This and that

I don't think I'm a particularly good photographer. I sometimes look at real photographers - their beautiful, well-composed, crisp, vibrant and often-artistic pics and think that I should rather stick my camera in the cupboard and forget about ever shooting again. But then, I enjoy it, no matter what the images look like ... and the Nikon just refuses to rest idle on the shelf. (And, not to forget, my sister appreciates them). The pics may be rough, the pics may not be artistically remarkable but, mostly, they tell a story about real life wherever I happen to be ... (Click on links in captions for bigger images)

I've discovered, as recently as two days ago, that our western stomachs just don't respond well to food from street-side shops. But then it's the same in any third-world country - first it was the fermented mare's milk delicacy, Ayrag, in Mongolia 10 years ago that had me praying to return to my Maker, then the black rice-paddy fish in downtown Tana several years ago, and most recently mi-sao (Vietnamese noodles). And my Malagasy friends just chuckle semi-sadistically.

"Manahoana vazaha" (hello foreigner), or just plain "vazaha be!" (big foreigner!) is the most common greeting I hear as I wander my streets. I normally just respond with a "manahoana gasy" (hello Malagasy) to the kids, most of whom rush to have their photos taken.

I don't think I've ever seen Midley offspring number 5 with a clean face. But this kid, one of my next door neighbours who (by the way) is terrified of my white vazaha face, takes the cake. I guess this is what comes of playing in the charcoal bin ...

Just chillin on a Monday afternoon.

Tana - 10ks. That's 15 minutes by car at night; 1 hour on an average day.

I am rally driver, watch me play!

"Toki" - Life's pretty good in Grade 3!

A cliché-filled day in my life ...

I hate clichés. With a passion! But this blog was inspired by them - pictures all taken in a 24 hour period. Many of these photos speak to me about the state the country finds itself in, but I won't mention that too loudly. You can read between the lines ... (Sorry, but the bigger pictures aren't working at the moment. I'll try to work on it when I have time).

My friend Anri's Grade 3 class at Vision Valley School.
"Room for improvement" - double entendre?

Whenever I'm looking for some sanity at school I just go and visit the preschool section -
where they always seem delighted to see me and beg for a tickle or two.

Junior-school ruffians ...

In this case, it's the rice that's always greener on the other side. And yes, it really is that green. But I don't know if I'd like to live in those houses (as romantic as it looks). Can anyone say "rising damp"?

Interestingly enough - I still haven't found an indoor bicycle spares or repair shop in this country ...

Nothing too profound about the flag at the US Embassy, but I see it every day from school or church, brightly flying above our dust-blown community ... and I liked the pic.

The famous "digues". Early in my stint here I, full of adventure and bravado, decided to ride my trusty Yamaha XT350, a.k.a. "the Beast", along one of those. It's still a bit of a blur, but the next thing I knew, a group of locals was helping me and my trusty steed from the rice paddy ... That was that, and I've decided that avoiding policemen (which I do daily as I am temporarily paperless) on the main road is a much safer alternative to dodging digue foot-traffic!

Speaking of which, the traffic seems to be worse than ever - traffic jams every morning, every evening - not to mention undrivable Saturday roads. Someone fetch me another "Fresh" (local beer shandies) please.

The same scene as before, just later in the day, and after a Fresh or two ... Hold on, does that horizon look straight to you?

Need I say more? Every yard with an array of rickety antennas climb higher and higher into the sky, searching for elusive television signals, like scrawny saplings seeking out the sun... 

Where I live - rundown, neglected - a sign of the political times in this weary country.

Fast food; food on the run ... These road-side stalls, filled with flies and exhaust fumes both amaze and nauseate me. Needless to say, I still haven't plucked up the courage to buy from them. I value my health way too much ...

And finally, the famous, Three Horses Beer, the makers of afore-mentioned Fresh. So good that erstwhile tea-totalling missionaries have been known to partake in a bottle or two.

