Susanne in Madagascar

Ewe..and Frenglish

2012-02-01T04:58:00.000-08:00

It goes without saying that I am very proud of our trilingual daughter Soleine. She speaks - in order of importance - English, French and Dutch. We're equally proud of Antoine who is now studying at the American School of Antanananivo where every single subject is in English. Coming from Belgian Fench-speaking country-side catholic school, the contrast could not have been bigger. For a guy who has never spoken English during more than an hour, and had not written more than a few lines, he now has to write essays in English about Jane Eyre and Colonial Trading posts in America.

But when you're children are starting to correct you....hmmmm that is different kind of feeling. Last night Soleine corrected my French! We then practized home work spelling words and the word 'ewe' came up. "Eweeee, I said, as in..Eeks, Yukkie, as I believed that is what it meant.

'It's a female sheep mama', Soleine said. 'Duh'

Soleine and Antoine in Nosy Be 2CV last year

Personally I find myself speaking way too much Frenglish. I can start a sentence in English and finish it in French. Sometimes I even pronounce English words with a french accent! Ai Ai.

So when I saw this list I had to smile...

Ail ou radis? Are you ready?

Débile - The bill

Mords mon nez - More money

Qu'on gratte tous les jeunes! - Congratulations!

Marie qui s'masse - Merry Christmas

Oui Arlette -We are late

Il se pique Germaine - He speaks German

Youssef vole ma femme au lit - You saved all my family

Sale teint de pépère - Salt and pepper

Six tonnes de chair - Sit on the chair

Dix nourrices raidies - Dinner is ready

Les slips tout gais serrent - Let's sleep together

Âme coquine - I'm cooking

Deux bouts de chair - The butcher

Varices de grosseur - Where is the grocer?

A New Baby!!!

2012-01-17T13:34:00.000-08:00

Yippie. After months of waiting he finally arrived over the weekend. Our new baby! He is so cute, yellow and red, with black legs. Perfectly finished, with eleven little men in blue and white (France?) and eleven in yellow and green (Brazil?). What the heck am I talking about? A baby foot! That's how table football is called in French. Baby foot, pronounce babbie foot, or simply 'babbie' is very popular here in Madagascar. Just like internet cafes you have babbie cafes here, for 50 Ariary (2 cents) you can play a ball.

I ordered our babbie in Ambotolampy, which is the baby foot mecca of Madagacar. In fact, you will have a very hard time buying one in Tana. I ordered four; three of which are destined to two different centers for street children and orphans. When ours was delivered last week, we got all excited and ready to play. But....no ball. Grrrr, how can they deliver a brand new table football without ball? We used a shriveled up lime, which lasted an hour until it was kicked to pulp. Then our gardener Fidel suggested we make a babbie ball, as he called it . Here's how to make a ball from scrap plastic:

Step 1
Find old pieces of plastic, for example: piece of garden hose, plastic bottle tops, old flower pot

Step 2
Slowly melt the pieces of plastic in a old can on a hot fire.

Step 3
Stir with a stick or branch.

Step 4
Take an old brick and scrape a hole the size you want the ball to be.

Step 5
Poor the melted plastic in the hole in the brick.

Step 6
Wet your hands with cold water.

Step 7
Role the ball in your hand and then on the ground until the right size.

Et voila, you have a perfect baby foot ball. Got the love the simple yet resourceful Malagasy way of recycling.

So I learned something new today. Some people say: a day nothing learned is a day not lived. Or was it a day not laughed? Anyway, both are true I guess.

The World According to Gerp

2012-01-09T06:59:00.000-08:00

Hi Gerp! You're cute!

Madagascar was on the international news today! That rarely happens. I believe the last time was during the coup d'etat in 2009. Sadly, the Madagascar cartoon movie is still the first hit when googling this country. But today we have something to celebrate: the discovery of a new lemur. Size of a hamster, cute wide eyes and a bushy, long tail. He is a handsome little lemur. His name is Gerp, and here is the world according to Gerp.

Species: Mircocebus Gerpi

Name: Gerp Mouse Lemur

Full Name: Groupe d"Etude et Recherche sur le Primates a Madagascar Microcebus

Place of birth: Sahafina forest

Nationality: Malagasy

Date of birth: December 2011

Eyes: Large

Height: 16 centimeters

Weight: 68 grammes (!)
Favorite foods: insects, fruits and flours

Favorite past time: sleeping

Ave Maria

2011-12-15T23:28:00.000-08:00

She is only fifteen. With her frail posture, shy smile and drooping shoulders, she looks like an average Malagasy school girl. Modest, timid, sweet. She is wearing a simple black dress with a bow tie on her back, and shiny sandals with low heels.

Susan Boyle-effect

She has been invited to sing at a Christmas party hosted by John and Jen, American friends. A small orchestra of musicians in black suits with classical instruments is present too. A real Christmassy atmosphere. Then the girl starts to sing 'The First Noel'. She hardly opens her mouth while singing but WOW...she sounds like a CD! Or better...it's like the Susan Boyle-effect.

Musical genes

It's true..the Malagasy people are extremely talented for music. Every Sunday you can hear hundreds of thousands of people in their best outfits singing beautifully in church choirs all over the country. In every family there is at least one person who plays guitar or piano. Karaoke bars are frequently visited. Singing is part of the culture here; it's in the genes.

One of the many many choirs in Madagascar

Goose bumps

The girl then starts the Ave Maria. Goose bumps run over my arms! It is out of this world how she sings, her voice deep and steady, yet so seemingly effortless. Her Enya performance is equally spectacular.

I talk to her afterwards. She says she's 'just' a girl who sings in church, and how much she enjoyed singing for us.

American Idols

I wish there was a Malagasy version of American Idols, or Mada Has Talent, so that Simon Cowell could 'discover' her. Not like Susan Boyle at the age of 50 but at 15...what a joy she can bring for many more years to come.

Merry Christmas everybody!

One Night in Bangkok...

2011-11-09T22:51:00.000-08:00

Forget Mauritius, forget Reunion…if you are living in Madagascar and you need a break, go to Bangkok. Hop on an Air Mada plane in Tana and hop, 8 hours and 735 euros later you are in Bangkok. The flight goes on to China so you ‘ll have to put up with endless rows of Chinese who take off their shoes and haven’t changed their socks since seven days, but apart from that the flight is easy.

Shop until you drop

I am participating in an EU contest for international development jobs, and for that I had to computer-based test. Numerical and verbal reasoning, logical thinking – that kind of thing. Obviously, most test centers are located in Europe. In Africa the choice was between Nairobi and Johannesburg. I choose Thailand to combine pleasure with duty, and spent literally one night in Bangkok. Absolutely loved it. After Madagascar Thailand seems so developed, so cosmopolitan, so clean and efficient, so funky, such great food, such gentle people, and surtout, such great shopping! Ok, if you are looking for shoes with heels lower than 4 inch, or a bra size over 75A you'll have a hard time. But for clothes, books, running shoes, souvenirs, funcky jewerly and gadgets Bangkok is the place to be!

Shop Until Your Drop in Bangkok

I took a many-star hotel in the heart of the city, at a stone's throw from major malls and from the test center. Had a Starbucks latte, a Big Mac and great Thai food like Tom Ka and. Literally shop until you drop. Everything was perfect and went well, except euhhh…the test.

My First Malagasy Pumpkin

2011-10-25T06:11:00.000-07:00

There is always a first time for everything. Even for pumpkin carving. Even in Madagascar. Even for me.

Scary costumes please

As kids we'd only vaguely heard about Halloween, something with pumkins and horror stories. It's only since we've been living abroad, and have met many Americans that I know Halloween. And I've come to really like it! But only when it's about wearing scary costumes, not just any costume. Of course you can argue about the defination of scary, and my friends Johnson and Johnsen's outfits as Amy Winehouse and WWE Wrestler definately count as scary to me! But wearing a jester hat, being little red riding hood, or slipping into a Hawai shirt does not scare me at all. I want to see blood!

Pumpkin carving for beginners

Pumpkin thin'

In Tana we are invited to several Halloween parties, and the American school is organizing a Trick or Treat this Friday. Soleine has her witches' outfit ready. But a whole new world opened to me when we were at a pumpkin carving party. Amazing really. The Americans always have plenty of gadgets; they had pumpkin knives, scoops, mini saws and what not. It was actually much easier to do than I had imagined. Of course I stayed at beginner's level of two triangles as eyes and a ragged mouth, but it looked quite good.

Sarah Palin

Seeing our friend Johnson pricking holes in the pumpkin with a pin fork for over three hours really puzzled me. What was he doing? And why did it take so long? When it was finally finished I could not see much on the pumpkin. Until he put a light in it...One bloody good example of pumpkin carving for advanced users. WOW.

Happy Halloween! Happy Carving!

Advanced pumpkin carving: BEFORE

Advanced pumpkin carving: AFTER

Super School Trip

2011-10-05T23:03:00.000-07:00

With Alice Pippitt, Soleine's teacher

Picture yourself at the age of seven. Now try to relive that exciting feeling of going on a school trip!!

Remember the beardy, big-bellied bus driver? The song singing, the warm sandwiches in the lunchbox, the sleepless night before departure, the sticky hands? And hiding under the seat when the bus arrived back at school to let the awaiting parents believe the bus is empty? I remember all of this vividly. But as hard as I am trying now, I can for the love of God not remember where we went or what we did.

Just like chicken

Soleine went on her first real school trip yesterday - on a bus that is. To the Crocodile Farm near the Airport in Tana. Exciting that she was! The bus driver was not big and beardy but bald and beardless. The warm sandwiches were actually cold rice and chicken. There were no sticky hands (thanks to the mother of American inventions: sanitizer) but sun burn and mosquito bites, despite sun screen and mozzie cream.

The songs were about a boy called Tim, who went into tub to see if he could swim. And something about a lady with an alligator purse. How appropriate. Because at the croc farm you can buy croc leather shoes and eat crocodile meat. "Tastes just like chicken, mama".

Spot the animals

The trip had an educational purpose, the Grade 2 kids had just learned about amphibia, reptiles, birds and mammals in class. I hope she will remember any of this, and if not, she can read back this blog and see the pictures that she (yes!) took during the school trip. But personally I need some help, can you spot the animals in the photos? I can not even see them, let alone tell you whether they are amphibia, reptiles or mammals!
I am afraid I'm not much of a rabbateur. You?

There should be something in this picture somewhere

It's probably just swimming under water

And you are?

Huh?

Is it a leaf or something else?

The brown thing on the top is a branch, there should be a snake in here somewhere!

Le Rabbateur

2011-09-28T10:52:00.000-07:00

The Trivet Maker

It amazes me each day how many professions one can find in Madagascar. Many of them no longer exist in our society (or don't exist yet!), such as the milkman, the knife sharpener, the glass bottle collector, the garbage sorter, the basket weaver, the sausage maker, the firewood seller, the sock darner, the wash woman, the green-leaf grinder, the herbalist, the wool spinner, the rope twister, the car washer, the DVD copier, the ID-card laminator, the baby hat knitter, the exhaust pipe welder, the chair upholsterer, the MP3 song downloader, the trivet maker...

Shall I go on?

I am making this list up as I'm writing, but there is actually an excellent photobook entitled: Madagascar, Le grand livre des petits metiers, by Laurence Vanpaeschen.

Special skills

I really did not realize there were so many ways to make (a very modest) living. Then there is the 'rabbateur'. Something I had never heard off before coming to Madagascar. A rabbateur is an animal spotter. He is like a guide but with a specialty to spot rare animals like lemurs and chameleons. The rabbateur has the eye, he can make the animal sounds to lure them, he can climb in trees or run upon hills. In short, he too has some pretty special skills.

