Niger Bound

I made it to Paris today, after taking the red-eye from Tana.  Even after being sequestered in my airport hotel room, I don’t feel the awed being back in the West.  I suppose Madagascar is developed enough, at least in the cities, that most of the creature comforts we take for granted in the U.S. are sufficiently satisfied.  I have enjoyed the high-speed internet, a luxury that hasn’t quite made it Fianar yet.

Yesterday, in Tana, I ran the Hash for the first time in Madagascar.  It was the first event of the season, and there were a few other first-timers.  Out of about 30 participants, only a handful of us ran the course, and I surprised myself by winning—something I never could have dreamed of doing in Niamey.  There has been some talk of restarting a regional Hash in Fianar, and maybe that is something I could be a part of when I get back.  There’s no shortage of possible routes around Fianar, that’s for sure.  Last fall, back in Niger, I ran the Hash with Dave and some other friends, and at some point I ended up on the organizer’s email list.  Since last January I have emailed this guy repeatedly asking him to take my name off his list.  Then, before leaving Fianar, Kristen pointed out that now it’s good thing that I’m still on the list, since I’m going back to Niger.

Of course it was hard saying goodbye to Kristen Saturday morning.  During the ten hours it took to travel the 400 kilometers from Fianar to Tana by bush taxi, I had ample opportunity to think about what I am doing and the consequences.   When I wasn’t worrying about my immediate condition (the bush taxi, oncoming traffic, the nauseated woman puking into a bag seated next to me, etc.), I though about what leaving means to Kristen and me; to my integration into the Fianar community and the networking I had done for work. But mostly I thought about what my going to Niger might realistically accomplish.  It’s a very far distance and not without expense, this trip, and I want to feel when it’s over that it was worth the expense, both emotionally and financially.  Despite these small nagging doubts, I do remain excited and hopeful.  In fact, on a personal/professional note, after feeling like Fianar and Madagascar have turned out not to hold kind of opportunities for me that we originally believed they would, this is just the thing I need to put a nice cap on my 2005.

So, tomorrow morning I’m off.  I think some of my edginess will dull when I set foot in that familiar terminal, and my senses fill with the familiarity of West Africans (mostly) in various states of talking, sleeping, debating, and, above all, laughing.  It’ll be homecoming of sorts, I suppose.

Check back in the coming weeks and months to see how things progress.

Isalo National Park

Taking in the view at Isalo

One perk of Kristen’s fellowship is her time off. She has a standard vacation package, but in addition to this she gets all U.S. public holidays off, plus any Malagasy ones too. We recently used the Malagasy holiday of Assumption to plan a long weekend at Isalo (pronounced E-sha-lou) National Park. (Assumption is…anyone, anyone? The bodily taking up into heaven of the Virgin Mary. Yeah, who knew?)

Based on geology alone, you could easily think you were in parts of Nevada, South Dakota, Arizona, and Utah. But, throw in the tropical vegetation and otherworldly lemurs and you cannot help but feel awed by what the unusual and wonderful confluence of geology, botany, and evolution has produced in Isalo. As clichéd as it sounds, you feel like there is no other place on Earth quite like this.

We left Fianar on a Friday morning and drove four hours south to Ranohira, the gateway to Isalo. The freshly paved road and gorgeous scenery of granite slabs and mountain ranges truly made the drive a pleasure. Ranohira is a proper town, with a filling station, shops, restaurants, and hotels, and now seems to be in the process of developing its ecotourism market.

Our plan was to spend one night in Ranohira and two out in the park camping. The Park office, located in town, is where you pay the park entrance fee and arrange a guide for your visit. In a departure from our normal hiking and camping practice, we hired two porters to carry our packs to and from the campground. We arrived at the Park office Friday afternoon, after finding a place to sleep for the night, and it was hopping with other tourists. Friends had warned us to properly vet any potential guides using the «Livre d’Or », a registry used by visitors to rate their guides. After hearing stories of guides tossing their cigarette butts on the side of the trail, making uninvited passes at women, and refusing to honor the agreed upon itinerary, we wanted a good guide.

We were also warned that during the tourist high season, finding a good guide to go out in park overnight with one client would be tough. During this busy time, a lot of visitors are interested only in taking day trips to see the sights easily accessible by car. Guides know this and avoid making overnight trips, preferring instead to take as many day trips as they can, with as many clients as they can, to maximize their earning potential. This proved to be the case with us. Upon arriving at the Park office, guides besieged us and offered to take us into Isalo. Then, after learning we wanted to spend two nights out camping, nobody seemed available to go out with us. It was frustrating and at one point I walked out of the office to check on the truck and cool down. While I was at the truck a young guy approached me and offered to be our guide. He introduced himself, Dolphin, and explained he was a guide-in-training with two years experience and wouldn’t mind going out for two nights. Not having many other options, we vetted him against the registry and agreed to go with him. He arranged to find two porters and we agreed to meet at the Park office early Saturday morning to get an early start.

