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

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!

Unadulterated joy

Pure joy cannot be bought: not with toys, treats, or anything else. Nor can real relationships or character. Ditto creativity born out of having little ... 

Which got me thinking about my good friends Brian and Lisa Dean and their children in Springs, South Africa. Without wanting to sound too twee: I miss my wacky, inspiring, unconventional pseudo-family, and their annual side-splitting, otherwise-indescribable Christmas plays.

Two little girls I came across on one of my neighbourhood strolls.

An old yoghurt bottle the latest toy ...

What more could one ask for?

Demon cats from hell

What a night for the neighbourhood! 

At around one in the morning my neighbours were rudely awakened by the demonic caterwauling of an undisclosed number of cats in the alleyway outside my house. They (the neighbours, that is) were then probably terrified by what happened next - me dealing with the howling pests. At least no one actually saw the ghostlike white apparition running around outside hissing and spitting at the night. The cats, it seems, had taken umbrage at the Diana Krall music I was playing, a bit like former landlords in Pretoria who weren't wild about my opera music.

And that's just what life is like here - living on top of each other, forced to deal with every domestic disturbance no matter what time of day or night; all the fighting, wailing pets and children; the roosters and rummaging chickens. Like I've said before, life sure is real here. 

Cute when little, but when they grow up! (The kittens, I mean)

"Give me the chocolate and no-one gets hurt." I could live by that ...

One set of next door neighbours who had to deal with a ranting white man ...

Serendipity

Several years ago I found myself in a guest house called Serendipity in the Eastern Transvaal town of Sabie (in South Africa). I was alone, on a tedious mission to renew my driver's licence. And despite the name, my lodgings were anything but a welcome surprise to the soul - they were dingy, hollow and somber, with a passé 1960s feel about them. I don't have good memories of the place at all...

So, what's that got to do with anything, anyway, you may ask?

Well, this afternoon, after a decidedly disagreeable day, I once again headed into the bowels of Tana to give extra English lessons ... which, despite my initial misgivings, turned out to be remarkably pleasant and productive. And then, heading home in the evening gloom, windswept and sick of the snarling, fume-belching traffic, I chanced upon a still-open Cookie Shop. Ah, what sweet serendipitous joy - seeing the welcoming beacon of hope, connoisseur of coffeeness and all that's good about bagels, with lights on and doors open ...

I wish there were another like it closer to home. But then, these moments, at the end of a hard day, wouldn't be as special. Or serendipitous, I suppose.

P.S. If you live in the first-world, where you have limitless choice, you may be asking yourself, "Why would anyone get so excited about a coffee shop?" Well, the Cookie Shop is the only one of its kind in a country with restaurants that serve mud-tasting, indescribably-bad, insipid, milkless excuses for coffee. So, it is, indeed, something special, something to write home about ...

Not-so-long-ago odysseys

“Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest” Ashleigh Brilliant

It's mid-October, we're two months into our school term, and I could seriously do with a holiday! I started off the new school year in August teaching Life Skills (which several of my friends have pointed out is an oxymoron - me and life skills) and Physical Education. Which was great. But I now find myself in the role of English teacher, brushing up on my grammar rules and Shakespeare and trying to prepare the Grade 12s for their impending SATs, as the English teacher left after just six weeks on the job.

At least my dodgy ankle gets to take a break. 

And thus the need for a holiday! As I don't see one even remotely on the horizon, I thought I'd post some pics from my holiday this January-past to Ile aux Nattes, on the southern tip of Ile Saint Marie, off the north-east coast of Madagascar. One can but dream!

I'd love to upload all of my photos here, but as there are too many, you can see the rest on my Flickr page.

Avast me mateys

Arrr, Blistering barnacles. It be birthday time. Aye. And me parrot concurs.

Jeremy turned eight, and, as usual, Sue created an appropriate cake - a scuttled pirate ship - which was ripped apart and devoured by all the hungry little sea monkeys. And they were all most proud of their skull tattoos too! 

I tried to surrender my booty, like the sign said I should, but no-one wanted it. Argh!
(Be clickin on pictures for bigger versions ...)

The toothless wonder

Mommy's little boy

As I've said before, babysitting the boys is always entertaining. Fortunately the real owner of the head band has been found and Evan can go back to being the wild, rabble-rouser that he is ...

School, whatever!

One of the Grade 11s complained today that I never blog about them - disgusted that I seem to have an opinion on everything else, but don't give them even a line in my posts. My sister told me I shouldn't blog about anything too serious or negative, and that you all want to read about the lighthearted, madder side of life here. 

I do have some thoughts on teaching, teachers and education in this wonderful country but, as I'd rather not upset my sister, I'll keep them for another day. 

Jacobin, Grade 12 supreme Basketball showman

Katelyn, second youngest of four "...lyn" sisters - Ailyn, Lilyn, Katelyn and Evelyn.

Baje, living large in Grade 8.

Grade 11s - my delightful, bright, and highly motivated homeroom class

The Rooster

I love taking pics of Reece - a photogenic little actor of note. Now that I'm not on Facebook anymore, I thought that I should post some of my favourite montages here ... Blog therapy. I'm lovin' it ...

Boys being boys

Triple trouble

I am monster, hear me roar!

Trooper!

What a Treasure!

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

Life after Facebook

A few days ago I took the plunge, launched myself into the dark unknown, the abyss, an uncertain update-less life, disconnected from the matrix that is Facebook. The morning after the big switch-off I feared the terrible withdrawal symptoms that were sure to follow - horrid headaches, tremors, insatiable cravings, loss of appetite ... and yet, amazingly, none of them materialised. (Well, apart from the loss of appetite, but that was from the Malagasy chicken that seriously disagreed with me).

But I digress ... Some have asked me why I did it? Why? But why, Robin?!?!

Surely, with me stuck on this social-wilderness-of-an-island, it was the perfect tool with which to keep in touch with my friends on the outside? But it wasn't. It didn't help to build deeper friendships. It just stole my time and showed me how superficial and self absorbed we've become with our inane, oft-manipulative word bites. I miss carefully-constructed, love-filled letters. I'd rather chat on the phone than tweet or comment ... or "like" something I forget about two minutes later.

And so, my friends, hopefully we'll be in touch. So long, Facebook, twas nice knowing you.