Lemur on the phone

Not long ago we visited the Ranomafana national park in Madagascar. Our rabbateur was able to spot many animals, including rare birds, hidden spiders and a camouflaged chameleon not bigger than my pinky. But what amazed me most was that this and most rabbateurs in Madagascar are using new technologies; they actually have animal sounds on their mobiles. Our rabbateur proudly told us he had ten different lemur cries on his Nokia! Luckily he was out of battery when we were there!

Fete du Pain

2011-09-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

Today was a special day for me and for the center for steetchildren I volunteer at. We were invited to participate at la Fete du Pain, a big event near the Tana train station, organized by LMM - Les Moulins de Madagascar - a large flour mill in Antsirabe. The objective of the day was to promote flour, and bread, and cakes, and rolls, and baguettes, and croissants, and..... Well you get the picture, right?

Bread versus Rice?
You may wonder why such basic products like flour and bread need any special promotion in Madagacar?

General rehearsal, Wednesday 4.35 PM

Well, that is because Madagascar is traditionally a rice-consuming nation. It's rice, rice and rice again here. Three times per day preferably.

LMM reopened his mill in Antisrabe a few months ago, and to celebrate this event they organized a day with baking demonstrations, speeches, workshops for bakers, and the like.

Hand-embroidered bread bags
As I am friends with Mark and Karen Reed, he is the administrateur general de LMM,sometime in June we were brainstorming about this day. I then proposed that the streetchildren of the Akanifitahiani center could make hand-embroidered sacs a baguette. as a nice give-away for the invitees. They liked the idea, and more even, they asked the children to come and sing some songs, and Alex to make a speech to promote the center.

The Real Deal...this morning Thursday 11.55 AM

Petit Pain au Chocolat
So there I am breaking my head over finding a song in French that has anything to do with bread. Then Michel helps my out...Joe Dassin's famous Petit Pain Au Chocolat! Yes, got it. We rehearse and rehearse. And finally went for general rehearsal on stage yesterday.

The big day
Today was the big day. The LMM bus picked up the kids at 11 AM, we dressed them in their LMM caps and t-shirts and went on stage. They sang like nightingales!

And as far as their preference for rice or bread is concerned...these pictures speak for themselves!

Boers TV

2011-09-15T22:51:00.000-07:00

C-c-c-cold
I am sure I already told you that it can get fricking cold here in Tana. Don't ask me why but this week King Winter decided he wanted to stay on for a little while, giving us all the chils and shivers. I am talking 11 to 15 degrees Celcius. For some reason I am always 'underdressed', as if I refuse to believe that it can get really cool in a tropical country. I never seem to learn..

Our very own boers TV

In the evenings we sit and watch our fire place. Which reminds me of a great expression the Afrikaner Boers in South Africa use: they call the fire the 'boers TV', or farmers TV. Watching the fire in the bush is like watching TV. Cute.

Smoke from the tellie?
So we were quietly watching our boers TV last night, until smoke started to appear from our 'television'. (I reckon that 80% of fire places in Tana are not properly built and 'leak' smoke). That was the end of the boers TV and we switched back to Canal Satellite, to watch Ajax and Lyon draw blank in the Amsterdam Arena. Nice to have teenage son at home...

A Carrot with a Disability?

2011-09-07T00:41:00.000-07:00

I have started a consultancy assignment for UNICEF. A very interesting job, to conduct an assessment of UNICEF's partners' capacities in order to develop an overall capacity strengthening plan for partners and UNICEF staff. How I will manage to capture all the different levels of competence - organizational, technical and cross cutting, of over 400 different partners divided over 6 sectors (health, education, protection, nutrition, HIV AIDS etc) into one plan is still a big question to me, but that will be for later concern.

Range of target groups
UNICEF has quite a large program in Madagascar, with many different target groups. I name a few: teachers, students, primary school students, parents of students, infants, children up to 59 months, youth, mothers, pregnant women, breastfeeding mothers, sex workers, MSM (Men having Sex with Men), local authorities, doctors and health personnel, girls at risk of abuse, boys at risk of abuse, persons with a handicap, etc. All together this can cover almost the whole population of Madagascar, except perhaps the odd male rice farmer, tough I am sure he's targeted in some of the nutrition projects.

Handicapped? Or disabled?
What strikes me most with working with the UN is the jargon. For example I wrote: person with a handicap. Can we still say that? Or should it be 'disabled person', or 'person with disability', or 'differently-abled person', or invalid? Terminology changes over time, and for the best. Saying: 'a disabled person' actually implies that the entire person is disabled, which is nonsense. I kind of like the 'differently abled' word, though it almost implies something positive...

Carrots with a disability
Anyway, I thought of all this when our gardener pulled at a bunch of carrots that Soleine planted in her little garden some months ago. They came all kind of handicapped. With half a leg, or shriveled up bottoms. I have no idea why, can anyone tell me? Have they been in the soil for too long? Is it because the seeds were thrown in haphazardly, like they do here in Mada?

And the final question: should we call a carrot with a handicap, or with a disability? Or differently-abled carrots? Ha ha! What say you?

Where the *&%$ is my Sugar?

2011-08-30T05:27:00.000-07:00

So we've landed back in Tana. Usually I feel a little rocky when traveling between the first and third world, if I may use this old-fashioned, politically incorrect term. My mother's favorite saying that translates into something like: men may travel on a horse but the soul follows on foot, is even more accurate these days when you can cross a distance of 5,000 miles in 11 hours.

Lost in my own home
Although I am used to living in two worlds, returning to our house in Mada felt different this time. I took a rather long break, the longest ever, during which time I did not think very often about Madagascar. I have to admit that in my country, Holland, Madagascar does not really live. Anyway, when we came back home last night after having traveled in six countries where we slept in at least 20 different beds, I had the strangest sensation: I felt lost in my own house. Literally. For example: I could not find the sugar anymore, nor the coffee cups and I kept opening the wrong cup boards. This has never happened to me before. For a little while I thought I was having a few senior moments, but my daughter had the same: she too could not locate the sugar anymore!

Home is where...
Fortunately it was only a matter of time, after a day I opened all the right kitchen cabinets again. But it made me re-think about the question: where is my home? What does 'home' mean to me? Home is where the heart it, says the famous proverb, but what does that mean? Is my heart where my family is, where my roots are, where I'm working and living, or where I can find the sugar without any trouble. These questions are particularly valid being an expat.

I've found my answer: home is where I open the kitchen cabinets and at once find exactly what I need without any hesitation!

A Taste of Madagascar in Belgium

2011-08-17T02:31:00.000-07:00

To get a visa for Antoine, my stepson who will come live with us in Mada for two years, we went to the Madagascar Embassy in Brussels yesterday. Michel had prepared the visa application very rigorously and as such it was not a problem: we got a three-month courtesy visa in no time. Amazing!

Madagascar restaurant
To celebreate this remarkable event we went to the one and only Malagasy restaurant in the Belgium. Probably the only restaurant from Madagascar in northern Europe. Located at St Catherine Place in Brussels, a hip neighborhood where you can eat from all continents in the world, it's called Madagasaskari and it's very small but cute. On the menu are of course Malagasy national dishes like Ravototo, Romazava and brochettes. The mango and guave juices are not fresh but bottled yet very tasty. They even have Three Horse Beer and rum arrangé - rum flavoured with vanilla or pepper. The restaurant is owned by Thierry and his wife, - he happens to be the son of friends of ours in Tana. Thierry explains that there are about 250 Malagasy in Belgium, this sounds about the same as the number of Belgians in Madagascar. Only 5% of his clientele isactually from Madagascar, he estimates, but they are proud to have a national restaurant in Belgium.

Cute decor

Comparing the goods
Of course we could not help comparing the dishes from Madagaskari restaurant with those in the real Madagaskari. Our verdict: as tasty for sure...but the portions and prices are disproportionate. A Malagasy from Madagascar would fall of his dining chair when he'd see the miniscule portion of rice and the big prices. Obviously - and understandably - they have been adapted to the context of being in hippest area of the capital of Europe. And that is worth something too.

Brochettes with peanut sauce - yummie

Madagaskari restaurant owner Thierry and us in Brussels

When in Rome ...

2011-07-28T03:46:00.000-07:00

Not many Romans at the Colosseum, lots of Bangladeshi!

When in Rome do as the Romans do....I could not help thinking about this proverb when I visited my friend Karen in Rome last week. Visiting Rome was like a dream come true. Didn't somenone say 'First see Rome, then die? No that was Napels. The other proverb: 'Rome was not built in one day', yes that is clear from walking around those massive, impressive bridges, fountains, churches and theaters. But I most like 'When in Rome do as the Romans do'. But what does that mean? What do Romans do, actually? I suppose they do not visit the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Fontana di Trevi, the Vatican, like us tourists. Here's my selection of what Romans do after spending five days in the most beautiful city in Europe.

Have coffee all day long: Espresso Lungo, Macchiata, Ristretto. Hot, strong and cheap - sometimes only 50 cents. However: a Roman will NEVER order a Cappuchino after dinner!

Metro and busses: Cheap and easy

Take the metro: Rome has a relatively small but efficient metro network. The bus is also great and cheap, one Euro for 75 minutes! Romans want to extend their metro network but as soon as they start digging they stumble onto some old foundations of century-old buildings. End of the digging.

Capreza in well known colours

Eat eat eat. Starters, first dish, second dish, sweets, coffee with liqueur. Pizza, pasta of course, but also Carpaccio, Caprese, Bruscheta, Vitello Tonnato, Osso Bucco, Pancetta, Pana Cotta, Limoncello and Grappa.

Drink drink drink. Wine for lunch and dinner; Italy is still the biggest wine producer in the world. Or drink water the many water fountains.

Drive cars and Vespa's Italian style. Like in any big city traffic is plenty in Rome, Vespas and Motorninos (scooters) are a huge pain for drivers, and parking is limited. Double parking, completely blocking off the right lane of a street seems totally acceptable in Rome.

Over 300 flavoursof ice cream

Go into the Gelateria. I fully subscribe to that habit! Italian gelato is famous and rightly so. We went in every day, had two favours each (we were three) every day, hence we had 30 flavours. I think we covered maybe only a third of all available flavours, if that.

Via Condotti: unafordable but nice

Buy shoes. Shopping can be done at the famous Via dei Condotti, if you have a big cheque book, or at any shop with saldi (sales) during summer. Lovely, fine Italian shoes in abundance.

Karen and I with our brand new shoes

Get out of the city in the weekend. It was not very hot in Rome when we were there, but the thermometer can easily hit over 40 degrees Celsius during summer. Many Romans have holiday homes at the sea or the lakes surrounding the city. My friend too,in Trevignano Romano.

And if that is not enough to do during a short holiday, do not forget to visit the Fontana di Trevi to make a lucky wish. Then throw in a coin with your right hand over your left shoulder. This guarantees that you will return to Rome...

Making a wish at the Trevi Fountain

We'll be back!

Op de Fiets!

2011-07-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

I will share a little secret with you. My daugher is almost seven years old now (six and three quarters as she likes to say) and she can not yet ride a bicycle... What's the big deal, you may ask?

Well, it is a BIG deal for a Dutch girl where children learn to ride a bike when they're three, or four. Everywhere you see mothers with boys and girls much younger than Soleine riding to and from school. Embarrassing really. So why hasn't she learned it? We never have had proper roads where you could learn to ride a bike safely. In Belize we lived on a dirt road, in Madagascar roads are too narrow and dangerous.

