A day in my life

I’m awake and I have to pee; hoping it is still early enough no one else will be up and I can just pee in my yard and go back to sleep. No such luck. At 5:18, I am definitely too late for that. Breakfast, an egg with onions and rice, is done by 6:20. I go out to ask John when he wants to have the ‘bal’ (dance) that Mitsinjo will sponsor. He thinks it won’t be this December, as every Saturday is already taken, but the first or second Saturday of January. Ok, no problem. I’ll call Bob and tell him the plan.

Nothing in particular to do today, so go down to talk to the three sisters, and to ask Josy when she wants to plant SRI. Her rice is almost cooked, so I know I have to be fast or they will have to feed me. She gives me a plate of cassava anyhow. She’ll plant in January. Ok, great. Thanks for the cassava, and bye! I take one so they don’t think I’m rude. I talk to the other sisters and their families/workers about where they will be for Christmas and New Years. Most of us will be in Andasibe, so we agree to dance together.

Rose tells me she dreamt I was wearing all white. So my legs were white, and my shorts were white, and my pants were white, and my really short skirt was white. Lots of white. Presumably I wasn’t wearing all those articles of clothing at once, but who knows, dreams are strange. It’s pretty funny to all of us to talk about the white person wearing white.

On my way home, I pass by Ianta’s and stop to chat. She’s eating breakfast with the two teenagers she has hired to help her in the fields for the day. Simon asks me if I can still take photos. I hem and haw. Yeah, I can, but the price is no longer going to be 400ar, but 1000ar instead. I have been dreading telling them that, but too many people have been asking me to take photos; it’s driving me crazy. To my surprise, they don’t even blink and the more-than-doubled price; it’s as if they were expecting it and just enjoying the lower price while it lasted.

Back in my house. Writing and thinking. Punch in the numbers for a deal with the phone company to call my coworker and tell him about the dates for the bal. Oops; that was the wrong sim card, he has the other company. So now I have 5 minutes to call one company, but I have to use the other company to call him.

John comes over, dressed for the rice fields. Green shirt, orange shorts, and a wide-brimmed hat. Will I be in my house all day? I hate to say yes to this question, but it’s true. Yes. There’s a guy coming from Andasibe, he’s already on his way. John will be in the rice fields. Would I mind taking the guy to the fields when he arrives? No problem.

Now I have a reason to not leave my house. I’ll just keep hanging out until the guy arrives. Eat some of the tiny lollipops I brought to give to the kids for Christmas. Chris calls. There is a package waiting for me at the post office. I have to come in today or else they will send it back to the capital or to my country. I know that’s not true. Would it be okay if I come in Friday? No, the poste guy… his credit runs out. I call him back. We again greet each other. What’s new? Nothing. Sorry my credit ran out. No problem. But no, Friday is too late, you will get a fine by then. That is probably true. OK, then I will come in tomorrow.

Andasibe guy arrives. Oh. This is where you live? Yup. Let’s go, I’ll take you to John’s rice fields. Is it far? No, it’s close. Do you live here alone? Yes. No friends? I have friends, just not friends that live in my house. I’ll live with you! No thanks. Walking on the path between the rice fields, I sink into the muddy spot. It’s because you’re so fat. Mhmm. Turn to the next path. I pass just fine. Part of it breaks under him and he slips into the water. Maybe it’s not just being fat? I leave him with John to look at the cow he’s going to buy for meat.

Go home. Think about next week or two. Christmas, New Years, probably back and forth a lot from Andasibe, and many dirty clothes. I should do laundry. But there hasn’t been rain in over a week, and people are using the stream for their rice fields, so the water is low and gross and stagnant. I guess I’ll do laundry at the pump. As I sit doing laundry, groups of two or three students come running down the hill to fill tiny water bottles. I hear them coming, so I switch from washing underwear to a shirt; I don’t want to embarrass any of us. They don’t know I’m there, so they come sprinting down the hill, then stop suddenly when they see me and have a small conference; they keep coming, but much slower.

