Heat, Giardia, and Fish

The three things that sum up this past month at site. It’s been hot and some days unbearably humid. My day starts earlier and earlier (4am is now the norm), but life seems to slow from 11am to 3pm.

During my last trip back from Ft. Dauphin I brought back an unwanted guest in my gut, which caused a continuously need to go to the bathroom and for well over a week prevented me from traveling far from the comfort of the hole in the ground near my house. The good news is that it cleared up by itself—I suspect it was Giardia.

Fish….. I’ll save the explanation for this below. Overall, life has been good. We’ve had many good fishing days—light wind and a calm sea. People have money! Just in-time for the holidays!

FYI: I heard this bit of news from the hour of BBC news I get each day (about a week ago). Mining giant Rio Tinto is going to be cutting 14,000 jobs (14% of its workforce) worldwide, mainly because of the current economic situation AND particularly the decline of growth in the markets of Developing Countries (i.e. India and China). The implications this will have on the Madagascar Project are unknown—to me anyway.

I’m off to visit friends in Tulear for Christmas. I looking forward to the ride (although I’m told it’s a bit torturous). The route cuts directly through the ‘belly’ of southern Madagascar.

I wish everyone a Happy Holiday and/or Merry Christmas!

11/28/09
‘’We have no money’’—The words that keep the ‘poor’ in poverty?

I was paid a visit by Peace Corps yesterday. Part of me was excited to see what impressions my friends from Tana would have of St. Luce, but as always the trip was quick and brief. We bought fist, we talked about what I was doing, they swam, and we eat fish until we couldn’t move. We also went through all the ‘standard’ site visit formalities (interviews, paper work, etc.).

I was eager to show them some of the results of the cook-stove project, so we walked over to the elementary school in Manafiafy. The World Food Program feeds about 250 kids every school day (they provide pots, corn, rice, oil, sugar, and peas) After a quick introduction, the PCMO (peace crops Doctor) was quick to point out all the signs of malnutrition—disproportionate hands, feet, and heads; frail limbs; dry skin and skin infections; discolored hair and runny noses. In conversation he asked the local ladies who cook for the kids why they don’t treat the water they use with Chlorine (available at most shops throughout Madagascar), and than began instructing them on how they could clean the dirt off the plates with some vinegar.

As the doctor spoke, the faces of the two women became cold and serious. They lost all the facial glow that I was use to seeing. Immediately broke all eye contact with my ad the doctor and became fixated on the sandy soil at their feet. Shoulders dropped. It’s a posture I’ve seen before—a common sight when interning with a CYS agency during college. It’s the posture of disencouragement / disempowerment.

When the Doctor finished, he immediately got the response heard a lot, ‘’we don’t have money for that.’’ (a response or move of an excuse…?) I had a teacher in High School who would tell students (myself included) that if you say you ‘cannot’ do something, it actual means that you ‘will not’ do something, which ultimately means you ‘never’ tried. The ‘I have no money’ excuse is the ‘I can’t’ of the developing world. It justifies the current situation that the poor find themselves. When these words are uttered the doors of innovation and self-improvement are slammed shut. The advice given is being heard but processed defensively— Who are you? Why should I listen to you?

Of course this attitude can be overcome; all that is needed is trust, which is built through personal interaction. Andy’s successes as a social worker (my formal CYS supervisor) where the clients he continued to see and check-up on after they aged out the CYS system, the people he connected with on an individual level and was able to spark a willingness for self induced change.

12/01/08
The Politics of the Pump
In short, I returned from town to discover a new fence equipped with pad-lock around the water pump at the School near my house. My main source of drinking water and a favorite of many in my community because it doesn’t have a strong sulfur smell and the same discoloration like the water from the village well.
So, now when I get water people run after me with buckets in hand—lines form and what before only took 10 minutes now takes an hour. But the pump has been breaking and needs to be fixed every other day. First, I was told that kids shouldn’t use it, now people say I shouldn’t let other people use it (with the exception being a select few), and today Sosony suggested the I unscrew the handle and keep it in my house—what happened here! How did this become my pump and my problem? QMM built it, they should fix it right?


