Thoughts from Thaipoosam Cavadee

Welcome to Mauritius

If Madagascar smelt to me like doughnuts when I first arrived then I am afraid that I have no idea what Mauritius smells like. This is because my nasal receptors were damaged by inhaling all that heat when I landed. Mauritius is hot. Really hot. And humid. Very very humid. In fact it could be Malta on a seriously sticky August day before the rains come. But it is stunning; green mountains covered in low foliage rise out of the deep blue see and melt into the clouds. The sands are white and the sugarcane field make the flatlands look like a patchwork quilt.

My first view of Mauritius

I am staying in Mahebourg in a small family run guesthouse with an Indio-Mauritian family with two cats and three children. My room is modest but comfortable and my view over the river and mountains is breath taking. I arrived yesterday morning and the humidity was unbearable, I barely saw anything of the town before I escaped to the comfort of my air-conditioned room. There I read a little of my guidebook and had a cool shower before sitting on the bed and promptly falling asleep.  When I next woke it was early evening and I joined my host Reshma in her outdoor kitchen on the terrace where I helped to prepare the evening meal- fish curry with homemade flatbreads and a mango salad. I ate with some of the other guests and enjoyed pleasant conversation sitting in the living room until I began to feel my eyelids drooping and had to excuse myself for bed. I have determined that this sojourn in Mauritius should be one where work should be continued but beyond that I will do as I please, even if that means sleeping through most of it or lying on the beach every day. I slept deeply and undisturbed till around 7:30 Sunday morning when the sun streaming through my window woke me.

This cat might lead to me never leaving the guesthouse

Reshma's Kitchen

 The evening before Reshma had told me of a Hindu festival taking place in the village starting at around 10am and over breakfast she said to watch out for a procession going over the bridge from the balcony. At this time, she informed me, I would be able to just wander down a couple of blocks till I reached the main road and wait for the procession there. I did as she recommended and as soon as brightly dressed figures appeared on the bridge I made my way to the streets.

Me watching the bridge for the procession

 What happened next is something I am struggling to put into words. It was an experience so alien, so unexpected that I find it hard to believe what I saw. It was the festival of Thaipoosam Cavadee, which I have seem relayed on countless documentaries and recounted in many anthropology books but never did I think I would witness. During this festival, in honour of the son of Shiva, devotees gather at a temple and enter a state of prayer and meditation, they then pierce their lips and tongues with sharp skewers of varying sizes and walk carrying decorated bamboo structure to a neighbouring temple where the skewers are removed and the prayers continue.

Procession

My first alert to the approaching procession was the frenzied sound of drums and then in the distance began to appear large colourful platforms held aloft by men and women with pins and skewers adorning their bodies. The sun was bouncing of the tarmac and through the heat haze came the devotees. Walking barefoot on the road many were accompanied by family and friends who went before them spilling water and coconut milk on the asphalt in an attempt to easy the burning on the bare feet of their companions. The colours and sounds of an Indian celebration, accompanied by the laughter and song of children, were strange to see in juxtaposition to the increasing mutilation of the participants of the parade.

Bamboo alters decorated with flowers

As the procession went on the level of sacrifice undertaken by those involved began to increase. Soon the sight of a man with two or three skewers running through his tongue and cheeks was a welcome relief from the ghastly spectacles that were appearing on the bridge. Dozens of men and women passed us with larger, heavier structures and an ever-increasing number of needles adorning their faces and bodies. Children participated too, usually with the seemingly obligatory tongue and cheek skewers and the occasional silver leaf or feather adorning their forearms or chests. 

Next, accompanying the sound of drums, I began to hear the tinkling of bells and I searched for the source of the sound in the crowd. It was then that I realised that the new wave of pilgrims approaching where I stood had not only the facial mutilations of the first group but also had limes, weights and bells attached to their legs, torsos and backs by silver hooks running through the skin. These too carried large bamboo alters adorned with images and offerings to the gods and decorated with a wide array of beautiful, exotic, fresh flowers. I could not focus however on the religious significance of the alters, being too distracted by the figures carrying them.

The tinkling of bells will never be the same

 The third group of devotees came slowly, with structures so large balance on their heads that it took a group of other men to guide them through the maze of tree branches and telephone wires. Some had almost a hundred lime fruits weighing down hooks in their torsos and dozens more bells or decorations on their arms and legs. One man passed with hundreds of feather pins stuck all over him to the point where he began to resemble something other than human.

