Week 3 - Part 2

Friday was a very unusual day – it started with a meeting with the Mauritian Ambassador, and ended with dancing outside in the middle of nowhere, and “sleeping” on the floor of a kitchen…

Haro had an appointment with the Mauritian Ambassador to give him some advice on involvement in resolving the political crisis here. Mauritius has been taking a lead role in facilitating the set up of the National Conference, a gathering of about 1000 locally elected people, led by civil society, to try to find a path out of the political crisis. The main political forces (the current de facto government, and representatives of all three of the past Presidents - two of whom are in exile) have tried to hijack the process, especially to take transition arrangements and a timeline for elections off the agenda. The National Conference will be on Sept 13, and Haro believes that it is vital for (1) people to understand the international legal rules for resolving a post-coup situation (who knew there were any!!?), and (2) the delegates to vote on the conference's resolutions, so as to create a dynamic of public discourse that will be covered by the media, and to give the resolutions the authority of the people. I was invited along to the meeting with the Ambassador to give the weight of a dropping a double H-bomb (Harvard) – happy to help however I can…!

After the meeting, I shifted gears dramatically, changing out of my suit and into rougher clothes, to head off to the countryside. Princy, the president of Manajary Vahoaka, the organisation I’m working with, was holding a Famadihana, which translates as a “Turning of the Bones” ceremony. It's a celebration of dead ancestors, who are still considered part of the family... hundreds of family and friends gather from miles around for a massive 24 hr party, which culminates in opening up the family tomb, bringing out the bodies, and wrapping them in new shrouds - all in a festive atmosphere complete with dancing, singing and feasting. The President’s wife (who was also the sister of Jak, another member of the organisation) died 18 months ago, and they were going to have a ceremony for her, and also bring out Princy’s parents and grandparents. It is very unusual for a foreigner to be invited to attend a Famadihana, so I accepted the invitation feeling very privileged but slightly apprehensive.

I was told to bring water, food and warm clothes as I would be sleeping in the mini bus. I asked where all the other 1000 people would be sleeping, and was told that they don’t sleep, they dance all night…

The trip started inauspiciously as the driver ran into a wall turning around to get out of the car park, and then compounded that when we stopped to pick up Jak and family members, by backing into a pile of dirt and forcing the exhaust pipe back under the minibus and snapping it. So the next stop was round the corner at a mechanic shop, where they welded the exhaust pipe back together. The welding machine was made from oxygen from one tank being forced through another tank with a piece of lime inside, that created the sparks… I was a little worried that we were all going to get blown up, but it seemed to work and we were eventually back on the road. To give him credit, the driver didn’t put a foot wrong after that, and drove hours over some truly dreadful dirt roads, including in the dark, and often at less than 20km/hr. I know, because I was sitting in the front seat, and drove it with him, every inch of the way… He also obliging slowed down every time I picked up my camera to take a photo out of the window.

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Dina's other grandparents - aged 90 and 85

At Jak’s place, I met all the extended family members, including those who were to travel with us – his mother, brother, sister and brother-in-law. Several members of the Manajary Vahoaka team were also at the house, working on the 1200 files of the railway trade union members, which have been kept there for safety, and which need to be organised to submit to the government this week, now that they have agreed to pay the pensions. Just as we were about to leave, Jak’s daughter Dina (also my interpreter) asked if I would like to meet her mother’s parents, who also live there, on the second floor. Of course I said yes, and headed upstairs to be greeted with a scene straight out of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate factory (original version). There were two extremely old people in the bed – he aged 90 and she aged 85 – living miracles in a country where the life expectancy is about 60.

Dina & her mother and grandmother

On the three hour drive through the highlands to the village, I became absolutely convinced of the theory that Australia and Madagascar used to be joined together as part of Gondwana Land millions of years ago. Quite often we could have just as easily been driving through the Australian bush, with gum trees, silky oak, lantana, and other extremely recognizable plants abounding. But the difference? Think of Australia cultivated with Indonesian-type rice paddies everywhere, with “zebu” (Brahmin cattle). Some of the fields were planted with rice, others with beans, potatoes, etc, and some were lying fallow, churned over into great chunks of mud. For a little while I wondered what kind of plough had created the chunks, until I realised that they were created laboriously by men with shovels.

Australian bush?

Is this Wattle?

Gum tree

There were also numerous fields where bricks were being made from the mud, and then build into large piles and smoked to dry.

Bricks being dried

We stopped in a small village for dinner – I went for a wander while the others were eating (having been warned strongly not to eat local food in the villages), taking some photos of the main street. Unexpectedly, I ran into a young American Peace Corps volunteer, who is seven months into a two year posting to the village. We had a bit of a chat, and I was extremely impressed at her attitude – I’m not sure that I could live in such isolation in such a place for so long! Before we left the village I ventured to the restaurant’s toilet (an outhouse next to a pig pen) and was very glad that I can hold my breath and learnt to use squat toilets all those years ago in Japan. I used one more at the house that night, and then decided that the great outdoors was a lot cleaner.

