TravelStream™ news feed for member jenaaronmad on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/jenaaronmad en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:59:17 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1217560860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1217560860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1217560860/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:59:17 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Anosibe An'Ala, Madagascar

Leaving One Home for Another...Goodbye Madagascar

Since February 2006, a far away place called Madagascar was our home, now we have returned to another home. We left our town with smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes. We were pleased with all that was accomplished and learned in two years and pleased that our replacement was such a good fit and willing to carry on with activities we established, but sad to leave a place we called home, friends and all that had become so familiar.

As we reflect back we have no regrets and are happy with the impact we made. The Community & Youth Center had over 100 members when we left, the U.S. Ambassador had graciously came to our town for the official opening and ribbon cutting ceremony with several other Malagasy Officials. Two schools had been rehabilitated, latrines were constructed, model farmers learned new techniques, thousands of trees were grown and planted, including highly nutritious species for areas of food insecurity, an income-generating farming association was formed, ultimate Frisbee is tossed in the breeze and UNO cards are shuffled in remote towns, youth groups were formed, sports teams received new equipment, students learned improved agricultural practices and the importance of protecting their environment, self-confidence was instilled, locals began teaching locals, friendships were made as were smiles when 21 individuals had life-changing facial surgery from Operation Smile.

"What will you do next?" "How was it?" "What do you miss?" are the most common questions, but it requires a difficult answer, one not easy to explain.

I miss the geckos on our fence, their iridescent colors so bright as they bask in the sunshine. The way their neon green bodies seem to flow as they briskly move along blades of sugarcane or the way they rest on the colossal purple banana flower and dine on nectar. I miss them crawling on the walls at night, catching bugs and saving us from mosquitoes. They are now replaced by the hummingbirds who feast on the bright orange trumpet vines in my parent's yard.

I miss my chickens running towards my feet every time I leave the house. The way they'd run from anywhere in the yard in response to my calls, scampering to devour leftover rice, greens or to peck at a banana peel. I miss peeking into the chicken house and spotting a fresh egg.

I really miss the rain. Not the dreary kind that lasts for days, causing mold to grow across our walls and spread on the floor, not the kind that makes everything damp & cold, where you forget what its like to be dry, but the kind that quenches the dry fields burdened with parched crops, the kind that occurs in the stifling afternoons to cool the humid, hot tropical air- that is the rain I will miss. The downpours that hit the tin roof so hard & with such ferocity that goose bumps form on my arms. The sudden storms that halt the play of children causing them to giggle, squeal and run for cover. The thunder that rolls and groans across the sky, through our valley from mountain range to mountain range. The lightning so bright and vivid forking across the sky and the accompanying crack of thunder so intense it seems to split the sky into pieces. The grounds shakes and sheets of rain fall- not a fast passing storm like back in Maryland, but one that lasts and lasts. Where does it come from? How can it persist for so long? That is what I miss.

I miss the laughter of children- not occasionally and not passing, but a contagious laughter that comes from deep within, from children finding joy in simple things- pulling each other on a rice sack, playing war with guns made of bamboo, hiding in the grasses, sliding down the hill, making masks and capes with leaves and flowers. I miss that laughter, the type that made Aaron and I look at each other and just laugh. That is what I miss.

But life here also has its rewards- clean water flows from the pipes (I'm still amazed every time I go to the sink!), fresh produce from the garden, family, friends, green grass and nice roads and everything written and spoken in English.

What's next? In one week Aaron, his brother and I will load all we need onto our backs to begin a new adventure on the Appalachian Trail. Later we will drive coast to coast, leaving Maryland for Washington and then following the Pacific Coast Highway, visiting old friends along the way.

"Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
-Mark Twain

This was the first entry in my journal I kept for 2 years and 3 months and it will continue to be my motto. I would not have traded my Peace Corps experience for anything! I am sure we gained more than we gave as Madagascar has changed our lives forever, impacting everything we do. The memories will stay with us for life.

On to new adventures,
Aaron & Jenny

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1204445820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1204445820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1204445820/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:57:20 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Tana, Mantasoa, Fianar, Ambalavao, Madagascar

Sunday, March 02, 2008.

Madagascar has been our home for over two years. In our past 8 ½ years of marriage it's the longest we've resided in one place.

About a week and a half ago Madagascar was hit hard by Cyclone Ivan packing wind speeds of about 190 km/h as it hit the East Coast. The satellite image of the storm was frightening, covering the entire island resulting in extensive flooding and destruction. There won't be an outcry from the people, they won't blame the government, instead they will simply rebuild and continue with their lives the best they can. One more obstacle for this island nation on their path toward development.

Two weeks ago we had our Close of Service conference. It's always a good time getting together with our friends that we arrived in country with, reflecting on our time in Madagascar and similar experiences. After the conference, I (Jenny) went on a 6-day girl's trip south of the capital. Our hope was to take the train from the highlands through the rainforest corridor to the East coast, but the storm altered those plans. Instead we spent time around Fianarantsoa visiting the Old City which was reminiscent of France with red tiled roofs, cobblestone streets and narrow alleys. Our trip to Ranomafana NP was also changed as the metal & wood bridge at the entrance of the park was washed away by severe flooding. We visited a volunteer's site, hiking in the forest, seeing lemurs, rock climbing and enjoying the scenery. Our last day, before taking the 9 hour ride to the capital, we visited a papermaking factory and a zebu market, where thousands of cattle descended on the town of Ambalavao for the Thursday sale. The highland air was cool and fresh, farmer's were harvesting their rice fields and it was refreshing to wander around, taking in all the majesty of the Malagasy landscape.

During my trip, Aaron headed back to site. We received news that our town was completely flooded, our house on the hill was safe but our fence was blown down. Aaron also had to check on the status of some of the work projects we are facilitating. In March our town in throwing a huge party to celebrate the grand opening of the Community & Youth Center which we helped build with a grant received from the U.S. Embassy. The U.S. Ambassador, Peace Corps staff and possibly the government Minister of Education and Minister of Environment are planned to attend, along with other Peace Corps volunteers.

Tomorrow I leave to begin training the new volunteers, including our replacement (which is a strange thought). We will travel to the east of the capital with the new Peace Corps director and his wife where we will meet the new volunteers and teach them methods of improved rice production. Our feet will be coated in mud as we transplant the rice seedlings. I'll meet Aaron there, who I haven't seen in 10 days! The longest time spent apart in at least two years. We will train the new volunteers on poultry raising (our claim to fame is we teach them how to butcher a chicken and then proceed to kill it), tree nursery establishment and operation and bestow advice on living and working in Madagascar, as well as encourage them to stick through all the tough times they are guaranteed to face!

