Multiple Updates

So, I've been keeping a log of my adventures on my computer. The following selected blog posts will be copied and pasted (and posted) from that log:

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Today was epic.

My sister-in-law came to Mantasoa for a wedding yesterday. She brought her ~1 year old son, who was pretty cool. His name is Toky. He hardly cried, he didn’t stink, he could walk around, and he could comprehend instructions. Pretty good qualities for a baby to have.

I woke up, showered, and had breakfast, like a normal Sunday. I had a lot of clothes to wash, so I got right to it after breakfast because I saw the sun. Luckily Neny helped me, because I had a lot to wash and within an hour the beautifully sunny sky had been replaced by dark clouds. We finished, and hung them out on Neny and Dada’s balcony.

I was walking over to the kabone (outhouse) and Neny was holding a live chicken. She told me to come inside, we were going to prepare it.

She brought it into the room where our table and chairs are. She put it on the floor and stepped on its wings so it wouldn’t move around. She held its neck over a little metal dish. She pulled out her knife and slit its throat. It twitched for a little bit while blood dripped into the pan.

Then we put it in boiling water, took it out, and removed the feathers. Then Dada and I cleaned it out, removing the entrails and carving it into its respective pieces. Then we boiled it with ginger and salt. Then we fried the pieces in oil. Then we ate it with rice for lunch.

Other PCTs had already had similar experiences, so I was somewhat prepared, but it’s still the first time I’ve seen anyone kill an animal that wasn’t a fish. I may have to do the killing next time, as some of my comrades have already done.

After lunch I said goodbye to my sister-in-law and Toky because they were heading back to Tana and I had a famadihina (exhumation) to attend. I met up with Israel and Paul. It was sprinkling on and off, had been most of the day. The road was very muddy.

We knew the famadihina was happening somewhere near PCTC, but we weren’t quite sure where. There was one car taking people, which filled up quickly. We started walking in the right direction and we got picked up when the car came back around. We drove about a mile past PCTC and then pulled over and got out.

It started raining like crazy. There was foot-deep mud. We heard drum beats in the distance. They grew louder and louder. We soon heard voices and flutes. Suddenly a crowd of several hundred Malagasy people came parading over a hill. We were told to merge with the crowd. It soon detoured off the dirt (mud) road and into an even muddier side path through the trees along the edge of a mountain.

As we walked, the sound of the drums and flutes was deafening. There were many drunk Malagasy men trying to get all of us to dance along the way. It was still raining.

We came to a clearing on the side of the mountain. Everyone gathered around a stone structure which we discovered was a tomb. A man read a big speech in Malagasy from under an umbrella, shouting to the crowd. Then the music started up in full force as men started digging dirt and rocks from out of the entrance to the tomb. When the music started, the rain stopped and sun shone through the clouds. It was surreal.

There were hundreds of Malagasy onlookers just watching from the perimeter, but there was a group of about 50 hardcore dancers in a frenzy in front of the tomb. People kept yelling at all of us white people (vazahas) to come dance. Most of the people yelling at us were drunk. Finally, the tomb was opened. Several people entered with a large straw mat. They came out with a body (completely wrapped and bound in white burial cloth), which they held wrapped in the large straw mat. They danced in a frenzy with the body held above their heads before bringing it to a clearing and setting it on the ground. Then another body came out, same actions followed.

By the time the third body came out, people were really pulling us to come to where the bodies had been laid out. I thought to myself, once in a lifetime experience. So, I went right up to the front. A bunch of Malagasy men kept making dance motions. Only a few PCTs had followed me. Others were looking on from the perimeters. Finally, I just let loose. Everyone was staring at me and laughing, but I didn’t care. I needed to dance. I believe there are videos. There are definitely pictures.

In total about 6 bodies were taken out of the tomb (it started raining again after the third body). People just danced to the beat of the drums and the sound of flutes. There were two bands on opposite sides of the tomb, switching off, song by song. I think I stayed for about an hour (I only danced for the one song). Other PCTs danced a bit within the big group of Malagasy dancers. Then I left with a group of 10 or so PCTs and we trekked back to the main road.

When we got there, we realized there were too many of us to fit in the car, so I waited back with a few PCTs. We were in front of some camp-like area that had a few bungalows and tents. What was odd about it, however, was that there were about half a dozen white people walking around. One of them came up to us. He didn’t speak English very well. He was French. Hillary spoke to him in French (she lived in France for 2 years).

It turns out that he is part of some French version of Boy Scouts and he and his compatriots are here in Mantasoa for a month expanding their camp area. Their goal is to make a space for French tourists to stay in order to be more integrated into Malagasy culture (as opposed to staying in a hotel). We were invited to come back and hang out some time.

The car came back for us, and by this time the famadihina was over. We were driven back into the village through the rain. I came home, cold, wet, tired, muddy, and overwhelmed. What a day.