Village trek

Thursday, February 16, 2017
Ambositra, Madagascar
Visitors to the village of Sakaito Nord are received by the chief in a small house reserved for that purpose, which is nearly empty except for some very low benches. The chief began with some lengthy remarks of welcome and blessing, translated into French by Koupi the guide. I replied in a similar vein, thanking the chief for his hospitality and admiring the peace and harmony of his village. The chief then fetched a bottle of rhum du village, poured a little into a glass, went to the northeast corner of the hut, pronounced a lengthy prayer or formula, possibly involving the ancestors, and poured the liquid onto the floor. Custom prevented this part from being translated, but I did not consider that a problem.
The chief then returned to his bench and issued further words of welcome at equal length to the first, in a manner that did not appear to advance the subject in any significant way. Meanwhile, having a deep-seated (though evidently unnecessary) aversion to repeating myself unduly, I was wracking my brain for a possible response without resorting to thanking my parents and the Academy. To my relief, I was not called upon. Instead, we each poured ourselves some of the local fuel and tossed it back. (The oldest person drinks first.  I thought I had a chance, but the chief crushed me, 82-66.  He looked good for his age).  Mani the porter, who sat through this entire process without saying a word, and with the additional disadvantage of being a non-drinker, sprinkled a few drops over his forehead and scalp.  
Koupi launched into a rambling tale, in some combination historical and legendary, involving conflict between a shaman and a king's brother-in-law. Followed by another tot (which was not obligatory this time) probably to avoid the risk of offending the ancestors by leaving anything in the bottle.  The chief made a few more remarks, then it was my turn to write something in the cahier d'or (guest book) and make a recommended donation of 20 000 ariary. The chief concluded by asking me to buy the village a soccer ball in town and send it to him. I promised to do that.
This entire three-days-two-nights village trip was organized by Koupi.  I seem to have a knack for finding these flawed guides, probably because I'm cheap.  But I'm fond of them, in the end.  They make the trip more interesting.  At least that's what I tell myself after it's over.
From Ambositra by taxi, it was 13 km on the paved road, then an equal distance on a dirt road ending in the village of Antoetra.  On the way we came upon a shocking scene: children aged 8 to 14, digging for gold in a square straight-sided pit about 5 metres deep.   At the bottom there were two tunnels, said to be three to four metres long.  It's not a shock that such practices exist, but you rarely see them as a tourist.  It wasn't part of the tour itinerary, but I asked to stop and the driver was happy to do so.
After the ride there was a leisurely 3-hour walk gradually ascending across open, unpopulated country, then suddenly a beautiful view of a valley terraced with rice fields, and a very steep descent to the village.  Sakaito Nord has about 550 people, whose median age appears to be around 20.  There are two churches, Catholic and Protestant, and a school, but no clinic.  The buildings are bunched together on the slopes, leaving the fertile land for crops.  It's constantly buzzing with activity like a Bruegel painting, with lots of kids running everywhere or playing games with pebbles.  Women are winnowing by the traditional method of pounding and tossing.  A group of three women are working at a mortar with three pestles in a graceful rhythm.  A pair of men are working a pit saw, where one man stands on the log and the other is down below, and the saw is worked vertically -- they are able to create remarkably true boards.  And of course all the normal outdoor village activities like cooking, laundry, and water hauling.  The building designated as a visitor house was very well situated to give a panoramic view.
"Not as many zebus as formerly," because zebu thieves are in the area, and they have guns.  Lots of chickens of course.   Pigpens, but not many pigs.  On our walk through the village, Koupi pointed out various patterns carved into door-frames and window-frames, each with its own meaning.  Men were doing skilled woodwork in making useful and decorative objects.  We also visited the village bar, a very small room, where we shared a large bottle of beer.
Oddly, I was not offered any water to wash my hands before eating, although there was a stream nearby.  This is different from my experience on the African continent, where a basin of water, often with soap, is ritually offered even if your hands are clean, and mine were far from it. I did ask for water and it arrived. Equally oddly, after the sweaty day I was not offered any water for a sponge bath before sleeping.  Again I asked.  All of which makes you wonder about the food.  The cups and cutlery were greasy.  Dinner could not be faulted for quantity: lots of rice, lots of greasy, overcooked potato and green beans, and zebu that was mostly fat and bones.  Banana for dessert.
Breakfast was toasted pieces of baguette with margarine and jam, and tea or coffee.  The coffee was strong enough to get at least 15 miles to the gallon under highway conditions.  The jam was made in Egypt.  I mentioned this to Koupi and he said Madagascar was not very technologically advanced.  I countered that they made pretty good bottled beer.  Even I can make jam in my kitchen, but beer is beyond me, I said.