When I went to Ireland last week to see my friend Catherine and her daughter Zoe the conditions were perfect. A large enough yard with a concrete path around the house, and a purple bicycle just her size. It took her two and half days to learn how to ride. She was ready for it.

Soleine op de fiets and Tuurtje buurtje

Back in Holland at my brother's house now. The 8-years old neighbor boy Tuurtje het Buurtje kindly lent his bike to this girl who lives in Madagascar, speaks three languages, and who has learned to ride a bike in Ireland. Strange but true!

Madagascar Wins Award for Being Most Photogenic Country

2011-06-19T01:35:00.000-07:00

Look at these pictures! Madagascar really deserves this award...which has been invented by me :-)

Pictures shot by our Belgian friend Micheline Reusch on their two-week trip in Madagascar: Tana - Antsirabe - Ranomafana National Park- Isalo National Park, Tulear - Tana - Nosy Be - Ankarana National Park - Diego.

Thanks Michou!

Dear Gerard

2011-06-06T22:43:00.000-07:00

We don't get a lot of entertainment here in Tana. There's no movie theater, no opera house, there are no international sports matches, or things like that.

So when I saw on billboards in Tana that a famous French singer would give a concert, I jumped at the opportunity. I am talking about Gerard Lenorman, whose hits were huge in the seventies, even in Holland. I say even because it is not common that French chansons reach beyond francophone boarders. But hits like 'La Ballade des Gens Heureux' and' Voici les Cles' are firmly ingrained in my song repertoire since childhood.

I started asking French friends here to join me to the concert, but got mostly negative replies. Why were they not in for an evening or nostalgia? Some remarked that he's now un vi couillon - an old fart. Well, he's 66 but should that mean the man can't sing anymore? I mean, did Frank Sinatra sing poorly at his tender old age?

Okay. I understand now. After the first song it became clear that he could not quite hit the high notes, or keep the long vowel sounds. Sorry Gerard, but your singing is not what it used to be. Your three musicians were not very energetic either. They seemed slightly embarrassed even...

Bonsoir Madagascar!
But you see, Gerard, this is not a problem! We, the audience will still enjoy your songs. I believe that a Malagasy audience is easy to entertain. We love to sing and are very receptive. But you have to entertain us! Shout: 'Bonsoir Madagascar', or say something in Malagache. Ask us to sing along. Engage us. Put up a show. Sitting on your bar chair is not enough...reinvent yourself!

Dissapointing
Was our clapping not as long or as loud as it used to be? I am sorry you felt like that. You were complaining weren't you? Were you disappointed in us, the audience? It was probably mutual...

Humor on the Street

2011-05-30T07:40:00.000-07:00

In Dutch we have the saying: de humor ligt op straat, or the humor is lying on the street. This is very true, even in Antananarivo where overpopulation and intense poverty can make it easy to lose your sense of humor. But a quick visit to the bakery beneath my office made my day - when I saw the poster on the door.

No further comment...only that in Malgache language the last syllable is not pronounced!

Piggy Bank

2011-05-26T10:45:00.000-07:00

Today I went on a little field trip and learned something really interesting. The trip was to see some land that will be used for planting crops to feed the streetchildren in Alex's center I'm supporting.

As we are walking around to talk to village chiefs and farmers, I notice quite a few pigs roaming around.
Alex explains to me that they are Vahaza pigs, foreign pigs, or white pigs, and indeed they look foreign. And white. They're watching me with their piggy little eyes with pink eyelashes.

The village chiefs explains that when you feed them well, pigs can grow up to a 100 kg and can be sold for lots of money. But food is expensive and feeding a pig to reach 100 kg can take up a full year.

Malagasy farmer and his Piggy Bank

"Feeding my pigs daily", the farmer explains, "is like saving money for later".

It then dawns to me...A PIGGY BANK! In Dutch we call it 'spaarvarken' (savings pig) and in french it's cochon tirelire. I never before wondered why pigs are always associated with savings.

Now I know!

p.s. I of course googled the etymology of piggy bank and on Wikepedia it's mentioned from the Middle-English word 'pygg', a type of clay to make jars. Obviously the authors of this Wiki-nonsense have never been to Madagascar :-)

Taking the Dead for a Little Dance

2011-05-16T01:03:00.000-07:00

I have lived abroad long enough to know there are many ways to deal with death and the dead. I know first hand that our values and funeral customs are not the same as others.

When my 80-year old father passed away earlier this year, his body was placed in a open casket at our parental house, and we the children, surrounded him with things he liked in life: a set of playing cards, an ashtray, his carnival costume and his favorite sweater (named: 'truitje')

Beer and sausage rolls
After the church ceremony where we held speeches and read self-written poems that made people laugh, we brought him to a cemetery, some 10 kilometers out of town. The casket was lowered into the hole, we threw a handful of sand on it, and proceeded to a bar where we had beers and sausage rolls, just the way dad liked it.

Black or white
When our neighbor in Morocco died, her body was gone before we even knew she had passed. The burial had to be done within 24 hours. In Sri Lanka we once attended a gathering on the occasion of the tragic death of the son of a German colleague. I was dressed in black...the only one amidst all the Sri Lankans in white.

Comfort
Here in Tana death is everywhere. And I am not talking about the dead meat hanging on each street corner. I am referring to the many graves and crypts across the city. You can find them in between homes and houses, near schools and hospitals, just about everywhere. I assume it is kind of comforting, knowing that you late parents are just around the corner.

Tombs in Ambatobe, overlooking the city

Dance with the dead
What's really special in this country is the Famadihama ritual, or in French: le retournement des morts, the turning of the bones. It is a cultural custom for Madagascar families, once every seven years, to open the family grave, bring out the body which has been wrapped in cloths and carry it around for a little sway. The remains are then re-wrapped n clean cloth and put back. Family and friends are making music, dancing, eating and drinking rum - for those who can afford it.

Bye Pa
The Famadihama ritual is still performed regularly, though more and more families have abandoned it. My housekeeper for example, says it is way too expensive, and besides, her Christian churches discourages it.
Personally I find it slightly macabre, I prefer to take the R.I.P literally. Yet I would not mind to have my father buried near my home, I'd wave and say: 'Bye Pa', each time I drive my daughter to school.

Large family crypt on way to school

P.S. My driver gave me this little film - worth looking at!

Zoo in the Belly

2011-05-02T08:50:00.000-07:00

Did I ever mention that you can eat very well, here in Tana? Coming from Belize where the national dish was rice and beans, and beans and rice (I kid you not, and it's not the same dish!), we feel like we've landed in gastronomy paradise! The influences of the French cuisine are plenty: fois gras, duck confit, the best beef you've ever eaten, prawns, fresh fish, crispy baguettes, flaky croissants, fresh fruit juices...it's all easily available here. One of my favorite restaurant dishes is carpaccio: thin slices of raw meat or fish.

Fish carpaccio with lime and pink peppercorns - Palladios restaurant

Carpaccio de zebu with basil and Parmesan slices- Akoa restaurant

There are also plenty of local street delicacies, but the hygienic circumstances are often poor. I am not paranoid about hygiene or food, and I am not going to wash my vegetables with chlorine, but you have to be careful anyhow.

Last Friday I had lunch at La Plantation, a lovely, colonial-style restaurant which recently opened. As I am happily eating away my starter of vegetable flan on a bed of lettuce, I notice we have company: a tiny, brown worm is wiggling on my plate. Of course I am a little shocked, and so is the restaurant owner. He discounts the dish and offers free coffee. I know that even if you wash salad many times, you sometimes still find wiggly friends in it.

On my way home from the restaurant I remember the advice of an old friend who has been a tropical doctor his whole life. He always said: if you don't want to have a zoo in your belly, take Albendazol for intestinal parasites. It's effective against thread worm, pin worm, roundworm or whip worm.

Well, I have no idea what the little bugger in my salad was, but I don't need him or his friends in my belly.

Say goodbye the the zoo in your belly!

Karma -Chameleon!

2011-04-23T00:46:00.000-07:00

Travel in Madagascar, the country of lemurs and chameleons, and you will end up singing "I like to move it, move it", or "Karma Chameleon" more than you'd choose to. Once the tunes are in your head, it's very hard to get rid of it them. As we're driving back from a weekend trip to Vakona Forest Lodge (which is, by the way, lovely!) with our friends Olivier and Amena, we stopped at the Peyieras Exotic park.

It is a small park with chameleons, butterflies and crocs. Seeing those beautifully colored chameleons actually made me think about Boy George, where he sings loving would be easy if the colors were like my dream, red, gold and green, red, gold en green. Chameleons really are red, gold and green! Some of them at least.

Did you know that there are 50 different species of chameleon in Madagascar? Truly amazing with their grumpy faces, their curly tails and their 360 degree rolling eyeballs.

Karma Karma Karma Chameleon - Red Gold and Green...

But now I have to share a secret truth with you - something I have learned from my daughter Soleine's lessons at the American School. I hope I'm not bursting your bubble here but: chameleons can not change their color to blend into their surroundings.

They don't just change any color, they will not just switch to polka dots, or stars and stripes. Actually, most chameleons change between brown and gray.

Here's some chameleon facts:

- Each species has its own color range

- Chameleons change because of light or temperature
- They also change based on mood - when they're angry for example
- Their color changes by opening and closing cells named melanophores.

Is he changing in to stripes of Antoine's t-shirt?

Most chameleons are grey or brown

Okay this all may be true, but I still like to believe otherwise. Check this picture! This little one just turned purple to match my shirt!

This little one matches my purple t-shirt

Weltschmerz

2011-04-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's a first sign of a mid-life crisis, or just an expat-dip. Or for those who believe in numerology, could it be because I just started a new seven year-cycle of living abroad (the third actually!). Or is it because it's my seventh country? I don't know but I find living in Tana not easy at all.
For the first time in my life I'm having sleepless nights.

I'm feeling sorry for our night guard all the time, who has to stay awake all night (not that he does) and eat plain rice most of the days. We give him meat once per week, but I still feel bad. I feel horrible for the retarded mother with two children who spends entires days sleeping on a piece of grass in our street.

Pothole filler asking for money

I also feel pain for the school children walking bearfoot to school. I cringe at the old, teethless ladies knocking my car window with their skinny old hands, begging for a little money. My heart bleeds for the thousands of street vendors who try to make a daily living selling car seat covers. I turn away from the children going through the container garbage bins, and the guy who fills the potholes up with stones, and asks money for it. Everyone ignores him. Like the bloke in his wheelchair at the traffic lights, and the man with the bleeding stumps at the super market exit.

Urbain poverty is everywhere here in Tana. Everywhere. And I'm finding it more and more difficult to cope with. I think I am suffering from Weltschmertz. Yes, now that I know it has a name, I can actually write about it. Weltschmerz, or world pain is defined as psychological pain caused by sadness as a result of inappropriateness and cruelty in the world. I can tell you, there is lots of that here in Tana. It can cause depression, resignation, escapism, even suicide! Wow, well I don't think my case is that bad....

Now that we have defined it, there must also be remedies for it. I googled a little and came across the following tips:

gardening (then my gardener would be unemployed)
cooking (excuse me - which western housewife came up with that one?)
stand up and fight (I like that one, but I'm not Che Guevara)
lock yourself up in bedroom and watch the entire Season Three of Boston Legal (This one is mine -it helps, but not for long..)
do something good. Anything.

Other tips, anyone?