11/30/08
‘’Must remember that your role in development is not to become a hero, but rather make heroes out of the people with whom we are working.’’

I was disappointed and annoyed today when I showed up (as prearranged) only to discover that a cook-stove was already finished and build wrong (or differently). But later I came to the realization that this is how it should be. Who cares if they don’t like air vents, a certain mixture, or technique? It’s all about people taking ownership, taking an idea and making it their own. After all, creativity always sparks enthusiasm.

So…what have I contributed to this cook-stove project? At times it feels like I’ve done little, but help people construct them. But after some thought it seems I have actually supplied my NGO with heroes. Key people who advocate and help family, friends, and neighbors build improve cook-stoves, while saving money, time, and ultimately trees. They each have their own way of doing it, that doesn’t make it ‘wrong,’ its just ‘different.’

12/7/08
Wedding Season
As the sun slips southward (the north goes cold and Mad-car goes hot). Wedding Season also seems to accompany the rapid rise in temperature and just starting to pick-up down here. My village (Amboandrika) has had two this past weekend and it’s ‘different’ alright….

Everyone piles into a small house (a how many people can fit inside a phone booth situation—literally). Struggling for cool air and enduring the awkward position of sitting with my knees in my face, we all watched as a chicken’s neck is cut and blood collected on a flat stone, at which point the Bride is escorted inside. Both Bride and Groom sit in front of an elder from each family. Both say some words and place a dot of chicken blood on the forehead of both. Everyone cheers! Next, enters the jug of moon-shine (a rum made from sugarcane) and everyone drinks. Following all the drinking a table and chair is placed outside the hut and the newly married couple take a seat. Everyone shows their encouragement by giving money (putting it inside a hat), giving handshakes, and close family and friends give cooking utensils.


12/09/08
It’s the Night Before….

I helped build 3 cook-stoves today and I am exhausted, but no rest for this guy because tomorrow I… Armed with a hook, a tatava or stick, and 5 kilo line, tomorrow at 3am I get to experience… I don’t know how this is going to go… I’m going to get sick and based on past experiences (mostly around man-made lakes in PA) my changes of catching anything are slim. That’s right! Tomorrow I fish!

12/10/08
Sun Rise, Sun Rise

There is something exciting about getting up before the sun. Maybe it’s because I only do it on rare and special occasions, the anxiety and anticipation experienced as a child, always arousing the emotions of waiting for the sun the break through the horizon on Christmas mornings.

I was up before I heard the knock on the door. Grabbed the things I had set out the night before and bolted out the door. As we walked by my neighbors I made sure to yell and make as much noise as possible (a rare opportunity for a little pay-back).

In the morning darkness we sat, drank coffee, and laughed (mostly at my expense as usual). I told them that I was probably going to throw-up and how I didn’t need paddle because I had my hands. Conversation mostly revolved around me and of course, fishing.

We walked under the light of the stars, greeted in the darkness along the way by friends, family, and neighbors. Mostly with jaws dropped with amazement at the sight of me going to fish.

The Boys Club

We walked on to the Beach, which at that point was bustling with activity. People pulling boats into the water and getting gear ready. Yesterdays catch, todays calm sea, and yes…girls were all common topics of discussion. This is without a doubt a ‘boys club’ and I was honored to have been invited to experience it. We sat and waited as the other three in out fishing party paddled the boat around the rocks from the southern beach.

‘’Its going to be hot, did you bring water?’’ A friend asks with a touch of laughter accompanied with a look of amazement.
‘’Yes I have some thanks.’’ Thanks dad—I think to myself.

By now the sun crept above the horizon and lit-up the sky with every shade of pink and red imaginable. With the palm trees in the background it reminded me of a photo you would see on someone’s’ Windows desktop.

The boats are small one piece canoes carved out of large trees from the rain forests up north. I can’t imagine experiencing a rough sea in one and I wont any time soon because today the sea is as calm as a swimming pool. The boat arrives, I throw on my life jacket (a PC must) and hop in. Balance is critical in these hollowed out tree trunks. Each man has to sit on alternating sides to keep the ‘sea-worthy’ craft from tipping.

