Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Update and musings from Fianar...



Kristen is off attending a conference on Population and Health in Kigoma, Tanzania. Kigoma is near the border with the DRC, Burundi, and Uganda and right on the shore of Lake Tanganyika. After the conference ends, she’ll stick around for the weekend to pay a visit to the chimps made famous by Jane Goodall’s research.

In the meantime, I’ve been left to my own devices in Fianar, which mostly involves keeping the ball rolling settling into our apartment. Even though we moved into our apartment two months ago, getting the landlord to push his crew to finish the last little details has been a chore. But we’re winning small victories every week. Last week we finally got a phone line hooked up to the apartment. However, only by me providing the transport for the workers and buying all the necessary equipment did this happen. That’s not entirely true, actually. The first thing the crew did upon arriving at the apartment was “recuperate” some telephone wire from a nonpaying client down the block to use for our hook up. After witnessing the telephone company's standard operating procedure I made a mental note to always pay the phone bill when it comes due.

The latest fight on the apartment front is to upgrade the electrical capacity of the apartment. We recently discovered after hooking our water distiller that the breaker box can’t handle the draw while there are other appliances running at the same time. It can run for about 10 minutes before it throws the breaker. The same is true for our other appliances with any heating aspect like the iron and toaster oven. A while back we were having BFD (breakfast for dinner) and wanted toast. Only by unplugging all other appliances and using flashlights were we able to do it. In a way it was romantic, huddling close together before the warm, red glow of the toaster watching the bread turn a golden brown, but on a practical level it was just ridiculous.

Two weeks ago we were up in Tana so Kristen could attend another conference. (Really, it seems like all she’s done since arriving is attend meetings and conferences; I don’t know when she’s going to have time to actually work.) I went with so I could do some shopping. Our purchases included, among other sundry items, a used Nissan pickup. It’s a good ole beater and should do us well these next two years. Its best feature is the expat “cruise through the police check points without stopping” license plate. During the drive down from Tana, after sucking fumes from overloaded, under-maintained bush taxis and camions, I loved reaching check points and being waved past the other stopped traffic. Its worst feature is a keyless entry and anti-theft system that works infrequently and inconsistently, often mistaking me for a would-be car thief.

Recently, we hired our first domestic helper, Bernadette, thus fulfilling part of our expat obligations. She’ll come by twice a week and do the cleaning that we can’t (or won’t) do ourselves. She’s already been broken in by other vazahas, a French couple, so we’re hoping that we won’t have to spend too much time or energy micromanaging her. By western standards, help is cheap and we’re happy to have the additional help. Who knows, if I don’t end finding any work to occupy my time I could focus my energies—and Kristen’s salary—hiring more Malagasy for odd jobs. I might even consider building an elite Malagasy fighting unit. The Malagasy have watched enough Kung Fu movies that they just might be dangerous. I just question whether they would be imposing enough to garner the necessary respect from the world’s other mercenary groups, should we ever get to attend a conference of our own.

I’ve started running again after a bit of a hiatus. The hills around here are killer. On the route that I generally take I calculated an elevation gain of 700 feet over 2 miles; I’m not sure if that’s really any great feat, but it leaves me fairly winded. During my runs I feel like Jesus is running alongside me. No, this isn’t a born-again testimonial. The road I run on is actually a private road that leads to a nunnery. Back when Kristen and I were living out of our suitcases in a hotel, we spent one Sunday walking out this way and were completely dumbstruck to find this fortress of a nunnery in the middle of nowhere. By all appearances, it’s more a fortress than nunnery. Tall walls, topped with razor wire and glass shards embedded in cement, surround the entire compound. From the locked front gate we saw rows and rows of identical efficiency homes, conjuring images of Soviet housing stock. We both thought it was spooky and uninviting. I sometimes see nuns in town doing errands and they look nice enough. Often they are behind the wheel of a large Land Cruiser, and I chuckle when I see these small nuns climb into and down from their rides.

