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.

This and that

I don't think I'm a particularly good photographer. I sometimes look at real photographers - their beautiful, well-composed, crisp, vibrant and often-artistic pics and think that I should rather stick my camera in the cupboard and forget about ever shooting again. But then, I enjoy it, no matter what the images look like ... and the Nikon just refuses to rest idle on the shelf. (And, not to forget, my sister appreciates them). The pics may be rough, the pics may not be artistically remarkable but, mostly, they tell a story about real life wherever I happen to be ... (Click on links in captions for bigger images)

I've discovered, as recently as two days ago, that our western stomachs just don't respond well to food from street-side shops. But then it's the same in any third-world country - first it was the fermented mare's milk delicacy, Ayrag, in Mongolia 10 years ago that had me praying to return to my Maker, then the black rice-paddy fish in downtown Tana several years ago, and most recently mi-sao (Vietnamese noodles). And my Malagasy friends just chuckle semi-sadistically.

"Manahoana vazaha" (hello foreigner), or just plain "vazaha be!" (big foreigner!) is the most common greeting I hear as I wander my streets. I normally just respond with a "manahoana gasy" (hello Malagasy) to the kids, most of whom rush to have their photos taken.

I don't think I've ever seen Midley offspring number 5 with a clean face. But this kid, one of my next door neighbours who (by the way) is terrified of my white vazaha face, takes the cake. I guess this is what comes of playing in the charcoal bin ...

Just chillin on a Monday afternoon.

Tana - 10ks. That's 15 minutes by car at night; 1 hour on an average day.

I am rally driver, watch me play!

"Toki" - Life's pretty good in Grade 3!

A cliché-filled day in my life ...

I hate clichés. With a passion! But this blog was inspired by them - pictures all taken in a 24 hour period. Many of these photos speak to me about the state the country finds itself in, but I won't mention that too loudly. You can read between the lines ... (Sorry, but the bigger pictures aren't working at the moment. I'll try to work on it when I have time).

My friend Anri's Grade 3 class at Vision Valley School.
"Room for improvement" - double entendre?

Whenever I'm looking for some sanity at school I just go and visit the preschool section -
where they always seem delighted to see me and beg for a tickle or two.

Junior-school ruffians ...

In this case, it's the rice that's always greener on the other side. And yes, it really is that green. But I don't know if I'd like to live in those houses (as romantic as it looks). Can anyone say "rising damp"?

Interestingly enough - I still haven't found an indoor bicycle spares or repair shop in this country ...

Nothing too profound about the flag at the US Embassy, but I see it every day from school or church, brightly flying above our dust-blown community ... and I liked the pic.

The famous "digues". Early in my stint here I, full of adventure and bravado, decided to ride my trusty Yamaha XT350, a.k.a. "the Beast", along one of those. It's still a bit of a blur, but the next thing I knew, a group of locals was helping me and my trusty steed from the rice paddy ... That was that, and I've decided that avoiding policemen (which I do daily as I am temporarily paperless) on the main road is a much safer alternative to dodging digue foot-traffic!

Speaking of which, the traffic seems to be worse than ever - traffic jams every morning, every evening - not to mention undrivable Saturday roads. Someone fetch me another "Fresh" (local beer shandies) please.

The same scene as before, just later in the day, and after a Fresh or two ... Hold on, does that horizon look straight to you?

Need I say more? Every yard with an array of rickety antennas climb higher and higher into the sky, searching for elusive television signals, like scrawny saplings seeking out the sun... 

Where I live - rundown, neglected - a sign of the political times in this weary country.

Fast food; food on the run ... These road-side stalls, filled with flies and exhaust fumes both amaze and nauseate me. Needless to say, I still haven't plucked up the courage to buy from them. I value my health way too much ...

And finally, the famous, Three Horses Beer, the makers of afore-mentioned Fresh. So good that erstwhile tea-totalling missionaries have been known to partake in a bottle or two.