When the final group began to approach I put away my camera. I felt awkward and undignified taking pictures of these men. The bamboo structures had now grown so large and heavy from their adornments that they could no longer me carried aloft. Instead this, most dedicated group of devotees were dragging their alters behind them on wheels by a pulley system attached to them by two large hooks passing deep into their hips and backs. These men dragged dollies six or seven carts long on these cords and when they reached a bump or an incline it was clear the effort they were exerting. The mouth and cheek spears too had grown into poles almost an inch in diameter, often with weights on either end which were guarded by helpers who ensures they did not get caught on anything.

As the procession passed people would often lie down on the ground in front of particularly impressive participants who would then carefully step over them and then wait while they got out of the way of the dollies before continuing.

no comment

I noticed at least that those progressing the slowest, due to the sheer magnitude of their burdens, had been given shoes and were not being forced to creep along the burning tarmac. It was not until the first of these approached me that I saw that what I thought were merciful sandals were in fact planks of wood, transformed into a bed of nails, which had been strapped to the feet of several of the older men. I was beginning to find the procession difficult to watch and as the last devotees melted into the haze of heat and saris I had to take a moment to catch my breath and control my stomach.

As I followed the procession I reflected on what I had seen. None of the participants had been crying or bleeding, despite obvious injury, and although many had shown signs of fatigue and exertion I would not say I had witnessed anyone seemingly in pain. Who am I to judge faith when I have none, and who am I to dismiss the fervent beliefs of others. I am not the one to say whether the astonishing spectacle was a display of the power of god or of the human mind and spirit. All I can say is that what I saw was mind blowing and certainly beyond the realms of my understanding of the world.

On my walk to the temple, following the sound of drums and bells and the smell of flowers and incense I was offered many refreshments from families gathered at the side of the road with cold drinks and buckets of water hoping to offer the pilgrims some relief on their journey. It was hot and I was thirsty and many of the people accompanying participants were accepting these offering but I just couldn’t reach out and take a cool glass of juice or small delicacy- it felt wrong, like cheating somehow when those ahead endured so much.

This man is pulling the structure behind him by those two chains attached to his back by hooks.

When I arrived at the temple I took off my shoes and followed the worshipers inside. At one entrance the pilgrims were being relieved of their heavy structures and led into the temple to give their offerings and be blessed in prayer. When they emerged they were led toward a dedicated group of men who removed the pins, skewers and hooks from they bodies and treated the wounds with what looked like ash from giant golden plates. I asked a temple usher if I was ok to be there and he smiled and nodded, “ofcourse”. I watched them removing the decorations from dozens of men, women and children and marvelled at the varying sizes and shapes of the adornments. I noticed too that although some had to be removed quite roughly very few people bled at all and those who did it was only for a second before the ash was swept across the body and the pilgrims returned to the temple for more prayer.

I moved away when the last group began to arrive. I am ashamed to say I could not watch the bigger implements being removed without flinching and cringing and after their long journey I felt it was the least I could do to not stare at them grimacing at the end, so I moved to a quiet part of the courtyard and watched from a distance. Countless people nodded or smiled at me, seemingly pleased by my presence, and several even came over to greet me and invite me to eat with them at the temple after the ceremony was over. Although I was honoured and deeply flattered I felt somehow that I was outstaying my welcome and that I ought to leave them to the less public portion of their ceremony in peace. With a last smile from the ushers and a shaken hand from some of the participants I slipped my flip flops back on and made my way back into the haze of colourful saris and incense smoke down the hill towards my guesthouse.

There are images that will stay with me all my life. Things that will effect me deeply even though I can not say how. There are moments in your life so humbling that you feel you do not even deserve your own memories of the events. This is one of those times for me and as long as I live I will never be able to accurately put into words what I saw, or what it meant or how I felt in that moment.

All I can hope is that I have managed to share just a little part of it through this blog and perhaps, some day, that I will be lucky enough to live another day like this one, which made me feel privileged and humbled at the same time.

PS

I must make an addition to this account of Cavadee, for even as I sat at the hotel, memories of the morning still fresh in my mind and this retelling of it just completed, I was approached my the family who runs the guesthouse I am staying in and invited to dinner with the community. They knew I had participated in the mornings events as an avid spectator and a few of the devotees and their families had prepared a traditional meal to eat together in the street.

This I partook in, eating from banana leaves the vegetarian fare traditional at this time I enjoyed an evening with strangers who treated me like friends, happy to share their experiences of the day and answer any question I might have. I was so welcomed by a community in which I am an outsider that it is hard not to romanticise the hospitality of Mauritians and say they are among the most genteel people I have had the fortune of meeting.

Truly I will remember this day forever.

Thoughts From Antsirabe

From a historical and political overview of a turbulent and fascinating island, to a frivolous and light-hearted account of my weekend away.