But I should get back to running with Jesus, or Jesosy, as he’s known around here. During my runs-cum-pilgrimages, I can detour and visit an overlook that is home to a large statue of the Virgin Mary. At night the statue is illuminated and I often find myself humming “I don’t care if it rains or freezes…” should my gaze fall upon her. A bit further up along the road is a small, simple church. When running on Sundays, I pass many church-goers dressed in their Sunday finery. But it’s after this that things get weird for me. Beyond the church are a series of about 8 religious-themed huts that overlook a spectacular valley filled with rice paddies. For each hut there is a religious statue/icon built into the central pillar that holds up the roof. The icons, for the most part, are your usual suspects: the Virgin Mother, the Angel Gabriel, some apostles, and other notables. But, there are some others that don’t ring any bells whatsoever. So, either my Presbyterian Sunday school lessons are failing me or these mysterious icons are important local figures. A little further on is, literally, the crowning glory: a giant replica of the crown of thorns that Jesus wore during His crucifixion, suspended about 8 feet off the ground. The crown, measuring almost 6 feet in diameter, is made from iron and comes complete with barbed, spiky thorns, and whose tips have been painted red. The whole thing seems out of place to me and a bit macabre, but it’s the only route within a reasonable distance from the apartment where the air feels clean enough to be running. Each time I have run this route I’ve seen at least one person sitting under a hut, so maybe it’s meant to be a place of quiet contemplation. One thing’s for sure, they didn’t bother with subtlety. My turn-around point is about a mile past this, some ways before you actually reach the nunnery. Naturally, it’s marked by a tall wrought-iron cross by the side of the road.

The big buzz around town at the moment is the upcoming celebration of the Malagasy Independence Day on June 26. Since I go into town on a daily basis to shop, I’ve watched the slow build-up of excitement over the past couple of weeks. First, there appeared a gaggle of women seamstresses who set up their sewing machines in front of a fabric store and began turning out Malagasy flags in assorted sizes with sweatshop-like alacrity. I read in the newspaper that Malagasy households must, by law, display a flag on Independence Day, thus the eager fabrication and purchasing of these flags. Then I began to notice small bands of young boys lighting off firecrackers all over town. And, more recently, I’ve seen assorted banners and streamers on display and for sale in the markets. There are even a few rag-tag carnival rides that look like an OSHA official’s nightmare. I stopped and watched one of the merry-go-rounds the other day and the kids riding didn’t seem so merry. Maybe they somehow sensed that they were riding a potential death-trap. Most wore blank faces and held death grips on their seats while they revolved around a scary painted rendition of Mickey Mouse. When the ride stopped the kids happily hopped down into their parents’ arms. Earlier in the week there was an open-mic concert, which I heard was a big hit. The festivities begin their climax on the evening of the 25th, with concerts, dancing, and a fireworks show; on the 26th a parade and speeches conclude the official activities. We’ve heard that usually the weather is terrible the day of the parade—cold and wet—and the speeches go on for an eternity. And, as luck would have it, this year I will be sole American representative for the parade. Usually this “honor” goes to the Freudenberger family, our neighbors, but this year they’ll be away on vacation, and Kristen won’t be back from Tanzania yet, so that just leaves me. I’m glad I just remembered that I packed my flask; it’ll help ward off the cold and the boredom.

Sorry that there’s been a long lag in communications. You’ve been in our thoughts though and we really had a big time unpacking all our pictures and putting them throughout the apartment. It’s great being surrounded by familiar faces. I’d say things are improving on all fronts with each passing week. If you take my unfortunate starting point in Fianar—falling into an open sewer our first night in town—things really could only get better.

Kristen wanted me to include a couple of web addresses that you could visit if you were interested in learning more about the conservation efforts that are currently going on here in Madagascar. They are Conservation International (www.conservationinternational.org), and the World Wildlife Fund (www.worldwildlife.org). CI has a new "Explore Madagascar" page on their site--for kids--to learn more about Mg after seeing the new movie, "Madagascar." And also a good article by CI's president about what's happening in the environment field in Madagascar. And, WWF links to “Madagascar Beyond the Big Screen” right from their homepage.

Best to you all, Dan