The Mad Merry Midgley Minors

My sister tells me I shouldn't get too serious - I guess it's bad for my health and everyone's around me. And so I thought I'd write about a visit to the Midgleys, which is (mostly) anything but serious - boys climbing all over me and calling me names;  gentle wrestling, wild wrestling; oohing and aahing over the latest Lego creation; tears (mostly mine); being begged to watch funny "You Tube" videos; Kim, Sue and I taking out any frustrations we may have built up in the day by blowing each other away in Call of Duty (it is worrying that all the boys know the maps and weapons better than we do, especially because they never play the confounded game! But somehow our friendship has managed to prevail despite the regular violence against each other!) ...

Today I heard that the lads have now cast me in the role of Pooh Bear (each family member has been given a character, and as honorary uncle they couldn't leave me out). I'm assured it has nothing to do with "the bear of little brain" part, but rather because of my "ever-so-slightly round tummy". Mmmmph! While wrestling with numbers 3 and 4 the other day number 4 did call my stomach revolting, so I guess Pooh makes sense. Which all reminded me of my first stint on stage in a PACT Playwork production of Winnie the Pooh, when I was six. My mother was Rabbit, Laurika Rauch (of Kinders van die Wind fame) played Kanga and I was little Roo who dizzily careered around the stage shouting, "look at me jump, look at me jump," or "look at me swim, look at me swim." I still have nightmares about forgetting my lines and of my grandmother wildly waving and screaching, "yoo hoo, Robbie," from the audience.

Midgley son number 1, 11-year-old Andy, has been churning out some rather remarkable poetry the last few days - about random things like angles ("angry anglers' angles could really twist you up"), eels ("eels, eels, water mobiles, where, oh where are they from"), and manta ray pets called Nimbus ... Sounds like fun, homeschooling ... I'm attaching his poem about Jesus at the bottom of this blog.

So, enjoy the pics of these mad, merry, mercurial Midgley minors. (As ever, click on the pics for larger versions).

Number 1

Number 2

Number 3

Number 4

Number 5

JESUS

Jesus, known as son of David,
Was the Son of God.
Jesus had no sin in Him,
But His life was hard.

As all the world was registered,
The Son of God was born,
Born in a stable dry,
amongst the animal's corn.

And wise men came to visit Him,
And shepherds the news heard
And gifts were given unto Him,
While the angels stirred.

And Jesus wasn't evil
And Jesus wasn't vile,
And Jesus could not stand with Satan,
Not even for a while.

The people call Him meek
The people call Him mild
Though Jesus was more likely
To be a Godly wild.

And as His life went by,
He did a lot of teaching
Healed many people,
He even did some preaching.

As His time of death drew near
Jesus was betrayed -
Betrayed by His own disciple
Who a "fortune" made.

And on the cross at Calvary
as Jesus was crucified,
Many people mocked Him
Though many people cried.

And Jesus, known as son of David
Is known as the risen Son
And Jesus is in Heaven
For God's great will was done.

Night Life

My journalist-sister keeps bugging me (as only journalists and family members can) for more posts on the madder side of Tana ... I'm not going out much at the moment because of school work and my dodgy ankle but here's a little taste of Tana's inviting night life.

Little food vendors, candles in shop windows, and cars driving with their lights off to conserve fuel ... A visitor to Madagascar once commented on how romantic it all looked ... until they saw the streets in the cold hard reality of day!

Fast food, slowly

Sosaties (or kebabs to you non-South Africans) are a favourite

The Sakamanga Hotel and Restaurant downtown

The face of poverty

A recent survey on 153 countries worldwide looked at their citizens' generosity, including donations, volunteering and giving help to strangers. Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Ireland ranked at the top, while France (former colonial masters of Madagascar) was 91st. Madagascar came in last. Not of the poorest countries in the world (which we already know to be the case) but the least generous!

Sure, people here are bitterly poor - the majority of the population living on less than a dollar a day. Foreign aid has virtually dried up in the last year and a half, work is hard to come by, food is becoming more expensive and politicians are apparently helping themselves to as much of the nation's remaining riches as they can. But does being poor give people an excuse to be stingy, uncharitable to their neighbours, and living almost-permanently in a beggar's mentality as so many here do? And what does this do to one's psyche, to one's inner being?

