Friday the 26th

A beautiful, bizarre, hot, snotty day in the life of a teacher in Madagascar ...

Grade 9s - quite unpleasant last year; delightful now ... quite bizarre!

Ear-boy on the jungle gym in the preschool

McKenna and friends. Hilarious to hear how this little American girl speaks English in a Malagasy accent so that her friends can understand her! Heard by one of her little friends: "McKenna is a girl, even if she's wearing pants".
And the other little one next to her?

Neighbourhood kids just hanging out ...
As I've said before - the streets are their back yard, the older sister normally the babysitter and guardian.

I just call her "snot-nose" for short ...

More nextdoor neighbours - that's one big mug!

A shy kid at my wall

And then the day ended with supper, spilled Fanta and Midgleys # 1 & 4 not wanting to waste a drop!

Appreciate me now and avoid the rush

The Midgleys at breakfast

The Americans have just enjoyed Thanksgiving, Christmas is around the corner, and today I turned 41 - an equally momentous day (for me, anyway).

The day started with a lack of water at home (which is now quite normal for a weekend morning), but it definitely picked up from there! First was a spread-and-a-half for breakfast, then loads of "Call of Duty" deaths, several phone calls and SMSes from South Africa, wrestling with the boys, taking photos, and at the end of the day a most phenomenal supper - roast leg of lamb and (my favourite) Pavlova pudding. Whatever benefits I've gained from all the cycling recently were instantly wiped away!

But the cherry on top was that Anri Louise, long-lost compatriot from South Africa, chose to return to Madagascar today, replete with presents for moi - biltong, nuts, chocolate ... and more. (Biltong, to explain to non-South Africans, is an SA speciality similar to beef jerky, but just on a much more heavenly plain.) I felt most blessed and spoilt by the Midgleys, who have so graciously adopted me, as well as all my other friends and family!

Along with the amazing meals, and the unexpected gifts, I was also showered with "compliments" from the Midgley boys.

Justin: Uncle Rob, you're really interesting and intelligent. I listen so hard to you speaking and then when you're finished I realise I wasn't actually listening and I didn't understand anything you said.

Jeremy and Andrew: We created a wii mii (the little characters for Nintendo wii) that looks just like you! (He was overweight, balding and wore a permanent scowl) ... Thanks boys!

Reece:  HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (Then, quieter in the next room) There, Mommy, I said it, okay! And later: Uncle Rob, you really don't look that old!

Midgley # 1, Midgley # 2 and mii ...

Anri, 2 boys, a Pavlova and two parents. Don't you just love the shock and horror on Reece's face?

And yes, the title of this post is once again a quote from Ashleigh Brilliant.

On the other side of the Cypress

Either I'm at the onset of Alzeimer's, or I just don't remember ever playing with Lego. We played outside, we built tree houses, go-karts and a foofie slide (zip line to you non-South Africans) from the Kumquat tree, over the bed of rose bushes and into the base of the Cypress tree ... 

My brother and I became quite adept at zipping down the line, with legs pulled up to our chests to avoid the thorny bushes below, and then, before smashing into the tree at the end, we would jump off and roll theatrically down the lawn. Friends would come over just to see our famous and dangerous ride. My sister, who took a lot longer to pluck up the courage, finally attempted the trick, jumped out of the tree - arms, legs and gangly body fully extended. She plowed through the roses, and in shock, hit the Cypress, bloodied and dazed. I remember asking if I could help pick the thorns out of her legs. My Granny Ruth was not amused ... And that was the end of my big sister's foofie slide career... 

But back to the Lego: The Midgley boys here have more of the little coloured blocks than I have ever seen before. In fact, I think there is some mysterious vortex that sucks lost Lego to this nondescript house in Tana.

Midgley number 1, aged 11, had this to say about his creative process:

I'm no Lego expert, but to ask Uncle Rob, my creations are abundant. I make use of what I’ve got. Mainly, I look at pictures off the Lego site, although it is only relatively useful, as it doesn’t show the mechanics, or every aspect of the creation. I am glad that I have recently discovered the Lego Customer Service site though. Anyway, I should go now. Uncle Rob is showing my brothers pictures of West Edmonton Mall in Canada. It's so cool and we’re stuck in Madagascar. Sorry for us. At least the food is good here.