Alex in his Sunday Suit

I decided to do the last. With my efforts to help Alex and his center for street children I feel I am making a tiny, little, teensy-weensy, micro contribution to alleviate poverty for some children in Tana. Alex is a young man, 25, who grew up on the streets in Tana. He founded the center seven years ago. It provides lunch and schooling for nearly 300 street kids and other very poor children.Without the center, many of those kids would end up begging on the Route de Hydrocarbures, one of the main streets in the city.

I have created a new blog dedicated to raising ideas and money for Alex and his center. He deserves our help. www.Tanastreetchildren.blogspot.com

Lately Alex has been having sleepless nights. It is increasingly difficult to find money to pay for teachers salaries and rice for the children.
If anyone deserves to feel a little Weltschmerz it's him.

Wild and Foolish

2011-03-24T01:57:00.000-07:00

Some stories are just impossible to invent. The truth can be more incredible than be the most fantastic fiction. And more horrifying than a horror movie.

I went on a white water rafting trip last weekend. It was an organized tour that started in Ampefy, about 2 hours west from Tana, where the riverLily. Soleine was staying with a friend, and Michel was visiting a national park for his work. For many years I believe the term was ‘wild water rafting’, until I did it for the first time on the Zambezi in Zimbabwe. It’s called ‘white’ because there is so much water in the river that it turns white. I could have been called ‘wild’ too, for that matter.

Anyhow we start the trip after a security briefing where we are told how to paddle, and what ‘position securité’ is – all sit on the bottom of the raft with the paddle in the air. Off we go. The first rapid is actually quite a rough one, and we’re all pretty surprised by how ‘white’ (or wild) this rafting trip is. We are accompanied by a young French guy with dreadlocks in his kayak. He seems very able to steer his little plastic boat through the wildest waves. Our guide keeps yelling instructions to us : ‘right forward, left backward, stop, right frorward only’, etc and we happily bobbing on the river. But suddenly we seem to be stuck in something like a hole, in the river. I still don’t know what it was, how can there be a hole in the water, but that’s how it felt. The raft tilts, and all six of us plus the guide are forced to lean off to one side, because the violent water seems to want to push us over. We’re hanging there, trying to balance the boat, not knowing whether it might flip forward or backward.

Meanwhile the guide keeps shouting: ‘pagai, pagai’, which means paddle, he wants us to stick the paddle straight in front of us in the water, but it’s impossible to do so with one hand, I need the other hand to hold on to the rope. At last, one of the guys in our raft shouts that we should let go of the boat and save ourselves. I leave the paddle and am in the rough water for minutes. The water is not very deep, but there are big rocks, made out of volcanic stone that hurts like hell. I try to stay calm, but I go under water over and over, barely time to gasp some air before the next wave takes me further. I tumble along the river, lose my shoes, swallow liters of water, try to call for help but there’s nobody around. Suddenly I find myself in a quieter part of the river, and the safety kayak is there. I hang on to it and he helps me across the shore.

Still shaken we arrive at the Lily Waterfalls. Wow, quite impressive. Not like Victoria falls but certainly impressive. We’re just admiring the view and the steam that comes of the falls, until we hear that the two young French kayakers are going to descend the falls in their kayak. What? It seems like a foolish plan. We hardly dare to watch this scene, but they’re is doing it. At the same time, a young Swiss man named Luca from our raft has decided to jump off the falls. He’s all psyched up as he waits for the kayak to arrive, in his safety vest and helmet. He makes it. He climbs back up, and I talk to him, curious to know how he feels.

He’s is still trembling from the first jump. I can almost see his heart beat. I walk away from the scene, already deciding that we're no longer continuing with this rafting company. Enough dare-deviling. Then suddenly, before anyone realizes, the young Swiss decides to jump again! This time without safety vest and helmet! As he reappears from the waves he’s on his belly. The kayak guys who are still near the water are going in, trying to save him. To no avail. O My God. The body is washed away by the wild river. From above the falls, the other rafters are screaming. Groups of village people are crowding together in disbelieve. What happened? I will never know.

May he rest in peace.

Les chutes de Lily minutes before the fatal jump

Oh and my advice: don’t go rafting in Madagascar.

International Ladies Night in Tana

2011-03-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

On the occasion of the 100th international women's day on March 8, I hosted a girls nite...with all the different nationalities I've had the pleasure to get to know so far. From left to right: Huguette (Madagascar), Emmanuelle, Beatrice (France), Hasi (Inner Mongolia - China), Laura (Canada), Francoise (Burundi), Susan (USA), Caroline (Canada), Ietje (Netherlands), Britta (Germany), Joelle (UK), Soacha (Mada), Maude (France), Mioko (Japan), Tiana (Mada), Betsy (USA), Me and my beautiful daughter (NL/B), Angela (Brazil), Rina (Cannada). Some came later - as per typical Latina culture :-) Nieves (Venezuela), Clara (Colombia), Majory (Equador) - not on the pic but for my 'institutional' memory.

My personal collection of international women. Ha ha!

Long Live FB

2011-02-25T06:57:00.000-08:00

Thank you my little friends: Aida, Ivani and Soleine

Years ago I went to Senegal on a hot date (...). I was living in Trinidad, happened to be on work visit in Jamaica and flew from there to New York on my way to Dakar. The American boarder authorities and drug inspectors were very suspicious about my voyage and I remember being interrogated by an arrogant, a-hole customs officer for half an hour. But that's besides the point.

The point is that when I arrived in Senegal, it was my birthday. I already had a Yahoo account at the time, I am talking 10 years ago, and I received no less than 2 messages: one from my mom, one from Yahoo automatic birthday message service.

How things have changed! It is again my birthday today, and Facebook messages are flooding in from all over the world, by time zone, Sri Lanka, Zimbabwe, Belgium, Holland, UK, Morocco, New York City, Belize, Texas - thirty already! Now that feels like having your birthday. Cheers to Mark Zuckerman (or whatever his name is). And to all my friends of course, have a good one!

Soleine and her friends preparing mama's b-day cake

Are you four, are your five, are you six...keep counting girls!

Shoo...Shoe!

2011-02-05T03:52:00.000-08:00

Hmmm, the whole week I've been thinking what to blog about. Maybe about a new World Bank report I received in my inbox, putting figures to the political/economical crisis in Madagascar. It describes an 18% cut down in public expenditure in the past six months, major cuts in the national budgets for infrastructure, education and social affairs, in favor of the 'presidential' office, spectacular decreases of foreign investments by 29%, a 77% decrease in foreign aid, and a 35% decrease in foreign loans, off set by an equally spectacular new source of non-tax revenue of 100 million USD from a Chinese mining project. Comes with less strings attached surely, so why not let the Chinese dig away. No further comment...

Then again, I don't really want to blog about politics, crises or mining. I prefer to keep it light. So let me tell what happened to me a week ago. I had to buy shoes for my daughter. And while I believe what everybody says, - that you can buy everything in Madagascar; it's just a matter of searching hard,- I just did not feel like strolling on the markets and through the Chinese shops to be paying twice the price local people pay for a pair of pink plastic kicks that probably last only 3 months.

So I go into a real shoe boutique where they sell high quality leather shoes from Italy, as well as Geox. I quickly find a pair of cute trainers for Soleine, priced 240,000 Ar (87 euro, 118 USD). A bit on the expensive side, definitely Vahaza prices, but it's what we'd pay in Europe as well. I look around and around to see if there was anything cheaper. I hesitate some more, then persuade myself into buying them with my credit card. I pull out my card, walk over to the cashier, hand her the piece of plastic, she takes it, but... I am not letting go off it. I seem to be physically unable to hand her my card. A few seconds of pulling between me and the sales lady follow, after which I rush out of the shop with the card!

How embarrassing, she must have though I was one, big, fat, crazy, stupid Vazaha...but I was simply not able to pay the equivalent of a monthly salary (a good monthly salary) for a pair of purple girls' trainers.

P.s. later I found Jina, a French shoe shop where I bought four pairs for Soleine for the same price!

Growing Rice for Dummies

2011-01-28T05:13:00.000-08:00

The people in Madagascar eat incredible amounts of rice each day, for breakfast, lunch and dinner that is. With an average consumption of up to half a kilo per person per day, mostly home-grown, it is no wonder that the country is covered in rice fields, in all regions, and even in the city of Antananarivo.

Personally I am a potato lover, as many of my Dutch compatriots, including Vincent van Gogh who has named his famous painting The Potato Eaters after our 'gastronomical' habit. But having lived for more than twelve years in tropical countries, I can not escape the rice culture.

While living in Africa and Asia, I must have seen, crossed over, and passed by thousands of rice field in all possible shades of green. But not once have I ever asked myself how rice is grown...

Until this week!

For the first time with my feet in the rice paddy

I participated in a study visit with my new Aga Khan Foundation project. Twelve farmers and project staff from the Sofia region went to Ambatonradzaka to see a the largest rice cultivation area of Madagascar. The farmers, most of whom had never left their home town, had a blast! And so did I.

And boy, did I learn a lot. Too much to share on this blog, but here's a crash course on rice cultivation for dummies:

The Rice Rythm in Madagascar

There are roughly two campaigns per year - wet or dry zone, with the following steps:

Sowing seeds in the nursery: once sprouted plants are to be transplanted

Sowing germinated seeds

Cultivating the nursery: the young rice plants are picked to be transplanted

Girl picking and bundling rice plants

Preparation of the land: ploughing to prepare the soil for planting

Ploughing with help of Zubus

Or with help of a machine

Water management / irrigation: in the case of wetland rice, the field has to be filled with water

Water leading to various rice field

Transplanting (Repiquage): the young plants are transplanted

Planting the rice, usually done by women

Growing: rice fields have to be monitored. For dry zone rice, weeding and spraying may be needed

Spot the difference: rice or weed?

Pesticides are needed, so are gloves!

Et voila!

And lastly: Harvesting, Processing, Stocking and Eating 3 times per day!

This is what 80% of the Malagasy people do; year in, year out.

Bon appetit! I am going to stick to my potatoes...

The Potato Eaters by Vincent Van Gogh

How to Add Seven Years to Your Life in Madagascar

2011-01-18T07:32:00.000-08:00

We've been here for over 6 months now, and for the most I have good experiences. Apart from one... which really exhausts me sometimes.

Driving around in this city is really stressful, to say the least, mainly for three reasons:

1. People and traffic jams EVERYWHERE. People are walking on the street en masse, and you have to drive through markets and their hundreds of people.

2. It's horribly hot with the sun on your car - investing in air-conditioning seems worthwhile - and you can't open the windows because of stinky fumes and security issues (I always 'hide' my purse under the passenger's seat - you just never know)

3. There are millions of vendors and beggars. How many times per day can one politely decline to buy: 'Chanel' sunglasses and ditto perfume, Scrabble or Monopoly games, electrical mosquito rackets, dish towels, dust towels, beach towels, wash towels, whatever towels, sponges, car seat covers, Christmas lights and hats, mobile phone chargers, etc, etc

Sometimes it would take me 1.5 hours to come back home from work, and I would be physically exhausted. Not conducive for family life.

So I decided to hire a driver, like every other sensible expat man and woman here. But how to find a trust-worthy, not-too-old driver without B.O that lives nearby our house? Yes, these were my three criteria. I know, typical female. A man would probably ask for an experienced driver with a valid driver's license who knows his way around the city and can change a tire.

I am being driven around like a princess...

