So while I have internet at my disposal, I think it's a great opportunity to update my blog. However I don't even know where to begin with Madagascar!!! Sometimes it's difficult for me to explain a place that is so different from anywhere I've ever been.
First you have to realize that I'm traveling with my good friend and former neighbor Roxanne, an eager and well traveled young lady from the London area. With her expertise and my general desire to adventure, we have been traveling in our own unique way. We wake up in the morning, look at the guidebook, and decide where we want to go, and where we want to stay. Admittedly Madagascar is probably the best place to do this, as almost every hotel we've stayed at has been rather empty and the people around us have been more than eager to host two "vasahas" (malagash for foreigner).
We've also confused almost everyone we've met with our method, since we've refused to stay in the four star hotel and insist on eating in the street with the locals. In addition we don't have a private driver but have been using the "taxi brousse," a van like vehicle that is used for public transportation all over the country. Needless to say we've had many laughs with the locals, and despite the language barrier at times, everyone seems interested and eager to meet us.
Here in Madagascar we have met so many people, whether by traveling together or just a random crossing of paths in the street. What sticks out foremost in my mind when I think of all of the people we've seen, from the wealthy doctor of the town to the poorest family in the tiniest shack is their appreciation of life. Even though the people in Madagascar may be some of the poorest people in the world, living on less than a dollar a day at times, they seem to have some secret to being happy. While we wander around, you see an array of smiles and laughs, and snippets of conversations. Even when these people don't see us and greet us with smiles, you can still tell that amongst themselves, they are enjoying a private moment of sheer joy. I wonder how often that happens in our lives?
As we pass by, we see so many people living their lives: mothers talking to their children, brothers playing together in the street, school children running around each other, a couple taking a walk in the evening, lovers falling in love. These are the things you can see, and are things I've seen all around the world, no matter what culture or place I've been. It just reminds me that we are all very human, and there are many things that are commonplace for everyone.
So whoever you are, and whatever you are doing right now, take a moment to remember to forget about all of those things that bog you down, and aren't really important. Do what the Malagasy do: appreciate those things in life that really matter, take a deep breath, and just laugh.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Saying goodbye
It's difficult to leave a place, especially one you know so well. Of course it's easier when you know you're going to somewhere new and exciting. Yet still, saying goodbye to all of those friends you leave behind, and letting go of all of those fond memories, that just become distant past souvenirs of what was. It's hard to say goodbye, but not hard enough to avoid saying hello to what is new.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Mafate, a valley of mystery
The “Cirque” of Mafate is somewhat of a ghost story. At least in the past, it was the place of the devil, a place the white man feared, and the escaped slave hid. Many of the “marrons,” the term for the runaway slaves established their villages hidden in this valley, high up in the mountains far away from civilization.
Today Mafate still holds a lot of that mystery. With no road access whatsoever, this significant portion of the mountains on Reunion Island is inhabited only by those Creoles who seek seclusion, away from many of the “realities” of the rest of society. Although they are far from completely disconnected from the rest of the island, Mafate is still very different from anywhere else I’ve seen here.
One of my strongest interests in Mafate came from my students, interestingly enough. One day I was working with six students from 6eme (ages 11-12), and I started taking advantage of the small group size to get to know them better. When I got to Alexandre, I asked the smiling, somewhat pudgy boy, “Where are you from?” He just smiled, and Sybilla responded for him, “Madame, he’s from Mafate!” I remember I had had some students from my other classes who had responded the same, but I hadn’t really had a chance to ask them about all of the questions I had for children who were from there. I guess the first one was, “If you go to school here, where do you live?” The obvious was that they couldn’t possibly live in Mafate and commute to middle school in La Possession every day. That’s at least a 7 hour walk. Again, Sybilla, eager to be helpful told me, “He lives with a host family.” So there you have it. Although there are elementary schools in some villages of Mafate, by the age of 11 all students have to move to La Possession (the head of the county that contains Mafate) and live with family members or host families. The only chance these kids get to go home is probably during the weekends and holidays, if they feel like really walking…
So this weekend being my last on Reunion Island, Mafate was a must. Although we got a late start, by the time we started the steep climb down, we wandered across our first novelty: a hand painted sign, saying “Art de Mafate: expo” with an arrow indicating a path. Of course my fellow adventurer Carrie agreed that we should see what “art expo” meant, already 3 hours into our hike. We were surprised when we came across a lovely gated garden, and a kind looking man opened the gate to invite us in. Admittedly instinct told me this probably wasn’t a great idea to wander into a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere, but in the end we were shown his interesting stone sculptures, and offered bananas and tea. I asked him if he had received many visitors, and he shook his head. “A few come, but not very often. I just started selling my art however.” I asked him about his life, how long he had lived there. He was pleased to show us around his lovely garden, with an amazing rose bush, and explained that he had been living alone there for about 8 years. We left sooner than I had wanted to, but we had to find our fellow traveler Ben before he started thinking we had been attacked by a man with a machete somewhere in the wilds of Mafate.