We will sadly leave our site May 1st and then continue to work through June 6th assisting the Operation Smile project that will begin the end of May. Once we depart Madagascar, our wandering feet will take us to the beautiful island of Mauritius and then we will return to the States in July to readjust and spend time with family and friends.

Hope all is well in your part of the world & enjoy the attached photos,
Jenny


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197354900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197354900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197354900/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:54:21 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Tamatave, Madagascar

Daily cost of taking 5 children & their parents over 300 km to change their lives forever: $65.40; Changing a child's life forever: Priceless

This is Fitiavana, his name means "love." Just one look at him and you can see he will have a hard life. He is seven years old, his legs are bowed from rickets, his face has a terrible deformity and he looks less than half his age. His cleft lip and palate makes his speech hard to understand, but that doesn't deter Fitiavana from chattering away and singing the lyrics to current Malagasy pop songs! His favorite thing, besides Aaron, was playing in the ocean. Without fear he'd run straight into the ocean. Aaron would scoop him up, put him up by the beach and he'd run right back again. Every time his laughter getting louder and louder. His clothes were soaked, but he didn't care. He'd fall in the sand and be covered from head to toe and still not care. He became Aaron's little buddy. His bowed legs made his walking slow so Aaron was the one who'd carry him wherever we went. In the evenings Aaron would take him out by the road at the house they were staying at. Fitiavana would sit on his knee and they'd talk and watch the night life pass by. Aaron watched all the surgeries from start to finish and carried each of the children out of the operating room when they were finished. It had been a long day at the hospital, three of "our kids" were operated on and Fitiavana was the last of the day. We were tired and it was getting late. All the fatigue from the day washed away when I saw Aaron dressed head to toe in scrubs carrying this small child sprawled in his arms with a fever, holding the IV tube to his bed, watching over him and caring for him. The doctors could only operate on one side of Fitiavana's face, he is supposed to go back in six months, and hopefully the rest can be finished.

Here is Sandrine, at 12 years she is the oldest of five children. Her head is habitually downcast and held low from years of trying to hide the imperfection on her face. She looks at you through the tops of her eyes and wears a long scarf on her head and uses the ends to cover her mouth. The hole in her mouth and lip distorts her speech and has led to an extreme shyness. She talks only with those close to her in no more than a whisper. Yet she is very smart and a beautiful artist. On the first day I gave her new clothes that my Aunt had sent, the only new clothes she has ever had. On the second day I helped her open her box of milk and showed her how to use a straw. She smiled when the milk reached her mouth. On the third day we went to the beach, I showed her how the sand would cover her feet when she stands still as the waves washed over them. She ran along the beach with Filipine and collected shells. On the fourth day, I was her new friend. She insisted on carrying my basket over her shoulder and would clasp her fingers between mine as she held my hand tightly wherever we went. We played the game of UNO together and drew pictures with colored pencils. I walked with her into the hospital, listened to American music on my MP3 to help her relax, held her hand when the doctor drew blood and assured her the pain would be quick. She had surgery on both her palate and her lip, yet she never cried even when she was obviously in pain. She is a beautiful little girl whose life has been forever changed.

This is Filipine. She had to walk about 3 miles to school before a new one-room, thatched roof school house was built in her village. Now she walks about one mile two times a day up and down a mountain to and from her home. When Aaron first met her she was filthy, working in the fields in dirty, tattered clothes with a woven hat covering her unkempt braids and a bad facial disfigurement. Two week later she was a new girl. She had ridden in a car, saw an airplane, rode in a rickshaw, sat on a horse, got in the ocean and returned to her town in the countryside like a superstar with crowds gathering around her. She always had a small green cloth in her hand to cover her mouth with and wore a big floppy hat to cover her face. Each day after the surgery she'd look at her face in the mirror the nurses gave her. She would stare and rub her lips together, a sensation she had not known before. Then she would look down, turn the mirror around in her hand and we would find her peeking at Aaron and I. When our eyes caught hers, she would giggle, shyly put her head down and flash a cute smile. She got her first pair of shoes ever and only took them off to clean them. Every time we went out she held my right hand. Many times my grip helped her from tripping and falling as her orange flip-flops scuffed along the roads making a clunking sound wherever she went. So proud of these flip-flops she wore them for over 7 km along red dirt roads, through rice fields and up a mountain side when she returned home.

This is Jon, when he was born his mother looked at him with his facial deformity and left him and his father. Maybe it is that separation that has created such an inseparable bond between him and his father today. He is seven years old and has never been to school. When the other kids were coloring, he couldn't even hold a pencil or draw an image. He is illiterate like his father. The morning after Jon's surgery, the father looked at us with a sparkle in his eye, a huge smile with missing front teeth and thanked us for finding them. Next year, he said, Jon will go to school because now his lip is fixed and he will be able to talk. Two days after the surgery I heard laughter erupting in the courtyard from one of the children that I had not heard before. I looked around the corner and Jon had seen his reflection in a car mirror, he grabbed the mirror, turned it towards his face, smiled and laughed. The next day he started singing and talking. He finally warmed up to Aaron and I and would give us a big, shy smile when we looked at him. He ate yogurt for the first time, saw a train, a motorboat and a cargo ship, but one of his favorites was eating ice cream for the first time. On the 9 hour ride home he was so sleepy, but afraid to close his eyes and miss something. They were the first to start the walk home to their village. The father was so proud and couldn't wait to show off his new boy.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197034680/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197034680/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1197034680/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:50:16 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Tamatave, Madagascar

"THE LIFE OF A CHILD CHANGED FOREVER"

You may have heard the story of the starfish flinger...

As the old man walked the beach at dawn, he noticed a young man ahead of him picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. Finally catching up with the youth, he asked him why he was doing this.
The answer was that the stranded starfish would die if left until the morning sun.
"But the beach goes on for miles and there are millions of starfish," countered the other. "How can your effort make any difference?"
The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and then threw it to safety in the waves.
"It made a difference to that one," he said.
- Anonymous

I have always valued that story, but never knew that one day I might make a difference to one.

Living in a developing world we time and again encounter people with unimaginable deformities. I can clearly recollect so many disfigurations and deformities that are beyond belief, such a burden for the individual to carry through life. I try not to look too long but I am sure they are used to the shocked expression on others faces. The worst is to see a child with a facial deformity. A life unimaginable- certain to be a struggle, an outcast, laughed at by others or pointed at. Growing up in America such deformities seem to be nonexistent thanks to accessible and state-of-the-art medical care.

