Manahoana daholo (hi everyone),

This could be my last post from Madagascar so I will try and make it a good one.  The official program has come to an end and now I have two weeks of vacation that I am going to spend with my friend Dan from the program.  After my three week stay with a rural farming family in Betafo for my independent study project, I spent a week in the nearby town of Antsirabe writing up my project paper, running through the streets of Antsirabe at night (nearly collided with an oncoming pose-pose), and playing soccer in the streets during the day with Dan and local Malagasy boys and men.  Dan and I were accosted every morning by poor pose-pose drivers wanting to give us a ride when we walked out through the archway of Hotel Hasina, which reinforced ideas in my paper about the disparities in wealth that exist between people from so-called developed countries (like me) and people from so-called Third World countries (like the pose-pose drivers).  I could afford to sleep every night in a hotel with running water, toilets, and internet access, while the pose-pose drivers spent the night curled up under a blanket in their pose-pose parked on the streets.  Spending a week in Antsirabe was a great way to finish up my independent study project on sustainable lifestyles and systems of power in Madagascar and the world.  Dan and I met up with some other SIT students in Antsirabe and together we all traveled back to Antananarivo, arriving there on May 1st.  Back in Tana, we had about three days of individual presentations of our ISPs and then the program had a four day excursion to the east coast, on the Indian Ocean in the small town of Foulpointe, a time for reflection and discussing the past semester as a group, sharing what we had learned and experienced.  We returned to Tana after a great time on the coast and the program ended on May 9.  I now have two weeks of traveling with my friend Dan.  We are both planning on returning to Betafo to spend some more time with our host families there but we also will be bumming around Tana some as well.  It feels really good to have some vacation time after what was an amazing but at times stressful semester as part of a study abroad program.  I feel much more a part of Madagascar now, instead of just a student looking at the country with an outsiders perspective.  I have had some intriguing conversations with very interesting characters now that I know more French and Malagasy.  One of them was with a guy named Jean Leu, who got his bachelors in Philosophy, art, and contemporary practice, is half-French and half-Malagasy, grew up in America, traveled around Europe, now lives in Scotland, and is currently here in Madagascar working on his Ph.D.  I can't wait to get home and tell more about it in detail.  I may try and do one more post before I leave on the 24th so keep your eyes peeled.

All my loving

Anders  

Getting those grains.  Harvesting rice with my host dad Sylvio.

Walking to school on the road full of muddy omby  (Malagasy word for cow) ruts with the sun breaking over the mountain tops.  Sylvio carries his daughter Fiononantsoa on his shoulders to school every weekday, about a mile walk into the village of Betafo.  Either Sylvio or one of his older daughters goes to fetch her later in the afternoon.  I took this road into Betafo several times during my time living with Sylvio and his family.  It was always filled with people carrying sacks of rice or other things on their heads, people pushing bikes, small boys from six to twelve years old with rope whips herding omby down to the river for water, and pairs of omby pulling old wooden carts.  One day a cart that was way overloaded got stuck in the mud and the omby pulling it were not strong enough to pull it out.  I went to its aid and got everyone lifting and pushing on the wallowed cart but it was to no avail.  It wasn't until another farmer pulling his cart came along and switched out his two larger cows with the ones that were stuck, that we were finally able to free the heavy cart.  Everyone was very amused to see a vasah (white-person) such as I down in the mud pushing with all my might to free the cart.  I felt pretty proud when we finally got it free.  I think there is the idea in rural areas of Madagascar that vasah (non-Malagasy people, specifically white people) never do any physical labor and are all just rich bankers or something.  I definitely feel like a target here in Madagascar, a feeling I don't particularly like.  My independent study project on life in rural Madagascar was incredible and very much eye-opening.  We are so wealthy in the states compared to everyone here, where they get only the marginal leftovers of our over-consuming and materialistic consumer culture in the west, and it is hard to know exactly how to interpret it all.  Maybe wealth doesn't really matter, as long as you are healthy and in a loving community, but these people work extremely hard just to have enough food to eat and can barely afford to send their kids to mediocre schools, or pay for new clothes, or buy medicine when they get sick.  There needs to be a redistribution of wealth in the world so that these people can have the same opportunities that we have in the west.  I hope to have the honor of improving their situation for the rest of my life.