I’m done washing the clothes, but still rinsing them. The cow-buyer from Andasibe comes down to watch me do laundry. What is your name? Elsie. Yours? Gary. I’m a butcher in Andasibe. Oh by the brousses? No, I’m up the hill. Beef. I assume that means the guy by the brousse only sells pork. If you just ask for Gary who sells meat, you’ll find me. How old are you Elsie? 24. Oh. I was born in 1983, so you’re older than me. No wait. You’re younger than me.

Lily comes down to get water. She sees the water I’m rinsing with. Are you still going to rinse? I should, but this is already the third rinse, so I think I’m going to be lazy and just not do it. I don’t like this pump. The other one is better, but it’s broken. She doesn’t answer, just keeps pumping water. I’m looking down at my laundry, so I don’t see that she is about to pour her bucket of clean water into my tub. Thank you! I’m sort of embarrassed that she thinks I don’t clean my laundry. As I’m sitting being embarrassed, she pours another bucket in, then pumps her water and goes.

Gary asks where I will be for Christmas. It will be quite busy and happening in Andasibe. Yeah, that’s where I’ll be too. Are you going to the bal? Yes. Let’s go together and be partners. Ummm. Oh do you already have someone you’re going with? Yeah. Taylor. Who’s Taylor? Chris’s younger sibling (it doesn’t sound that vague in Malagasy, but the word for younger sibling doesn’t have a gender). So you’ll be in trouble with him if you dance with other guys? Oh that’s funny. He thinks Taylor is a guy. I’ll have to tell her that he thinks she’s my boyfriend. Yeah, I’d be in trouble. OK, well otherwise I would ask you to dance. Perfect timing; laundry is done so I leave.

I hang up laundry on my fence. Feel a little awkward hanging up my bras where everyone can see them, but I have to put them in the sun or they’ll mold. Oh well, just put it on the inside of the fence.

I go inside and check my phone. I’m hungry but it’s probably still too early for lunch. Yup, 11am. I arrange some stuff in my room and make a cucumber/carrot/onion salad. I’ll let that sit for a while so it tastes better. Lily comes over and hands me a bunch of bananas. These are for you. And these two you should eat right now or they’ll fall off. OK. I sit down to papers, since anytime I’m found writing they assume I’m doing legitimate work. Lily comes back. Will you eat cassava Elsie? Ummm. I point to the rice, left over from breakfast, that is ready to be eaten. There is already rice. Do you mean cassava now or later? Whenever you want. I’ll put it in a pot for you. OK thanks

Lily goes to fetch water again. Ianta turns up with a basket of dried little fish. She’s waiting for Lily in order to give her the fish. She gives some to the cats. I ask her when she’s going to Andasibe. We are both going tomorrow. Let’s go together. But, Elsie, are you going by bike. Not if I go with you; we’ll both walk, but who will I walk home with on Wednesday? Rose’s two sons will be walking home. Ann will stop by their house and tell them to wait for me. Lily comes back, so Ann gives her the fish and leaves.

Eat my lunch: (powdered) milk over rice and bananas and honey. Pretty good. Now I’ll have that salad for dessert. That makes it a strange meal. Lily comes back. I don’t quite understand everything she says, but I get that her daughter, Nancy, has stepped on a nail/needle and is still out in the rice field. And do I have some ginger? Yes, I do, but what will you do for the wound with the ginger? I’m making our sidedish with it with the garlic you brought back from Tana yesterday. Oh. No relation to the cut. Ok. Yeah, I have some ginger. I break off a piece and hold it out to her. She points at the floor. Put it there. What? Put it there. I can’t take it from you. Ummmm. Do you want me to take it to your house for you? She points behind me to the table. Just put it there then. She clearly doesn’t want me to take it to her house for her but sees that I think it’s really bizarre to put the ginger on the dirty floor by the door. Ok, I put it on the table. She takes it and trots back to her house, saying over her shoulder that it is taboo for her to take ginger like that. Weird. If she were to have another child, it would have 6 fingers. Gary agrees with her.

            I call Brynna, since I did a deal with the same phone company that she has. Time’s up.

