Goodbye (part 2)

Esther, from laughwithusblog

I can't believe that I only really got blogging in earnest in September last year - it seems like a lifetime. Not only has it helped me to improve my photography, but I also found myself looking for the humour in situations more than I used to. Clearly the world is a serious-enough place to still blog about weighty issues, and (noticeably) my most-read posts were the light-hearted, humorous ones. 

Somewhere along the way I came across Esther, a fellow blogger at laughwithusblog. I stumbled across her site and ended up visiting most days to chuckle and live vicariously through her accounts of her numerous blunders in etiquette and family goings-on; she wandered across to mine and has become a faithful commenter and encourager.

Here she shares once again but for a change not in the comments section:

"I'm not sure how I happened on Madderinmada, but it has been a favorite.  The first thing that got me hooked was the humor.  What can I say?  I love to laugh!  I have enjoyed the funny quotes from the Midgley family of boys as well as the hilarity that came from Robin's students at times.  His friend and guest-poster Anri also kept me in stitches with her wild stories.

I also loved the real, true-to-life posts about Madagascar, the joys and hardships all viewed though a soul wanting to please God with all of his heart.  I have enjoyed the beautiful photos that capture so much in both people and country.  It appears that not only Mada will miss Robin, but all of his faithful readers around the world too. 

Get well, but please do keep writing!

A mad house in Texas"

_______________________________ 

Be sure to check back tomorrow for the last of the guest posts from Anri-Louise ...

Zoë Life

The lively one

By now many of my regular readers will be well-acquainted with the Midgley family in Madagascar, and their kids in particular. The eldest, and most outspoken of them is Andrew, who was born way back (for him anyway) in 1999. In the same year some mutual friends, the Deans, who now reside in a tiny backwoods, backward place called Springs, in South Africa, had a little girl by the name of Zoë, which apparently means "Life" in Greek... She suffers from verbal diarrhoea (she even talks in her sleep) but has nevertheless brought much vitality into everyone's lives that she has touched. 

She's always been "different" to the norm, but then, the whole family is. Here are some of the things that make her so bizarre, so not-so-sane-in-Springs...

She says she's "biwingual" - she speaks English and Afrikaans.  A few weeks ago she bought a packet of fizz-pops candy with two flavours in one packet. "Hey, it's a biwingual packet of candy!" she said. She calls feathers "bird leaves"; only found out last year that she lives in South Africa, and not the USA; thinks that all meat is chicken and calls her fringe (bangs) her sideburns.

But the most delightful thing about Zoë is that for years she has told me that if I never manage to find a wife that she'll marry me one day "if she has to". Her older sister, the one with a black cat attached to her shoulder like a character from "the Addams Family", told me today that it is looking increasingly probable, despite their every attempt to "set me up".

It's all in the finger

Mr Robin in typical pose

The finger. To describe. To explain. To make a particularly pertinent point. To stick up a sleeping student's nose. The finger is the thing that makes me the teacher I am. If I was to sit still behind my desk and quietly tell my students to read chapter whatsit or learn 20 vocabulary words quietly by themselves then I would go mad, and they would all become a noisy, unruly bunch or find themselves in a permanent stupor. 

I'm not a particularly good teacher, but I am an energetic one. I try to find things that will interest and inspire and excite the students and I make liberal use of the finger. 

But now that's all over. It looks like health issues will be keeping me in South Africa and I have had to resign from my teaching job in Madagascar. What does the future hold? Who knows? 

Will it be an exciting ride? I'm sure... 

And so, all my wonderful students, buckle down and make the most of the little bit of schooling left in this term. Run with perseverance towards the final exams. Grab your futures in your own two hands and work. Hard. And if you were to falter, if you were to stumble, look up and remember "the finger" and the face and voice behind it spurring you on.

Without

Without country, without home, without car, without job and without good health …

A wanderer for God - one step at a time.

But Jesus.

Pigeon poop and a couple of parties

Last week the students heard that I would be leaving school early to return to South Africa because of my health. 

The Grade 3 girls and their teacher threw a party for me complete with "pigeon poop", Doritos and biscuits to eat, then at lunch time the Grade 10s invited me to join them for pizzas. 