Kids fetching water from the only working pump in the village

Village shop

Old man in the village

Debra, Peace Corps Volunteer from Michigan, USA

There were very few vehicles on the road – most people walk, ride bikes, catch the taxi-brousse (minibus) service, or use bullock carts. In the wet season, the roads are completely impassable mud. We did the last part of the journey in the dark, and there was a very surreal moment when I thought “never in my life did I think I would be driving through the middle of nowhere in Madagascar, heading to a ceremony for dead people, with Celine Dion singing the Titanic theme song on the radio…”.

So, we arrived at the village in the dark, and the party was already in full swing. A generator had been set up, with four electric light bulbs and a massive sound system, and the hundreds strong crowd were dancing, drinking and eating. While I considered it an honour to be invited to attend such a celebration, they treated me like a special guest. Princy immediately pulled me onto the dance “floor” (dusty field) and I very quickly learnt a traditional Malagasy dance – a bit like the Pride of Erin, but only in one direction. The DJ was interspersed at intervals with a “traditional” Malagasy band made up of drummers and accordions.

Dance floor

The band

Dancing with Jak (far left), Princy (on my left) & others

I was the centre of attention wherever I went all night, which was fun at first, but became a bit problematic as the men got drunker on the local rum. But luckily the group of people I have been working with, especially Ny Aina and Dimby, acted as my protection team, and whenever anyone became too rowdy or attentive, they immediately stepped in. I had wondered why there were so few women dancing, and most of the kids running around were boys – then I realised that the women were probably protecting themselves and their daughters from potential harassment. I decided after a while that it was probably better not to dance any more, and sat with Jak’s mother (who is a gorgeous old woman) and Ny Aina, whose family doesn’t celebrate this way so she was also experiencing it for the first time.

With Jak's mother

Three boys who sat next to me and stared all night

Early in the evening we were invited into the eating hall for a ceremonial welcome meal. It was beef and rice (they had killed two zebu (cows) for the event – a huge expense for them), cooked in massive cauldrons and served out of buckets. Apparently they eat the “interior” (ie the offal) of the zebu in the evening, and the “exterior” the following day. I felt slightly rude, but even without the warning I had been given, there was no way I could have eaten that meal – I have a strong stomach but I had to use all my powers of control and politeness to ignore the smell, and sit and smile while people ate and Princy made a welcoming speech. 

The feast

Princy's speech

After some more dancing, my group suggested that we should go to bed early, because we were going to get up at 4:30am to drive to see a lake, and then be back in time for a meeting at 10am. I had been told the day before that I would be sleeping in the minibus because the house would be full of all the local chiefs – which sounded perfectly reasonable to me. In a lot of ways, being here reminds me of when I was an exchange student to Japan when I was 17 – I am often not 100% sure of what is going on or coming up, and everyone wants to make sure I am looked after and treated specially. As a result, as I headed towards the minibus at 10:30pm, the plans suddenly changed and they said a room and bed had been prepared for me in the house. I initially resisted, assuming that if there was now a room and bed, it meant that someone had been turfed out for my benefit. But after I was assured that this was not the case, they roused Ny Aina, who had already gone to bed in the bus, to be my chaperone, and took us both into the house. They took us up to a large room on the first floor, where there were already lots of people asleep in rows on the floor, and spread a woven straw mat out for us. There was a loud generator just outside the door, which smelt strongly of kerosene (or something equally toxic) – I was worried about being asphyxiated in my sleep, so thank goodness my minders decided that it would be too noisy and I should sleep somewhere else. Later I realised just how ironic that was, as the music continued to pound ALL night, so loud that I could feel it through the floorboards, so it was absolutely impossible to sleep anyway. Ny Aina and I eventually ended up on the top floor of the house, sleeping on the floor of the kitchen. We had it to ourselves initially, and Ny Aina managed to fend off various people joining us throughout the night, but in the morning we found two people curled up on the mat at our feet. Throughout the night, I gradually put on every piece of clothing that I had with me, but the cold, the hard floor, the regular incursions of people into the room looking for food or sleeping space, and most of all the loud loud music, meant that sleep was nonexistent. I was positively glad when 4:30am arrived and it was time to get up and go to the lake.

We headed off in the dark in the minibus, and the road was nothing but a very rutted dirt track. I asked how far it was to the lake, and was told 50km!! “On this kind of road the whole way?” was my next question, and was told it would only be for 15km, though it ended up being not much better for the remainder of the way.

We took the right hand road...

The road took us through lots of small villages, and it was a lovely drive, as the dawn broke behind the mountains, and the mist sat in the valleys, and the countryside and villages came to life.

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Spiderwebs (or fairies?)

