majungaaa

Majung-ahhhhh

Finally, finally, finally. Finally in Madagascar. Finally settled. Finally access to internet, finally digging into classes, finally thinking in French, finally a member of a family, finally autonomy, finally the baobobs, finally the Mozambique Channel. Finally the experience has begun.

Bittersweet. The days in Majunga have been without exception lovely, new, full of sunshine and saltwater and studying. I am comfortable and really in love with this city, especially my host family and our little home outside of town in a palm grove near the beach. Yes, in a palm grove near the beach. But as my affection and aptitude grows, so too does the tension in country. The dispute between the president Ravolomanana and the mayor of Tana, referred to as Andry ‘TGV’, has now spilled over into general discontent with both parties in deadlock causing at least a little havoc in most major cities. It is still completely up in the air and day-to-day how our program will continue, but we are hopeful despite the odds.

I have had the opportunity to have many fascinating conversations about the current socio-political situation here in Mada with my host father Jean-Ives, a young journalist with impeccable French and a terrific sense of humor (who also looks remarkably like President Obama). His wife Esmeralda is a biologist and is gentle and beautiful; she laughs often, especially when her husband gets animated about politics. Their household is very young, with my brother Lenny at just about three years and my sister Keira at 13 months, plus the 3 month old puppy with two first names (Toby-Bambi, as they couldn’t decide) and the two kittens who are both called Mimi (shoutout to sis, she knows why).

Their house is modest but clean, with new-fangled appliances like an indoor toilet, shower and sink (no running water but that’s alright; it’s hard to quantify or qualify my newfound love of the bucket shower), a gas stove, a refrigerator, a record player, television and computer. These are (with the exception of shower and toilet) in the three rooms that compose the house: their bedroom, the kitchen, and the main large living room. At night, a mattress is brought into the main space of the living room for Lenny and my host dad’s younger brother who also lives here, though he comes home after 9pm and leaves by 6am every day.

My personal space is also in the main room, partitioned off by a strung curtain. I have a fantastic double bed with a mosquito net that makes me feel not unlike a princess when I let it down; from the window next to my bed I wake up to palm trees swaying in the salty breeze. I feel at home there, really taken care of but invited to come and go as I please, welcome to invite friends over, and always encouraged to engage in conversation.

The doors are constantly flung open, and though the house feels incredibly neat and put together there are always lizards and geckos running about and any number of beetles, grasshoppers, butterflies… hopping, flying, falling from the ceiling. Last night in my shower there was a slow-moving snail the size of my fist. Somehow, though, the natural element feels only right in this setting. It’s rather goofy sometimes, but generally Madagascar is like that with its flora and fauna; for instance, when I was making coffee this morning for Jean-Ives and myself and I looked out the window and there was a huge steer (called zebu in Madagascar) staring back at me, using his ruminant abilities to cut our grass. I have ceased to be shocked, but the amusement is still very much alive.

Every day my friend Marit’s host mother, who lives just down the road from me in the direction of the beach, picks me up on our way to school. Along the route, as we see classmates making their way (we stick out, we ‘vazah’—Malagasy for foreigner) we stop and they climb in the back of the pickup truck. It’s a spectacle. She drives us to our classes at the Alliance Français of Majunga, conveniently located in town across the street from the boardwalk that lines harbor of Majunga.

The sea breezes float into our classroom and give us welcome distraction from French or Malagasy or our thematic seminars, which are all (somewhat overwhelmingly) taught in French. I’ve never learned a foreign language in a foreign language, but I’m beginning to really love it if for nothing else than its reinforcing power of the basics of French that I’ve long since relegated to the back of my working French memory. It’s challenging at times, especially when it is hot (35 degrees Celsius on average) but I’d lie if I said all academic is minimal compared to the pleasures of Majunga. During breaks we wander down to the patio and have a fresh juice - take your pick: pineapple, mango, guava, orange, lemon, apple, or a combination of any- or walk on the boardwalk and watch the handmade, traditional fishing boats sail by. Men run by pulling their rainbow colored pousse-pousse (rickshaws), and the leaves sway on the baobobs that line the street.

I’m actually sitting on the Alliance’s patio now, using their internet café. I love living in this country, but for all these delights I am keeping in mind that the porch of the Alliance is not Madagascar. Madagascar is many things, colonialism included, but at the moment it is, as the French media reported, ‘total confusion.’ And as someone beginning to for attachments to this place, it’s heartbreaking to think of the general discontent of the Malagasy people, the futility of many of the actions both for the current government and the opposition that only fuel the personal feuds and greeds of the two major players. This country aches in lack of infrastructure of roads, education, representational democracy, freedom…but not in understanding of generosity and beauty. Donc—à la prochaine!