Every day we passed more and more villages, which were simple “creole case” style houses, with tin roofs, and separate buildings for each part of the house: the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. We also ran into the occasional bar or café, and even saw signs for a boulangerie. Of course there were “gites,” or cabins everywhere, for visitors to stay in comfort. But we took our tent anyway, which gave us the fortunate possibility of camping anywhere along the way, including on a ridge in the middle of the trail one night. As we walked along, I couldn’t help but rest in awe at the isolation of the place. It took us over two days to cross the valley, and every time we ran into a tiny village, we couldn’t help but notice gates, dogs, and friendly, but less friendly than your average Reunionnais people. People seemed to enjoy gardening here, and along the way it was easy to pick out somewhat wild fields of corn and green beans, along with the splendors of wild Reunion, such as the chou chou plant, guava fruits, and the “goyavier,” a small red and tart fruit that grow in the forest. We ran into chickens and goats, even next to the school house, which seemed even more absurd.
It’s hard to imagine how different life must be there. Whenever the people need anything in town, they either have to walk, or wait for a shipment of goods by helicopter. Normally, they just walk, walk and walk. One guy we ran into was listening calmly to his MP3 player as he literally sprinted down a steep hill, disappearing from view in less than a minute. We had a hard time understanding this, as our knees gave way to each down hill step, and we panted along the uphill bits, walking for hours and hours. In the end we made it to Salazie, the rainiest place on the island, on the East end, and managed to hitch a ride part of the way home.
By the time we got back to St Gilles, we seemed worlds apart from where we had been just hours before. All I could think of was that somehow my students are able to bridge between these two worlds for at least six years of their lives, perhaps choosing to remain in the “bains” of the island forever. The last night, as we slept along the trail, choosing the best place we could find to camp, I could see far off in the distance La Possession. As the lights glittered in the wind and fog, I couldn’t help but laugh at how odd it was to realize I was seeing an inverted view of what I normally see from work. Looking from Mafate to my world below.
Today Mafate still holds a lot of that mystery. With no road access whatsoever, this significant portion of the mountains on Reunion Island is inhabited only by those Creoles who seek seclusion, away from many of the “realities” of the rest of society. Although they are far from completely disconnected from the rest of the island, Mafate is still very different from anywhere else I’ve seen here.
One of my strongest interests in Mafate came from my students, interestingly enough. One day I was working with six students from 6eme (ages 11-12), and I started taking advantage of the small group size to get to know them better. When I got to Alexandre, I asked the smiling, somewhat pudgy boy, “Where are you from?” He just smiled, and Sybilla responded for him, “Madame, he’s from Mafate!” I remember I had had some students from my other classes who had responded the same, but I hadn’t really had a chance to ask them about all of the questions I had for children who were from there. I guess the first one was, “If you go to school here, where do you live?” The obvious was that they couldn’t possibly live in Mafate and commute to middle school in La Possession every day. That’s at least a 7 hour walk. Again, Sybilla, eager to be helpful told me, “He lives with a host family.” So there you have it. Although there are elementary schools in some villages of Mafate, by the age of 11 all students have to move to La Possession (the head of the county that contains Mafate) and live with family members or host families. The only chance these kids get to go home is probably during the weekends and holidays, if they feel like really walking…
So this weekend being my last on Reunion Island, Mafate was a must. Although we got a late start, by the time we started the steep climb down, we wandered across our first novelty: a hand painted sign, saying “Art de Mafate: expo” with an arrow indicating a path. Of course my fellow adventurer Carrie agreed that we should see what “art expo” meant, already 3 hours into our hike. We were surprised when we came across a lovely gated garden, and a kind looking man opened the gate to invite us in. Admittedly instinct told me this probably wasn’t a great idea to wander into a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere, but in the end we were shown his interesting stone sculptures, and offered bananas and tea. I asked him if he had received many visitors, and he shook his head. “A few come, but not very often. I just started selling my art however.” I asked him about his life, how long he had lived there. He was pleased to show us around his lovely garden, with an amazing rose bush, and explained that he had been living alone there for about 8 years. We left sooner than I had wanted to, but we had to find our fellow traveler Ben before he started thinking we had been attacked by a man with a machete somewhere in the wilds of Mafate.