Antsirabe is a tourist town about three hours away from the capital toward the South West. It is most famous for its Saturday morning market and the two lakes and waterfalls just outside the city. Binh, our volunteer co-ordinator, is crazy about Antsirabe just because of its calmer atmosphere and clearer air. To be honest I was just excited about being out of Antananarivo for a few days and getting a good night’s sleep.

We had planned to leave on Friday just after lunch and get a taxi brousse (a little mini van bus) from the central station in Tana. We had already arranged with Binh’s friend Dina to pick us up on the other side and be our guide for the day on Saturday.  That was until we got a call from Dina saying that his friend Nico happened to also be traveling that day and that he would meet us at the bus station to help us with our tickets.

Our little van on the journey South

Three hours on the taxi brousse was nothing for me compared to the 32 hour journey from hell I took to get to Diego but the experience was certainly made more fun because I was with Jill and Emma and we were all anticipating a great girls weekend away. Nico helped Emma and I with some Malagasy pronunciations and we all had corn on the cob from a street vendor for our lunch. 

Girls weekend!

By the time we reached Antsirabe I was feeling happy and relaxed, a feeling reinforced by being met by Dina in his immaculate car for a hassle free ride to our hotel- Chez Billy. This first evening we took it easy, just going for a quiet dinner in town, which we reached by poussepousse (a kind of rickshaw pulled by a conductor costing about a pound per journey), of which there are 3000 in Antsirabe. After a pizza and a fruit juice we were happily trundled home before an early night in double beds with real mattresses! 

Happy and relaxed in Antsirabe

The next morning we had breakfast in Chez Billy and were promptly picked up by Dina and Nico who had arranged a day of sightseeing and souvenir shopping for us. We piled into the estate and headed off for the famous Saturday Market. Here we filed past endless stalls of bananas, piles of spices, mounds of fabrics and rows of souvenirs.

Our driver and tour guide ready with our carriage

All of us having different interests we spent a very interesting two hours inspecting every corner of the marker until I was stopped dead in my tracks; we had reached the live items section of the market. Live chickens and ducks are a typical sight in any Malagasy market, but Antsirabe boasts a more comprehensive list of offerings. Kittens tied by the necks with string waiting for a new owner to take them home sat aside large rabbits, chosen for their size they were skinned and gutted on request. Fighting cocks and hens fought for space in holding pens while wicker baskets full of Easter day chicks cheeped and wriggled like a yellow, furry mass. However it was one particular section which plucked at the heartstrings (probably because I did not allow myself to stare too long at the kittens)- a carry case full of time ducklings. At 2,000 ariary (roughly a pound) it was so tempting to gather a handful in my skirts and escape into the crowd but with stern words from Emma and warning stares from Jill I released my chosen hoard back into the chaos of the basket and quickly walked back to the car.

What could have been mine

Chilli stall at the market

 Following our trip to the market the next thing on our agenda was a tour around the local artisan centres to watch the local crafts being made. We started with a group of women who make paper from a local coastal plant and turn it into cards and scrapbooks. I bought one for my nanna because I want her to know how much I think of her. The next set of crafts demonstrations brought me an even better opportunity for this; we saw a silk weaving group tending to their worms and spinning silk and weaving it on their homemade loom. I was fascinated by the whole process and eventually had to be dragged away with a 100% Malagasy silk scarf, which I will send back to my nanna to keep her warm through this British cold snap.

Silk weaving and my scarf for nanna

 We followed this with several other craft demonstrations including zebu horn, sweet making and embroidery following which we headed to a small local restaurant for lunch. The restaurant was quiet when we went in and Dina, whose main vocation is music, graced us with several classical greats including a sonata by Chopin and the moonlight sonata (which always reminds me of my dad) on the piano in the corner, before turning his hand to some sing along favourites like Hit The Road Jack which led us into an impromptu karaoke session.

Embroidery

Paper making

Sufficiently refuelled and rested we headed out on the second part of our tour- the trip to the nearby lakes and waterfalls. Needless to say word with never be able to adequately describe the awesome power and breath-taking beauty of a waterfall but I have to say that on this particular day, with the mist creating a haze to the scene and the roar of the water framing the basin I felt like an artist had painted the scene especially for me. The lake was equally as beautiful and we wandered round the surrounding market stalls till 18:30 when we could watch the orange sun sink below the forest beyond the lake, the light creating shimmering silhouettes of the opposite bank on the water. 