            Time to not be so lazy. A few days ago I weeded a section of my future garden, so I guess I’ll take those dried weeds to the trash pit. But first I’ll go see what Lily is doing. She is on the trail overlooking the rice fields, yelling for Nancy to come home since the water for her foot is hot. She wonders if I have some alcohol in my house. No I don’t, but hot salty water would be good to clean it with. And then put a clean cloth around it and don’t let her go work in the rice fields again. She already has this plan in mind. As I walk away she asks if Nancy will die. I say that if it isn’t clean, it will become a problem. I don’t think she’ll die, but then I remember that most likely there aren’t tetanus shots here, so I don’t give a definite no.

Joe comes over and asks to borrow my machete. Yeah, no problem, but don’t be long cause I’ll be using it later to go cut down wood for my fence. OK, I’ll be fast.

Rob, John’s 11yr old son, comes over. He takes the basket I’ve just filled with weeds to the trash, and helps me with the rest. Are you done with your work for the day? Yeah, but mom is still out in the fields. He runs off yelling about the cows. Joe brings my machete back. I’m happy she did what she said, because so often she doesn’t and I don’t trust her at all.

            I go back inside. Drink some water and get my machete to go get saplings for the fence. The machete is pretty dull, so I go looking for Justin to see if he’ll sharpen it for me. I ask Rob where Justin is. He’s gone to Andasibe. He sees my machete. Did you want him to go get saplings with you? I don’t know how to say ‘sharpen the blade’, so I just say “yes” for simplicity’s sake. Rob will go with me since Justin is not here. He wants to go now. Oh. Ok, great.

            Are you sure you have time for this Rob? Yeah, I’m sure. On our way by we stop by Ann’s little stand and say hi. She is now selling stuff to the people coming home from gold panning. Rob and I continue on. Look, Elsie, there’s a good one. Yeah, it’s good. But he wants to keep going cause up ahead there are a lot and here it’s just one. My thoughts exactly.

            I am happy he’s with me. I have been wanting to bring a kid with me, because that way I can cut them down and the kids can carry them and put them in a pile for me. Perfect. We start into the eucalyptus forest. He takes the machete. Which one do you want cut? Ok, I guess it’s fine if he cuts them. I have become the kid, taking the ones he’s cut and putting them in a pile. We get a good pile going. Is that enough Elsie? Will you carry some too? Yes. Then let’s get a few more. So we get some more, plus one bigger one to replace part of the fence ‘frame’ that the cow ran through the other day. One pile is tiny, and one is big. I start to take the big pile, which is legitimately heavy, but he won’t have it and gives me the small one. I don’t want to offend his 11 year old Malagasy male pride, so I follow him home, watching him take short, quick steps under the heavy load. We pass his two buddies, both roughly his age. The smaller one takes the heavy load from Rob, and the bigger one takes mine. Now I am just carrying the machete and watching two kids carry all the wood. The little guy can’t carry it very far, so Rob takes over again.

            We get home and I thank them. They run of yelling about the cows again. They are always on cow-herd duty, but aren’t always so good at it.

            I go looking for the younger Nancy. She is also 11. I find her in the rice fields, working by herself to muddy the fields in preparation for transplanting later. I ask her if she can take me to get cassava leaves later. Yes. Are you in a hurry? No, no hurry. Finish working here and I’ll just be up at my house. OK I’ll come get you later.

            I cut the saplings to a roughly uniform length, then weave them into the frame. I’m really hoping this will be a chicken-proof fence. Shortly I’ve finished all the new saplings, so I go inside to wait for Nancy. I hear shouting. Oh you’re gonna die today! You are a dead dog. I know the boys with the cows are home. It’s earlier than usual, so I go out to look. They are grazing them around the house. Perfect! The grass around my house is too long. Ryan, can you make the cows come eat the grass by my house? It’s too tall. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but realizes that I’m serious. The cows are herded over. All is quiet. Then there is crashing around inside my ‘garden’. Sounds like they’ve broken through the fence frame again. I stick my head out the window to look. Yup, there’s a cow right below the window. Ryan, not the most brilliant cowherd, comes running through the gap, smacking them with a stick. No! Ryan, chase them from the other side! But it’s too late. They’ve already pushed through the other part of the fence, pulling some of the nails out, but I don’t see anything broken.

