Thank you for the lovely Halloween card! It has received many oohs! and ahhs! from my village kids since I put it up on my wall of cards from home. They like the shiny gold border and pretty pumpkins, but are confused as to why there are faces on the pumpkins. I’ve found it difficult to explain our Halloween fomba (customs) in Malagasy. I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for a pumpkin or squash at the market so I can make a real jack-o-lantern to show them, but have yet to find one.

Here, you learn to live with the knowledge that foods are only available when they are in season—the way it used to be in the US. For example, come December we will have lycees, mangoes, pineapple, ripe papaya [people also eat green papayas in salads] corasol [T: I think that may be passion fruit, which are eaten and used to make juice] and songambo [T: no idea what those are]—masses of ripe fruit. The past few months, however, all I’ve had in the way of fruit has been bananas. Just recently a strange fruit, a tart, tropical-apple-like one called makoba has been available, and for a while, sour oranges, which I’m allergic to anyway and can’t eat. Can’t wait for December to roll around!

The excitement of peak fruiting season is already beginning as the clove crop became ready for harvest and drying this month. The vanilla orchids have started flowering, giving farmers a one-day window to hand-pollinate them so that they will produce green seedpods by next season. I’m not sure when pumpkins would be “in season” here in the tropics. [smiley face here] Will continue to keep my eyes peeled. In the meantime, I’m really enjoying the dried fruit Mom and Dad send frequently in their packages. [to be continued]

Today I taught my first class for the director and teachers of the V commune primary school. A combination of environmental education, teaching material distribution, and English class. Was a huge success! I really enjoy teaching—and nice that I can do it in a combined French and Malagasy for the instructors.

After teaching I was followed home by two CEG students [middle school?] who wanted to look at magazines at my house. Today was another very hot day. When we got inside my kitchen, one of the students (who is learning English at school and loves to practice on me) said, “Excuse me, Miss. May I have rice juice?” It took me a moment to register that he was asking for ranompango [water boiled in the bottom of the rice cooking pot]. I wonder if they were taught to say rice juice at school. Made me laugh!
Spent the rest of the day harvesting remaining makoba, playing games with my kids on the beach, and going chameleon hunting with my camera in the golden end-of-day light. I had a crowd of students in blue smocks, women with baskets of rice on their heads, men shouldering tree trunks for firewood, and all other lane traffic surrounding me as I admired a few chameleons. I picked one up to move it to a branch in better light and there was an immediate gasp from my audience as women and girls grasped their heads in fear and ran away from me.

After I had held a chameleon, Estella, one of my favorite girls who is always at my side when we go for walks, insisted on skulking ten feet behind me as we made our way home. I noticed she wasn’t next to me and motioned to her to catch up. She immediately backed even farther away, panic in her eyes. I told her she was being silly and tried to catch her arm and she looked like she was going to cry if I came any closer. She was absolutely terrified to be near me, all because I had held a chameleon, something fady here.

I told her that in my culture chameleons are good luck—a little white lie—and people even keep them as pets sometimes in their houses. She stared at me like I was crazy and said that if you kill a chameleon, someone you love will die. To avoid all bad luck, she said, you have to keep your distance. You are tempting fate to hold them the way I did. Estella is only eight years old! I was amazed that superstitions run so deep here, even in children. Estella kept her distance for the rest of the day.

I want to be culturally sensitive, but also am trying to discourage fear of animals like chameleons and aye ayes. Poor Estella! I hope she’s over it by tomorrow!
Love to all, Rachel

As M-I spreads the drying cloves around, they make a loud tapping sound (like the rain on my roof) and cause the breeze to smell sweetly of cloves. Last month it was drying vanilla that perfumed the air in V. Now it’s cloves. I’ll miss this when neither is in season!

After I had fried up the fish for lunch (me—frying fish?? Who’d have thought!), the kids returned and asked if I was ready to harvest ambazaha on the mountain. Sleepy from the heat, I decided I’d like to go, especially if I’d be able to collect makoba, a fruit here whose English name, if indeed it has one, I don’t know. On the path to Masoa, from which point there is a stunning view of Nosy Mangabe, its smaller island trail, and all the way across the Bay of Antongil to the Masoala peninsula, we saw an enormous snake that, when I approached, flattened its black neck out and lifted its head like a cobra. This behavior encouraged me to admire it from where I stood, appreciating the black and yellow checkerboard pattern on its lower back. Later I used this to identify it in my book of Malagasy reptiles as a Leioheterodon madagascariensis, another endemic species. Was glad I didn’t go closer when I read in the behavior section of the species entry in my book: “When severely irritated or tormented it will flatten the throat area and hiss very loudly before defending itself by biting. When it does, this snake will also chew vigorously.” The good news is, “This species has no venom.” Nice that there are no snakes poisonous to humans on this island!