At the end of the day I discovered that the Grade 11s and 12s had organised a very creamy cake to say goodbye.  The fact that it had a beautifully-written "Bonne Anniversaire" iced across the top was irrelevant. In this case, it truly was the thought that counted!

"Pigeon Poop"

Is one allowed favourites? Well, Lilyn, in Grade 3, must be one of mine... After school her older sister came to me with a gift - a little bouncing ball snow-globe with a smiling, waving alien inside. She said Lilyn had wanted to give it to me to say goodbye, but was too shy. Thank you, L!

I'm okay, but now where's the car?

I am currently in South Africa seeing doctors to find out more about the lung condition I developed over in Madagascar.

On Monday morning I borrowed my dad’s car and drove through to see my first-choice doctor, who poked, prodded, asked about the history of my condition and then sent me out to the hospital down the road to get x-rays taken of my chest and sinuses. I walked out to an empty parking lot. I looked right, looked left and looked right again, shrugged my shoulders and realised that car thieves in my native land had upped their game – the car was gone.

Reporting the loss to the police was, well, amusing. Firstly, my life bears a remarkable resemblance to Days of our Lives or some similar soapie. It was quite something explaining that I was driving my dad’s car, which actually belonged to my mom, who used to be married to the doctor outside of whose practice I was parked at the time of the theft… Then I pointed out that I work in Madagascar at “Vision Valley School”, A-n-d-r-a-n-o-m-e-n-a,  A-n-t-a-n-a-n-a-r-i-v-o. Try getting a policewoman who has been on duty for two days to spell that correctly. In the final reading of the report it had become “Virgin Valley School” and the town name had lost several syllables. But the police were very helpful. At least it wasn’t a cellphone that had been stolen, because that seemed like a much more harrowing offence to report.

But back to the doctor part of the story. My sister very kindly picked me up from the hospital and took me back to my ex-stepfather, who examined the x-rays, carried out a few other tests and (jokingly) told me that I should live at least another month. My sister, who had at this stage wandered into the consulting room uninvited, suggested I start a “bucket list” of things I’d do in my last month, like movies I’d love to watch. I said that Facebook would be the perfect place to post it, but she was horrified at the thought because of all the people I would have in tears as a result….

It turns out many of my friends are just not that sensitive, however… Here are some of their reactions to the “What if I only had a month to live?”:

• Would it be utterly insensitive and self-absorbed if I asked you to write a blog?
• I would cry then ask to inherit that Nikon of yours.
• We could go on holiday for a month. Who’s paying?
• I’m not surprised, quite honestly. At least we have an excuse for a party.
• Can I have your camera and laptop? It’s for a missionary.
• I’d act sad for a minute, then take leave and go on an adventure with you.
• Great, we can fit in one last barbecue!
• Good, that’s enough time for you to come and see us. We do love you. Sometimes.
• What? At least another month!?! And at most? Where will you do this living? 
• I know what I wouldn't have said: "Can I have your house and millions?"

Many of my friends were too shocked at the possibility to comment and told me so when they saw me…

What would I do if I only had a month? I’d definitely spend it with friends and family… I’d go out to restaurants more… I’d probably try to laugh as much as possible.

What would you do?

A queue, a sauna and a short hop to Africa

The Air Madagascar plane's tail

Oh, how I love flying. Not. I did once but I think Air Madagascar quickly cured me. We were again delayed (I do not remember when last an Air Mada flight was on time) but at least on this occasion they had the foreknowledge to phone me the day before the flight to inform me it would be delayed by around two hours. Bonus.

That didn’t, however, prevent me from having to queue. It was the most bizarre thing – I arrived when the company rep suggested I arrive and immediately went to the back of the already very long queue (perhaps I was one of the only passengers they had warned about the planned delay). Slowly people filed in behind me, but the next thing, when I looked around, I was once again last. This happened several times and I couldn’t figure it out, because I hadn’t seen any rude passengers pushing in ahead of me. But then it all became clearer when a porter approached me and offered to take me to the front, to a specific check-in counter where “a friend” worked. And all it would cost was a mere $7.50.