Okay, so he got a bit distracted at the end. I think I'll go and look for some homemade cookies ...

Midgley # 1 - Legalomaniac

At age 41 I've finally figured out my purpose in life!

"Uncle Rob, please can I climb you?" 

"Sure, Reece"

Later ...

"Uncle Rob, you're the best Jungle Gym (climbing frame) ever!"

"Thanks, Reece, you've just made my day ..."

And kids do (make one's day), with their honesty and all. Like the other day when one of the younger children at school asked me where my wife was and why they had never met her. "I'm not married", I replied, to which she responded, honestly and innocently, "Why? What's wrong with you?" ... It's one of those questions adults are thinking but just won't ask ...

Reece ... expert climber

Pot-bellied piglets: made in China

Evan, 4-year-old pot-bellied piglet

Midgley number 5, Evan - seriously, what planet is this kid from? So, the other day chatting to his mom:

Evan: "Everything is made in China."
Sue: "No, Evan. You were made in Pretoria."

Evan: "No I wasn't. We're all made in China!"

China, achieving world domination one kids' toy, volleyball and plumbing fitting (and little boy, apparently) at a time ... I guess one can see where most products in Madagascar are from...

Then today, on his way home from "boys' club" with the other little 4-year-olds:

Sue: "What did you learn about today?"

Evan: "Just Jesus."
Sue: "What about Jesus?"
Evan: "When he was born."
Sue: "Oh, and where was he born?"
Evan: "On the moon!"

Perhaps he got a bit confused by the star bit of the story? I guess it also gives a new spin on the whole "man in the moon" story. I can just imagine him standing outside at night staring up at the moon wondering about what Jesus' house looks like up there. Kids and their perceptions - that's like an account I read yesterday about a six-year-old sharing her memory verse 1 Thessalonians 5:17 with her mom: "Pray without sneezing." 

"... Be joyful always, pray without sneezing; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus ..." Why not? Makes sense - after all, it's really difficult to pray properly while sneezing ...

All five hooligans - send money, they clearly aren't eating enough! Except pot belly, of course.

Of soldiers, storms and a very loud "fizzle"

Kebab barbecuers downtown

So, it's Saturday afternoon, and since writing yesterday it seems as if there has been a whole lot of nothing going on in Tana! Well, nothing that we are meant to be aware of, anyway!

Firstly, yesterday morning the military ordered civilians in the immediate area of the barracks where the mutinous coup leaders were holed up to evacuate. Shortly afterwards, with military vehicles rolling past our school, the defence minister announced that they had no desire to use force to end the standoff.

Reuters reported prime minister Camille Vital as saying "it had never been the government's intention to storm the barracks and the steps taken in the morning were to prevent children and civilians from witnessing negotiations between soldiers." Does anyone else find that hilarious?

But Malagasies are, to a large extent, very laid back ... They've watched their country go down the tubes under this current regime and, for the most part, have done nothing.  I heard a funny first-hand story related to the crisis yesterday evening. Two nights ago locals set tyres alight, and barricaded the main road to the airport; soldiers in riot gear were patrolling; it was tense You'd imagine people would stay away, but within a stone's throw of the acrid smoke the regular sidewalk  kebab sellers were doing their regular thriving trade, as if it was the most normal night of the year.

Speaking of soldiers in riot gear - a crowd of civilians apparently ignored the order to leave the area last night, and were, according to some press reports, clashing with the military when a very timely storm rolled in to drive everyone under cover. And that was the end of that for the evening. Thank the Lord for the violent tropical weather ...

It seems there may be a clampdown on information here too - the local website that normally has live news updates is reporting on inane things like the president meeting taekwondo and volleyball teams. This on top of rumours circulating about a private TV station being banned from broadcasting ... It's quite laughable, really, but there's a strange sense of déjà vu to all of this ...

As I write I hear sirens outside, and we've just seen more army trucks and other military personnel moving towards the airport. Reuters has just reported (5.30pm) that security forces have stormed the barracks, and that gunfire was heard... We wait with bated breath to see what happens, believing all the while that this is all in God's good will ... 

I think I'll go and watch a game of rugby.