I walked the long trail home from the mountain with a basket full of makoba, ambazaha, and bananas slung on the end of a long sugar cane link that balanced on my shoulder, so that I looked like Tom Sawyer with his sack of possessions tied to a stick, slung over his shoulder. The collected food was heavy and the massive sugar cane pressing into my collarbone was rather uncomfortable. Made me appreciate what Malagasy men feel during rice harvesting season when they sling bamboo over their shoulders, a heavy basket of rice hanging from each end!

Time to fish in my Halloween goody bag for a treat! Much love to all, Rachel

Check under posts in October for a link to about 100 recent photos. Sarah is bringing a new digital camera (the old one stopped working, unfortunately) and lots of film for the still camera, so there should be more pictures one of these days. t

Rachel has been receiving large envelopes of donated kids’ picture magazines that she can share with the schools around V. When she got the first bag, she took some to the local primary school. The teacher was not there, but the kids, dressed in little pink smocks and ranging from 3-7 years in age, were there and offered to bring Rachel to the teacher’s house. So they paraded through the village with one little pink-smock running out in front and a whole lot following behind. The teacher was really glad to have the magazines, but her first question was, “How much will they cost?” She was really pleased to hear that they are a gift from children in the US to the children of V.
The next day Rachel was approached by a woman she didn’t know who turned out to be the teacher of the primary school [they are one-room school huts, actually, I think. T] in a neighboring village. Were there any more magazines? Fortunately there are plenty more, thanks to the generosity of folks in Rachel’s parents’ neighborhood.
Rachel was also able to post more animal photos on the walls at the secondary schools. One of the secondary school English teachers came up to her recently and asked what an iceberg is. He had seen the word in the caption on one of the pictures but was not familiar with it!

Am just unpacking fantastic (!) contents of my latest three packages from you and eating some of the ambazaha (manioc) I went with Riche, Nivo, Zilio, and a few other kids to collect on the mountain yesterday. My manioc is supplemented by an almond or piece of candy corn here and there. Makes for a fantastic snack.
Starting at 8:30 this morning the day became unbearably hot, especially inside my corrugated-tin roofed house. Yesterday was similarly stifling, a preview of what I have to look forward to this summer, through February or March. This afternoon I’ll bike to T/M, about 8 km from V, to visit the butterfly-rearing project and model farm there. The pig is supposed to give birth any day now and hopefully I’ll get to see babies soon. It’s Sunday so I get to spend my morning relaxing and writing you, to beat the heat.
Yesterday was exhaustingly wonderful. I left home at 7:30 to go harvest cloves in Mama ny Riche’s tanimboly [farmed plot] in the forest. Loved watching Riche climb high up in the trees like a lemur and hack branches down with his machete, as the other kids and I dodged the falling ones and immediately began collecting the clusters of flower buds. Your hands smell incredible after a while of working the stem oils into them, and it’s a feeling of accomplishment to watch the pink-yellow manta (raw) cloves pile up in our baskets.
Saw some lovely orchids and disturbed many Heterixalus madagascariensis from their perches on the clove branches as we worked. Those are my favorite little frogs; find them everywhere from in the rice paddies to the shade—coffee groves. They’re endemic but very common here, snow-white little frogs with widely spreading hands and feet and a yellow stripe near their eyes. What’s so neat about them is how quickly they can change their skin color for camouflage. In a few minutes they go from pure white to yellow-sided, to dappled in dark spots when there’s a perceived threat—such as me picking them up and positioning them on epiphytes to photograph them.
I bought a bunch of small fish on a grass rope on my way home from clove searching (we took the beach route back) and when M-I saw me return home with them, she said, “You’re not mahay about cleaning them, right?” Usually I resent being told I’m not good at it, and having tasks taken out of my hands for proper Malagasy-style execution, but when it comes to cleaning the guts out of fish, I’m more than happy to concede and testfy to my tsy mahay-ness. After fixing rice, I went and found M-I cleaning the fish out by the well, where she looked up at me and said, “You don’t like to eat the heads, do you?” She proceeded to chop off the upper third of each fish and put them on a dish, saying she’d cook them with ravimbazaha” (manioc leaves aka ravitoto) later. This was her motivation in volunteering to clean the fish, of course, and I was happy for her to take the heads off my hands. Would just (secretly) have been cat food.
Before the whole process began, I was of course asked, hotrino? (how much?), i.e., what I had paid for the fish. My reply that they had cost me 500 ariary met with her approval, which is a rare occurrence. Right now she’s sitting on the porch next to me (I moved outside where it’s cooler) and commenting on how fast a writer I am. She has no idea I’m writing home about her fish-cleaning yesterday. She just got up to spread around the browning cloves laid out on mats to dry in the sun in my front yard. [to be continued]

