Whenever you have downtime, think of me in Madagascar and what I'm doing at that very moment halfway across the world. I'll give you a hint. I'll most likely be doing one of the following :
1. Having a laughable conversation of perpetual misunderstanding with a Malagasy person.
2. Cooking an unappetizing concotion, usually containing potatoes or rice or pasta.
3. Sleeping fitfully under the protection of my mosquito net, wondering if that noise is coming from a rat or a cockroach or yet another disgusting creature Madagascar has yet to reveal to me.
4. Sitting in my bamboo chair, staring at various parts of my banana leaf and baboo house lit by a single candle, wondering if 7:30 is too early to go to bed.
10 January 2009
6 Janvier 2009
Today I gave a kabary (presentation) on clean water - add some "Sur'Eau" (bleach), set it in the sun, or boil it. Before I began, I was feeling confident and proud of the awesome poster I had made to complete the kabary. However, once I introduced myself and asked my introductory question:
"Can you drink the water directly from the pump?"
I was met with a bunch of tired faces nodding "yes."
"No!" I said in horror, "There are microbes in that water that can make you sick. It's really dangerous!"
From that moment on, I knew my message was falling on deaf ears. One face in the crowd particularly drew my attention. I could see what she was thinking:
"What the world are microbes? And I don't think I'll die from drinking the water I've consumed for the last 35 years. This vazaha's stomach can't handle it, but Malagasy stomachs are different."
I moved on and went through my demonstrations, knowing full well that no one was going to change the way they treat their water. It's really difficult to know which health messages are the most important for me to deliver and which messages are actually going to bring about change. There's not much use in telling a group of women that they need to fully vaccinate their children when they are already at the clinic for vaccine day.
Don't worry. I'm not giving up hope yet. Every day is a new challenge, and every day I have something positive to reflect upon. Today it was the woman with severe diarrhea who I gave the recipe for the oral rehydration solution to. Yesterday it was a compliment I got from a vendor at a local epicerie (store) :
"You're learning Malagasy so quickly! And you already have way more friends than the last volunteer did."
Right on! That last compliment has carried its positive energy for two days now, and I realize that I may not change the life of that disbelieving woman in the audience, but my friends are another story all together. In two years I will most certainly effect their lives, hopefully changing the way they manage their health and encouraging them to spread their knowledge to others. My goal here is to improve the health status of this community, and I think I will find that my impact will be greatest, not in giving kabarys, but through seemingly ordinary, everday contact.
"Can you drink the water directly from the pump?"
I was met with a bunch of tired faces nodding "yes."
"No!" I said in horror, "There are microbes in that water that can make you sick. It's really dangerous!"
From that moment on, I knew my message was falling on deaf ears. One face in the crowd particularly drew my attention. I could see what she was thinking:
"What the world are microbes? And I don't think I'll die from drinking the water I've consumed for the last 35 years. This vazaha's stomach can't handle it, but Malagasy stomachs are different."
I moved on and went through my demonstrations, knowing full well that no one was going to change the way they treat their water. It's really difficult to know which health messages are the most important for me to deliver and which messages are actually going to bring about change. There's not much use in telling a group of women that they need to fully vaccinate their children when they are already at the clinic for vaccine day.
Don't worry. I'm not giving up hope yet. Every day is a new challenge, and every day I have something positive to reflect upon. Today it was the woman with severe diarrhea who I gave the recipe for the oral rehydration solution to. Yesterday it was a compliment I got from a vendor at a local epicerie (store) :
"You're learning Malagasy so quickly! And you already have way more friends than the last volunteer did."
Right on! That last compliment has carried its positive energy for two days now, and I realize that I may not change the life of that disbelieving woman in the audience, but my friends are another story all together. In two years I will most certainly effect their lives, hopefully changing the way they manage their health and encouraging them to spread their knowledge to others. My goal here is to improve the health status of this community, and I think I will find that my impact will be greatest, not in giving kabarys, but through seemingly ordinary, everday contact.
Ohhhhhhhh Vazaha!
Not a day has gone by here in Ampasimadinika that I don't hear the word “vazaha” spoken. In Malagasy “vazaha” means “foreigner,” historically meaning a French person, but now applying to anyone obviously not Malagasy. It comes in a wide variety of forms.
General Commentary : “Oh look, the vazaha speaks Gasy... that's weird.”
Bad Pick-up Lines : “Ohhhhhhhh vazaha!” followed by a wink and a head jerk from a Malagasy man.
Referring to Language : “When you get good enough at Malagasy, can you teach us “teny vazaha?” - vazaha language, meaning English.