The highlands of Madagascar.  Here it really feels like you are on the African continent.

To bring things up to date, I just got back from a five-day rural village stay where I stayed with a rice farming family near the village of Betafo, which is 75 kilometers south of Antananarivo.  It was a really great learning experience.  I milked a very dirty cow, cut rice in the rice paddies, caught carp with my bare hands in the shallow rice paddy water, planted cucumbers and tomatoes on the terraced farm fields, and butchered a chicken with my bare hands (to the great amusement of my host parents).  I also slept on a straw mattress and was chewed on by fleas every night.  The best comparison I can make of the experience is that it was like staying on my cousins' island back in rural Minnesota during the summer months but that my host family does it year round.  There was no running water or electricity and of course no indoor plumbing, just a spider invested, brick latrine.  Water was carried from a spring that flowed out of the ground near the rice paddies about 300 yards downhill from my house.  My host family was super generous and fed me plenty of rice.  Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera with me and so didn't get any pictures.  Fortunately, I may be going back for my independent study project and will take some pictures then.  Veloma from Madagascar.

Sunset on the island of Nosy Be.  Snorkeling off another small island close to Nosy Be was one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done on this earth.  I swam for about thirty yards above a beautiful sea turtle and saw breathtaking schools of fish and coral.  God's creation is so beautiful. 

 The international language of love: skateboarding!

 Heading out to sea.

 Boats of Mahajanga

 A lakana, a small Malagasy schooner.

Me in the pose-pose

Eating brochettes by lamplight on the streets of Mahajanga.  It was raining but luckily we were sheltered by some tarps.

The pose-pose (pronounced puse-puse) were everywhere in Mahajanga and were always trying to pick you up.  All these guys looked like they were in incredible shape.  I rode in the pose-pose twice while in Mahajanga, both times in the rain.  I got in and my driver pulled a semi-transparent plastic tarp over my head, and I watched the streets of Mahajanga go by, warm and dry inside the pose-pose.  Every now and then I would peak out from behind the tarp to make sure we were going in the right direction and reassure my driver of the way.  Right after the Catholic church, straight, and then right again. Voila, chez moi, right near a big centre commercial.

A street scene of Mahajanga.

 "I'm on a boat!"
The family-stay in Mahajanga was wonderful.  I felt like I was back home in Minnesota hanging out with my sister Liv and her kids, my nephews Julian and Jaden and niece Maria.  My two young host brothers even had similar names to my nephews'.  Juliardo was eleven and Juliano was seven.  They were both super silly and loved Ben Ten cartoons too!  Just goes to show that kids around the world love the same things.  Juliardo was skinny and smart and liked to say my name in a creepy demonic voice at night as I got ready to go to bed, (our beds were right next to each other both covered with mosquito nets).  The boys would go to bed before me at 9:00 p.m.  Juliano would conk right out but Juliardo would lay awake for at least another hour, hence, the creepy voice as I let down my mosquito net.  Juliano was very pudgy and hyper and slightly abusive to me but also very sweet.  My host parents Petera and Nirina were both exceedingly generous, accommodating, and easy to talk to (relatively since it was in French).  My host dad told me that their last student David had called him Papa cool and I agreed it was a fitting name.  He drove a motorcycle and was a big jokester.
Nirina also had a great sense of humor and I could tell she loved being a mom.  She was super patient and playful with Juliano and Juliardo and I never really saw her lose her temper.  She would always encourage me to eat more, which I found hard to refuse.  All in all, I couldn't have asked for more from my family stay in Mahajanga.  I will never forget it. Especially the tennis ball-sized spider in the bathroom one morning.  I peed outside.