What a Wednesday!

Evan

Wow! What a Wednesday! 

It was election day, we had the day off school and I got to sleep in. Midmorning, Evan, Midgley number 5 (see previous posts), asked me to come around to wrestle because he had spinach to eat the previous evening. He proudly told his mom afterwards that he had beaten me badly!

I also made my first-ever omelette that actually looked like an omelette when I was finished (which I was very excited about) and soon after found out that we were possibly living through another attempted coup d'etat. This morning on my way to school the barbed-wire bejewelled barriers were out, the traffic cops replaced by AK-47 toting soldiers, and there was a quiet rumbling coming from the direction of the military base at the airport, where the rebel soldiers were holed out.

Particularly amusing (in a tragic kind of way), is the fact that the present president, himself installed in office close on two years ago with the support of the military, has threatened to "crush any mutiny" from the dissidents who once supported him. Schools have been evacuated, word on the street is that an attack is imminent, but an uneasy calm persists. Updates to follow...

My new mode of transport - not the best if trying to outrun trouble (I still think in pictures) ...

"I try to take one day at a time ...

... but sometimes several days attack me at once." Ashleigh Brilliant.

And that is what it has felt like the last few weeks. But fortunately I have my students to rescue me - leaving me in fits of laughter and oft-incapacitated; desk-thumping and laughing like a loon. I leave you with some examples of sentences from this past week's grammar and spelling tests - not to mock the writers but just because they are amusing. Remember, for many of them this is their second or third language ...

• “My brother is a mushroom.”  ... I think he was trying to comment on his brother's expanding girth? Well, I hope so. If he really is a mushroom, I'd like to meet him.
• “My grandmother is an obsolete woman – she just lies in bed all day.” ... I hope no-one ever describes me like that when I get old.
• “Phlegmatic means someone who is very exciting.”  ... Really?
• “My sister is obsolete.” ... Oh, why is that? Are your parents thinking of replacing her with a newer, better model?
• “My cousin is pregmatic. She will have a baby soon.” ... Now that's creative use of language!
• “Mr Robin is such an engaging and pleasant person.” ... Not the Mr Robin I know. Can anyone say “sucking up?”
• “Some girls are garrulous.” ... Only some?
• “I have an intuition that my girlfriend is crazy about me.”  ... And most guys don’t understand women, you ladies man, you... 

D, one of the true characters at VVS: "Meesa Rubeen, ees too haaaard!" ... "Stop complaining and work, D" ... "Okay"

J, Grade 12,  showing his skills ... that hoop and backboard have seen better days.

Grade 1 and Grade 12 out on the playground together ...

Those boots really are that big. I don't know how Z, the cutest grade 1 with her spindly legs, runs in those clodhoppers!

Bogerovski!

This is not going to be one of my regular blogposts. There will be no accompanying photos, no funny, witty little anecdotes. It is not cheerful. 

On my way home from giving extra English lessons today, through the throng of typical Saturday afternoon traffic, I knocked a young girl down. I wasn’t going fast. I watched her cross into the middle of the lane, freeze, run backwards, run forwards, and then freeze once again right in front of me – like a deer in the headlights. I had already braked, but was going fast enough to knock the wind out of her. 

I obviously stopped to see if she was okay, which she seemed to be, but the bottle she had been carrying lay shattered on the ground and her left hand was grazed and bleeding. In her right hand she still clutched the few notes she was heading to the corner shop with. I checked to see that she had no broken bones. She looked dazed, but otherwise unhurt. And then everything went south.

Madagascar is in a mess. People are desperate, bitter and tired of being victims. And unfortunately, because they cannot turn their anger on the main culprits of their pain, the politicians in their ivory towers, they turn it on anyone they can – the rich, the foreigner, whoever is in the wrong place at the right time. It’s short-sighted but real. In this particular case they turned it on me. 

A crowd quickly gathered, some people obviously concerned, others opportunistic, angry and vocal about me needing to make right for the damage I had caused. Genuinely sympathetic, I tried to sort something out. I had money in my hand, to get her to the pharmacy and doctor around the corner, to replace her bottle of cold drink, but people in the crowd started demanding payment for her “broken arm”, payment to take her to the doctor, clinic, hospital (for x-rays and further treatment) and that this would cost me 1 000 000 Ariary (about $500). I refused. 