With the details of the park visit hammered out, Kristen and I struck off to explore some of the sights around Ranohira. We took in a nice exhibit at a nearby museum and then wandered out to La Fenêtre, a rock formation with a cutout in the middle, where visitors can go for a spectacular sunset. Arriving a bit early to witness the sunset, we took in the scenery, which was very picturesque in late hours of the afternoon. Some rocks sported strikingly green lichen that contrasted nicely against the orange hues in the rock. After La Fenêtre, we wandered out to a posh hotel to watch the sun go down. «Le Relais de la Reine » is an up-market, French-owned hotel built harmoniously into the landscape. The choice of building materials, colors, and layout reflect the extreme level of detail that has gone into the hotel. (Just for comparison, check out where Kristen and I spent Friday night after our drink.) We sat on an outdoor landing and enjoyed a drink as the setting sun reflected off nearby canyon walls.

Saturday morning came quickly and we waited for Dolphin at the Park office. He showed up late; we learned afterwards that his watch would not keep the time, something we all laughed about throughout the trip. We watched the porters walk off to the market, wearing our packs, to buy their food for the two days, and then Dolphin, Kristen and I headed off to the park.

During our two days we saw about as much of the park as is possible without a 4×4 vehicle. We walked across fields, through canyons, over mountains, and down crevasses; swam in natural pools, in water that was unbelievably clear (and cold); spotted all kinds of birds and three kinds of lemurs, including a little baby lemur still clinging to and breastfeeding from its mother; marveled at miniature flowering baobab trees that could have been over 1000 years old; and drank in the expansive landscapes like thirsty travelers. Living up on the plateau and around the corridor has made us a tad claustrophobic and eager to spend time in the wide open country.

We camped both nights at an established campsite that had running water and a proper toilet. Both nights the camp was completely full. Apparently tour group operators bring their clients to the camp for a real “backcountry” experience. It’s a pretty slick operation, complete with guides, porters, and cooks. Both nights after dinner when the clients had been fed and were sated, the tour staff broke out guitars and drums and worked through a long set of Malagasy classics. In our tent, a stone’s throw away, we enjoyed the music the first night, but the second night the band played until 11:30pm and kept Kristen awake.

Monday morning we broke camp, packed up and watched as our backpacks, again strapped on to the porters, disappeared ahead of us towards Ranohira. We walked slowly, groups of incoming visitors and their guides passed us on the narrow trail, and we settled back slowly into the reality that we were going back to Fianar and that the next day Kristen would be leaving bright and early for a trip into the field.

Back at Ranohira we saw our packs leaning against the outside of the Park office. We settled our bill with Dolphin and the two porters, and Kristen made sure to add our review to the registry. As we drove back to Fianar we schemed up more ways to take advantage of Kristen’s days off.

The Accidental Dignitary

Presidential Ride

About a month ago we were up in Tana for about a week taking care of some business, and on Friday, when the week was over, we decided to break up the return to Fianar by spending one night in Antsirabe. Antsirabe is about a two hour drive south of Tana and the city has a charming feel, thanks to its interesting architecture and wide boulevards. We stayed the night at a cute bed-and-breakfast and had the place to ourselves. We enjoyed a walk about town, a nice dinner, and a bit of shopping during our stay. A few key Malagasy phrases kept the persistent pousse-pousse (rickshaw) drivers at bay; unfortunately, the beggars proved more insistent. Then, after a leisurely walk Saturday morning, we loaded the truck and headed south to Fianar. During the drive, traffic was light, the weather clear, and the going easy.

This last part came to an abrupt end around noon, when we arrived at the bridge leading to Fatihita, a small town north of Ambositra. About a kilometer before reaching the bridge we noticed lots of cars stopped and pulled off on either side of the road. Not realizing what was going on, and not thinking, I simply drove on past the parked cars until I saw soldiers blocking access to the old bridge, at which time I pulled behind an army truck to park. During the Crisis of 2002, supporters of Ratsiraka, the former president, blew up the bridge in an attempt—that worked—to halt the flow of goods and people to the capital, Tana. When Ravalamanana, and his party, assumed power after the Crisis, the government built a temporary one-lane bridge over the collapsed one, and construction on a new bridge, financed by the EU, began. Construction on the new bridge wrapped up recently, but for as long as we’ve been here, traffic was still made to use the old one. And, on the way up to Tana we noticed that a big grandstand, decorated with Malagasy flags, had been set up for what appeared to be a ribbon-cutting ceremony. Now, on the way back down to Fianar, we discovered that we were arriving just in time to witness the grand opening of the new bridge.

