To see recent photos, look under Archives in OCTOBER for a link. t

In a phone conversation in December, Rachel said that she went somewhere recently to harvest rice and happened to have some balloons in her pocket. She had enough to give one to each child who was working on the harvest, but then realized that their mothers were looking longingly at the balloons. Fortunately, she had enough to give each mother one as well and they LOVED them!

I took a bunch of old Peace Corps newsletters and magazine pages fallen out of National Geographics and other reading material you sent that has been thoroughly enjoyed (to pieces!) these last few months and tore them up and soaked them in water a few days. Then had some of the little kids help me pound the paper pulp just like rice or ravitoto (pounded manioc leaves eaten like spinach) in Marie Iodile’s wood mortar and pestle.

Then I built a little rectangle out of sticks* [see story about mouse!] and nailed cheese cloth taut across them. Spread out the paper pulp on the cheese cloth and dried it in the sun for a day after the kids helped me make leaf and flower patterns on it. Unfortunately, the finished result looks a little like packing material, but maybe I can figure a way to make it more attractive. [T: it’s thick and grey but very attractive!]

I originally was thinking of a prospective income-generating project, but realized that it is not sustainable as there are no newspapers around here. The only one who generates paper trash to recycle is me! Maybe I’ll keep doing it when I accumulate enough, for personal use.

The strangest thing happened yesterday. I was walking to my friend Zermaine’s little soaba [see below for explanation] stand on the other side of the village when a bunch of people came up to me and said, “Rachel, tonga vahinynao!� [your guests have arrived!] I said I was not expecting any visitors, but I was dragged to the little magazin [store] in town, where I found three white people using French to ask for the chief of the village. They were met with blank stares; no one here really speaks French.

When I showed up, we struggled for a moment to establish what common language we shared for best communication and chose English when I discovered the couple were German-speaking Swiss and the man was from—of all places!—Richmond, VA. They were looking for the “chief� (I taught them that here that is the “President ny fokontany�, president of the town council) to ask where they could camp for the night. They were three cyclists who had biked from Antalaha to the Southern Masoala Peninsula, then boated to Nosy Mangabe, then to M. There they spent two days trying to exchange traveler’s checks at our little bank. That is virtually impossible as the bank is closed between 11:45 and around 2:30 for lunch and doors close again at 4:30 when they don’t let anyone new in. To exchange money or traveler’s checks in M, a series of calls must be made to bank headquarters in Tana to confirm numbers and identification—a real bitch for travelers hoping to simply pass through.

The three biked to V from M on their way to Mananara. Terrible road, many ferry/pirogue crossings as most bridges are shot or not yet built, and there are stretches of beach where one must wait for low tide to travel with bike—all this on Route Nationale 5! From Mananara they are planning to bike to Toamasina and then on to Tana. They’re very brave! Madagascar is not very bike/camper friendly in this remote area. People just aren’t used to the concept of non-necessity-driven outdoor recreation.

I had the three set up their tents next to the rice paddy right behind my house and we cooked together and spoke “English�-with Paul from Richmond “American� even!—and I wrote a list of Betsimisaraka words and phrases that would be useful on their journey. Laurent from across the lane gave them pointers on where they should try to sleep on the way to Mananara, and it turned into a nice little visit. Very useful for them to get pointers on local dialect and customs, I think. Certainly an unexpected and pleasant surprise for me!

As I write this I’m savoring a maple candy, the lovely soft ones that melt in your mouth. So nice! Sometimes it gets so frustrating that right now, when even fruit is scarce except for the ubiquitous coconuts and occasional bananas, there is nothing ready-to-eat. Anything I consume requires cooking or some degree of preparation. Snacking isn’t so much an option. Have been getting “soaba� more often from Zermaine (manioc and coconut milk-sweet mushy stuff like lumpy cream of wheat) because it’s easier. Problem is, she rarely accepts the 100 AR [5 cents?] she charges for half a plate of it when I try to pay her. With nothing edible to give as a gift in exchange for the past few days’ worth of soaba, I brought her a bar of Palmolive soap I’d put away to save for a special occasion (from my last trip to Tana). She was very happy with that. It is much higher quality and nicer smelling soap than what we use around here! Easy for me to part with it as I just got some lovely soap from Dad (trip to Williamsburg, maybe?) and some Burt’s Bees from Sarah.

I marvel at how good my life is n V, but was interested to hear (from my visitors) that the bikers last biked through Namibia and their impression is that Madagascar is much less developed and more 3rd-world-like (in their words) by comparison.

Here is a thank-you card that you can recycle [no way! T] so it will really be 100% recycled, but is also to say thank you for all the wonderful packages you send. Gave a little stuffed bunny with some red ribbon around its neck to the newborn next door when I visited (officially visited) his mother yesterday. The Trader Joe’s balloons are, as always lovely rewards for help and good behavior from my kid-friends. Most wonderful though are the yummy things!

I will give this letter to an American in M to mail from Alabama after he fist makes a stop back at the London School of Economics in the UK. Hopefully it will still arrive faster than in Malagasy mail (which is actually pretty reliable, it seems).

Love to all, Rachel