I’m sure that they are all very pleasant people when at home, but there on the street I saw them transmogrify into an angry, threatening, hissing mob. One woman, in particular, fuelled the flames. By now the little girl was crying. I’m not sure how to explain how the story unravelled. But unravel it did; in a hurry. The next thing I knew I was being jostled, people were grabbing at my backpack, there was screaming and rage and so I jumped on my bike to go. (I’m a foreigner in a foreign land, and it’s just a situation one doesn’t want to find oneself in, especially now with all the politically-motivated turmoil.) One person threatened to call the police; others hemmed me in and tried to pull the bike from under me. Something was pulled out of my pocket. I fired the beast up, gunned the engine and fled through the crowd, not in fear of my life, but flee I did – very shaken and upset. 

And the more I’ve thought about it, the more terrible I've felt. I am heartbroken that the real victim was left with nothing. I’m devastated that I couldn’t help her. I wish I could go back and make things right with her. But I’m also livid and disillusioned that I saw this African disease of entitlement rear its ugly head again today – that the white man, the foreigner must pay no matter what. 

Because in the end no-one wins ...

The porridge wheel

After 15 months of driving the Beast, I had my first puncture today – a nail through the back tyre. This in itself is quite surprising, considering the state of the roads and paths I drive on every day, some of which are thrown together from building rubble and, therefore, full of rusty old nails. So, I tracked down the closest tyre repair workshop – a side-of-the-road place called, um  ... now that I think of it, I don't think it had a name. And for 4000Ar ($2.50 / €1.80 / R17) I was up and running in no time. 

Despite what the place looked like, the repair guys were amazingly friendly, chatty and efficient. They were amused at how old the old girl was and amazed that she was still running with so many kilometers on the clock. I'm just thankful for the decrepit old dear, without whom which life in Madagascar would be all the more difficult ...

In good hands ...

On my way home ... This pic is especially for Kim, who appreciates my sloping horizons.

She desperately needs a new side panel, and is haemorrhaging oil, but she sure does have character!

A momentous day in the madding crowd

Back in July, a mere three and a half months ago, I applied for my working visa to be extended. For much of the time since then I have been an illegal alien - the Ministry of the Interior pretty nonplussed by it all, saying, "It's fine, just don't go out at night, and don't get stopped by the police!"  Okay then. Is that all? 

Well, today I received my passport back from the depths of the aforementioned ministry, complete with the red, famous, all-powerful stamp and the all-important, "Authorised to stay in Madagascar until 31 July 2011." There you have it - I am at least part-legal again. Now, with this in hand, I can apply for a driver's licence and sleep easy at night free of nightmares of white-brimmed cops lurking in the bushes, waiting to leap out from behind the traffic to throw me in a dark, rat-filled jail cell for not having a motorbike licence. (I sometimes have a vivid dream life...)

Unfortunately, until I get my licence (which could take until next July, without paying the ubiquitous and expected bribes) I still often need to take a long detour home, in order to miss the police road block around the corner from the school. I regularly see potentially beautiful or interesting photo opportunities while riding the Beast around town, but seldom get to stop. Today I did:

Some children playing on a rubbish tip, just around the corner from the local French junior school

The old lady and the sea (of children)

The view driving up the hill away from the school - the city of church steeples.

The most common, cheapest transport - for carrying wood, water, little children and anything else

And then at the end of the day I saw this rose at the Midgleys - the beauty of real life in Tana...

When one has nothing to say ...

Upon sitting down to write a blog entry this morning I realised I had nothing to say. Blank. Vacant. Void. 

I thought of speaking about the horrible coffee in Madagascar, but I've done that too often. Then I thought of regaling you with the hilarious happenings at school (that's always a winner), but it wasn't a particularly funny week - apart, maybe, to everyone who experienced my Chernobyl-sized meltdown on Friday with the Grade 8s, Grade 4s and a couple of teachers all at once ... Ahem! "Mr Robin do you realise you have a very red head," one shocked student noted ... That didn't help either.