In our past year and a half living here in Madagascar we have frequently seen children with cleft lip/palate along the roads, in the markets and towns. It's heartbreaking- but what can we do? A few weeks ago our answer came. Operation Smile, an amazing team of dedicated and hard-working medical volunteers arrived in Tamatave and began "Changing Lives One Smile at a Time."

So, in the past few weeks, along with receiving a $7,000 grant from the U.S. Embassy to build a Community & Youth Center in our town (also going to the Capital with our local counterparts to meet the U.S. Ambassador for a ceremony), managing an association to run a tree nursery, planting corn before the rains come & trying to educate locals on slash and burn agriculture, we managed to get all our friends, neighbors, health workers and government officials involved in helping us to locate as many children as possible in the area with cleft lip/palate. Through the smoky haze of the burning forests and under the intense tropical sun, we pedaled and pushed our bikes on eroded and battered "roads" into the countryside to find the children. Two girls were identified less than 24 hours before we left, Aaron and our friend rode through the heat and hiked a mountain to locate the families, arriving back to town drenched in sweat and carrying two photos of girls whose lives might be forever changed.

Tuesday night, one by one, the parents hesitantly knocked on our gate, holding their child they came into our home and I explained the travel plans to them; we would travel over 300 km to the East Coast where life changing surgery might be performed. They were nervous, never having spent time away from their town and never traveled so far, yet they were eager to help their children. They had just arrived from the countryside, uncomfortable in my presence; their only question was regarding payment for transport. I ensured them all cost would be covered- they wouldn't need to pay anything.

Thursday morning we all arrived at the hospital in Tamatave, a place that became very familiar during the following week, to wait for the screening process. Everywhere there were potential patients- mothers with babies, boys, girls, teens, adults- people of all ages with facial deformities. All day we waited in the heat, the kids were quiet, so much is new, they have never before seen such a large city, been in a hospital or seen a doctor. Maybe they are still in shock and scared as the foreign doctors take their heart rate, look in their mouths, snap photos and check their teeth.

Saturday we returned to the hospital to hear the names of those selected. A sick feeling swept over us as numbers were called out. The parents stared ahead, waiting to hear that one number. Finally three of ours were called in a row, the parents shouting out that they were present and rushing up through the crowd to enter the building, clenching their child's hand. The first day of patients had been called. Jon and Sandrine were still amongst the large crowd, my stomach was tied in knots. The atmosphere was tense, there were too many for all to be selected. Sandrine turned and watched from the crowd as her friend, Filipine, walked to the hospital with her green medical folder in hand, ready to receive pre-surgery instructions. I looked up at her father and his eyes were glassed over, his face stoic and stared straight ahead. I looked at Aaron and he had the same sickened look on his face, this was so intense, I could feel my body tighten, what if they are not chosen?! They started calling numbers again for Monday's surgeries, starting with low numbers..1,4,6, 12,.. then jumped to 90s and soon 100s. Sandrine was 116, Jon 118. Suddenly 116 was called out in French, they ran forward laughing, I sighed in relief and next was 118, my gaze affixed with Aaron's, both our eyes were glassy, filled with emotion and we laughed!

So over the following week our days were consumed at the hospital. Each morning, we'd wake early, walk to the hospital, check on "our kids", get them meals, talk with the families, help translate, and assist until evening. Over the following week we also became a family- cooking and sharing meals, living together, watching the kids, playing UNO, talking, experiencing new things together, caring for each other and supporting each other. It was quite intense having 5 kids who have never even been in a hospital have life changing surgery in a 48 hour period. Parents were obviously nervous, but so compassionate; fathers caring tenderly for their children, preparing their beds, hydrating them with juice, administering medications, and not leaving their sides even to eat. Aaron & I became the caretakers of the parents, bringing them coffee and tea, bread, rice and soup & ensuring they understood the nurses orders and had what they needed for their stay.

Aaron witnessed each child's operation and was with them when they fell asleep and woke up from the anesthesia. He watched as the parents were brought in to see their "new" child, their eyes affixed on their child, shocked expressions of joy and amazement.

As the kids recovered we took them to the markets to see the local products, goods and fruit of the sea- the men laughed in amazement at the squid and couldn't believe the size of the fish. We took the girls clothes shopping & quickly spoiled them. We visited the beach where they saw, touched and sat on horse for the first time, built sandcastles and watched the waves wash them away, buried Aaron in the sand and watched ships come into port. The men caught crabs in the sand and they all ran around giggling at the sight of this mysterious critter with a big pinching claw!

The kids healed quickly and stitches were dissolving, no longer did people stare in astonishment as we walked around in our group. With over 130 patients receiving surgery, the operation was the talk of the town. People told us it was a gift from God and that the Operation Smile staff was given by God. It was without a doubt the most amazing thing I have ever been a part of. I cherished the look on the parent's faces as they stared at their child with a sparkle in their eye and a smile that continuously illuminates their face. To walk past the recovery room and see an 18 year old staring into a mirror is a most powerful sight and to hear Jon erupt with laughter when he caught sight of himself in a car mirror is absolutely priceless, all memories that Aaron and I will carry for life.

Everyone was relieved when it was time to head home, they were anxious to get home to their families, to see their rice fields and breathe the country air. After hours and hours of riding, we started to wind through the mountain range that they call home. Men walking along the roads were carrying familiar tools, kids were wearing familiar dress, the trees were like those of home and the houses looked like theirs. The van erupted with laughter; they said they could smell Anosibe An'Ala. We arrived late in the evening; they all stayed in town and came to our house the next morning for final medical advice from us and goodbyes. We decided to accompany Filipine, Sandrine & their fathers back to their town about 7 km away. As we started walking along the red dirt road, we began to pass people coming from their town. Everyone stopped and couldn't believe their eyes. Some joked that the father's had found new kids. It was so awesome to see the father's faces beam with joy as they looked at their daughters. The little girls are still so shy, would habitually try to cover their mouths and squeeze my hands tightly as people moved in for a closer look.

Two hours later we approached their town, Andre looked out into the distance of a rice field, saw his wife and whistled to her. She began running through the paddies and fields with her infant son tied to her back. She looked at her daughter, smiled and was speechless. We went to their one room wooden house with thatched roof and it quickly filled with family and friends to see Sandrine and hear of her story. Aaron and I came in and sat on woven mats on the floor (the only furniture in the house was one bed.) Everyone was quiet and shy, just smiling and laughing.