Rachel’s neighbor did her a BIG favor recently and was rewarded with a piece of chocolate. A few days later she came over and asked whether Rachel had any more chocolate. Rachel is really fond of this neighbor, so she went and got a small bar of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate to open. The neighbor took two of the pieces Rachel had broken the little bar into, then M-I, the closest neighbor [see other stories!] came over and asked for some, too. She also took two pieces, then said that Rachel should give her (M-I’s) mother some. M-I’s mother is not one of Rachel’s favorite people, but of course Rachel could not say no. M-I’s mother TOUCHED every piece that was left, then took the biggest piece.
Just then, a woman approached with a big basket of onions on her head and two smaller bags slung from the ends of a pole resting on her shoulders. Rachel has bought onions from such passing vendors, but had no idea where they came from. So as this woman approached, Rachel asked her neighbors. From four days’ walk away, they said, naming a village—and headed for M to sell the onions, at least the ones she could not sell on the way there. (Rachel had wondered why the shoulder-borne bags were not as heavily loaded as most folks’ bags are!)
Rachel offered the woman a piece of the remaining chocolate. The woman looked suspiciously at it, but the neighbors said it was okay to eat, so she tried—and her eyes lit up! She had never had nor heard of chocolate before, but she went off happily sucking on the last piece. Rachel will now know that she really needs to buy as many onions as possible from such passing vendors to lighten their load for the 5 day march!

Rachel’s little friend Riche (about 12) got very ill with something recently. She went to visit and found him lying in a corner of the hut on a pallet, feeling very bad. She made him up some Gatorade that a visitor had left her so that he would drink a lot at least. As he got to feeling better, he came out in a rash all over his body, so she assumes he may have had measles. The day before he broke out in the rash, his mother bought a little hand mirror from a passing peddler, presumably using the money he and his father and brother earned mining minerals a few months ago. (Rachel was approached by the peddler, too, but was able to resist the mirrors.) Since they suddenly had a mirror, Riche was able to look into it and see himself covered with the rash. He was apparently quite horrified, but thankfully no longer feeling bad at that point, other than having wounded pride about the spotty face.

Rachel came out of her hut to find M-I, her neighbor, looking very sad. She told Rachel that a little girl had died and she was going to the wake. Rachel went along–to her second wake in Madagascar [the first was in her training village in March].

People leave a contribution to help with funeral costs, and Rachel would have liked to leave more, but found that she could only leave 500 ariary ($1?) since that was the maximum anyone else had left: at the door, the amounts of donations were being carefully noted down on a piece of paper, together with the donor’s name!

The little girl who had died was laid out, cocooned in white cloth with a piece of mosquito netting over her face, on a table, her worn little clothes neatly folded at her feet. Rachel said that only women were there and that they were sitting, singing hymns in Malagasy, but no one was crying. [T thinks perhaps it is the custom not to mourn for small children because they are not considered to have a soul at that point in their lives.] Rachel sat down and sang as well, finding that it was very peaceful and somehow not too sad.

After a while, some men came in with a box to bury the little girl in. Open box, no lid; not exactly a coffin. The women objected to her body being put down in the bare wood box, so someone searched around and found an old cloth to cover the bottom of the box with.

Funeral customs vary greatly in Madagascar, depending on the location. Rachel says that in her area, the dead are buried for about 2 years, then the bones are recovered, cleaned up, and placed in the family tomb. Then they are taken out and honored occasionally in a ceremony called a “famadiana”.

Some little boys brought Rachel a mouse lemur that they had found in a clove tree. She was thrilled to see the tiny lemur and even get to touch it. Then she suddenly realized that they should NOT have taken the little one away from his habitat, so she made them promise to bring him right back to the same tree.

The good news, apparently, is that the mouse lemur was using a clove tree–not primary forest, but planted by humans–as a habitation.

[There is a fascinating program on US TV with NOVA right now. The subject is crocodiles in the Northwest of Madagascar, but there is an amazing segment on the aye-aye, a small lemur that Rachel has mentioned.]