I declined, but was approached by at least four other porters with the same story in my hour-and-a-half-long wait. The original guy even came back to see if I wasn’t irritated enough to change my mind and said that his special rate “just for me” was now $5. But, firstly, I didn’t see the point of fast-tracking my check-in because Ivato airport isn’t exactly known for its great eating spots, or phenomenal coffee and so there was nowhere to rush off to; secondly I just don’t believe in it ethically and morally. To be honest, I was quite happy to stand more or less in the same spot and sms friends. At least I wasn’t burning up with fever and struggling to stand like the last time I flew to South Africa.

Eventually a group of missionaries from Antsirabe slotted in behind me and also weren’t tempted to part with their money for the empty satisfaction of getting to the front of the queue before other saps in the same boat (or airport queue as it were).

But that was nothing compared to the absolute bazaar of boarding an overbooked plane. We had people shoving their oversized hand-luggage into the overhead lockers; others being shown their seat and then discovering that another passenger had been booked into the same seat; shouting, jostling; three different flight attendants, at various times, trying to make a bag fit in a space it was clearly not going to fit into … and all this while sitting out on the runway in the midday heat. The plane was soon a sauna – and not a particularly pleasant one…

But I’m going “home” – back to South Africa where I have no fixed abode, but where my doctor will hopefully be inspired to discover what ails my lungs. And for that – the hope of health – it was all worth it!

Waiting, waiting, waiting for the 'plane

Doh!

Sue, wife of Kim, mother of five boys ...

This is Sue reacting typically to one of the boys (or perhaps it was one "uncle Rob") using toilet humour at the dinner table. When in this pose she's mostly thinking, "These boys are Kim's, not mine!" or "Oh, Rob, I've already got five boys (and three semi-resident Dutch boys)... Do you have to encourage them?"

PS. I probably won't be blogging in the next few days as I will be heading back to South Africa to see whether the doctors there can figure out what's wrong with me - medically, that is; I don't think anyone will ever find out what's wrong with me as a whole! You may want to look back at some of my former travel stories to see what potentially awaits me...

But before I leave for the airport I will be packing up at the guesthouse I've called home for the last month, then going to my real home, packing and moving all the stuff I've gathered over the last two years there and moving it all to a new (hopefully) mould-free place to await my return.

Last night I dreamt of a new country, a new healthy motorbike, green lawns and horse riding. And then this morning I pushed my trusty old steed out of her stable, and kicked her into life like I do every morning and was greeted with... nothing. "Doh!" Tired for so long, now comatose, a shell covered in oil. Mortified, I left her there lying lifeless and made my way to school slowly in the guest house's beat-up old pickup... I had prepared myself for this day, but was hoping it wouldn't come so soon. (Sob.) Who knows, perhaps "the Beast" will find new life sometime down the road. And then again, perhaps its time to move on and dream of living something of last night's reverie... 

Check back in a bit - I'll see you one the other side...

Beakman

Anyone who has been following my blog for a while will be well-acquainted with the long-running story about me, the mould in my lungs, Tana's putrid pollution and my chain-smoking motorbike, affectionately known as "Killer" or "the Beast"... Well, I now have a mask to wear in the traffic, which has led to much ridicule by friends and passers-by alike. I'm not sure of its benefit yet.

Yesterday, I passed the Midgley clan who were on their way home after church. Andy, the eldest, commented: "There goes 'Beakman', our very own superhero... riding the smoke-mobile"

Jem (the middle boy) quickly retorted: "No, it's the fart-mobile!"

What a welcome jolt

"The Jolt" within easy reach no matter what time of night...

Madagascar has mosquitoes - a motley collection of many mosquitoes. Tana, the capital city is inland and lies between 1300 and 1400m above sea level. Its climate is much more mild than the coastal areas, cyclones are not as vicious, but it hasn't escaped the bane of mosquitoes. 

There are big, bloody ones (like I've never seen before), skinny ones, noisy ones, stealthy ones ... and for this reason I am most grateful for the little contraption that I discovered next to my bed at the guest house where I currently reside.

It's called "The Jolt", a tennis racket-like contraption that delivers a big enough "jolt" to absolutely fry the little critters. When I first saw the rackets, one on either side of the bed, I had images of way-out pre-sleep tennis games between exercise-deprived couples (yes, I think in pictures). But then, oh, then, one evening I took a wild swipe at an annoying buzzing bug and with a snap, crackle and pop all that was left was a acrid-smelling carcass on the carpet...

