The journey continues…
There has been an immense amount of experiences since I last connected
with you.
Though I am unsure of how
exactly I want to go about telling you about my experiences.
It has been a tough, amazing, and over
stimulating experience here.
As I was
writing my thoughts down, it occurred to me that everything I wanted to explain
could be described in terms of sounds.
The music that greets my ears at every turn and time is not what we
Americans consider music.
Music to
Malagasy is not something you can capture on a recording or selected on a
portable music device.
Music is much
more, an experience, a total engulfing of the person and group.
This is to say that it totally permeates the
objective bounds that we place on it.
Music is social, which if you were to experience Mada would be a
comically obvious statement as Malagasy seem to be always doing something.
It could be 3 in the morning and the sounds of
trucks honking and
pousse pousses driving by would be
audible through the open window.
I would
be lying to say that this was welcomed although it is has become an accepted
Malagasy experience to this point.
The
market has been a continual adventure with its multitude of fresh veggies and
fruit as well as an eclectic mash up of everything else imaginably necessary
for a normal Malagasy life. The strange
assortment of trinkets is not the interest of this conversation, though adds to
the image of the market. The
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| The Mad YAGM crew showing off
their purchase at the Antsirabe market. The food was used to make a dinner possible at
our host homes, stir fry! (Taken the 31st
of August, 2013 By Zack Stewart) |
isles
dedicated to veggies and fruits seem semi scarce at first glance, until you
immerse yourself in the beautiful sights and sounds of the busy merchants and
customers. The smell is a mix of fresh
food and rotting trampled on waste left from previous days and encounters
greats your nose. The veggies are as
fresh as can be imagined, seemingly straight off the farm. The sellers try to entice you in with their
French/Malagasy words and gestures. The
dance created between the customer and seller as to the adequate price to pay
for a kilo of carrots or a bunch of greens is an interesting and foreign thing
to us Americans. It harks to the
experiences of the Juarez, Mexico market back when it was a relatively safe
experience to engage in. The awareness
of your pockets and personal belongings pays its toll as the heightened awareness
seems to make you paranoid, though the sight of all the amazing assortment of
food possibilities seems to make you loosen up your hold on your wallet for a tactile
inspection of the food. Ideas of future
meals brings warm comfort and almost contradicts the abrupt smell of the meat
sellers next door, as if a hogs head or brain was not enough to hurry you
along. As I have reflected more on my
interactions with the market I have realized the beauty of the auditory
experience that the hustle and bustle of the market creates. It may seem odd to you as to why I am hinting
at these experiences musicality to explain my understanding. It will hopefully become clear that music and
sound is more than a complex wave form but an all encapsulating social
experience here in Madagascar.
I have
reflected on this next experience in a letter I recently wrote and found it a relevant
snap shot of life here in Mada. It was a
short interaction with a couple of impoverished boys I met on the street
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The view of the rice fields from the
main road outside of Ambohibary. Ambohibary is a small town outside of
Antsirabe and was the location of our overnight home stay.
(Taken the 7th of September, 2013
By Zack Stewart)
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that
stuck in my mind. Though to put it like
this makes it sound as if this was a unique experience, which it was not. I occasionally see these two boys outside the
gates of our compound and every time I venture outside the walls I seemingly experience
something similar. To this point, the
language classes have taught a lot but not enough to explore these boy’s lives
through solid conversation. These two
boys are probably 7 and 9 years old.
Their dark brown skin and clothes match the world around them. Their clothes are covered with the reddish
brown dirt that seems to slowly be consuming the streets and sidewalks of
Antsirabe. Their clothes are dirty, old,
and torn showing the extended wear without a wash that the clothes are forced
to endure. The brightness of their eyes
and smiles seem to contradict their impoverished life. This to me seems to create a thought that perhaps
their life may not be as impoverished as I may assume. Though their needy hands and words pull at my
heart, I realize that not much good will come of either of us if I give
in. It is a harsh reality. However, one that I think will encompass my
Madagascar experience.
Madagascar
is a place not adequately described by any comprehensible statement. It is a culture commonly associated with
Mainland Africa though is more adequately described as a French-Borneo
confection. The language resembles that
of a tribe found in Borneo. It was an
interesting experience to encounter the rural Malagasy lifestyle. The original tribal beliefs, based in
ancestral importance, were a truly unique and special to experience. The country side was covered in what will
soon become fields of rice
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This is an image of the beginning of the
Famadihana, the tradition Malagasy
ritual of the turning of the bones. The
bones of ancestors are removed from the tomb praided around the town and then
placed back in the tomb wrapped in a new cloth. The celebration occures every 5,7,or 9 years
depending on wealth and includes dancing, drinking, and constant music. (Taken the 7th of September, 2013
By Zack Stewart)
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stretching for as far as the eye can see. The inhabitants seem to be curious of a large
group of Vazaha visiting their small town.
The host family and neighbors seemed to contradict this fascination with
a surprisingly welcoming and patient approach to our American lifestyle and
minimal Malagasy skills. The family
seemingly took us in as a member of their extended family and showed us no
short of amazing servitude. Our
interactions over cooking or warm fresh whole milk really brought to light the
true beauty of the Malagasy fomba (said fumba, meaning culture). It was definitely a highlight of the trip to
experience a traditional ceremony of re-wrapping the bones of ancestors in a new
lamba (cloth). The dead are removed from
their tomb and partied with for a day re-wrapped with a new lamba and then
placed back in the tomb. It was an
especially interesting experience because of the amount of alcohol and dancing
at the ceremony. A celebration of the
ancestors life, though because this tomb had become too full 2 of the 3
families using the tomb decided (could afford) to built new tombs and move
their ancestors into the new tombs. It
would be a lengthy thing to describe this experience fully. The dancing and constant music while moving
the bodies was an oddly beautiful sight.
The bodies of souls past seem to crowd surf the family as they dance and
sing their way to the new tombs.
Malagasy save up these extravagant celebrations for years in advance and
go broke putting them on. It is an oddly
foreign concept to me though beautiful because of the pride associated with
Malagasy families. No expense is spared,
for example the lamba used to wrap the bones are made of hand woven silk and a
sign of great wealth.
It is
my hope that with these few snap shots of Malagasy life that you may begin to
understand the journey I have only begun to experience. In keeping with the musical theme, Johnny
Cash said it best in his song “Wayfaring Stranger”
I
know dark clouds will gather 'round me,
I
know my way is hard and steep.
But
beauteous fields arise before me
Though it is tough, I hope for the day that I can truly say
This
is a place where I don't feel alone
This
is a place that I call my home... (“That
Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra)
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The sunset over the cityscape of
Antsirabe, Madagascar.
(Taken the 26th
of August, 2013 By Ian Stitt)
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