That day Koupi was ill all day.  I made the much-hyped walk to the waterfall with a nice young man who spoke little French and was spectacularly gap-toothed.  The walk, a couple of hours each way, was pleasant enough, but to actually see the waterfall you had to cross a wide, swift, knee-deep river at the end.  I didn't want to struggle across a rocky river in bare feet, and didn't want to walk back in sodden shoes, so I balked at the final hurdle.
After lunch the same guide took me to two villages in another direction.  It was drizzling now, and quite steep up and down.  On the top of the ridge a crucifix had been placed, le criste au bras amputé.  At each village, women came running to show me their wooden crafts.  It was sad, I couldn't buy anything.  
And something that was noticeable everywhere I went in Madagascar, but especially on this trek:  The people's clothing was so ragged.  T-shirts with big holes.  Again this is very different from southern Africa, where people take a lot of pride in looking neat.  (In Lesotho it helped that everyone had a blanket that was worn winter and summer as an outer garment, lending dignity).   I'm not saying it's very important, I've never been very invested in clothing myself, and a hole in your shirt might actually be more comfortable in the heat -- having a hole in your jeans is a thing in western societies.  But it was a striking contrast: in Lesotho they would have stitched up those holes, here they didn't.
When we got back to the village, Koupi tried to tell me he had paid the young man 50 000 ariary to guide me.  This was obviously heading toward a request for more money, which is almost inevitable with a free-lance guide.  I had to tell him frankly that I didn't believe him, as I knew that people work for days at hard labour for less than that.  (Later I would learn that many people barely earn that in a month).  In Ambositra he had been quite perky, but in the village he had developed a hangdog look, and I was beginning to suspect that he was not ill but drunk.
On the second night the chief was invited to join us for dinner.  Via translation, he kept thanking me infinitely (merci infiniment).  I thanked him back, though not infinitely.  I went to mille fois, which is about as high as I've ever gone.  I wanted to leave myself some room in case he surpassed himself.  I was holding deux mille in reserve, in fact I probably would have gone straight to dix mille without much hesitation.  I'm not cheap with my gratitude, but I'm not profligate either.  But two things concerned me all the while.  One, will the chief interpret these finite compliments as an insult?  And secondly, in a nation where the concept of infinity is handled so carelessly, will it be difficult to teach calculus?  (Yes, but that was far from being the main concern).  Later I saw road signs thanking visitors infinitely, and I realized that I had been overthinking the issue.
The conversation, as it does in these situations, naturally turned again to a soccer ball, and I renewed my promise to provide one.  Koupi related another long story which sounded suspiciously like the first one, but I think this one had more nats in it, which are mythological creatures.
For dessert, Koupi asked me whether I would like an apple or a banana.  I chose banana.  He went to the kitchen and came right back:  Sorry, there are no bananas, probably we will have them in the morning.
Next morning:  Would you like an apple or a banana?  --  Sure, I'll have a banana. --  This time he doesn't even go to the kitchen.  Sorry, there are no bananas.  I get it, it's the cheese shop sketch.  Unfortunately I didn't have a fake pistol.
After the uneventful trip back to town, we went straight to the football shop.  I hung back and Koupi went in, because "Quand ils voient un étranger, ils vont demander plus," something I didn't need to be told.  He came back and said they wanted 200 000.  That's what I was afraid of.  He said that was just their first price.  I told him to go back and get their second price.  He returned and said they would accept 35 000.  They were using the shock-and-awe strategy, where they stun you with their first price so their second price sounds cheap.  I asked him to get their third price.  He said their second price was their last price.  So it was the shock-and-awe-take-it-or-leave-it strategy.  So we settled for 35 000 ariary, or CAD $14.
Back at the hotel, I wrote a note to the chief, which Koupi would take to the village on Sunday.  In this note I started by thanking the chief infinitely -- I felt okay with this since I would never see him again.  Then I wrote that Koupi and I had shared the cost.  I felt that this would encourage Koupi to actually hand over the ball rather than conceivably doing something else with it.  Also it would confer some credit on Koupi at no additional cost to me.
This also softened him up for my next gambit.  Back in town now, he already seemed normal again, so I asked him if he would mind if I gave him a couple of suggestions.  He seemed fine with that, even eager.  I said I appreciated the fact that he had accompanied me back to the hotel, and had also promised to help me arrange my taxi-brousse to Tana.  But I said it's not very professional to borrow money from the client, you should plan to avoid that.  He agreed.  Also I advised him to obtain a pair of trousers that are not constantly slipping down his backside.  I said it was no great harm to me, but the French couple that he will be meeting at the end of the month might prefer a different perspective.  He also agreed with this and said he would probably get a belt.
(Many additional photos)

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