Now most evenings you can find me sitting in bed, producing perfect forehands and backhands as I ready myself for sleep...  

Praise be to the one who created "The Jolt". (To be said with appropriately serious, gravelly and religious-sounding accent)

PS... For those expecting a post about two inspirational ladies from Mongolia, sorry, it just didn't work out. Soon and very soon...

Being a bit serious for a change

When in Mongolia ... A cow's head and a South African's body

Hopefully this post will encourage some of you out there...

I’ve discovered over the years that life isn’t necessarily easy (duh!). Often there are things in our lives that look too complicated, confusing and scary for us that we just go quiet, go into our shells and deal only with those things we know we can handle.

And yet I’ve discovered that my life has been fuller when I’ve tackled the challenges. Many years ago I went to Mongolia to help a church there, and after a few months the church leaders asked if I would stay longer than the three months I had originally committed to. Many people had commended me for the adventurous heart I had, for giving up all I gave up to go to the ends of the earth (including a steady job, my friends and family). But to be honest, I just felt like a fraud – I became more terrified the closer I got to making the decision to stay or to go. I struggled with the fact that I was a single guy in a foreign land where few spoke the same language, I was terrified of not having enough money, and of being lonely ... I was just plain scared. And so I left at the end of the three months, brought to my knees by my fears. And I’m not particularly proud of the fact...

Since then, I have tried to live a life of more faith. I’ve tried to tackle challenges with the strength of One outside of myself. I’m still single, once again in a foreign land, and still "financially challenged"... The battles and trials are still there. The only thing that has changed is how I choose to deal with them...

Our church's little sound desk. Actually quite simple when you know how...

I was just thinking of that this week as I sat behind the sound desk at church (with all its knobs, buttons, bells and whistles) tweaking and twirling in order to get the worship to sound as good as possible. While in France, serving a church there, I used to look at their little desk in confusion and say to myself, “That’s way too complicated. I will never learn how to use it.” And yet, here I sit. I saw the need, put away my pride and lack of confidence, was trained by an excellent teacher, and have since trained others. Similarly, I taught myself how to use Photoshop in order to design bulletins and welcome postcards and coffee signs for the church. I have learned that God’s grace sustains me. I entrust myself to Him and dive into the challenges (most of the time). 

Now I truly live.

What do you have in your life that you would love to try but haven’t had the confidence to do? Well, perhaps you should think less of how you could be made to look foolish; think less of yourself and more of others and in the words of Nike, “Just do it.” What’s the worst that could happen?

(Tomorrow I'll blog about two young ladies I met in Mongolia - both of whom inspired me)

A group of young people we took abseiling (rappelling) in the Mongolian countryside.  In the front is Rob Forbes, a South African who packed up his family, and moved with them to Mongolia in the dead of winter (with a suitcase of belongings each) to start a church. Behind him is Scott Clement, a missionary from the States who did a similar thing - both giants of the Faith...

the 'gasy power utility from hell

My "romantic" dinner setting. Fortunately I enjoy my own company

As much as it is my intention to blog every day, or close to that, every now and then life just conspires to mess up my best-laid plans...

Firstly, what with being sick, I just haven’t had the energy to write engaging, witty posts (hopefully some of the pictures have made up for the lack of well-written words), and then yesterday evening, while writing a post in my head on my way home I was caught in a huge, violent thunderstorm. I was soaked instantly and arrived at the guesthouse looking something like a drowned lemur. I had a quick shower and then the power went out – on our whole side of the city (as a result of the storm, not me taking a shower). It never returned.

All I could do was have a half-percolated lukewarm cup of coffee and then sit down to a romantic supper by candlelight ... on my own. But it was a pretty good supper – piping hot Moussaka, salad and a home-made pie and ice cream. And with no power, all I could then do was wait for a few tardy guests to arrive, get them safely installed in their rooms and head to bed.

P.S. (This is for the benefit of my mother). I spent much of Monday morning at the local Lutheran Maternity ward, which just happens to have a functioning X-ray machine. I did feel a bit out of place amongst all of the pregnant ladies, and snot-nosed children, but I eventually had my chest x-rayed from a multitude of aspects to see if there was anything worse than just allergies causing all of my coughing. Eventually the doctor called me into his rooms, looking most perplexed. I half expected him to tell me I was in my second trimester.