Every day we passed more and more villages, which were simple “creole case” style houses, with tin roofs, and separate buildings for each part of the house: the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. We also ran into the occasional bar or café, and even saw signs for a boulangerie. Of course there were “gites,” or cabins everywhere, for visitors to stay in comfort. But we took our tent anyway, which gave us the fortunate possibility of camping anywhere along the way, including on a ridge in the middle of the trail one night. As we walked along, I couldn’t help but rest in awe at the isolation of the place. It took us over two days to cross the valley, and every time we ran into a tiny village, we couldn’t help but notice gates, dogs, and friendly, but less friendly than your average Reunionnais people. People seemed to enjoy gardening here, and along the way it was easy to pick out somewhat wild fields of corn and green beans, along with the splendors of wild Reunion, such as the chou chou plant, guava fruits, and the “goyavier,” a small red and tart fruit that grow in the forest. We ran into chickens and goats, even next to the school house, which seemed even more absurd.
It’s hard to imagine how different life must be there. Whenever the people need anything in town, they either have to walk, or wait for a shipment of goods by helicopter. Normally, they just walk, walk and walk. One guy we ran into was listening calmly to his MP3 player as he literally sprinted down a steep hill, disappearing from view in less than a minute. We had a hard time understanding this, as our knees gave way to each down hill step, and we panted along the uphill bits, walking for hours and hours. In the end we made it to Salazie, the rainiest place on the island, on the East end, and managed to hitch a ride part of the way home.
By the time we got back to St Gilles, we seemed worlds apart from where we had been just hours before. All I could think of was that somehow my students are able to bridge between these two worlds for at least six years of their lives, perhaps choosing to remain in the “bains” of the island forever. The last night, as we slept along the trail, choosing the best place we could find to camp, I could see far off in the distance La Possession. As the lights glittered in the wind and fog, I couldn’t help but laugh at how odd it was to realize I was seeing an inverted view of what I normally see from work. Looking from Mafate to my world below.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Getting to the top
3,074 meters doesn't seem that far (over 9,000 feet) to climb...until you're halfway there, and your legs are already sore....But we were determined to make it to the top of the tallest peak in the Indian Ocean (so they say), so we packed our gear and trudged up the fastest, but steepest route to the "gite," or cabin, halfway up to "Piton des Neiges" (french for Snowy Peak). Everyone we met there seemed in good spirits, drinking hot tea and playing cards.
That night before heading off to bed we sneaked a peek at the stars. needless to say that high up, you can see everything. This night it was especially odd to see the sky, with all of the constellations completely mixed up, or non existent, making up that strange southern hemisphere sky. You may see Orion all year round, but he's laying funny, not quite the right way up. Worse, the big dipper and the north star are nowhere in sight. It would be worrisome not knowing which way is north, except my friend pointed out the Southern Cross, explaining how to find south. At last, things make sense again!
In order to get the best conditions for Piton des Neiges it's best to wake up at 3:30 in the morning and start hiking up the last 2 hours to the top. That way, by the time you get there, you have a clear view of the sun rising over the entire island, with a 360 degree view of everything. As we trudged to the top we ran across ice on the path, justifying our multiple layers of clothes. I don't know how cold it was exactly at the top, but it definitely wasn't Reunion beach weather. As everyone waited in the cold, slowly it grew lighter and lighter, and all of the sudden, the sun came up above the clouds. It was kind of like being in an airplane, looking down on all of the clouds below, hiding the world underneath. Cameras were clicking right and left as the sun went higher and higher, and finally everyone left. We were the last group to leave, starting the long walk all the way back to the car we had left behind two days ago. My knees may be shot, but I can safely say that was one of the best moments I've had on this island.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Mayotte....several weeks after serious reflexion
For some reason, I have difficulties writing about Mayotte. Not because I have nothing to say, but rather there are so many things to say about this tiny island. And needless to say, completely different from Reunion. Despite the fact that Mayotte is considered by many to be the "Reunion of 20 years ago," I'm not sure I'm completely convinced. Perhaps in terms of development there are some similarities to what Reunion was....but Mayotte cannot be placed in the same mold as Reunion.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Summer days coming to an end
Today you could really feel the weather changing. It was abrupt almost, that feeling I got as soon as I opened the door this morning: summer is slipping through our fingers. After nine months of almost consecutive summer (aside from that month of extreme cold in Switzerland), it was one of the most refreshing feelings I have felt in a long time...so sweet and fresh that I went running. With the change in weather, however, comes some other more interesting changes. Although it's mostly due to a storm sweeping across the island, you couldn't help but notice the massive waves, crashing against the shore. Most people watched from a safe distance as the pro and someday expert surfers/kids fought for every huge wave that came crashing down. I watched in shock, wondering how people surf those things without seriously hurting some body part of some sort. The worst part is that I had a student's words echoing through my mind: don't worry, the waves get bigger. A lot bigger in winter. These may seem like positive words, considering how puny the swells look in January. But for a beginner who loves those one footers, it's fear that strikes you when you see that 9 foot wave wipe out half a dozen surfers. Time to get good, fast.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
French schools...
