My odd Tana life

Mother and child outside my house

Today's blogpost is written by Anri-Louise, who I introduced to everyone previously here. She gives her perspective on life in Antananarivo, the capital city of Madagascar (photos by Anri too)...

Ah, life here is interesting … Earlier this week, having just arrived home after a long day, I found myself once again standing in front of my red gate delving into the depths of my backpack trying to discover the ever-missing house key. As usual, the neighbours stood staring at me, the strange vazaha (foreigner). I could have ignored the stares and taken my time to find my keys, but when my dear, faithful taxi driver pulled up next to my gate, parking himself in the middle of the wrong side of the road, lined up with the oncoming traffic to ensure my safety, I decided scaling the wall would be the better solution.

This wall-mounting procedure is quite a sight, but the neighbours have witnessed it once or twice before, so I am not too fazed about it. Today it turned a different corner. The process involves me (not-so-elegantly) struggling onto the wall, and then hanging my backpack and camera bag over the strategically-placed spikes. Thank goodness the Malagasies are short, so the spikes take some maneuvering skill, but at a manageable height. So, balancing precariously with my feet on both sides of the spikes, while considering my pants and muscle-tearing possibilities, a loud cheer erupted - complete with shouting, whistling and clapping of hands. What more can I say … the few neighbourhood stares had been exchanged for a peekpeak-hour, overloaded taxibus fanfare.

Life here is never dull. Unusual. Odd. Extraordinary. Bizarre. Harsh. Effort-filled. It is many things, but never dull! There is playing Call of Duty with the Midges. Reading (and interfering with) Rob’s blog. Dropping off photos to strangers in the streets.  Laughing at the crazy man with the whistle trying to direct traffic, or the other one running up and down next to our house singing and shouting. Practicing my science experiments before doing them with the kids and showering my entire upper body with water to the amusement of the cleaning staff. Free taxi rides, again, again and yet again from the same faithful life savers. Mistaking the Malagasy word for “to pee” with “friend” (or vice versa). Publishing a Grade 3 newspaper. Seeing three girls from my home group being baptized. Falling on my bum in the mud on the way to church. Watching people dry rice on the streets, turning the grains with their feet. Church leaders’ meetings changing venue because we are growing. Children digging through rubbish dumpsters. Playing stone-catching games, or at least attempting to. Boys swatting flies with plastic bags at the meat markets. Men playing cards. Ladies gossiping and laughing behind their hands. Rain coming down in torrents … inside the house. Life.

This is home. It is the place where I have to be and where I love being. There is life, love and laughter here. And this is good. There is sickness; there are troubles and struggles and faithful friends who pick up the phone to call and encourage. And this is good too. Life isn’t always easy, but it is very very good!

Mof kondro, or "friend banana in dough", is one of the yummiest treats in Madagascar.

The things children play with in Tana. Yep, all of the above - broken handbags, pails, chickens, stones. What a beautiful, uncomplicated way of growing up.

Gambling...