To cut a long story short: I have found my driver. His name is Tina and he came highly highly recommended, from three different sources. He is young, he smells fresh, and lives at 5 minutes walking distance from our house. There's only one thing. He just doesn't look like a driver. But then again, my mother always taught me not to judge a book by its cover, didn't yours?

I am so happy to be driven around here. It saves my day, I can drink coffee in the car, read a book, send text messages, and, most of all, I come home without feeling stressed. I just added seven years to my life!

Meet Tina! (pronounce Teen)

The Ocean...Enfin!

2011-01-06T10:20:00.000-08:00

Madagascar is an island but so far I never once felt being surrounded by oceans. Until we went on a Christmas holiday to Nosy Be, local language for Big Island. It's off the North-Western coast of Madagascar, "near" Mozambique. We drove from Tana to Mahajanga, in 3 days, a lovely road trip, and spent one night in a national park Ankarafansika, managed by MNP or Madagascar National Parks which is Michel's project.

The park itself is nice enough, but what was really cool is that we made this interesting and unique discovery: a huge canyon eroded by water, turned into some sort of gigantic sand castle. Amazing, going down the canyon was like walking in a deserted city made of golden sand. Never seen such landscape before and with the sun setting on it, it was truly unique: It made me feel like being in a Harry Potter novel.

We then stayed one night in Mahajanga, nothing interesting there, to fly to Nosy Be, a stunningly beautiful island, Now I will let the photo's tell the story.

The one and only Baobab in Ankarafansika

Michel on the Swing Bridge

Sand City

Like a huge sand castle on the beach - sand cathedral rather

Antonio

View from hotel Anjiamarango beach resort

Soleine met fietsenrek!

View from our room!

Why Is This TV Turned Off?

2010-12-20T23:14:00.000-08:00

Guess: Why is This TV off?

A. We’re participating in ‘No TV week’

B. We’re saving energy by watching on odd days only

C. A cockroach family has nested itself inside the TV

D. Lighting struck our house and destroyed ALL our electrical equipment

Damn damn, the answer is number D. It’s one of those things that are only supposed to happen to other peopls..until it happens to you! Bummer.

Last Friday Soleine and I are playing games by candle light because power has gone off in our home. It’s raining and there’s a thunderstorm. We’re counting the seconds between lighting and thunder, it still far away. Suddenly the house gets lit up followed immediately by the loudest sound I have ever heard. Sparks of fire are flying around in your garden. Holy cow.

Sensor box exploded after lightning struck

We’re fine, because I had switched of our modem as well as the multiplug in the TV corner. When it turns out that the power has returned to all our neighbors’ homes we’re learning the horrid truth: lightning has struck a sensor box that controls our garden lights placed on our pine tree. The box has exploded, but that’s not all! It appears that the lighting power (what voltage would that be - I have no internet to look it up) has gone into the electricity cable connected to that sensor. Two fuses burnt, but Michel manages to repair those. Power to the house is restored.

We’re still thinking we got away without major damage until we turn on the TV. Nothing. CD player? Nothing. DVD player? Nothing. Modem? Nothing, Telephone? Nothing… Today we got confirmation from the shops and repairmen…all our electrics are fried! Beyond repair. The only thing in our living room that is still working is our Christmas tree.

Lesson learned for the season, when in thunderstorm:

PULL ALL PLUGS YOU CAN FIND IN YOUR HOUSE OUT OF THEIR SOCKET!!!!!!

Merry Christmas anyway.

Keeping in Touch with the Dutch

2010-12-06T07:22:00.000-08:00

Everywhere in the world you can find Dutch people - whether you like it or not - traveling is in our blood. In Madagascar there is a small community of Dutch people that gets together at least twice a year. On April 30 to celebrate our Queen's birthday, and on December 5 to celebrate the birthday of Sinterklaas. Who? St Nicholas. Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children and sailors, and the basis for Santa Claus, the mythical holiday figure in the US.

I like to think of Sinterklaas and Santa Claus as brothers. How else am going to explain my 6-year old?

Sinterklaas is always accompanied by a couple of "Zwarte Pieten', these are his helpers. They're black because they come through the chimney. It has nothing to do with race or Africa or whatsoever, but you can image the confusion by African people when they see white people dressed up as a black persons. Some people find this not P.C. but to them I see B.S, it's just a children's story...

Anyhow...last Sunday Sinterklaas and his Zwarte Piet finally arrived in Madagascar. Not on his traditional white horse, but in a Malgashy zebu cart! With sunglasses. So fun!

Sinterklaas arriving on his zebu cart

Zwarte Piet, black with soot from the chimney

Dutch Kiddo's in Madagascar

Meet Alex and Akany Fitahiana

2010-11-30T03:08:00.000-08:00

Being Dutch, Thanksgiving does not mean anything to me. But when my American friend Shannon McAfee said she'd organize a Thanksgiving lunch for 250 street children, I was happy for the opportunity to help.

There are many many street children in Tana, and it breaks my heart to see their dusty faces, snotty noses, poor-teethed smiles, and sad eyes. Most seem to have lost the innocent look of a child.

This is how I met Alex (26), a very special guy. A former street child himself - his pretty but poor mother was abandoned by his rich father in a not so pretty way, taking away all the possessions in their house and leaving the children on the streets. He got lucky, a stranger (?) met him and decided to pay for his education. Alex managed to finish his secondary school diploma and studied IT. He then found a job as an assistant manager, making a decent living and with his first earnings he opened, at the age of twenty, his centre d'acceuil Akany Fitahiana to help some of the the thousands of enfants de la rue.

Alex with Malala (16),
her dad's a drug addict

Alex with Tanteroka (13)
born on the street

Alex is now 26. His center provides education, life skills and occasional meals for 255 children between the age of two and sixteen - he started with 18 kids. He also finds hosts families in the neighborhood where the homeless children can stay for the night.

Soleine's helping to serve a Thanksgiving meal - no, not turkey

Most kids were up since 6 AM...waiting hours for the feast to start

Pretty girls, but oh so serious..

These are hard times in Madagascar. Since the crisis started in 2009, the transitional government hasn't provided much support to the underprivileged. The center is on the brink of closing down. They're in need of pretty much everything: proper toilets, lights, school materials, toys, clothes, underwear, tooth brushes, food, soap; you name it.

I am going to keep in touch with Alex, see what I can do to help.

You're welcome to help too!

The typical sad look of a child that has never known innocence

At least we managed to make this one smile...

How to Talk Yourself into Someone's Bedroom

2010-11-24T05:32:00.000-08:00

Today I have discovered the best way to talk yourself into someone’s bedroom! Just kidding, or… not really. I just completed my first field trip in Madagascar by visiting a dozen rural bedrooms in and around Maevatanana.

For my work as a consultant for PSI, an American NGO, I am involved in the monitoring of a large mosquito net distribution campaign. PSI is distributing more than 5.5 million nets all over Madagascar, in 6 days. The campaign is part of a world wide effort to roll back malaria, financed by USAID, Global Fund, and others.

It sounds pretty easy, right? Just go door-to-door and hand over one net for every three people in each house. Well, it's not really.

Firstly, there are no records about the number of houses or how many members each household has. That makes it hard to plan logistics.

Secondly, it’s not enough to just hand out mosquito nets; people need to know why they need them, how to hang them up, and what to do with the packaging which is contaminated with insecticide, for example. Also we need to know exactly how many nets have been distributed. We cooperate with existing authorities, such as health centers, village chiefs, and community agents. They all need to be informed, trained, compensated, monitored, and supervised.

To give you some stats:

Number of mosquito nets (think: importation, boarder formalities, storage, transportation, distribution) : 5.5 million
Total population (think: inform them when to get it, how to use it – not for fishing or as curtains!): 13.329.250 people
Number of locations: 72 districts divided into 11.131 divisions (think: some of them are two days walking distance from the distribution point, a pack can weigh up to 30 kilos)
Number of community agents: 41,134 (think: equip all of them with forms and tools for the campaign).
Total campaign costs : around USD 8M, excluding the costs of the nets. This comes down to one dollar and 45 cents per net which last 2 years, or less than a dollar per person.

Get the picture? It’s big. My humble task is to help with the monitoring, making sure the records are kept and that data are being entered and analyzed (think: databases, computers, typists) for the final report.

I had to go see for myself how this is all working out. And you know what? In the region I went it worked out G-R-E-A-T. All the households I visited- by surprise - had their nets hanging happily. At all the sites I've seen people buried the trash ‘comme il faut’.

Of course, the real impact in terms of malaria reduction can only be measured after some time, and there were many logistical and political hiccups to overcome during the distribution, but my impression still stands: NE(A)T.

So, sleep tight Maevatanana, don't let the mozzies bite!

Sleep well, US and European tax payers, rest assured: your money has reached the poorest of the poor, the 'farest' of the far, all the way on the mystical island of Madgascar (it rhymes!).

66 packs of 50 nets and 174 packs of 20 nets still in stock

Community mobilizer in rural commune

Children under 5 yrs are the most vulnerable to malaria

Bags are taken off the nets and buried before distribution, to prevent nets from being sold

En route to yet another bedroom!

Blue is better than white, as white is for covering the dead.

For the first time in his life he will sleep under a net

During the day the nets are put up

Boy resting in his parents bed

Sleep tight - Maevatanana, don't let the mozzies bite!

The Coup - Putsch - Overthrow

2010-11-19T02:46:00.000-08:00

It's done. For the first time ever in my life I stocked up on food. Well, that is to say: I bought items that I don't immediately need. I am talking about two packs of sugar, an extra pack of butter, a kilo of flour, 12 liters of water for example. Ha ha, I know that won't last us very long. I also got other 'essentials' like movies and red wine. There happened to be a wine promotion at the Jumbo; these supermarket managers sure are clever.

I felt so bad with my huge cart stacked with groceries. I'm just not a bulk person. Growing up in a family of eight you'd think I would be used to it, but I am not. We lived walking distance from the Albert Hein Supermarket in my village, and almost every day my mom sent me out to buy a few quick groceries, never the big quantity planner either. Obviously here it feels even worse: the lady before me at the vegetables weighed one single banana. One! Compared to her my cart was obscene.

Our 'essentials' to help us through the 'coup d'etat' :-)

Anyhow, the reason I am doing this is of course: The Coup! Yes we had a real 'coup d'etat' here two days ago. At least, according to the media. Suddenly I got emails and FB message from all over the world - we happen to be global citizens - asking us about the coup. The bizarre thing is: we don't know anymore than you do! The referendum itself was calm, we all stayed home and read on the internet that a group of 20 military guys declared a coup d'etat. I did not know it was so easy to do. Honestly, I don't really understand the intricacies and the whys and the whos, and if I did I would not blog about it anyhow.

All I know are the personal consequences for us, so far

My field trip got cancelled, real bummer
We're not supposed to go near the airport, for fear of attacks on the army camp close by
I just bought an embarrassing amount of groceries
The first-ever US Marine ball in Tana which was supposed to take place this Saturday, has been postponed. Major backlash for the beauty parlors tomorrow!
We can't plan anything ahead as nobody has any information about when or if the .. hits the fan

Lastly, a thing that really bugs me is this: In English we use the French word coup d'etat, while the French use the German word 'putsch' (what kind of a word is that anyway?). So, would it only be logic that in German they use an English term like overthrow? But they don't, they have their own German word, Staatsstreich. Not logical, people.

Morondava Avenue of the Baobabs

2010-11-17T07:59:00.000-08:00

Here's another article by my guest writer.

The majority of visitors to the region of Madagascar come here solely to see one of the most famous natural sights in the entire African continent: the Avenue of the Baobabs... and rightly so. After all, these trees, which have straight trunks that can reach a height of 30 metres, are a stunning sight which looks particularly magical at sunset.