First waterfall and local fishermen

It was a contented sleepy me who crawled beneath the sheets that evening and with earplugs and eye mask on to avoid being woken by Madagascar’s obscenely early risers I fell into a deep sleep which lasted over 10 hours. On our way back to Tana we were once again accompanied by Nico who organised our travel and Dina waved us off at the station with assurances that he would keep in touch and promises of many more adventures to come. I didn’t leave however with having a go at pulling Jill in a pousse pousse and posing for a photo or two- not as hard as it looks but certainly not something I would like to do all day!

New Career????

Although this might not sound to others like a particularly exciting or memorable it was exactly what I needed; a lungful of fresh air, a mind full of new sights and a good night’s sleep at my back. I am now ready to face the next week of work with renewed vigour and enthusiasm in order to put my affairs in order before next Saturday when at precisely 07:45 I will be boarding a plane for the dream island of Mauritius. So keep your eyes peeled for the next instalment everyone because my next update comes from paradise!

Thoughts on Foreign Politics

 The last couple of weeks have been a blur. I have been really busy catching up after the Christmas period and have been visiting other centres to pick their brains on budgets and protocol. We have had really good news from the Ministries and have been progressing nicely. To celebrate these little achievements Lalasoa invited me to her village of Tsararay to have a quick meeting and join her for lunch with her family.

I made my way on the busses from my village to hers; head leaned up against the window watching the landscape slide by as the foreign becomes familiar. It took me three hours to reach her house and when I did I was greeted not by an acquaintance, or even a colleague, but a friend. Her dogs even know me now and her unruly brood has recently been joined by a new puppy and a posse of tiny kittens.

NEW PUPPY CALLED TOM

She was delighted to see me and even more so when I commented on the fact that the embroidered table cloth I bought her for Christmas was proudly decorating her dining room table. I was presented with two new raffia bags for my birthday and we laughed and chatted together as we prepared a lasagne. When her husband and son arrived home I was given a small demonstration of the English their 9 year old has learned since I last saw him, after which we all sat down to admire the golden crispy-topped pasta pie as it emerged from the oven. It quickly became clear that this was a special meal that Lalasoa had decided to prepare in my honour, “so that there is no rice” in her words, and no one from the family had ever tried it before. This simple fact made lunch an adventure for the Rand family and an absolute delight for me.

My new bags

Mme Lalasoa preparing lunch

The next day I had planned to head into Tana to do some more Ministry visits and go to the post office but when I returned home I found the volunteer co-ordinator anxiously waiting to meet me. She told me that they had received warning of demonstrations scheduled for the following day relating to the upcoming elections and that all staff for whom travel into the capital was not absolutely necessary were being advised to avoid it. Of course I readily agreed, thanked her for the caveat and went about my business.

Later, when I found myself alone, I stared out of my window watching the women walking to and fro, impossible loads balanced atop their heads, hips swaying, mouths moving in smiles and gossip. Behind them, the men were leaning against the café fronts, lazily playing dice, cards or dominoes and watching the women go by. It was then that the warning returned to me and I suddenly realised that although I had heeded the alarm without hesitation, I was now finding it hard to reconcile the tranquil scene before me with the simultaneous incidences of violence and political unrest occurring throughout the country; this being particularly true of the Southern provinces from which rumours and reports of riots and banditry come thick and fast.

And yet I know that Madagascar has always had a turbulent history, from its pre-history to the creation of the Kingdom of Madagascar and well into colonization. Independence brought new hope and yet here we stand, on the brink of an election which promises to bring turmoil and unrest.

Throughout its earliest periods waves of settlers from Borneo brought with them the cultures and practices of South America. They were soon joined by Arab communities from Northern and Eastern Africa and Bantu-speaking settlers from East African tribes. Although Madagascar is thought to be one of the last places on earth to have been inhabited by humans it did not take long for tribal competition and distrust to form wedges between the different communities on the island and several powerful kingdoms were formed. Even today it is clear to the naked eye that the highland Malagasy of the Antananarivo region and the peoples of the coastal communities have different ancestry, language and customs. There is tension even now between the different Malagasy tribes and accusations of superiority, exclusion and betrayal emerge on all sides.

Malalagasy tribal distributions

This does not necessarily surprise me, even at home in Malta, on an island which stands 25km long at its widest point, with a population more homogenous than almost any other on earth, there are factions and resentment, created over time through ties of ancestry and political attitudes following independence and most recently, religion and creed, added to the mix in the last decade or so by a new wave of East African migrants. So on the worlds 4^th largest island I am not surprised to see a similar phenomenon, its just that the Malagasy have more room in which to separate themselves and more opportunity to perpetuate the fables of ‘them’ and ‘us’.

When Madagascar was a kingdom it enjoyed prosperity brought by maritime trading routes and its abundance of natural resources. In the early 19^th century King Andrianampoinimerina of a province in the central highlands and his successor King Radama expanded their power over the other kingdoms and in doing so united Madagascar under one ruler from the Merina tribe.

