makeshift arena, sizing up their competition until they find a suitable match. While the fighting is normally a form of good fun and healthy competition, it did occasionally turn ugly prompting the local police to get involved and break it up. I have posted some pictures that only begin to capture the atmosphere of the event, but at least do justice to its scale.

I think the fighting was a good example of just how diverse Malagasy culture is. It reflects a much more intense energy and vibrant culture up north, while the highlands are much more conservative and relaxed. I have to say, while it was great to see the differences in the north and I am definitely motivated to discover other parts of the country, I was happy and relieved to return to my quiet town of Ampefy. A big part of Malagasy culture is the giving of voandalanas, literally translated as “fruit of the road” and a gift that you share with your friends and family upon return from a trip. So, upon my return, I not only shared stories from the trip but also northern specialties such as coconuts and siramamy gasy – Malagasy sugar made out of sugar cane and pounded in the shape of a brick – with my friends back in Ampefy. I spent a great evening upon my arrival celebrating the birthday of a friend with her family in which I experimented with my own coconut sauce. It turned out quite tasty, I must say.