Perhaps the most famous of the trees is the one named 'Les Baobabs Amoureux' and, although situated a bit further away from the main avenue than some of the largest trees, it's worth making the journey to see it. There are organised tours you can take that will show you the major sights, or you can hire a bicycle and attempt the lengthy bike ride between the beach at Morondava and the avenue. If you do decide to do this, make sure you take a decent cycle repair kit as the roads aren't in great condition and the track is sandy for the final few kilometres as you approach the trees.

There is, however, so much more to this region than just the Avenue of the Baobabs. Morondava itself is a laid back beach town that promises relaxation and gorgeous weather in equal measure. With white sandy beaches and crystal clear seas that are perfect for cooling off in after a day of sunbathing, the town is the perfect antidote to the hustle and bustle of some of Madagascar's larger towns and cities.

There are a number of small hotels and restaurants dotted along the beach, with many owned by Europeans who made the trip out to Morondava and never returned. Similarly, there are a few American and Australian hoteliers who have managed to transform their establishments into destinations a far cry from the sort of Sydney hotels or New York hotels they've grown up with. These hotels and restaurants tend to serve the traditional Malagasy fare you grow to expect whilst touring the country (the prawns here are amazing) but also some decent pasta dishes and meat dishes.

Accommodation can be slightly more expensive here than in other parts of the country, partly because of the stunning surroundings and partly because the town is so small, so make sure you do your research carefully before booking.

The Referendum

2010-11-12T00:58:00.000-08:00

The interim government in Madagascar is organizing a constitutional referendum next week. I believe this is a step in the right direction, as it had previously been postponed 'indefinitely' for lack of a constitutional draft.

The main reason for the referendum is a proposal to decrease the official age to become president of the country from 50 to 35 years. This is so that the current interim president, former mayor and DJ in his mid-thirties, can be elected in next year's election. Kind of funny, don't you think?

What is less funny is that the prelude to the referendum always seems to have go together with riots. Indeed, there are demonstrations and troubles in Tana - though it's still on a small scale.
We get messages through the French Embassy to avoid certain areas down-town.

It causes major traffic jams in a city that is already hyperly jammed. This week it took me an hour-and-twenty minutes to get to work. I can now join the ranks of the millions of Dutch people who spend more than 50 minutes per day to travel to work. I just read this week that the Dutch officially have the longest commuting times in Europe (OESO -2010)!!

Also, the Americans advise us to stock up on milk and cooking oil. Internationally however, nobody seems to know or care, and googling 'riots' and 'Madagascar' only brings up pages from 2009 and 2002. So I take it it's not that serious; well, who knows? Should I run to the supermarket and load my cart with milk?

I don't know. I'm thinking...if we're out of milk, we'll drink something else. Beer for example :-). Beer never runs out in a country. Because that will be cause of serious rioting!

EPFD

2010-11-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

The French influences in Madagascar are obvious and omnipotent. Of course they ruled for many years, and still today there are at least 15,000 French living in Madagascar - more than in Algeria, Cote d'Ivoire or Senegal.

I'd like to write about the positive influence of the French in Madagascar. It has four letters: E-P-F-D. Everybody knows the French love their food.

French influence in Tana

When we get invited by French friends, the meals last long. It's like dining in a 4-star restaurant, with an entree, plat principal, fromage and dessert, or EPFD as I call it. When there are other French guests the dinner conversation turns around what they like to eat, where the best artichokes are from (Bretagne), how awful the lamb meat in Madagascar is (true), where to buy the best strawberries (nowhere), who makes the best French bread in Tana (Divina bakery), and how to make an excellent rillette de porc (with pig head, love and patience).

After a year-and-a-half of rice and beans and beans and rice in Belize, where the culinary highlight of our week was Sunday lunch in a Chinese restaurant, we are really truly enjoying the food in Madagascar. The choice of charcuterie (cut meats), cheeses, fresh crispy baguettes, duck meat, fois gras... all the good French food has been well adopted here. Of course you have to dig deep in your pockets but there's always the local variant for which you pay half or less.

Made in Madagascar

One good thing I noticed is that eating well seems to be contagious! Not a culinary person by nature to say the least - I'am more the bread and peanut butter type - I do enjoy trying to eat better and more varied, also for my daughter's sake. French kids are exemplary, they munch on artichokes and raw courgettes with vinaigrette, they eat crab and prawn!

There's only one problem I'm having with all this fancy French food and good eating habits. No, it's not the calories, it's not the fact that I have to go to three supermarkets to buy it, or the time it all takes to cook (read: have it cooked)...it's the fear to receive the French! I am not sure if I am capable to do the EPFD thing!

Pretzels in Madagascar!

2010-10-29T02:27:00.000-07:00

After my succesful pinhata story two weeks ago, I thought I'd continue with my mission to introduce foreign objects in Madagascar. The American Marines were organizing an October Fest last week, and you know - we're always in for beer drinking parties. So I was going to contribute by making pretzels. Can't get more German than that!

What you may not know, is that Pretzels have a secret ingredient that is very hard to come by. It's called caustic soda, it's a chemical also used for unclogging toilets and killing insects. Before baking the pretzels, you have to dip them into caustic soda to make them brown, shiny and crispy. Believe me, egg yolk won't do!!

So I am asking around for this stuff at a pharmacy in Tana, not knowing even what it is in French. The pharmacist doesn't understand anything of my story -can't blame him, - and I am about to step out until an old man asks me if I am looking for Soude Castique. And then he popped the question that almost made me faint with surprise: "Are you going to make pretzels??" How the #$%$% did he know? Nobody knows this stuff even exists, let alone that it's used for pretzels.

As it turns out, he's German who ran a German restaurants for many years in Tana. He kindly explained to me that caustic soda is really hard to find here, but why don't I come by his house to get some. I couldn't believe my luck!

When you read the instruction on how to use this stuff, you'll get scared. It's a poison, and it's recommended to use gloves and even goggles when dipping the pretzels in it. Seriously!

Dipping pretzels in their poison - scary stuff

The German man, his name his Horst, tells me to dilute the powder in hot water before dipping the unbaked pretzels. But the recipe I am following on internet mentions cold water. I choose the latter. Very very bad choice! After two hours of hard work, I dip them and put them in the oven, but they come out as bread sticks. Not crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Just hard pieces of baked dough.

I should have listened better to Horst. Not to the internet!

Two valuable lessons I learned that day:

1. Never think you know better than the locals

2. People will eat anything after a few beers!

PROST!

The Island of the Unpronounceable Names

2010-10-25T12:41:00.000-07:00

The city of Tana is actually one big market. Wherever you go, you'll find stalls, vendors, sellers, you name it. You can find anything and everything on these markets, from Made-in-China plastic sneakers to beautifully crafted furniture, from home-made rat traps to crocodile meat.

There is also a cute second hand book market, where you can buy French Marie Claire magazines from the nineties, and all kinds of second (third, fourth who knows?)-hand books. Some time ago I came across an old history book published in the fifties, for usage in primary schools. I paid, after stern negotiation, 5,000 Ar for it - two Euro.

Super-contented with my purchase, I started reading it immediately, a chapter about the demography of the then four million Malasy. The school book described the division of the people among at least ten tribes, with adventurous names that translate like: the Invincibles, the Inseparables, the Warriors, and They who are tempted by commandments.

After a few pages however, I began to lose my reading appetite. A chapter about the royal history read as follows: "And when Andianampoinimerina had become the king of Ambohimanagan, he appeased his parents Andrianamabotsimarofy and Ravorombatodambohidratimo, who was also called 'the wild boar'. He ordered a department of more than a thousand soldiers from Tsimanahotsy andTsimiamboholahy to protect Antananarivo. He then prepared himself to defeat Andrianamanalinorivo and Ravoekamabahoaka at which he succeeded at Kiririokafisakana’.

I kid you not. These poor, poor Malgasy primary school kids who have to memorize this! They must be very smart!

Of course the people here have found a way to handle these names, only one out of every so many syllables is pronounced. Hence Tana. I bet you the above two names are Raz and Andj. Or something.
Nevertheless, to me Madagascar is the Island of the Unpronounceable Names.

Does Antananarivo Have Any Highlights?

2010-10-21T11:27:00.000-07:00

By: Charlotte Cook, guest-writer

I received a request from a writer to post on my blog. No problem, I said, and here's the article. I agree with her. Tana is not exactly bursting with touristy highlights. Probably the only reason worth visiting Tana for, is..us. We are the highlight of Antanananarivo ( ha ha).

Antananarivo, Madagascar’s capital city, has a reputation and it’s not particularly good. Not exactly known for its up-market package holidays, the majority of people travel to the African island to sample its unique wildlife and this can seem like a prospect far removed from the bustling city. Most tourists land at the capital city's airport (with some cheap flights available at certain times of year) before heading off on their travels but you can not visit a country without visiting its capital.

If you want to get the best out of Antananarivo, you have to be prepared to do some walking, and a lot of this is up and down hills. The highest point is 2643m above sea level, making the city one of the highest capitals in the world, but even at an average height of 1400m means that packing some decent walking shoes is advisable. The effects of altitude also need to be considered, whilst it is wise to prepare for a temperate, rather than an equatorial, climate due to the height of the city. The rainy season is between November and April, which is something else for tourists to bear in mind.

Rova Queen's Palace

If you accept the need to climb hundreds of stone steps if you wish to see the main sights, you will discover a city rich in cultural, historical and architectural attractions, albeit one which is quietly crumbling. The highlights are definitely the Queen’s Palace (Rova), which is a long walk from the hotel district and the nearby Prime Minister’s Palace. However, the former was destroyed by fire some fifteen years ago and is merely a shell.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Antananarivo was the capital of the Merina monarchs and they conquered the rest of Madagascar from here. Buildings from this era were typically made out of wood or rushes before the introduction of stone in 1869, so few survive. Some of the timber palaces from the pre-stone era still sit atop the ridge on which the capital is built and provide an Indonesian influence to the city. Since then, buildings from the French colonial era have been dominant. These include more palaces, Anglican and Roman Catholic cathedrals, and civil buildings including hospitals and colleges.

The pastel terracotta of the buildings blends seamlessly with the rice paddies, which are prevalent throughout the capital. Visiting the markets is definitely worth it, particularly The Lemur Park, which is 45 minutes out of the city and has a good restaurant.

Walking is definitely the best way to see the city but the poverty is endemic. Beggars will hassle tourists for money, so remember to keep your guard but a forceful ‘Non, merci’ should see them leave you alone.

A Pinhata in Madagascar

2010-10-19T13:14:00.000-07:00

With our stuff arriving last week, came a real pinhata made in Mexico (I believe). Our good friend Margarita Mena, party queen of Belmopan, had smuggled it into our container, which arrived - oh good fortune - just days before Soleine's 6ht birthday. What a pleasure to discover!

This may have been the first ever real pinhata in Antanananarivo, who knows?

For those who have known me in Belize, they may chuckle...because the very first time I used a pinhata - in Belize- I forgot to put candy in it. I did not know, I thought I had bought the damn thing full of sweets.

Anyway, this time I knew and I filled it up with sweets, colourful little hair clips, crayons, plastic wild animals and marbles. The latter not the best idea because they look just like sweets...image ooouch your teeth - another learning curve for me.

Before

All in all, it was a great success last Sunday, at my little big girl's birthday party. Long live multicultural habits, a true exchange of cultures across the globe!