On the way to Filipine's house we passed her new school. (the school had just opened the Sunday before the screening, the head of the schools was there and saw the 2 girls, the next day we were telling him about Operation Smile and he told us he had just seen 2 girls with cleft lip. The next day Aaron and a friend rode to their town, found them, two days later they were in a taxi with us to Tamatave and the rest I guess is history!) The teacher saw us and ran out, her face was one huge smile and behind her ran all the school children with their chalk and slates still in hand. Suddenly Filipine was surrounded like a movie star, with her new clothes, flip-flops, fancy braids and new face. The kids looked at her in amazement, jaws literally dropped. Next we went through the muddy rice fields so Felix could see how his crop is doing and then began the intense hike over a mountain (literally) to get to his parents. After 45 minutes of climbing and sweating we reached the little house and walked in to meet her grandfather. He was extremely gracious, giving praise to God and reached out for Filipine's hand to hold- he is blind from the cataracts on his eyes. Next her uncle came in and kissed her and the father began to tell stories of the trip. His first story was about all the white people he saw- doctors and nurses. Suddenly his mother ran into the house, fell into his arms calling out his name and crying and then went silent. They ran to get her water and rubbed her back. She started to move again and was crying. Rejoicing that her family had returned, she reached out to her "new" granddaughter. She was disheveled from running back to the house from the fields and still had a basket around her waist filled with rice seeds. She looked at Aaron and I and announced that we were now her family because we had taken care of hers when they were far from home. Tears welled up in my eyes and we just smiled. She wanted to give us rice and bananas (as the traditional "fruit of the road" gift), but we said it was not necessary that Filipine with her new face was the fruit of the road.

In my past 30 years of life I can think of no greater reward, nothing that I have been a part of that has had such an impact on someone's life. Thanks to Operation Smile and caring people, five poor children from the countryside, kids who have never before seen a paved road, never ridden in a vehicle, never eaten at a restaurant, never seen a horse, airplane, train or boat or had never experienced the awe of standing on a beach looking out to sea, had their lives dramatically changed forever.

Looking for a Christmas gift for someone? Give something that will make a real difference, consider donating to Operation Smile. This is just the story of 5 children; imagine if every child was able to experience such a miracle. www.worldjourneyofsmiles.org

Thank you to Westminster Bible Church and everyone else who is donating to cover the cost of this project.

Keep smiling,
Jenny & Aaron
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1183547700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1183547700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1183547700/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:46:52 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Anosibe An 'Ala, Madagascar