I might sound negative, but I'm not. Malagasies are a wonderful, friendly people at heart who deserve better ... better than looking to the vazahas (foreigners) for their salvation, more joy in learning to give and care for those in equally-dire straits, better and freer family relationships ...

I have been very challenged too. Am I allowing money and charity to flow through me, or am I like Gollum, hoarding and hissing "mine, mine" as I worry about how to pay for tomorrow? Jesus taught us that we were valuable and that our Father knows what we need already; that He provides. It's not easy to change a mindset, I know! But may we all grow in faith and charity in the coming days, weeks and months, whatever our circumstances and standing. 

I have many more thoughts on this but for the sake of your sanity and time, I'll let the pictures from my neighbourhood tell a little tale of this wonderful, mad, paradoxical town of ours.

Three separate scenes

Driving along in a hazy, dusty Tana the other day I snapped these few shots  - typical life in Tana, where things are never the same two days in a row.

Not getting to the church on time

Life

The height of transport

Siblings?

Making a living

Wedding Season

It seems to be wedding season here in Tana - the roads choked with convoys of cars, complete with ribboned mirrors like recently-groomed poodles (thanks Sue Midgley for that description), crawling along from church ceremony to reception. I generally don't venture onto the streets on Saturdays as a result, but yesterday I enjoyed my second-ever Malagasy wedding, that of our good friends Tanteraka and Jaela.

And what an experience it was! The day started early for them with their official, very traditional engagement (yes, you did read that correctly) and civil ceremony on one side of town, followed by the church marriage ceremony on another side, and then the reception downtown.

The ceremony itself was reasonably sedate, but then came the assault on the senses at the reception. The food was excellent, the music eardrum-splittingly loud and incessant, the karaoke unceasing, the dancing untiring, the pastry a work of art, the cake-cutting ceremony confusing, the paparazzi-like photographers unshakable, the wine heartburn-producing, and the joy unmistakable!

(As usual, click on the photos for better versions. They are very grainy because all the pics were taken without flash).

Unbridled Celebration!

Speeches

Karaoke

Cake, cake and more cake

It's official!

Everyone and their aunty with a camera

Joyful Dancing

Real life

Life has become pretty difficult in Madagascar since the "coup" in 2009, but there's always time to stop off for a quick snack before school, washed down with some sickeningly sweet tea. Life is slow and communal - lived in each other's back pockets at a pace long-forgotten in the developed world. But despite the hardships, passers-by haven't forgotten how to smile, laugh and say a quick hello. The West could learn a thing or two from this downtrodden island in the Indian ocean.

Madder than ever

It's been a long long time since I blogged, partly just because I forgot I even had a blog and partly because I didn't think anyone would be particularly interested in reading it. But after much badgering from my dear sister Geraldine, as well as inspiration from a blog I subscribed to recently, I have decided to take out my camera and typing fingers and try it out again. (By the way, you can click on any of the pictures to see bigger, hopefully-better versions).

I don't get out with my camera nearly as much I'd like but every now and then a photograph just jumps out and begs to be taken. I'll try to oblige.

Two months ago I pimped the beast with some help from my friends. And then was promptly in an accident a week later where I damaged the bike, lost the pimped bits, and did my dodgy ankle no favours either. (I originally tore the ligaments in my ankle weeks earlier walking down the "well-kept, non-potholed" main road).

School is back in session, and the students are as excited as ever to learn, especially from their new PE and Life Skills teacher; that being me. I now have a cane and entertain myself as much as them as I try to demonstrate various sporting activities on a gammy leg ... I'm teaching Grades 5 - 12, a challenging age range, but I must say, I am having much more fun in my new role compared to last year!



A bittersweet time tonight saying goodbye to the Slaubaughs - the dear Canadian family moving back home tomorrow night. I will miss the beautiful girls and their requests to fly, be tickled and ride rodeo on my famous bucking-bronco knee... Difficult doesn't describe how hard it was to leave people behind in South Africa, including "my girls" Cathy and Kimmy, to come here. What a privilege to be in Tana serving in the school and church, but the goodbyes never get any easier!