Then I thought I'd speak about how difficult it is to make friends cross-culturally, and what a challenge it can be to move from the comfort of one's home environment to the unknowns of a different land - different languages, cultures, senses of humour, work ethics, communication, outlooks on life (need I go on) - but my sister tells me I shouldn't get too serious on my blog, so, rather than upset her, that topic too was out... 

My dear friend Kim is one of the greatest "fans" of my photographs, which he has pointed out on numerous occasions have insipid colouring, skew horizons, and are over-photoshopped (meaning they don't qualify as real photos). Fortunately Photoshop is my new best friend, and so, as I have so little to say, I leave you with these "works of art" from church last Sunday.

Some visitors at the kids' cooldrink table

Having fun after church - a Midgley boy and Fanilo.

Evan? Reece? These Midgley boys all look the same - especially with a cone on the head.

Judah, the little Canadian man ...

Andrea ... because I love playing on/with Photoshop

Discussing what they learnt at kids' ministry

Hide and seek ...

Say what?

I'm sure I've mentioned before how Malagasies have ridiculously long and largely-unpronounceable names (to westerners, anyway), which is why people are mostly just called by their first names. Even dignitaries are referred to by their first name or by a nickname. So, the deposed president is plain old Marc and the current one TGV (after the French high speed train). I'm Mr Robin, or, more often than not, "Meester Robeen", "Meester Rabbit" or just "Meester, Meester" ...

I was paging through our class lists the other day and came across these two doozies; both girls in Grade 7: Onintsoa Ramananandroniaina and (wait for it) Meva Jessica Andriamalalanoroharintsoa. Try saying those quickly when one hasn't slept well the previous night. So, clearly, they are just Ony and Jessica to me ... 

I've spoken about the "-lyn" girls at the school - four Malagasy sisters of Chinese descent who share a three-letter surname, and the last syllable of their first names. Here they are:

Ailyn, Grade 5

Lilyn, Grade 3

Katelyn, Grade 2

Evelyn, Preschool

"My life has a superb cast ...

... but I can't figure out the plot." Ashleigh Brilliant

In the early '90s I spent a lot of time in the outdoors - camping, kayaking, throwing hissy fits, doing archery and climbing - and pretending to study at the University of Pretoria (but that's a story best forgotten). My regular climbing partner was a short student-veterinarian by the name of Megan Beaumont, aka The Morning Monster because she terrified many a camper with her wild look and sleep-hair as she emerged from her tent well after dawn. My nickname at that time was The Pregnant Giraffe, but that's not relevant here. Megan introduced me to the quotes of Ashleigh Brilliant, and I've loved them ever since.

But back to life here. On Saturday night after my run-in with the VW Beetle (see previous post) I returned home to clean up, only to find that my water had been turned off by the so-called plumbers who had been working on the property earlier in the day. Getting mudless was a laborious, only-partly-successful process. (One can only do so much with wet wipes and a trickle of water gained by maniacally shaking the shower head)! The next day the electricity was knocked out for several hours by another afternoon thunderstorm and I sat at home in the dark, still in need of a shower, wondering what would be next. Maybe the gas would die as I was making a cup of tea, or the plumbing would back up (again).

Well, I received the answer this morning, when I found my Internet gasping for life. (I think in pictures, ok?) After struggling to send an email, it too died. I'm sure I  remember someone once saying, "When all else fails, go back to bed". And so I did - until lunchtime. On days like this I sometimes ask myself why I'm here. Not on earth, just here - in a country where so little goes right; in a country creaking under the strain of a dictatorship; in a country that only has one coffee shop! I mean, come on, surely one deserves a regular supply of good coffee, at least!?!

But then this evening I went for a walk in my neighbourhood, just as another storm was building, and laughed with the kids, chatted to shopkeepers, scared away ladies carrying water back home, kicked a ball of twine with some teenagers ... and watched normal, everyday people just living - uncomplaining and with a smile. 

Need I say more? (As usual, click on pictures for larger, better versions)

Just Beautiful!

This old guy is also his grand-daughter's private tutor. Neither ever stop smiling!

Water collection from a central "stand pipe" twice a day, rain or shine.

The bucket carriers were quick to flee the scene at the sight of my camera ...

Wash day on rain day

Three kids playing outside one of the little "we-sell-everything-and-more" shops