Discipline : “If you don't behave, the vazaha will eat you.”
Describing Merchandise : “Oh, you bought the vazaha broom.” - not the typical straw tied to a stick kind.
My favorite is actually the experience of another volunteer who quickly put out his cigarette, took off his hat, and bowed in reverence after noticing a passing funeral procession. Just as quickly, a man from the procession pointed excitedly and yelled, “VAZAHA! VAZAHA! VAZAHA!”
It's like a nervous tick. A Malagasy person sees a white person, and as if forced by some other power, they must utter the word “vazaha,” whether it be shouted or muttered almost inaudibly. White people aren't the only ones haunted by the labels of the Malagasy. Anyone looking remotely Indian is labeled Karana. Anyone looking Asian is called Sinoa (Chinese). And anyone who looks anything like them is Malagasy, even if that person is actually American.
It's no wonder the Malagasy are obsessed with that which is different; after all Madagascar is an island and poor infrastructure makes travel within the island difficult. Many Malagasy are born, grow up, work, and die on the same part of the island. If they can afford it, they will have a radio or a TV to give them a glimpse of other cultures and other kinds of people. But the stations provide little of reality and a lot of Michael Jackson, Johny Halliday, Star Academy, and Celine Dion.
Although this obsessive labeling can be annoying, it's rarely to never done out of hostility and generally done out of curiosity or out of surprise at that which is out of the ordinary. I compare this to the United States where labeling is politically incorrect and someone who labels is sure to explain why they did so. With easy access to other cultures through TV, the radio, or the internet, I'm surprised at how few Americans are interested in exploring other cultures and religions and nations. We are so uninterested in that which is different from us.
I ran across a quote from Terry Tempest Williams, “I have... listened, observed, and quietly formed my own opinions, in a culture that rarely asks questions because it has all the answers.” It's true. We do seem to have all the answers... for now. But with the increasing instability in this world, I think we need to start looking outside our borders for some solutions.
Maybe we should take a lesson from the Malagasy and begin pointing out differences, and more importantly find out the root of those differences. I think we would discover that we are all humans living on the same planet, trying to achieve that elusive emotion : happiness.
General Commentary : “Oh look, the vazaha speaks Gasy... that's weird.”
Bad Pick-up Lines : “Ohhhhhhhh vazaha!” followed by a wink and a head jerk from a Malagasy man.
Referring to Language : “When you get good enough at Malagasy, can you teach us “teny vazaha?” - vazaha language, meaning English.
Discipline : “If you don't behave, the vazaha will eat you.”
Describing Merchandise : “Oh, you bought the vazaha broom.” - not the typical straw tied to a stick kind.
My favorite is actually the experience of another volunteer who quickly put out his cigarette, took off his hat, and bowed in reverence after noticing a passing funeral procession. Just as quickly, a man from the procession pointed excitedly and yelled, “VAZAHA! VAZAHA! VAZAHA!”
It's like a nervous tick. A Malagasy person sees a white person, and as if forced by some other power, they must utter the word “vazaha,” whether it be shouted or muttered almost inaudibly. White people aren't the only ones haunted by the labels of the Malagasy. Anyone looking remotely Indian is labeled Karana. Anyone looking Asian is called Sinoa (Chinese). And anyone who looks anything like them is Malagasy, even if that person is actually American.
It's no wonder the Malagasy are obsessed with that which is different; after all Madagascar is an island and poor infrastructure makes travel within the island difficult. Many Malagasy are born, grow up, work, and die on the same part of the island. If they can afford it, they will have a radio or a TV to give them a glimpse of other cultures and other kinds of people. But the stations provide little of reality and a lot of Michael Jackson, Johny Halliday, Star Academy, and Celine Dion.
Although this obsessive labeling can be annoying, it's rarely to never done out of hostility and generally done out of curiosity or out of surprise at that which is out of the ordinary. I compare this to the United States where labeling is politically incorrect and someone who labels is sure to explain why they did so. With easy access to other cultures through TV, the radio, or the internet, I'm surprised at how few Americans are interested in exploring other cultures and religions and nations. We are so uninterested in that which is different from us.
I ran across a quote from Terry Tempest Williams, “I have... listened, observed, and quietly formed my own opinions, in a culture that rarely asks questions because it has all the answers.” It's true. We do seem to have all the answers... for now. But with the increasing instability in this world, I think we need to start looking outside our borders for some solutions.
Maybe we should take a lesson from the Malagasy and begin pointing out differences, and more importantly find out the root of those differences. I think we would discover that we are all humans living on the same planet, trying to achieve that elusive emotion : happiness.
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