During

After - with contents this time!

The Difference

2010-10-13T23:32:00.000-07:00

One thing worth mentioning...when we received our stuff, I immediately started attacking the boxes with a kitchen knife, ripping off pieces of scotch tape, tearing the wrapping paper into shreds...a bit like a crazy deprived person. It felt therapeutic to 'mutilate' those boxes that had kept us waiting so long.

When our housekeeper started to help us, the difference between her and my working mode became immediately clear. She carefully took off every piece of wrapping paper, then ironed it with her hands. Boxes were not ripped but opened with care, and the larger pieces of carton were nicely stacked. The 'loot' was later on divided among our three house staff. Of course I followed the good example.

Everything piece of trash in gets recycled Madagascar.

There is not a piece of garbage that is wasted. Some people live in the garbage containers. Bottle tops, yogurt cups, newspapers, straws, you name it, it's all collected. A lot of it goes into new products. People are very creative here.

Before

After

On the one hand I feel it's quite reassuring, you know that most of your waste will find a new purpose. On the other hand... you really have to think twice before chucking something in the bin. I am kind of suspecting that there's a business of selling full trash bags going on here. In our previous apartment the concierge insisted on taking out our bags herself, and she would not let anyone come near them. Could it be that she was selling them on? Surely a good full Vazaha trashbag is worth something, in the country where everything is recycled...

The Call

2010-10-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

...Oh yes! It happened...finally!

Last night, at 1.30 AM, Michel (thank God not me) received a phone call. A truck driver, speaking in loud Malagasy,asked if he could deliver a container? Well, yes sir! After three months of traveling the big oceans, eight weeks of waiting for paper work in the port of Tamatave, followed by 20 days of strike, our container finally found its way to our house. We got the call. Can we deliver? Yes you can. Even at two in the morning.

Apparently, and rightly so, container-truck drivers are not allowed to enter Antanananarivo during the day, that's why he came at two AM, and had to be out before four in the morning. So in less than two hours, Michel and our night guard Nirine, had to unload a 20-foot container. Unloading was the easy part, as gravity helps, but after that all the stuff had to be carried inside the house. And they did it!
And I? I was asleep, soundly, only to wake up in the morning with Soleine, and to find that Father Christmas had passed int he night.

Oh Lord Won't You Give Me...Some Patience Please

2010-09-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

My two visitors from last week remarked that we are living quite a privileged life. This made me think, and of course I came to the conclusion that it is true. It's an exciting life, full of opportunities to explore extraordinary nature, a variety of cultures; always living in comfortable houses, with large gardens and house staff.

In a way we live like stars: we have housekeepers, cooks, sometimes even personal trainers, a nanny; we can go to the salon every day, have our toe nails painted weekly, our eyebrows trimmed neatly and our hair blow-dried each Friday. We can live in luxury while most people in the country live in poverty. We buy weekly groceries worth more than a local monthly salary. It is all true. I realize that.

I also know that famous stars always pay a price for their living style: mostly their absence of privacy. You could say that as expats we also pay a price. There are security threats in most countries, the hygiene is not the same as in western countries - to put it nicely -, we have nerve-racking traffic jams, mosquitos, ants and other creepy crawlies, and so on. Personally, I have learned to live with those inconveniences.

What I find most difficult to accept is the fact that it so hard to get things done in most developing countries. Days seem to trickle by without concrete output. Weeks go by without notable achievement. It's always tomorrow, next time, next week. Madagascar is no exception. Everything takes long: receiving mail, making a bank transfer, licensing a car, clearing a container, getting insurance cards, you name it. Let alone trying to build up a project, establishing relationships. A project duration of one or two years seems like a joke.

Even our 5-year old daughter has a watch

Do you know this African proverb? African people may say: They have the watches, but we have the time.
By 'they' they mean us, Westerners, and 'we' is the Africans. It seems so true. Time is on their hands, and patience is not something we learned to have when we grew up.

Therefore my prayer, in the spirit of Janice Joplin.

Oh Lord, don't you buy me Mercedes Benz, just give some patience, I must make amends.

A M E N !

Don't Know Much Biology...

2010-09-15T05:04:00.000-07:00

This week I had a visit of two retired biology teachers from my country. They made an old dream come true with their trip to Madagascar. This island is indeed biology heaven on earth.
I invited them home and while walking around our yard they studied the trees and flowers which just started to blossom. They picked petals, showed me stems, stigmas, styles, stamens and saps; making me feel like a high school student again.

They gave me some lovely Dutch plant names, freely translated into: Mother with Baby in Lap, Little Cheese flowers, Lion's mouths, Christ's Thorn and Hole plants. They of course also knew the Latin names, so now I know we have Philondendron, Poinsettia, Coleus, Drecaenas and even Aloe Vera. Very educational.

Aloe Vera

Philondendron

Dracaena

They even knew the species name of our two turtles, which I already forgot. I just call them Ninja I and Ninja II.

Ninja I

Ninja II

The only flower they could not identify was a huge yellow one, very pretty, and when they fall of they look like deflated balloons. Anyone?

Mystery Flower...before turning into deflated balloon

And Suddenly...

2010-09-10T07:12:00.000-07:00

..the moment I waited so long for, is here. Mid-September. The change of season is obvious: no more need to light the fireplace in the evenings, the thick, warm duvet is way too hot now. Spring is in the air! I can awake from hibernation. And that while most of you readers are preparing for autumn. Gna gna...

This is the moment I waited for, as most expats will agree that the first few weeks in a new country are not much fun. No house, no friends, no work (for me), no school, living out of a suitcase, etc. It all takes time, about two months is my experience. These two months have now passed. And what have we achieved so far?

Quite a number of friends from all nationalities, a daughter attending school happily each day, many play-dates after school, a lovely house, and this afternoon I 'scored' my first consultancy assignment as advisor monitoring and evaluation. We even held our first hash mismanagement meeting last night.

So, life's is good here, despite the killing bureaucracy in this country (read: corruption). Our container is still stuck in the port, our car is not yet licensed, my visa hasn't been arranged. But hey, who cares. Spring is in the air. And in our yard!

Flower Girl

Flowery Tree - no idea which one

I thought these were for Christmas

Bird of paradise

Baby papaya

Some kind of orchid living on a dead tree

Just like Horses

2010-09-03T08:14:00.000-07:00

"Look mama, they have such funny horses here, they look just like people!"

I was reminded of this quote when we were walking in Antsirabe last weekend. It came from an 1968-booklet which belonged to my grandma, entitled: 'Juf, er zit een weduwe in de boom' ('Teacher, See that Widow in theTree' - referring to a black crow) in the same series as 'Teacher, that Butterfly is Wearing my Pyjamas'. The booklet has funny quotes from children, the above came from a 3-year old boy who observed rickshaw drivers in Singapore.

Seen from the eyes of a 3-year old, the skinny, muscular men running in front of their carriages that carry passengers do remind of horses. I am talking about pousse-pousse drivers. In Antsirabe you can still find hundreds of them. In fact, they are so many, and there are so few tourists that you can guess what will happen. They harass you.

'Madame, madame prends-moi, Gilbert numero trois, Bernard, numero cinq, Christian numero douze. Take me, take me, the guys are promoting themselves as if they are race horses in a betting competition.

Nicely painted Pouss-Pousse (Tire-Tire)

In fact, they are so annoying that you end up walking. And that's a pity, because we all know they need the money, and we need the rides. But no, I don't think they look like horses. What I am wondering about is what they call them 'pousse-pousse' in french, while clearly they don't push but pull! Could it be cause they're so pushy?

"Good Old Times"

2010-08-30T03:47:00.000-07:00

Every former colony has at least one. Some have been very well maintained and are still operating at the highest levels; others have been totally abandoned. In my 'career' as expat, I have had the pleasure to stay at quite a few. I am talking about colonial hotels. The Mount Lavinia hotel in Sri Lanka, the grand old Victoria Falls hotel in Zimbabwe, and the Raffles in Singapore come to mind as examples of well-preserved places where you can still sniff the odor of 'the good old times' and yet be pampered by 20th century luxuries.

The Grand Hotel da Beira - my first foreign post -, is a textbook example of good old times gone bad. It was only functional for a few years until the Portugese were chased out in the 1960s. Ever since, trees are growing out of the windows, goats run around in the lobby, all parquet floors have been burnt up by squatters and street children slide down the grand entry stairways. Can't blame them.

Grande Hotel da Beira - before and after

Madagascar has its own colonial icon: l'Hotel des Thermes in Antsirabe, the epitome of french colonization in this country. As Michel is conducting a 10-day training for the National Park managers (not in that hotel!), we joined him for the weekend and could not resist the temptation to stay there - as well as to hide from obnoxious pousse-pousse drivers. Hotel des Thermes was built in 1897 hence over 110 years later it is still operational. It has been refurbished with a 'sixties chique' decor, but the original glory has since long faded.

Hotel des Thermes Antsirabe - before and after

Of course I can write about the cob webs under the attic, the cracks in our room's window - fixed with scotch tape and a coaster -, the green water in the swimming pool, the holes in the tennis nets, the TV with only one local channel, the unlevel pool table, the faded jackets of the waiters and so on, but I don't want to do that :-)

I prefer to reminisce and pretend to live in the fifties again. And that you can do very well at this hotel. So we enjoyed a leisurely game of afternoon tennis, then sipped on a Planters Cocktail at the terrace, enjoyed a 3-course dinner with frog legs and red wine, and ended our stay with a game of pool in the bar before retiring to our spacious chamber. We were the only guests....but had a grand old time, for 45 euro's per night.

No shoes allowed in the pool!


Cuisses de Nymphes - sounds better than frog legs


Spacious rooms at the Hotel des Thermes

La Grande Rentree

2010-08-25T03:16:00.000-07:00

7 AM.

My mobile phone's alarm is waking me up. I have a distant feeling of awkwardness...like something big is happening today but I can't figure out what - I don't usually awake at 7 :-). Then I remember, it's my daughter's first day at The Big School. This is how we used to call it in Holland. De Grote School is when kindergartens are over and you're entering grade 1. No more arts and crafts, singing songs and playing with dolls and trucks: serious work starts here! French and Math. Reading and Writing. I don't know who was more nervous for La Grande Rentree this morning, me or my daughter.

Arriving at the parking lot the typical picture of an international school emerges: lots of big cars with drivers. many CD-plates. In Soleine's class there are twelve nationalities, from Swedish to Indonesian, 10 boys and 4 girls. The teacher is Tammy and she's great. Soleine seems cool, she sits down next to an American girl and starts coloring.. When I leave she hardly says good bye to me.

It was definitely me the most nervous....

French Diplomacy

2010-08-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I met a French diplomat at a friend's house. He introduced himself as Jean Yves, diplomate, as if it were his last name. That seemed a little odd to me, also because I find 'French' and 'Diplomatic' a bit of a contradiction in terms, like a romantic Dutchman, a funny German or a soft-spoken American.

Anyway, we were chatting about our children and I tell him that our daughter will go to the American school. He immediately says: - as if I'd asked him for his opinion - 'Well, that is a big mistake'. Politely I ask him to clarify himself, and he goes on: 'The Americans have absolutely no future here in Madagascar'.

I think he is referring to the fact that the Americans have pulled out much of their support to this country, and that the American ambassador has left without being replaced. This is kind of a punishment until the interim government will get their act together.