As I searched for my watch in the darkness, I could still hear the rain drops on our metal roof. Today has been planned for a week on paper, but in our thoughts for months. The sky has been clear for the past two weeks, but precipitation finally falls today- should we go or wait? At daybreak we could see the dark-gray overcast of the thick stratus clouds blocking the heat of the tropical sun and a cloudy drizzle obstructed our normal view of the mountains in the distance. Those mountains are our destination. I put on layers, lined jogging pants, thick wool socks, a t-shirt, then a wool sweater, a raincoat, knee-high army green mud boots and topped it off with a wool hat- it was reminiscent of preparing to go snowmobiling on my Grandmother's farm on winter days after a fresh snowfall.
As we rode out of town a steady flow of brightly dressed folks from the countryside passed us with curious looks. The women wore their woven hats to protect themselves from the rain, a colorful lamba wrapped around their waist and one fastened around their chest, holding their baby tight against their back. Men had on their Ankanjo be, colorful woven raffia jackets, to shield them from the rain in traditional Betsimasaraka fashion. Rarely alone, but always with a group; most likely their entire family leaving their home in ambanivohitra (the countryside) to head to the market. Each carried a load. The men had sacks of rice which far outweighed them, steadied on their shoulders, the boys with a bundle fastened to a bamboo pole and the girls with hand-woven baskets balanced effortlessly on their heads with freshly harvested vokatra spilling over the edges. While I had my eyes focused on the road directing my wheel away from the rocks jutting from the slippery mud path and aiming for the well-worn footpath, Aaron would greet the passerby's with a Manakory Aby! They'd respond with a smile, an overexcited giggling would erupt, amazed and surprised that the Vazaha spoke Malagasy. Familiar faces passed by as well, making this tropical and foreign land seem more like our home.
We didn't know the exact directions of our destination, but that was not a problem. The locals in their yards doing their daily tasks, or the fruit and juice vendor in her wooden stand would surely know the way. After an hour we reached the river. As we walked down the bank we entertained a small group of locals. I watched the farmers (who are about my height) as they waded across, holding their shorts up higher and higher, to judge the waters depth. I pulled off my boots, peeled off my socks and rolled up my pants exposing my pale skin. Boots and bike in one hand, the other holding up my pants legs, I started across. The frigid water dulled the sensation of the rocky river bottom on my tender feet. The middle became deeper, my pants inevitably became wet and I noticed my bike was being dragged downriver, the current was much faster than anticipated and the ripples forming around my legs made it harder to walk. I realized that I was not crossing, but rather moving diagonally down the river. Finally as I reached the other side I lugged by bike up, which was still being dragged horizontally downriver. Aaron scrambled straigt up the sandy bank and I heaved my bike overhead and then proceed to crawl up. We rode for another half hour, stopping occasionally to carry our bikes across slippery aged trees laid across waterways and small ravines.
As we pushed our bikes up an eroded and slippery clay path we were greeted by the smile of our friend, Noelson, who was coming to receive us and guide us to his town. Aaron and he chatted while I fell behind struggling to keep up with his fast pace. Soon the noises of village life could be heard: the roosters crow, a pig snorting as it rooted through kitchen scraps, children's voices and laughter as they make the outdoors their playground, the patter of bare feet moving quickly under heavy loads on the shoulders of men, and the thunk-thunk of women pounding rice in large mortar and pestles which becomes a rhythm that we walked to as we enter Ankoraka. As we step in our friends one room wooden house, I notice the floor, covered by worn woven mats, giving way under our feet. We sit at a wooden table with a notebook and bunch of bananas resting on, in the corner leans an aluminum pot and against the wall a wooden bed frame with a homemade mattress of plastic material stuffed with dried grasses. A few posters hang on the wall; one a presidential campaign, another from the Mother and Child Wellness day that passed several months ago. Next we do the customary visit to the president of the Fokontany. Inside his one room house, Aaron and I are given the two chairs to sit on, the others find footstools or rest on the bed. The solitude of the room is interrupted by loud static coming from a small radio on a table, a status of his wealth. All eyes are focused on us and everyone's face is radiant with joy. We wait. Unlike the society we come from, the elder of the village is in charge, he is to be respected, and we must wait for his arrival before walking around the town. I sit quietly, hands resting in my lap, looking out the doorway at the cluster of children curiously looking in at the strangers. Noelson proudly smiles at us, a twinkle in his eyes and says, "they have never before seen a white person in their town." "Are they afraid?" asks Aaron.
Two elderly men and three elderly women enter. The women are giggling, their wrinkles outline their smiles. We stand to shake hands, they hold their right forearm with their left hand to show us respect and we do the same. The younger men in the room make way for their elders and they are introduced to us as the Tangalamenas of the village. Their skin is deeply wrinkled by years under the sun, their feet calloused from days of walking upon the earth, but their eyes are clear and sharp. They are the village elders, they have seen much and know all the coming and goings of the town and they present us with a short speech of welcome. They laugh saying that we brought the rain, a good thing in this agricultural society. We sit calmly as Noelson slowly reads from a list: Acacia, Moringa, Litchi, Loquat, Cherry, Eucalyptus. After each tree species he states the number that we are supplying to each school- the reason for our visit.
Next we begin our 3 km walk to Ambodiara to survey the land near the school in which hundreds of trees will be transplanted from our tree nurseries. I'm almost out of breath as I hurry to keep up with their fast stride. Noelson asks if Americans walk a lot. Aaron laughs, says everyone has a car and then goes on to explain the roadways, at which Noelson clucks his tongue and laughs in amazement.
We arrive at Ambodiara in about an hour, a small village, the houses the color of the surrounding Earth. We enter a wooden house that is also the local store. I see a shelf with an old cardboard box with Chinese made batteries, two sacks sit in the corner, out of a hole spills dried corn kernels of differing colors onto the worn, soiled wood floor. We sit on a narrow bench, worn smooth by previous visitors and begin shaking hands with the multitude of people in the room. A young girl stands in the corner staring, she can't take her eyes off us and her forehead is wrinkled, eyebrows tense clinging to her mother's leg. Again we wait for the village elder, he is in his fields harvesting rice so we wait quite a while. As the men talk, my gaze is focused on the colorful corn kernels spread about the floor, looking someone in the eye who is speaking is not customary here. Three of the men in the room are model farmers, each with their field knives propped up by the doorway. Women with their children close by gather at a safe distance from the doorway, they can't take their eyes off us. The crowd gets larger, a few men come with red mud covering their hands and feet, they are building the walls of a house next door, taking a break to see the strangers in their town. Many enter and shake our hands, their fingers are cold as ice and wet from being freshly washed in the river water. A young man wearing plastic mud sandals, jeans and a shiny watch enters- he is the local school teacher, though he looks like a kid himself. To break the silence we unroll a world map given by a teacher at Sykesville MS, which we present as a gift to the local schools. Immediately the silence is broken with simultaneous chatter. They gasp; some make a high pitched "weiggghh" sound and bring their fist close to their mouth. I imagine none have ever seen such a map before and their eyes are glued on it. We already showed Noelson, so he proudly points out Washington, D.C., where Aaron and Jenny are from, and the U.S.A. and tells them how far we traveled and how long the plane ride was. He remembered every detail, and then pointed out France and Madagascar. We flipped the map which showed the Earth at night, the white areas electricity, the yellow spots wildfires. Their fingers are all over the map pointing to different areas, amused at the tiny white dot in central Madagascar, they observe the yellow marking Africa and Madagascar and one explains that he is frightened. I watch their faces as they attentively scrutinize this new image; their eyes are wide open darting around to take in all that the map displays.
A green, lush mountain overlooks the village. Noelson told us that this "live forest" is the one "given by God." It is rare to see primary forest, so much has been cut, most forests are now planted by man. He encourages us to come back another time and to visit this forest where lemurs still roam and wild pigs live, we can't wait. As we walk he tells Aaron how men hunt the pigs with spear and dogs, and then points out another mountain stating years ago, before French Colonialist, locals would go up there and pray. Now it's been cut and burned to grow rice and cassava.
Aaron bends his back to enter, the bamboo ceiling is too low, and I follow. The children are standing and loudly shout "Bonjour" as Aaron and I walk in the small dimly lit schoolroom. The walls are made from the red clay we stand on, there is a roof of patchwork metal roofing and a few small wooden windows to let in the natural light. Two rows of students sit on each side, none smile, they are too uncertain of us. We are seated in the front, a few short speeches are made and a chicken is brought in and sat in the corner. We go outside and the children rush to follow, several crawling under their desks to get out faster. We look at the hillside and the school ground where the fuel-wood trees will be planted and where the fruit tress will grow. Before leaving we are presented with a chicken and a bag of rice, the President of the Fokontany thanks us for coming and asks us to help get latrines and water pumps for their school children. Such a simple request and one which we are grateful to assist with.
We make the journey back to Ankoraka, visiting a waterfall along the way. The land on both sides of the path has become agricultural land. Banana trees, groves of coffee, sugarcane, rice fields and freshly grown greens. We step to the side to allow two enormous oxen to climb the path pulling a sled behind, they don't want to go on the steep part until their owner snaps a branch from a nearby tree. Entering Ankoraka, the town is bustling with daily activity. We follow a few small girls carrying buckets of water up from the river, men pass carrying planks of wood harvested from the forest, a group of turkeys cluster near a feed trough and a rooster proudly stands along the roadside oblivious to the boys rolling hoops made of vines down the road. Up on the hillside a group of young girls call out to get my attention then wave and cheer when I take their photo as they pound the hauls off of rice for dinner. Chickens scurry around scampering to get the rice grain as it blows in the damp breeze.
Before departing we once again sit in a small wooden house. The village elder is in front of us and gazes into our eyes. His voice is low and he speaks slowly. His speech is like a well rehearsed oration, and expressing gratitude he presents us with another chicken and more rice. We tranquilly sit, nothing goes through my mind, I am unaware to what is going on around us except for the words of farewell as the Tangalamena sends us on our way.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1174654920/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1174654920/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1174654920/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:36:46 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Anosibe An'Ala, Madagascar

Since a picture is worth a thousand words...

Well, it has been over a year since we first arrived in Madagascar. We just finished training the new volunteers that arrived a few weeks ago. In many ways life has become commonplace and routine, but there are always things that continue to surprise and shock us and new experiences every month. Since a lot has happened that we were previously unable to write about, we thought we would write a little and add lots of photos.