He asked me if I was a smoker. “No,” I answered. “Never have, and I would never do that to the baby...” (I thought of answering). He then asked if I was a drinker. (I’m not sure of the relevance seeing as he hadn’t x-rayed my liver). “No,” I again answered. He pointed out my lungs on the x-rays, indicating what was normal, and then showed me a band stretching all the way up the lungs, that “was a big big problem,”  to use his words.

“What’s the problem,” I asked. “I don’t know!” was his disconcerting answer, “but this is not normal.” 

I then spoke to my doctor, the American specialist from the 7^th Day Adventist Clinic across town, who still believes that Tana’s pollution and my mouldy house are causing most of my breathing/coughing issues (which could explain why my lungs look like a smoker’s). He’s not around right now, but on Friday morning I’ll head across town once again for him to interpret the “big big problem” for himself... In the meantime I’m breathing much better since using a surgeon’s mask while navigating the traffic on my bike, and since I’ve moved into the guesthouse and out of mould-central at my home (which I have now given notice on, and will be moving out of next month). I have a new home to move into from next month – one where my windows can stay open all day, and I can enjoy breathing fresh air all night long. Ahhhh...

Now if only the electricity would return.

Could it be?

My previous post about Madagascar having some of the slowest Internet in the world refers. But it's not only slow, it's also completely unreliable. It has been unusable since last week Friday - no reasons given - but now, out of the blue it seems to be back up and running. We will see how long it lasts.

Even if I had had access to the Internet I don't think I would have blogged much as I've been feeling quite horrid health-wise again. It turns out that I have allergens in my system, causing my constant cough, and utter exhaustion. On Friday I came down with a chest infection, and so I've been laid low for several days with furious fevers and way too much sweating for one as sedentary as I...  The only way to get rid of the allergies is to move from the pollution-heavy area I live in, to wear a mask while on my motorbike, and to rest.

I'm currently staying in a guest house on the outskirts of town, enjoying the clean air and relative quiet (apart for the pothole in the main road outside my bedroom. Trucks come careering down the road, hit the hole with an awesome kerash, and I have visions of them careering out of control through my sleeping quarters). And despite being woken up at 5am for unexpected guests, staying here is worth it.

But I'll miss all my neighbours when I move - especially the kids who rush out to say hello when they hear my bike coming down the road...

A few of the girls who live around the corner and the mom of the two she's standing next to. Click on the image to see the amazing array of hand-me-down clothes all the girls are wearing. If you ever feel like complaining about not having enough, just come back to this picture. (Even the doll,which the one is so proudly diplaying, is missing its nose)...

Postscript: While the Internet may be working it took me 20min to download mail of 276Kb. Fairly flying! Not. Just for the fun of it I linked makeover-for-miscellany-monday-shabby.

Caught in a summer's moment

It's been hot and muggy in Tana - real beach weather - for the last few weeks. I went for a ride on the old girl on Monday and came home with burnt forearms and singed knees. But as there is no beach within 200km, it's had me dreaming of my time in South Africa over Christmas (where it also rained too much, unfortunately).

But we seized the moment whenever the sun did shine, and when it didn't we built puzzles, drove to town for coffee and explored the quaint little villages in the area.

I love the beach. On days like this, it's worth dreaming about... Here are some special moments from the short time with friends and family.

(I've linked this post to the L.E.N.S. Photo challenge: This moment)

Puzzle-building niece. And in just a moment it was done!

A moment with no rain... The gulls and fishermen taking advantage.

Beach cricket with no rain. And in a moment. The Ball. Was gone

A little Jack Russell taking advantage of a beautiful evening - caught in the moment.

Watermelon - a perfect summer snack. And gone in the blink of an eye.

100 up

Downtown Tana at night

I originally started blogging back in April 2009, just after moving to Madagascar from South Africa. I started after my sister suggested that more than just those on my e-mail contact list might be interested in the madness that was Madagascar.

The country had just been through a coup d'etat, and life here was unlike anything most of my friends and family had ever experienced. But, to be honest, I was a lazy blogger and in my first 16 months I blogged all of five times!

