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...

Just limping along

The Beast, promising adventures and open roads ...

A year-and-a-half ago I bought a beautiful, battered Yamaha XT350 from a missionary who was leaving the country. The old nag had done her fair share of hard labour it seems – like an old cart horse just plodding along towards retirement. But I nicknamed her "Killer" and “the Beast", hoping a strong name would spur her on to a few more years of dedicated service.

I bought her bright funky stickers and a lockup box for the back, replaced her brakes and had a new red saddle stitched.

But after a few months in my stable she was in serious need of a service, because of a strange rattle in the engine, and way too much white smoke emanating from the exhaust. The staff at the reputable bike shop downtown was incredibly friendly and very helpful, but this is Madagascar - parts were manufactured and scrounged, and after rebuilding the engine she was put back together with the same seals, the same gaskets, and a whole lot of hope. 

Months later when I found hot oil spraying onto my left foot whenever I went beyond my little neighbourhood, I took her back in for a service. Once again the parts couldn't be sourced, but work was done and I was assured she was right as rain. But, unfortunately, she's not. She is still haemorrhaging oil and almost asphyxiates my neighbours and me with her clouds of white exhaust fumes every morning when I coax her awake.

She’s looking more and more like I feel right now – a bit sorry for herself.  The Beast is limping; Killer still has some bite, but I fear the worst ...

I don't know what I would have done without her and so (sadly), in honour of the old girl, I share this poem (based on one I wrote on Facebook when she was in the shop having her innards worked on last year) - 

Stripped of most stickers ... and limping

Ode to an old friend

She's taken me places, 

has whispered about adventure, 

wind in the hair (!) 

and wide open spaces 

yet to be discovered...

She's stubborn. 

She's irritated me, 

with her old-girl eccentric quirks

but in the end she's served me well – 

with a growl, grunt and roar 

about how we should live our lives – 

Loudly.

But now, 

Staggering,

Suffering from severe smoker's cough ...

And broken apart ... 

By a country that knows how... 

The Beast is on her last legs. 

The Old Girl has eternity in her eyes... 

I'll miss you my old friend, my trusty steed

When you go ... for good

[Insert tears here]

Oily, dirty, leaking, but still going...

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...

Summer Showers

We had our first proper summer rains this evening - heralded by days of oppressive heat. Oh, sweet, sweet summer showers to wash away half a year's worth of gunk and make for sweatless sleep tonight.

The rains also brought another near miss on The Beast (as I had to take evasive action to avoid an old VW Beetle, which was in turn dodging some pedestrians who were trying to avoid a mud-filled pothole of undetermined depth) and saw me return home covered in grime but uninjured.

But this is Africa: I love the typical, violent afternoon thundershowers and I love days like this!

In the Hood

I love getting downtown, which I've been doing more often the last few weeks.

I saddle up the old girl twice a week, feed her a can of oil, and head into the city to give extra English lessons to a Grade 12 student dreaming of getting away from the constant noise, grime and reality that is life in Tana.

I'm slowly figuring out these serpentine, cobbled streets. But every now and then I'm surprised by a market that has sprung up where cars used to crawl, or a murky mass of sludge in place of a road because someone "borrowed" the stones to use where they were more needed. And so I turn around and find a different way, all the time hoping that the Beast won't overheat and die once and for all.

The makeshift markets are overwhelming - awash with the most amazing sights, smells, noise and chaos as young and old try to eke out a living. Everything is a negotiation. And the vazaha needs to be taken for a ride.

But like the saying says, "there's no place like home" ... (Click on pictures for links to bigger photos.)

Take-your-daughter-to-work day

Stylin'

Posers

Exhausted

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!