After stopping, Kristen quickly hopped down from the truck and joined a crowd of people who had gathered by the old bridge. Soon afterwards, an official caravan of dignitaries began to cross the old bridge from the other side of the ravine towards us, en route to the grandstand. About 50 meters from the end of the bridge a midnight-blue Land Cruiser sporting diplomatic flags and dark-tinted glass (and probably bullet-proof, too) stopped and out stepped the Malagasy President, Marc Ravalamanana. At the bridge, someone in the crowd next to Kristen said in a surprised voice, “That’s Ravalamanana!” Kristen, who was only some twenty feet away, told me later that the President looked young and full of energy.

Behind the President came a flock of guards and other diplomats, including a heavy-set, big-jowled man who we concluded must be the head of the EU for Madagascar. The procession made its way to the grandstand and we then spent the next three hours waiting for the official ceremony to end, so we could continue our return home.

There were literally thousands of people in attendance at the bridge opening ceremony. We could see across the bridge to the other side and people spilled down from the hillside. Food vendors circulated among the parked cars and crowds of people selling fried chicken and fish, steamed crawfish, boiled cassava, oranges and bananas. In addition to all the spectators were many soldiers and police. In fact, security around the President was pretty high and included bodyguards dressed in suits, as well as armed guards around the grandstand and sharpshooters on the hillside above the grandstand.

On the whole, it was all pretty spectacular. After three hours, and what seemed like an eternity of listening to Malagasy speeches, the official opening ended and the big-wigs made their grand exit by taking leave in three helicopters. The less important officials, traveling by more modest means, queued up in their vehicles along the old bridge. Unknowingly, when I ignored the other parked cars and continued right up to the old bridge, I secured pole position among the other parked cars and bush taxis, which had by now jockeyed for position in every open space of asphalt and were tightly packed together back as far as the eye could see. The logjam of cars prevented the official entourage waiting on the old bridge from moving, so soldiers began barking orders at the parked cars to make enough room for the cars to pass by.

In the confusion that ensued, we somehow got mixed into the official caravan going south over the new bridge. A soldier looked at our white truck (and maybe our white skin) and green plates and just waved us into the pack of other white official vehicles. Only happy to comply, I turned on the hazards and fell into line with the other cars as we were among the first cars over the new bridge. After we passed the grandstand, we slowed to maneuver through the “cocktail” party going on along the road after the bridge. We, the official caravan, crawled along at a snail’s pace for the first couple of kilometers while we waited for soldiers to clear parked cars from the road shoulder to free up traffic. Finally, we hit open road and we waved to the other white vehicles as they passed us, one by one, and sped off to their final destinations.

The bridge delay cost us a daytime arrival to Fianar, but nevertheless we were in good spirits: we had a close brush with the President, saw three helicopters take off and drove with the official caravan over the brand new bridge. However, maybe more exciting to us was deciding what to do with the huge bucket of strawberries we had bought in Tana.

Home Sweet Home

Kristen and I have finally settled into our apartment and we thought we should post some pictures of the place. Locate the white truck poking out of the garage and then count the next two arches to the right, these three arches are all part of our apartment (plus the upstairs portions, of course). The building was originally built as part of a vineyard operation, but now has been partitioned and converted into seven apartments. The layout is very nice. There is an inner courtyard with a patch of grass that will eventually be landscaped with flowers and trees. It also has a very strange fountain, but we aren’t complaining because we are hoping it provides some white noise against the barking dogs at night. A clothes-drying area is being constructed atop two garages, which will be nice when it is finished. (The shot above was taken from here.)

Our neighbors, the Fruendenbergers, are also American and Mark is Kristen’s mentor for her fellowship. They moved into their place a couple of years ago after their other apartment was destroyed by fire during the 2002 Crisis. Until we moved in, they were the only residents in the entire complex, which is probably because theirs was the only place completely renovated. Our place was mostly finished when we moved into it mid May, but it has taken until now to get all the little details hammered out. Now that it’s done, we’re very happy and feel well settled. Check out the blueprint to get a sense of the layout.

The other units are in the last stages of completion, although this doesn’t mean they’ll be habitable before Christmas. Construction around here is maddeningly inefficient and illogical at times. It’s not unusual for a wall to be put up, cemented and painted, only to later see it chiseled apart to make way for the electricity or plumbing. Take two steps forward, one step back. The landlord has been busy showing the units, but he’s been having a hard time filling them. We did hear news that a Malagasy family is moving into a nice three bedroom unit soon, but we’ll see if that turns out to be a truth or fiction.

How many workers does it take to install a toilet?

School Days

Can you spot the vazaha?

Here’s a class picture from my month-long intensive French language course. The local chapter of the Alliance Franco-Malgache puts on language courses periodically and this is the second one I’ve taken since being in Fianar. We covered a range of topics, most dealing with some aspect of French language and culture, and I was often called upon to provide the American perspective. As the photo reveals, a few nuns took the class, and frequently they provided the class with much unintended hilarity. One day, after working on personal presentations to make to the class, a nun put the class in stitches when she declared the obvious: she was single, and a practicing Catholic.