On our blog we have photos going all the way back to Jen's parents visit in October. We all had an amazing 3 weeks and were so glad to share our experiences with them. We started the trip by flying to Ile St Marie where we relaxed in turquoise water and walked along the white sand beaches lined with coconut palms. They also visited our site where they fetched water, fed our ducks & geese, went for hikes, made peanut butter, roasted coffee, played with our neighbor kids and, of course, saw some lemurs.

In November we watched the land go up in flames from traditional slash and burn practices. We would shake the ashes off our bed at night and be disoriented with time since the noon day sun would be blocked by smoke, giving the sky the appearance of sunset. Needless to say it was rather frustrating riding our bikes 5k to get to our tree nursery while passing scorched land and trees. We also attended a traditional cow killing ceremony (certainly not something one sees everyday- thank goodness!) We were invited by a farmer we work with. We rode our bikes way out in the country and then went even further to find this place. The only way to describe it would be to show photos, but then you wouldn't smell the hot freshly killed meat baking in the sun, the stench of the punctured stomach or the odor of local rum on the men's breath.
Thanksgiving was celebrated with some other volunteers and we helped prepare dinner for over 80 guests.

In December we took a "marathon" road trip to the South of Madagascar covering 3,000 km in 6 day. The scenery was amazing and it was incredible to see the landscape change from tropical forest to highlands, to wide open spaces and then to the dry arid South. Everything from dialect to food to clothing was new for us. We were really fortunate to see so much of Madagascar by road in a nice NGO vehicle. Christmas was spent at a friend's house in our banking town, where we were able to do some traditional Christmas things- baked sugar cookies, shared a nice meal, enjoyed the lights of a Christmas tree and ate waffles with fresh peaches & cream and corn on the cob for breakfast (oh wait, that's not a traditional Christmas morning breakfast is it?!)

January we returned to the South to visit a friend's site and spent some time in the coastal town of Ft. Dauphin. Transportation left much to be desired- flat tires, waiting 9 hours for the taxi brousse to leave, waiting 4 hours to fix several flats, the crankshaft completely falling off and bouncing down the road (got out & walked), and then our next brousse also broke down. We came back to our site with new intestinal friends that are still gnawing at our insides a month later, but I guess seeing friends and having beach time made it all worth it!

February we started a new tree nursery with a farmers group closer to home. The rainy season is also here which means muddy roads and even slower transportation. Oh, a new addition to the family today. "Miss Peep-peep" was purchased in the market today while shopping for produce. (Aaron is such a sucker- he he). She rode on my bike and is now enjoying her new life at the Christman farm- this should increase the excitement and add more chaos to the hen house pecking order!

March we trained the new volunteers on poultry raising and tree nurseries and will begin working with women's groups on vegetable gardens. This past week has been full of exciting and sad events, but I will save that for another time.

Take care,

Aaron & Jenny
Muddy in Madagascar


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1173705900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1173705900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1173705900/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:29:37 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Ambovombe, Madagascar

To see a child starving... a visit to the South of Madagascar


Life is built on our experiences, the things we see and do, and recently our lives have been changed by what we have seen... people starving. A little girl, who is 4 years old, yet looks half that, a little girl who is too weak to walk or brush away the flies on her face. Her ribs are visible through her skin, her belly is protruding unnaturally and her arms and legs bone thin. Her hair is orange from vitamin deficiency and the expression on her face, the look in her eyes seems so empty and distant. Everyone has seen images of starving children, we say "that's sad" and turn the channel. But to see starving people in one's presence is overwhelming. It's incomprehensible that there are people with nothing to eat; whose only option is clay dirt mixed with water and cactus to fill their belly a little and stave off the hunger pangs.

In late December and mid-January we had the opportunity to visit the South of Madagascar on a reconnaissance trip with our counterpart organization, who is working with several other NGOs to provide food aid. Food insecurity is a reoccurring problem in this arid part of the country, yet this year many factors combined to make it even more devastating.

While visiting rural communes we drove through a dusty town and saw our Peace Corps friend standing on the side of the road. The people in his town are hungry and for some reason didn't qualify for food aid. His friends and neighbors are selling their possessions- their pots, dishes, etc to buy food. Schools are half empty because children are too hungry & weak to learn. For a few, water is distributed through a lottery system and for most sold at prices to high to afford. Farmers are burning the thorns off of cactus to feed their livestock and themselves. We saw the wells they dig, the scarce & dirty water they drink and their sandy fields. Later when we visited in January the fields of corn had started to sprout after some rains came, but the insects are destroying them- yet another obstacle.

We've heard that food distribution has been going on for at least 15 years in this part of the country, which should make one realize the necessity of proactive approaches rather than yearly reactive ones. The people of this region are known to be tough and are accustomed to hungry seasons, yet I can't help but wonder if this land is not meant to be inhabited year round.

As you sit down to dinner remember that there truly are starving people around the world and be thankful for all the abundance that you are blessed with. On our second trip it started to pour down rain and we watched in delight from under an awning as kids skipped and dashed about carrying buckets with gigantic smiles on their faces collecting the rainwater. The chore of fetching water was completely gone; there was pure bliss in gathering this liquid gold.

Take care,
Jenny & Aaron
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1168006980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1168006980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1168006980/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:26:07 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Moramanga, Madagascar

January 4, 2007

"I'm Bored...He says"

Okay, so here is how our most recent "adventure" began. It's New Year's Day & we decide to walk downtown to visit a friend. As we're strolling towards the market, Aaron looks at me and says, "I'm bored, let's walk to Moramanga." My response, "Okay, but let's take our bikes." Thus began our 74 km (44.4 mile), 2 day bike trip.

We purchased some one cent bananas, several ears of field corn and tons of litchis to sustain us on our venture. Back at the house we added some crackers, fake cheese and a large pack of homemade deer jerky (thanks Dad- so good- wonderful, sweet protein) to our basket and strapped it on the back of Aaron's bike along with a waterproof tent. My bag was filled with 5 bottles of water, one extra pair of pants, some meds, 2 headlamps & a sheet.

We left our site at 1pm and the first few hours were filled with exciting adventure through lush, green rice fields, beautiful valleys and tons of cascading waterfalls . Several of which we explored, cooling off in the crystal clear, cold water (not yet polluted) flowing from mountain springs.