I know that these days in America parents complain about the workload of their students. There are all of the new stresses, more books, more classes, more activities...students seem to have more and more homework every year. Although this might be true, the more and more I learn from my students about the French school system, the more I realize how lucky we have it in America.
Today we had a discussion about the two types of school systems, and how they were different. We figured out that while most American students have probably 6 or 7 classes freshman year of highschool, the French students of the same age group have 11-12 classes. Better yet, while we start school either at 7:30 or 8:30, and finish at 2:30 or 3:30 in the afternoon, they are stuck in the classroom from 7:30-4:00 guaranteed. As for after school activities? Half of the students said they would rather go home after school than stick around for a sport or theatre group. Fortunately the other half reassured me they had after school activities, and that they were quite enjoyable.
It all came down to a few things, that made the systems different in a way that the students and I had different perspectives: In the US we get 40 minutes or so for lunch time, and in France, it's at least an hour and a half! I asked the students, which would you prefer, a shorter lunch break so you can go home sooner, or a longer one that makes you stay at school until later? They all agreed they would rather have a longer day at school than give up that precious hour and a half they have with their friends.
Next were the foreign languages. Most of them took at least two languages, sometimes three. All of them had started learning a foreign language at the age of 11, if not sooner. When I told them that some of my friends didn't even take a foreign language in school because it wasn't required, their eyes popped, and their mouths opened wide. They couldn't believe it. American students don't learn languages until high school, and even then, only one? How could that be? I think we all agreed that it was fun to learn languages....well, most of us did.
Finally, and interestingly enough, the students had all of their classes with the same group of kids. I guess that's similar to what we had in middle school, but I can't imagine how different it must be to spend your entire day with the same 25 odd students, all year long. I asked one girl how she felt about this, and her response was, "I like it. We feel more unified, as a group." Fair enough.
I guess there are some things that I may never understand, but I can definitely appreciate. One thing is for certain: these kids could be in any high school in the US, with their sense of humor and comic timing. I laughed so hard while my students were role playing a fight between Sarkozy and Obama, as Mickey Mouse tried to intervene to calm them all down. Some days are just crazy like that, where you couldn't get them to stop speaking English if you tried. I just go with the flow.
Today we had a discussion about the two types of school systems, and how they were different. We figured out that while most American students have probably 6 or 7 classes freshman year of highschool, the French students of the same age group have 11-12 classes. Better yet, while we start school either at 7:30 or 8:30, and finish at 2:30 or 3:30 in the afternoon, they are stuck in the classroom from 7:30-4:00 guaranteed. As for after school activities? Half of the students said they would rather go home after school than stick around for a sport or theatre group. Fortunately the other half reassured me they had after school activities, and that they were quite enjoyable.
It all came down to a few things, that made the systems different in a way that the students and I had different perspectives: In the US we get 40 minutes or so for lunch time, and in France, it's at least an hour and a half! I asked the students, which would you prefer, a shorter lunch break so you can go home sooner, or a longer one that makes you stay at school until later? They all agreed they would rather have a longer day at school than give up that precious hour and a half they have with their friends.
Next were the foreign languages. Most of them took at least two languages, sometimes three. All of them had started learning a foreign language at the age of 11, if not sooner. When I told them that some of my friends didn't even take a foreign language in school because it wasn't required, their eyes popped, and their mouths opened wide. They couldn't believe it. American students don't learn languages until high school, and even then, only one? How could that be? I think we all agreed that it was fun to learn languages....well, most of us did.
Finally, and interestingly enough, the students had all of their classes with the same group of kids. I guess that's similar to what we had in middle school, but I can't imagine how different it must be to spend your entire day with the same 25 odd students, all year long. I asked one girl how she felt about this, and her response was, "I like it. We feel more unified, as a group." Fair enough.
I guess there are some things that I may never understand, but I can definitely appreciate. One thing is for certain: these kids could be in any high school in the US, with their sense of humor and comic timing. I laughed so hard while my students were role playing a fight between Sarkozy and Obama, as Mickey Mouse tried to intervene to calm them all down. Some days are just crazy like that, where you couldn't get them to stop speaking English if you tried. I just go with the flow.
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