Fishing
We paddled around some rocks and about 2k into the body of water known as the Bay of St. Luce. But don’t be fooled by the name, this is nothing like the protected bay side I was use to seeing at the Jersey shore. It is unprotected open water. We paddled into a group of about 20 boats. All making some reference to the fact that this canoe was carrying a tall lanky ‘white’ guy.

Did you ever see a game show where the winner gets the chance to stand in a box and grab as much money out of the air as possible as $ bills are continuously blown all around? I don’t think I have.... But anyway fishing for Sihely is a similar experience (I can imagine).
You throw your hand-line into the school of fish below and pull up a 7 inch fish. I used one line, which continually became tangled with every fish I brought out of the water. Everyone else in the boat worked three at a time. Drop the line into the water, pull on it quickly when you feel a tug, bring up the fish, grab it (without getting your hand hooked), drop it into your basket, rebate if needed, and repeat. We fished like this for four hours, interrupted periodically by the Dauphines who also were enjoying the bounty of the sea just a few feet away. I could have fished longer—the time past quickly. But I was interrupted by a shout from the rear of the boat saying we needed to get back quick. The logic was that other boats were already heading back and if we get back early enough you could sell less for more (8 for 200ar) I rolled up my line and was handed a paddle.

This part I particularly enjoyed—because it was a mad dash to get back to the beach. We rowed in alternating unison, right side and left side continually sprayed by a mist as we cut through the swells. My chest burned and arms ached, but I found the sound of the paddles cutting through the water and the quick propulsions forward almost hypnotic. It was exhausting, but it was accompanied with a rhythm that made it pleasurable. We passed numerous boats—most stopping at the site of me rowing a boat. We finally approached the beach, which by mid-morning was littered with people and bustling with activity, I walked onto the beach trying not to fall over and was greeted with laughter, amazement, and Sosony.
‘’Fa nahazo hanoa?’’ He yells out from the top of the beach.
His face was lit-up at the sight of the full basket of fish I was carrying.
After selling my basket of fish for 2000ar (12 fish for 200ar), Sosony and I started walking home as the rest of the group geared up to head back out. Our walk home was frequently interrupted by people stopping and asking questions— Did you get a lot? Did you throw up? You can fish?

I broke two taboos while fishing. The first was whistling—a hard one to restrain from and I broke it a few times. Apparently is attracts whales and sharks. Yelling out ‘Fuck!’ when I would catch myself in the mindless act each time brought about more laughter among my fishing mates than the actual fear of attracting a large predatory fish. The second was bringing a banana with me on board (which I later learned if eaten would have spoiled the catch).

In all it was a good experience and I have been on a natural ‘high’ all day. It’s fun to see the reactions on faces when people find out that I fished. Even people who don’t fish for a living have expressed interest in going after I tell them about my experience. As if I have made it ‘okay’ to fish—not just a job for the uneducated and poor…

What happens to my fish?
The journey doesn’t end on the beach (except for the six I ate for lunch). They will get smoked and tomorrow begin the 15 hour walk from St. Luce to Ranomafana. Where they are sold for 200ar a piece or traded for rice (sold around 250/300ar a cup in Ranomafana). The rice gets transported back to St. Luce and sold at 400ar a cup.

People can make a lot of money and it all revolves around supply, demand, and accessibility. Ranomafana is not accessible by road from St. Luce. Only by a steep and difficult to navigate trail that cuts across a mountain range and through the southern tip of Madagascar’s rain forest corridor. The town is a Commune head that is highly populated (and relatively speaking) wealthier than St. Luce. Most of the wealth coming from agriculture, supplying the region and Ft. Dauphin with coffee, rice, beans, and other agricultural commodities.

The fishermen know it’s not particularly ‘fair.’ They fish all day (with at times a lot of risk involved), pull in a catch, sell if for pennies to a foreigner on the beach who transports it (one could argue with an equal amount of energy input) and sells it for dimes. ‘’It’s not right.’’ Kolasy tells me as we sit on the floor of his hut and he takes a sip of rum.

According to his reports the second trip out was not nearly as bountiful as the first. I received an open invite to go again. I told him when it’s really calm I’ll consider it, we both laugh and I headed home to cook the rest of my fish for dinner.