After about 5 hours of up-hill traveling on the rock-strewn, rutted road, getting off to push, sweat-soaked shirts against backpacks that seem to be gaining weight our cheeriness was beginning to wear off and I started to question our sanity. It was getting late, the dark clouds were rolling in (little did we know a cyclone was brewing off the coast) and we wanted to make it to PK35, a little past the half way mark. We kept telling each other, "Oh-it is around this corner, I recognize this rock, we'll be there soon," then "I think it's around this corner." We started to ask people how far, only to get the dreaded response "mbola lavitra!" (still far). After about 20 more "It's the next town" or "It's over this hill" we finally arrived at dusk, found a little flat area on the side of the road near some water (dirty) and primary forest and pitched the tent. Of course, we couldn't figure out how to properly fit the rain cover, which almost drove me to madness! Aaron said it didn't matter and collected fire wood to prepare our dinner- cow corn in the husk thrown on the fire. It was lovely standing by the fire, munching on the fruit of the land prepared by my sweet hubbie. I turned on my headlamp to make sure I wasn't touching it with my dirty hands to discover worms also enjoying my corn. I considered eating them (Peace Corps life sometimes does things like this) but instead ate around them. Aaron had already finished his- no discussion on the friends in his.

7:30pm we are laying twisted in the tent to avoid the stumps, rocks and weeds that our sheet is not cushioning us from. The frogs, insects and birds are making an incredible ruckus, the full moon rising over the trees brightens the sky and we hear footsteps crunching on the rocky road of local people heading home for the night.

9:00pm- Rocks thrown at tent by a bunch of kids- Aaron yells, they run

10:30pm- It starts to sprinkle. The edges of the tent feel wet.

11:30pm- Heavy rains now, I suggest to Aaron not to touch the sides of the damp tent.

11:33pm- FLOOD IN THE TENT!

11:35pm- Our sheet is soaked, our clothes are wet, water is still coming in, rain is still falling.

11:36pm- Exit the tent! (in my socks) Take plastic from under tent and try to put it on top (too small).

11:39pm- Back in tent. Sitting on a plastic bag & one semi-dry pair of pants, each have a backpack on our laps and our backs are leaning against each other.

11:42pm- Singing ridiculous songs, laughing, questioning our sanity.. again.

11:45pm- Wondering if sunrise will ever come, wondering if this may be the worst night of our lives, wondering the validity of our waterproof tent.

12:30am- Aaron gives in, exhausted and lays on the wet floor, our basket of litchis and bananas acting as a pillow. We wrinkled up the floor to make a mini-moat and dug in.

1am- My legs are pulsating from sore muscles, take an ibuprofen, rain slacks some, I fall asleep on Aaron.

4am- Alarm on watch goes off- hit snooze.

4:30am Tent packed with all the wet stuff inside. Eat a banana. Relieved it is not raining. Wet clothes, soaked shoes, sore muscles.

5am- Get back on bikes- WOW! Sore bums! Almost to the point of tears.

Luckily the rest of the way was fairly flat, though the pain of hitting the numerous potholes was amplified by the weight of our packs & we realized that our bike seats were not seats at all, but rather some sort of torture device.

I return to the spirit of adventure as I hear Indri lemurs howling in forest. The first time I have heard them in the wild- really exciting.

Nothing to do, but sit on our bruised bums, look at the ground and pedal hard. The last 35km takes 3 hours including many breaks to eat litchis along the way.

8am- We triumphantly ride into Moramanga, covered in dirt, stinky, grimy & grubby, vowing never to attempt it again by bicycle. But people here bike and walk the 74km all the time, we are such wimps!

***
Later, when we returned to site and proudly told our friend that we rode to Moramanga, he asked how long it took us and then shook his head and replied, "you are slow like chameleon."

What do we say to that!?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1159957440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1159957440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1159957440/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:20:00 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Antananarivo, Madagascar

Greetings from Madagascar! Well, time has been flying by, I can't believe it is already October. I guess the seasons are starting to change back home & a new school year has begun for some of you. One of the things that I thought I would really miss from home was the change of seasons, but Madagascar has it's own. We are moving out of the short rainy season, the mud is starting to dry up and the days are sunny with blue skies, thick white clouds & a nice cool breeze. We have went from wearing fleece, scarves & hats to tank tops, sandals & shorts. Not only can you feel the change but it is visible everywhere. The large spiders are taking advantage of the warm weather and are spinning their webs around town. The grapefruit blossoms fill the air with a sweet fragrance and the limbs of the coffee trees are coated in fluffy white flowers. A few weeks ago the peach trees were bright pink full of blossoms, reminiscent of spring & a month ago we passed a mountainside full of maple trees with the leaves turning to autumn shades of orange & red. Every month there is a new type of fruit in season & mangoes are starting to show up on the stands in the market.

We have been getting into all sorts of things here. Labor Day Weekend we went to the East Coast to participate in a 36 mile bike race, from Foulpointe to Tamatave, to raise AIDS awareness, sponsored by Peace Corps & a few other organizations. Since we ride our bikes almost daily at our site, we thought we were up to the challenge, but let it be suffice to say the ride was quite intense! I was close to tears (several times), wanted to give up (a few times), but ate my Snickers & banana and kept pedaling. After 3 hours of relentless pedaling I rode into Tamatave alone, guided to the finish line by Gendarmes at each intersection. Once there I saw Aaron waiting by the road. He had arrived at least a half hour earlier, rode to the finish line but didn't cross, turned around and waited for me and we rode across together. Isn't he awesome! My muscles were so stiff I could barely lift my leg to get off my bike, but I was glad to have participated.
All in all, the ride was amazing, filled with incredible scenery. We passed through villages in which families & children stood by their palm thatched homes giggling & waving. We rode by zebu's grazing along the side of the road, people working in their fields, stands selling fruit, plants & handmade baskets, and at times the turquoise Indian Ocean crashing on the beach.
Tamatave is an amazing town & our time there was awesome- warm, sunny weather, bungalows on the beach, good seafood, and a great time with friends!