"I am not putting here there because of the American future in Madagascar", I explain him, "I am sending her there because English is the number one language in the world, and that's the future". I also want to tell him that French isn't , and that France is not the center of the universe, even in Madagascar. I want to remind him that the French did not even make it through the first round of world cup football, while the Americans did, and WE the DUTCH we're in the final!! I want to say all that, but I don't. I try not to be stereotype Dutch; straight-to-the-point-not-to-say-blunt.

I want to be diplomatic...like the Africans

Fairy on the Roof?

2010-08-17T02:36:00.000-07:00

My daughter Soleine has lost her second baby tooth. She actually wiggled it for so long that it fell out. When this happens in my country, and in many others as well, the tooth fairy will pass by, leaving a coin or some small change. In France, it is a little mouse that brings the coin (la petite souris) - same idea.

In Madagascar they throw their baby teeth on the roof,

while making a wish, something like: "old tooth, go away, and bless this child with healthy teeth"! Nobody seems to know why the roof is the best place for old teeth to be buried but anyway.

Always a fan of local customs, I explain this to my daughter. "But mama, how is the fairy going to go on the roof?", she asked, with coin signs in her eyes. Well, I did not think that was the problem, even a little mouse can climb on a roof, my problem was how are we going to get up to look for the coin? Because there has to be coin.

Too complicated, so I stuck to the little mouse story. Indeed, he brought a lovely, shiny 50 Ariary coin with two big baobabs on it (value: 2 cents).

This morning when Soleine was in school, my housekeeper and I secretly tossed the tiny tooth on our roof. Soleine must not find out that there was no little mouse, that we 'cheated' on her. A good thing she can not read this blog. Please don't tell her...

Pardon? Where Are We Again?

2010-08-10T03:35:00.000-07:00

Check these pictures! And guess where they were taken?

Can you believe this? We signed up for Africa, tropical weather, palm trees, bananas - that sort of thing. On a weekend trip two hours drive from Tana...
...we found this, Switzerland! C'est incroyable!

It's Lac Mantasoa, where we stayed at a Maison d'Hotes, chez Albert and Lili. Lovely place, great comforting winter food. They make everything themselves: wholewheat bread, vanilla yogurt, merguez sausages and smoked Zebu. And yes, they have a cuckoo clock, how could they not? The only things missing are snow and Edelweiss. To contact Albert and Lili: albelil@yahoo.fr, tel 034 04 846 74.

Hibernation

2010-08-04T03:09:00.000-07:00

The magic adapter

We've moved into our new house! We quit our drafty apartment (I looked up the proper spelling of this word -'draft' or 'draught'- and noticed that it has at least 8 totally different meanings) to install ourselves in a charming old bungalow surrounded by a lovely yard with ancient trees and all kinds of strange flowers. We're still kind of camping, because latest news is that our container is somewhere in Oman.
There are various workmen all day long, painting and fixing a multitude of small problems: from leaking taps and scary electricity outlets to shitty shutters. Every day we find something new that needs repairing. In general,
I find that each day is full of surprises here ,
and they aren't unexpected surprises, we should know better by now.

An example. A few days ago we bought a TV. There was already a cable connection in the house so we thought to simply plug the TV, connect it to the decoder et voila. Wrong. On day 1, after unpacking the TV, it appeared to have an American plug. Arrrgghh, and I though I got rid of these indefinitely when leaving Belize. The decoder also did not fit, the 'prise peritel' could not be plugged into the modern flat screen TV - yes, we have those in Tana. I call the shop, Courts, for advise, and they send their technician the next day. On day 2 we're told to buy a special adapter somewhere in a backstreet shop down town Tana. Risking a life time jail sentence I drive to the shop, through a street where a lot, a lot a lot of people are walking, praying I don't run over one. Back home we reconnect the plug... nothing. It turns out there is no power at all in the outlet. Now my husband risk his life, electrocution and all, and manages to fix the plug. On day 3 we have image but no sound. The magic adapter, no doubt made in China, appears faulty and has to be returned to the shop. I have to wait til day 4 for our driver to take me there. On day 5 we're finally watching TV.

This is just the TV. I know we are in for many more surprises. I am not complaining, I am merely describing. The whole month of August I dedicate to getting the house ready. For one moment or two I envy Embassy people who arrive in their fully equipped, furnished and 'upholstered' houses, but a quick look at their flowery couches with matching drapes, and I am happy to have choice. I have nothing better to do anyway. August is cold and boring, everyone is on holiday. Waiting for our things to arrive and my life to begin takes long.

To be honest: I feel like hibernating. The current weather suits a good winter sleep: gray skies, cold drizzles and a foggy, humid mornings. Just for one month, until the house is ready and our belongings have arrived. Can someone wake me up in September please?

Throwing Panties?

2010-07-27T02:55:00.000-07:00

When I first visited Madagascar 10 years ago, for a week of

View from our window

vacation while living in Zimbabwe, I was struck by two things: it's beauty...and it's poverty. Never had I seen so many poorly dressed, malnourished or laboring children as here. Today it does not seem that much has changed. Just below our apartment is a small 'slum'-kind of settlement: mud houses with metal sheet roofs held in place by old car tires, without electricity or running water. There are always at least twelve children of all ages cheerfully playing football with a ball made of rubbish. The children have no shoes and the little ones are butt naked, their moms unable to afford diapers. It does not seem to bother them, but it bothers me. When I first noticed it I was tempted to open my window and throw out some of our daughter's panties. She has so many...they have so little. After twelve years of working and living in developing countries I am still not used to this. And I never will. Of course I know that occasional handouts are not the solution.
People will start thinking that all Vaza, slang for white folks, in Tana are potential panty-throwers...
I also know I can't is help everyone. Why is Madagascar so poor? This question does not have a simple answer. I found a link that explains some of the contributing factors quite well.

What can I do to help? I don't know yet. Development has to come from within. We as expats can only support (technically, financially, morally) processes that are initiated by the people from Madagascar. Unfortunately, many NGOs and projects have withdrawn since the 2009 crisis. I want to help but have not yet found my way around. Once I have, I'll be sure to let you know. Meanwhile I will have to control my panty-distributing urges...not easy.

Lemurs in Sight...

2010-07-22T01:27:00.000-07:00

I like to move it move it...

We've seen our first lemurs in Madagascar! There is a Lemur Park not far from the city, for those who can not travel many miles to go to one of the national parks. I was a little afraid to find some half-tame lemurs in dirty cages but nope...they actually live freely on 4 acres of land, surrounded by a river that serves as a natural border. Lemurs don't like water. They live up in beautiful bamboo trees or dwell on the ground.We have seen the famous black and white-tailed Maki, and the white and brown dancers that hop on two legs. So funny! You immediately hear the 'I like to move it, move it' tune in your head when you watch them.The guide was telling how this movie has favored Madagascar tourism, but then someone had to spoil it all by causing all these political troubles.

Do we really have to wait until 2012 when Madagascar 3 will be released?

I hope not. Except from a few complaining restaurant owners, a burnt-out supermarket, and the exciting evacuation stories of a few Americans, we don't notice much from the political trouble of last year. On a political level however, Madagascar obviously needs a government representative of its people. But life moves on, and so do we (like to move it move it...).

Not Bad...

2010-07-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

Never mind the in-flight magazine dating from December 2009, the minimal entertainment options and the 5-hour delay on the way out; we flew from Europe to Tana in business class with Air Madagascar for the same price as an economy-class ticket with Air France! That meant we could skip the 2-hour wait to check in at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport; we were invited to the American Airlines lounge in Paris, and had champagne with smoked duck breast on board. Of course we slept like roses, almost horizontally, and we were the first ones to exit the plane. And that meant no queue at immigration, and our 3 suitcases (we were allowed 40 kilo each) first on the baggage belt. Out and about in less than 15 minutes.

Hence I say: Air Mad? Not bad (at all)!

At Admiral's Lounge at CDG

Air Mad

2010-07-05T12:21:00.000-07:00

Today I had to go to the agency of Air Madagascar here in down-town Tana. That felt like being thrown years back, since we buy all our tickets online now.

It was, as expected, full of people and slightly chaotic, and I felt a little lost. Amidst the chaos there was a little red beacon of hope: the good old-fashioned Take a Number Machine. I drew number 39, the screen was at 03. I was eagerly following its progress and it seemed to work; though very slowly, like one or two numbers per half hour.

Then other people came in, after me, waited a few minutes and their number came up right away! Humm? Well, it could be that these guys actually had taken a number way before I came in, but I was a little suspicious. Did they actually present their number to the ladies behind the counters? Yes they did.
So how did they know at what time to come back??
There was no time indication or so. Had someone called them? I was puzzled, especially when it happened again and again, and they all had the right number...

Finally our driver clarified the mystery for me: you take a number and wait, but hey...this is Africa. If you don't want too wait long, you can buy a number for 2000 Ar (80 cents) from the Air Mada doorman, who sneaks out one ticket in every five or so, and sells them on! Ha ha, how entrepreneurial!

Dutch in Madagascar!

2010-07-03T06:13:00.000-07:00

Is there a better way to get to know your fellow countrymen in a strange country than through football?

I have found three so far, two of whom are in this picture...Wim who works for UNICEF, and Francois, manager of the Carlton hotel in Tana. There are even two Brazilians in Tana, but they left right after the match (wonder why..gna gna)

HUP HOLLAND HUP!

Big W.

2010-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, I can't say that we have not been warned. And we should have known when watching the world cup football in South Africa...it is winter here! Watching the football players on the bench covered under blankets, and seeing the South American football coaches dancing around in their sleeping bags should have been a forewarning sign. But my goodness, we were not prepared for THIS kind of humid, windy cold. Tana is built on seven hills, and located at 1400 meters altitude. Our apartment is on a hill and the wind blows right through it. It is winter in Madagascar with a big W, despite the pretty blue skies. I can only imagine how the many poor people who don't even have proper clothes are surviving July and August.

We're Here!

2010-06-30T08:20:00.000-07:00

Please say: Madagascar. Now say it again...doesn't it sound lovely? And to type the word feels great too. M-a-d-a-g-a-s-c-a-r. I like it! Finally we arrived in this interesting country, the fourth largest island in the world.After a long but smooth trip with Air France from Dusseldorf through Paris, we have arrived in Antananarivo, otherwise known as Tana. With 14 pieces of luggage on two baggage trolleys that refused to go left or right, we finally made it straight out of the airport. We did not even pay for our visa. There is some confusion as to whether we had to pay for a visa, and travel books mention outrageous amounts of over 60 € per person and waiting times of more than 1 hour. Well, I can tell two things: there is a huge sign at the airport reading something like: “Your stay in Madagascar costs you 0€ if it’s for less than 30 days”. A return ticket indicating your return date is however essential.

Our new driver Loïck brought us straight to the lovely little AKOA hotel (www.akoahotel.com) whose friendly staff certainly helped us to feel welcome in our new country. It’s hard to capture my first impressions of Antananarivo in one sentence, but I will try it with some key words: Red, hilly, crowded, amazing views, narrow streets, mixed people, street children, grave yards, small shops, stunning sunsets and shivers. With its red brick houses, a large lake in the center and many excellent restaurants, Tana appears more western than other African cities. On the other hand I find it very 'third world', with people walking everywhere, vegetable and meat stalls at every street corner, way too many (stinking) cars on impossibly narrow roads, beggars and no street or traffic signs - imagine, in the entire country there is not one traffic light. In fact my very first impressions were made a few years ago when I visited the country with a friend from Zimbabwe. I don't think much has changed since, but if it has, or will, I'll be sure to let you know as I intend to keep you posted at least once a week. So you can subscribe to my ramblings, if you like, by entering your email address in the box above.