I started again in earnest in September last year, mostly because I was enjoying taking photos, and pasting them into e-mails just didn't do them justice. I was also extricating myself from Facebook, and blogging was a more honest reflection of my thoughts and experiences than throwaway one-liners on a social network. At first I blogged once a week, then it moved to twice a week, and now I try to write most days. Today is my one-hundredth post, which is quite mind-blowing to me, considering its snail-paced beginnings.

99% of the photos that appear on the blog, I have taken. As long as I remain inspired and able to maintain a steady enough hand for photography I will keep posting them - chronicling the life and times of a vazaha and his friends in Madagascar. I do have to thank Stefan at Nikon in South Africa for all of his support, and Kim, who lives down the road, for pointing out whenever my horizons are askew.

I have a few, regular, faithful subscribers - some of whom I count as friends even though I have never met them. Even my students read it occasionally! I've written poetry, every so often I've ranted about something serious and important to me, but I've noticed that my most-read posts are my humorous ones, as well as the ones filled with photographs - people clearly need more laughs in their lives, and don't have time to read. I do intend to keep writing about daily life here as it happens, about the Midgleys, about school, about my neighbours and about me (where appropriate). Despite being a very verbose person, I will try to keep all my posts below 500 words each.

I have also been amazed at the fact that the blog has been read in over 40 countries - far-flung places like Afghanistan, Cyprus, Brazil, Albania, Bangladesh, Kenya, Qatar, Sweden, Lithuania, Pakistan, Macedonia, Saudi Arabia, Poland, Mauritius, Senegal and Costa Rica.

This is number 100. I pray that there will be many more and that I don't run out of interesting, quirky, mad inspiration any time soon...

I leave you with a few of my favourite photos from the last year and a bit. If you'd like to see more feel free to go to my flickr account.

I love the balance of this one, but also its subjects - the Canadian girls, Reece and Evan.
And if you're reading this girls, I miss you!

Iris, a little girl we met on holiday in January 2010. She was the cutest thing.

A little shop on the side of a muddy side-road. I love the colours!

Two little children playing with an old yogurt bottle. Pure joy!

Transport on the mainland. A typical, typical scene

Last Christmas I gave you my heart ...

Many times I have been asked by young and old why I, at age 41, am not married. Part of the problem I have already explained in this blog post about my social failings, but one of the other reasons I suspect (and which has been confirmed by my friends, who have mocked me repeatedly and viciously about it) is my infamous “Music Mix”.

I always believed that girls wanted romance and to be pursued, and what better way to show one’s feelings than a carefully thought-out “mixed tape” or “Mixed CD”, as it has become. It’s sweet, it’s sentimental, it’s personal, and it’s a gift that “keeps on a-givin”. And because words don’t come easy to me, what better way to say “I love you.”

In the early years there was huge effort involved working with cassettes. Ladies want quality time, and I have spent much of that on my own compiling the perfect mix, which, when I was young and stupid was anything but perfect. My music of choice probably drove the lasses into a sickening spiral of depression, but I have since changed what I listen to and learnt a thing or two – now throwing in a good blend of soppy and sentimental, humorous, classical and jazz.

Unfortunately I don’t really listen to lyrics, and only know the first line of most songs – and so I go for the “feel” of the music, something Esther (a fellow blogger) has pointed out may not help with the opposite sex... Also, unfortunately, most people take a while to understand my sense of humour. As the special mix is created at the embryonic stage of a relationship, the young lady is usually still trying to figure out what I’m on about on a normal day, which leaves her scratching her head at the aptness of Eggplant by Michael Franks, Be Mine by The Grits, or Grow old together by Adam Sandler (from the movie The Wedding Singer). Or what on earth Paolo Conte and Charles Aznavour are crooning in their strange accents...

The last mixed CD I made had two very distinct responses from the lady – the immediate one being, “Oh, that’s so sweet, I feel so special,” quickly followed by the furious clatter of footsteps receding into the distance as she realised that this meant the relationship had gone to a terrifying level involving vertigo and nausea.

But, realistically, I’m too old to do love mixes any longer. It’s time to move on to something much more satisfying – the “break-up mix.” I could include songs as a form of torture, like that 80’s horror that just goes round and round and round one’s head, I should have known better by Jim Diamond; one of my all-time favourites Somebody Kill Me (also from The Wedding Singer); and just to rub it in, the Gloria Gaynor classic I will survive ...