We eventually made it to the lake, which turned out to be beautiful and man made, created by a dam built by the French in 1950. It provides the water for Antananarivo, and apparently whenever there is civil unrest, it is the first thing that the military defend, because if it was breached it would put Antananarivo about 20 feet under water. However, security did not seem to be on the mind of the guard, who quite happily unlocked the gates for us to go onto the dam wall – which had a railing only on one side, and even that with only one bar at about waist height.

Lake

Dam (that's me on the edge of the dam wall)

At the lake we also came across an initiative run by an environmental NGO, which trains people to run plant nurseries, growing saplings of different kinds of trees and then plants them in an effort in reforestation. It seemed extremely well run, and I hope that it is successful, as it was sad how barren a lot of the hillsides were as people have cut down trees for firewood.

Environmental NGO Nursery

Then it was time to head back for the main “Turning of the Bones” event. While most people were treating the day as a joyful reason to party, both the dead woman’s mother (also Jak’s mother), and Luva, the dead woman’s daughter, were really very sad. I asked how she had died, thinking it would probably be a car accident or illness in this place where the doctor only comes once a week, and was shocked to find out that she had died by falling down the well. It’s such an alien concept to me that I am still quite unsettled at the thought. Since she only died 18 months ago, they don’t take her body out of the tomb – just immediate family enters the tomb and covers the body with a new shroud. Jak’s mother had taken a shine to me, telling me that she felt that I had been sent by God, and asked if I would come into the tomb with her and take photos as she put perfume onto the body of her daughter. How could I refuse? Though I was quite apprehensive as to what I would see.

There was quite a lot more waiting around until the most auspicious starting time - more music, dancing and another (quick for me) visit to the eating hall. Ny Aina, Dimby and I went for a walk down the road to the village, where there was a market on, and bought some bananas – we agreed that they were a great fruit, since they have a cover and they grow up in a tree, so you know they are clean! (They, as city folk, were also a bit horrified at the eating facilities at the event, especially the plates and cutlery that were greasy from multiple use and no real washing.)

Dancing

At this stage I was starting to be a bit over it all – dirty, hot, tired – and thinking maybe I didn’t like Madagascar so much any more. I had to remind myself that I would probably be grumpy anywhere if I had had no sleep, no shower and was standing in the sun!

Princy's house

Eventually the flag was taken down from the house, which signaled the start of the procession to the tomb. The immediate family (which amazingly to me did not include Jak’s mother, as the dead woman is considered to be part of her husband’s family) all wear special straw hats, and lead the procession with the band. The rest of the crowd then follow, as they walk to the family tomb, which is about a kilometre from the house. I was surprised to see Luva on the balcony of the house, filming the procession, but then she signaled to me that she couldn’t handle going to the tomb as she is still too sad about her mother’s death – totally understandable.

The procession to the tomb starts

When we got to the tomb, a group of men climbed up on the roof of the tomb to make speeches – they were going on for quite a long time as we all stood broiling in the sun, until thankfully an older man intervened and told them to finish up as there were people who needed to get back to Tana. They raised the flag, then all sang the national anthem (I think), and then the key people prepared the cloths that would be the new shrouds, entered the tomb and started bringing out the corpses.

The tomb

As they were brought out (wrapped in straw mats and held high) they were announced over the loud speaker – Princy’s father, mother and grandparents – as though they were celebrity guests (which I guess they were in a way). The crowd all pushed around, to the point where it was hard to see anything – I needn’t have worried about being confronted by death! They were laid on the ground, and the main team started wrapping and tying them securely into the new shrouds as everyone (especially the children) pushed and shoved to get a look.

Emerging from the tomb

Readying the body for wrapping in a new shroud

Crowded around the bodies

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The crowd

At this point Princy, Jak and his family entered the tomb to look after their wife / sister / daughter. They called me too, and I followed them in – it was crowded and dark, and thankfully they had already thrown the new shroud over the body by the time I got inside, so I didn’t see too much. I was surprised at how suddenly emotional they all were, crying as they threw perfumed water over the body and patted the shroud into place very firmly (which worried me slightly!). It was all over very quickly, and we re-emerged from the tomb to watch the rest of the wrapping ceremony of the other bodies.

Throwing perfume

The grandparents were put together into one, and their shroud written on – “Married Again. Grandparents.” – I guess it helps when they bring them out for the next ceremony in a few years time.

Wrapping the grandparents

And then we headed off – dropping in at the house as we went past to see Luva. This was the saddest part of the whole event for me, as she and the grandmother embraced each other and burst into tears. While most participants were using the event to get together and party (understandable in a place with very little in the way of entertainment and where travel is a major effort), these two women were truly sad at the loss of their loved one.

I slept a lot of the way home, and was in the shower two minutes after I arrived back in Tana – I couldn’t wait to wash all the dust and dirt off and put clean clothes on – and then slept for 11 hours straight.