            Nancy comes to get me. I wait a few minutes for the bull to leave my front yard. I go down the hill to meet her, bringing my shovel in case she is going to dig up cassava roots to bring home. She is still fetching water, so I sit with Nancy (the Nancy with a hurt foot) to wait. It takes a while. Talk a little bit to one of the teachers, through her window. Yes, we agree, it is quite windy, but still not raining. Lily is leaving with Rob. Where are you guys going? Over there, and we won’t be back until tomorrow. I’m really surprised. She is the anchor for the family, and never stays away for the night.

            There’s Nancy, and Betty, and two guys. Looks like we are all going to look for cassava leaves.Nancy, where is your basket? My basket? I’m not bringing one. Oh, then are you not digging up roots? No. Are you? No, me neither, so can I leave my shovel? No, you should bring it and they will use it. They are buying cassava roots from my mom. We head out. The guys know my name, but I don’t understand them very well and don’t remember meeting them. We pass by Ianta’s stand. We’ve gone a little ways. She calls out for us to please bring her cassava leaves for dinner.

            We walk down the railroad, shocking a few people on their way home from gold panning. There’s a white person speaking Malagasy! We all laugh at them after they’ve passed. Wow, they still aren’t used to you, are they? Nope, it seems people are always surprised no matter how often they see me. The taller guy asks Bodo to point out bako-bako. They must not be from here if they don’t know that plant. I point it out when I see it. We all laugh. The vazaha knows bako-bako but the Malagasy don’t. That’s not what we call it where we’re from. Oh really? Where are you from? Antsirabe. Ah. That is why I don’t understand them well. Don’t you remember meeting us? No. Where was it and when? A little while ago. We were making charcoal and you passed by with Nancy’s mom. Ohhh. Yeah, now I remember.

            They dig up cassava while I gather leaves. They are all being bitten like crazy by the flies, the ‘short mosquitos’. I’m not, having worn long pants precisely because I that’s how it was for me last time.

            I go to Lily’s to pound the cassava leaves. I bring garlic too, because last time Lily said it is best if you pound the garlic with the leaves rather than adding it later with the onions. Nancy is pounding bananas and rice flour for moforavina; a good activity for her because she doesn’t have to walk, just stand. The other mortar and pestle is being used by the littlest of Rob’s friends to pound rice. They think it’s late, so instead of them pounding rice for dinner I should pound the cassava leaves. I insist that I don’t mind waiting.

Lily arrives. I tell her she’s tricky. She looks a little offended. I thought you were coming home tomorrow? Now she realizes I’m joking and that it’s just because she fooled me earlier. She laughs too.

She drops off the wild ginger leaves, in the kitchen. Ah. So she just went to get the leaves to cook the moforavina in. I understand. She comes over. It’s late! And you guys are just now pounding rice? The kids don’t even blink; I wouldn’t either as they seem to always be pounding rice at this time. Nancy is done. They transfer the unfinished rice to the dirty mortar in order to give me the clean one. I’m surprised they don’t clean it first! I say so, and then see that Lily is using the rice hulls that have already been pounded off to soak up the banana mixture and it will now be clean.

I start to pound the leaves. Lily asks where my phone is. In my house. Is someone going to call it? I know she doesn’t have a phone and John is gone with their phone so I think maybe their oldest son will be calling. She never directly asks for the phone, just always wants to know where it is, even though it’s always in my house. No, she isn’t waiting for a call. But John will be coming home in the dark and there is a large piece of wood across the road on one of the downhills. I leave to get my phone, so Rob pounds the cassava leaves. I call John but his phone is off. We think he’s probably already on his way.

I ask Rob if the cassava leaves are white yet. No, not yet. That leads to laughing with Lily about how saying something is white, when really it’s green, is confusing to us non-native speakers still learning Malagasy. I say that yes, when Peace Corps volunteers first arrive, they don’t know that rice that is white means that it is already pounded and has no hull left, regardless of whether it is white or red rice inside. This translates to anything that is to be pounded being called white once it is done, whether rice, cassava leaves, or peanut butter.

The cassava leaves are white; garlic has been added. I go home to cook. But I still want to shower. It is dark. I go fetch water and take a wonderful bucket bath. Cassava still isn’t cooked all the way. I sit down to write about the day. It’s ready, and delicious. It’s 8pm, so I check my feet for fleas and go to bed.