I don’t think I’ll be needing it any time soon, so any suggestions are welcome!

________________
P.S. No former girlfriends were harmed in the writing of this blog.

A place to lay my head

- The "Three Hogs" mountains outside Hogsback -

As I mentioned last Sunday, for just over two years after university, I worked for Outward Bound South Africa (OBSA) and was based for much of the time in Hogsback, a sleepy little village in the Eastern Cape Province.  It is fabled that J.R.R. Tolkien of Lord of the Rings fame spent time there, and used it as inspiration. That’s debatable, but one could actually imagine little Hobbits and other mythical creatures running around the misty forests, past the Madonna and Child and Kettlespout waterfalls and across the hills overlooked by the rough-hewn, striking Three Hogs and Gaika’s Kop mountains.

- The one-and-only dirt road to the village -

I was very much the new recruit, and so didn’t exactly get to choose my accommodation. My first “bedroom” was in the more basic of the instructors’ houses, which I shared with three colleagues. I had a closet for my few belongings in the lounge, and slept on a wooden ledge above the open-plan kitchen, which was accessed by a make-shift ladder. The ledge was slightly wider than the mattress itself, and for privacy there was a thin curtain slung across its length, hiding my snoring from the communal area below. Fortunately I didn’t sleepwalk, but getting to the bathroom, half asleep, for mid-night emergencies was a challenge. Whenever anything aromatic was cooked below (bacon being a good example) I enjoyed the fragrance in bed for hours after. But it was at least better than my first-year’s “field accommodation” – a big old tarp and thin, blue foam mattress. 

Fortunately, whenever an instructor left those who had been there longest got to choose a new room, and so I gradually moved up in the accommodation sweepstakes. My next room was in the slightly better house, which was prized for its fireplace. Here the kitchen was on the lower level, and my room was once again attached to it – this time in the cool, damp basement, with a Hobbit-height door, low roof and little window to the outside. Whenever anyone walked on the floorboards above I would hear them, and once again I was awakened whenever the kitchen was used. 

We used two kinds of fuel when out in the field – reasonably harmless methylated spirits for the students’ stoves, and the much more volatile benzene for our high-pressure stoves. Anyway, so one chilly evening I volunteered to start the fire at home and used a jug of ‘meths’ to get the damp logs going. The next thing, I found myself dazed and very unpopular behind the couch – I had used benzene by mistake and had blown the chimney off. That I wasn’t injured was a miracle, but it’s given me something to talk about around many a barbecue (and here).

My final interesting spot to rest my head in Hogsback (after the wooden hut I mentioned on Sunday) was a walk-in cupboard. We had run out of bedrooms, and I was out in the field most of the time with students anyway, so I was housed in the cupboard at the end of the passage. It was wide enough for a mattress, had plenty of shelves for all my gear and felt perfectly private. Fortunately, after having slept in a one-man tent for so long it felt just like home. 

And it makes my current one-room bachelor pad seem quite palatial. 

- Our playground, along with Hobbits and the like -

Tis Tuesday

Unexpected Bougainvillia beauty in a communal wash area

(My last two days' posts refer...)

I saddled the old nag this morning and trotted over to the other side of town on her for the first time in three months. As she gets more and more decrepit with age I haven't been taking her out very far, and the incident where I knocked a young girl down also still weighs on my mind (especially because it is happening more and more frequently here - often with fatal results).

Tropical Storm Bingiza was still making herself known in fits and starts, but overall it was a pretty uneventful and not-too-wet trip.

I am always amazed when I find efficiency in this town of chaos: I'm seeing a specialist in tropical diseases at the Seventh Day Adventist Clinic, and I already feel like a new man after starting with the medication he prescribed yesterday. Although I suspected it was this bad, he confirmed that Tana sits amongst the top-5 most polluted cities in the world, which makes serious allergies pretty commonplace. He drew blood for more specific tests, and the vial was rushed straight off to a lab for testing. It seems as if we have caught it before it becomes a chronic problem.

He also tells me that it should be relatively easy to remedy. All I need is to find a sunnier, drier, more airy abode, hidden far from the main road with its choking fumes. Thank you too to everyone for your prayers ...