Back at site we have a large project underway with our counterpart organization. We are working in a town about 5 km away with 2 model farmers (Maxim & Yves) to turn an overgrown piece of land into a tree nursery in which over 10,000 trees will be grown & then distributed to the surrounding villages. So far we have cleared the land and turned a hillside into 3 level terraces. All accomplished through strenuous labor with 4 shovels, a pick-axe, a rake and the energy & sweat of two small Malagasy farmers, Aaron & I. In the States a job like this would be completed in a few days using heavy machinery. We have been working for several weeks (building muscles & callouses), but love working side by side with Yves & Maxim, though we are quite exhausted by the time we ride our bikes back to our house.
We leave our house in the morning on our mountain bikes and arrive at the site in about 30 minutes, depending on the "traffic," which consists of villagers walking to and from the town carrying all sorts of wares on their heads & backs, large zebu being led to pasture (which I have developed an intense fear of after hearing that they sometimes gore people, though they seem quite stupid), and children going to school. The road (dirt, clay & some rocks) has recently been constructed by villagers through a Food for Work Program, so it is fairly level and has nice bridges. However, because of the steep inclines in several places there are no vehicles. The road meanders along the main river in town, where women wash their clothes, cattle graze along the banks and on really hot days children swim and play on bamboo rafts.
Once we get closer to the town, the road becomes steep and we go through a reforested area of eucalyptus & pine. We lock our bikes to a nearby tree, out of breath from the ascent, and walk down the other side of the hill (it is too steep even for a bicycle) to a small footpath that takes us to the site of the tree nursery. The landscape here is amazing (except for the one hillside cut and burned to grow cassava). The only house in view is on the opposite hillside, a small wooden hut that Maxim's family lives in, which is only accessible by wading through the river, crossing several rice fields and then climbing a hill. The valley is full of rice fields, mountains surround the entire area, white egrets fly through the valley and perch in trees, zebu's graze in the fields and a river winds through the middle with banana trees & Traveler's Palms on each side. It is one of the most peaceful places I have ever been. You can stand there and hear nothing but silence and the sounds of nature, no vehicles, no electricity, just solitude.
Besides the above fun, we have been entertained by a large addition to the Christman family- 8 ducklings & 2 goslings! Aaron has built a duck "hotel" and an adjoining pond for their amusement (and ours). We are raising the ducks in hopes of having eggs, though one whose name has been "Squealer", has been renamed "Sweet & Sour"(because that's how he'll be prepared) by Aaron and may find his way to the dinner table.
The upcoming weeks will also be filled with excitement as we anticipate the arrival of my (Jenny's) parents! We are so excited that they will be able to get a taste of the Malagasy life & it will be fun for Aaron & I to experience everything again through "new eyes." During their time here we will take a short vacation to Ile St. Marie to visit the white-sand beaches, spend some time on the East coast, and stay about a week at our house, experiencing daily life.


Veloma,
Jenny & Aaron
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1153043460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1153043460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jenaaronmad/madagascar/1153043460/tpod.html Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:15:37 -0500 Aaron and Jenny's Peace Corps Adventures in Madagascar!

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Moramanga, Madagascar

The Need to Travel 45 Miles, Sounds Simple...Right?


Travel...a frustrating experience (& frightening!)

Okay, we need to get to our banking town to do a few things. So Wednesday we go to our counterparts office and ask if any trucks are going to Moramanga. "Yes, on Wednesday and Friday." Great, we will go with them on Friday. "What time are they leaving?" "Not sure check back on Thursday."

Thursday: To the office, the guy we spoke with is gone, he will not be back until Saturday! Fine, we look for someone else. Yes, there is still a truck Friday, but we need to talk to yet another person to see if there is space. She is at the school in a meeting. Okay, we head to the school (this whole time it is raining and the town is coated in a slimy, clay mud). We get to the school, my pockets are starting to fill with water, and the lady we need to talk to is not there. We decide to meander around and eventually we see her drive through town so we run to catch her. We discover the truck is leaving too late and tell her that we will just take a taxi instead (it can't be that bad, right?).

Friday: 6:30am Aaron trudges down the muddy, green slime covered hill to the taxi brousse station to see when they will depart (no schedule, they go when they're full- last time we missed it by minutes & had to wait hours!) We cautiously descend down the narrow path, careful not to fall in the filth that days of rain has created. The brousse is almost full, they pack our luggage on top and soon we are off! Yeah, it's 7:30 we will get to Moramanga before the office closes. The green van with fuzzy, red velvet seats slides through the mud and we reach the edge of town. We stop, the driver gets out. This usually happens- there is a barrier and we need to wait for someone to come open it.

Well, we waited and waited and waited. The patience wore thin, the crankiness started and then the irritation. The guy next to Aaron suggested he go talk with the man, tell him we (the foreigners) have important business and we need to get to town. Aaron tried it- NO- they won't lift the barrier until it stops raining, we can't go unless we have papers. (Don't try to make sense of it.)

After an hour and a half, we got our luggage off the roof, strapped it on our backs and started sloshing through the mud and rain back to town. I won't go into details, but after going to our counterpart's office, the school, through town three times, having half the community ask us of our travels, meeting the English teacher and visiting the authorities for a stamped letter saying we can pass in the rain, we left town in a 1960s-70s era Land Rover Defender 3 ½ hours after our previous attempt. Imagine throwing a hand-grenade in a truck, closing the door and burying it in an avalanche of mud and what you have left is our sweet ride!

Here is where the excitement began. No longer were we on a taxi brousse, now we were in a private vehicle and we had "papers" (with a stamp). The driver tore out of town, leaving behind a thick cloud of black smoke streaming from the exhaust. As we started off the adrenaline in my body wouldn't allow my brain to decide if the driver was insane, if I should be fearing for my life or if I was having fun! (People in the states would pay good money at an amusement park for a ride like this). The road is comparable to a really bad dirt, farm road in the States full of potholes after a week-long torrential downpour.

We rode in the back on grubby, sideways bench seats, with a dirty spare tire, 2 Malagasy guys (one of which held the door shut the entire ride), filthy jerry cans with the remains of gasoline and our luggage. The driver apologized for the state of the truck, it is usually hauling cement, not passengers. We flew down the road, fish-tailed around corners, increased speed over bridges (causing the broken logs to fly in the air at one point, making it impassable), mud spewed in waves over the truck, and the narrow wipers continually smeared muck across the window. Those walking on the side of the road didn't have a chance, they were covered by mud & road filth before they could even leap for cover and then it was topped of with a foul blast of black exhaust.

The ride became a physical workout. I gripped the side window with my right hand, held tightly to the luggage with my other and had my left foot anchored on the tire. It was pointless to try to hold onto any part on the interior, the wire that was holding it together would break off. My kung-fu grip wasn't strong enough though, at one point I came completely off the seat landing on the spare tire while Aaron cracked his head on the roof. The frame shifted and the rattle of the glass windows was deafening from the multitude of potholes. The driver did slow several times which was nice- when the ladder fell off the back, quite frequently when his door sprang open and of course to stop for the rain barriers and to show our "papers." It is absolutely amazing how tough these vehicles are and surprisingly sturdy- I almost felt safe.

When we arrived in Moramanga, I wasn't sure if I was going to puke, scream for joy or collapse from fatigue.. Our heads were pounding, we were covered in dirt, but happy to be on solid ground. As we stumbled away from the truck, I forgot to check the grill for any chicken carcasses.

Well, I guess we can't complain, this 74 km ride used to take 3 days on a TRACTOR
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