I love travelling through town on my bike, because I get to stop and take photos whenever the mood catches me. Here are a few from the last two days: (click on photos for bigger, clearer versions)

The wash area, sandwiched between two main roads

Happy as a bug in a tub: a little child waits for her mom to finish with the washing, while quietly chewing on a brick of soap

Roadside washline

Cocooned: A baby acts as weight to the washing.

Art Pub: For all your printing needs, and second-hand car licence plates

The Rova (Queen's Palace) as seen from the Waterfront road

Happy anti-Valentine's Day

And so another Valentine's Day has come and gone. And to a large extend I think it passed this island by, unlike Tropical Cyclone Bingiza, which made landfall from the east earlier this morning. We are largely protected from the most severe rain and wind because we are inland, but I sure am pleased I wasn't on Ile St. Marie around now...

If I were in South Africa I would have celebrated the day with my Valentine-weary single friends for an "anti-Valentine's Day" party, but being here, Anri and I ended up at the Midgleys for some no-love-lost-here COD shooting, and a slap-up meal of beef, veggies and heavenly ice cream for dessert...

I went to the doctor today and came away with some medication and another appointment tomorrow morning for allergy tests. And now I feel drug-induced sleep coming on. Oh yes, and I did receive two cards - from my Grade 9s and a Grade 7...

Any ladies out there who are interested, take note: "I am a man full of love and (good) personality."

The mould takes hold

Outdoor adventure Mongolia-style

In my first few years out of university I worked for Outward Bound in South Africa – for part of that time in a misty little hamlet called Hogsback, in the Eastern Cape mountains. This involved using experiential outdoor education to teach young people life skills and, in the case of youth at risk, to help them reintegrate with their families and communities. But today I’m here to speak about our living conditions, not the benefits of the programmes...

For most of my just-over two years at the outdoor programme I called a tent home. But we did have rustic bases, which we used when we weren’t out with students. At our coastal centre the instructors were housed in little rondavels, up on the Free State highlands we used an abandoned farmhouse, while in Hogsback we rented an old house with several outbuildings. And here I come to my point: There weren’t enough bedrooms inside the house, and so I was given a small wooden hut outside. I didn’t really mind because most of the time I was out with the groups. But then I started falling ill. I found that I had a constant cough and, to cut a long story short, I developed allergies to pretty much everything one could be allergic to. If I drank milk my throat would close up; if I slept on a down pillow, likewise...

What the owners of the house hadn’t told us was that the shack had been used for several things previously. It had housed pigeons, held a beer still and it had served as a garden shed – for tools, insecticides and whatever else one uses in a garden. I had never been allergic a day in my life, but over time the tiny, unseen mould, spores and damp crept into my system, pretty much incapacitating me.

Obviously I moved out, and ultimately I had to leave Hogsback, but eventually my body recovered. That was 15 years ago. But now it’s back. With a vengeance. 

I feel constantly as if I have tar or glue in my lungs, I don’t have the energy to get up and write on the board at school, I cough until the early hours of the morning, and none of the medication I’ve tried so far has helped. Today I was told to make sure I didn’t take more than 5ml of a bronchodilator I was given because “it can cause heart palpitations.” I guess I’ll be spending Valentine’s Day at the hospital for tests... 

How’s this possible, I ask myself? I moved into a newly-built place – clean, and painted and mould-free – over a year ago. But here’s the rub: Madagascar has a way of hitting foreigners – in so many ways. We don’t have immunity against its bugs, against its weather or against its cheap and nasty building methods. 

Malagasies use a lot of wood in their homes – because it’s inexpensive – but often they don’t have time to wait for the wood to dry or cure properly; damp-proofing in the floors and lower walls costs too much; bricks are largely home-made and insufficiently baked; cement is not mixed correctly; my house is surrounded by ramshackle homes that have crept up around it, choking the sun ... These all combine as a perfect recipe for mould to take hold. What's next? Time will tell...

Thanks to all those who have asked how I’m doing. I’m not downcast. I’m not feeling defeated (except in Call of Duty, where my lack of energy is appreciably evident)... I wouldn’t mind breathing normally and enjoying a decent night's sleep sometime soon, though... Prayer is always appreciated. I’ll write again when I can.