Radama signed treaties with the British, abolished the slave trade and welcomed British missionaries and military personnel onto the island. It seemed that perhaps British rule was not far off but then something unexpected happened. Radama was very suddenly succeeded by his wife, the infamous Queen Ranavalona, in 1828. Her attitude toward the potential for colonization was clear- she declared the new religion (Christianity) treasonous, throwing accused Christians off the cliffs surrounding the capital to their deaths, or burning them alive in public executions. She exerted great military and political pressure on all resident foreigners who had settled on the island to return to the continent and began a reign famed for its brutality and strength. Under ‘the mad queen’ many Malagasy met their fate, either through punishment for crimes against the crown or from over exertion in the fields, however she succeeded in her goal throughout her life to maintain her sovereignty and so the independence of Madagascar.

Queen Ranavalona

Her son, Radama II, succeeded the queen in 1861 and by 1863 a coup lead to the deposition of the king and the creation of Madagascar’s first democratic process and its first Prime minister, who married Radama II’s queen and so began a new era of co-operation between monarchy and political process.  In 1883, mid-way through the second Prime minister’s 31-year term the French invaded Madagascar. The invasion was based on a contract, controversial even at the time, signed by Radama II during his short reign, called the Lambert Charter in which trading agreements between Madagascar and France had been created in his attempt to court the Western powers following his mother’s rule.

It took 14 years until 1897 for the French to fully colonize the island, during which time they lost many men to disease and climate and had to overcome resistance and rebellion at every turn. The independence movement continued to bubble and swell under French rule until WWII after which a peaceful transition to independence was facilitated by both sides, culminating in full independence for the island of Madagascar on the 26 June 1960.

Since this time Madagascar has rapidly sped through four different republics and countless leaders. Two presidents were overthrown due to discontent, one was assassinated just six days into his term, and his successor was in power for just four months. This was when President Ratsikara was chosen to move the country away from the ‘neo-colonial’ First Republic into the Socialist-Marxist Second Republic which he oversaw from 1975 to 1993 when his guards opened fire on protestors at a rally, necessitating his resignation. Two short-term presidents followed, one of whom inaugurated the Third Republic and in 1996 Ratsiraka returned to power, amongst promises of decentralization and economic reform, where he remained for the next five years.  2001 saw the appointment of Ravalomanana in a contested election, which was followed by a seven-month standoff between respective supporters. The next few years saw accusations of increasing authoritarianism and corruption grow, until finally in 2009 Andry Rajoelina was awarded power by the military after a widely acknowledged coup d’état.

Ravalomana and his family were exiled and Rajoelina, who was previously mayor of Tana and a prominent local DJ, was acknowledged as an interim leader until such time as an election could be organized. However the elections have been postponed and rescheduled for years and Rajoelina remains in power. Much speculation has circulated as to whether Ravalomana would even be be allowed to run if the elections were conducted after several failed attempts on his part to return to the country. The Ravalomana-Rajoelina factions have been getting increasingly competitive with rebel groups and bandits taking advantage of the distraction to increase their activity in the Southern provinces. The elections were guaranteed by the current administration to occur before the end of 2012, another promise which failed to be realized, however the last few weeks have seen real steps forward for the democratic process of Madagascar.

The elections have been scheduled and confirmed for 8^th May 2013 with second-round presidential elections set for 3^rd July of the same year. This program has since been initiated and excitement was building as to whether Rajoelina would allow Ravalomana to return to the country to run his campaign. However, in the true tradition of Malagasy power-plays a very unexpected turn of events came early this week. Amongst much whispering from both camps it was shockingly announced that neither Rajoelina nor Ravalomana will run in this presidential election.

This news spread fast and left many feeling deflated, betrayed and aimless after years of fighting for recognition and the right to vote for one or the other. It surprised me too as apart from these two likely gents there seems to be a lack of political muscle ready to take on the challenge of coordinating the first presidency since the coup which saw much international interest and support in the country die off. Some see this new development as a positive step forward where the Malagasy can let go of old rivalries and look forward to some fresh new faces on the political stage.

I am not so sure. I worry that the power vacuum created by the abrupt departure of these two opposing figures will encourage a fight for supremacy based even less on political vision and aptitude than before. The potential re-emergence of old tribal tensions and the opportunistic types that might be attracted by this new prospective power could make the run up to the election fractious and volatile. Furthermore with a lack of experience and a lot of ground to catch-up after the democratic failures of the last few years, an inexperienced and green leader with short-term vision could be really bad news for Madagascar’s long-term prospects.

In the meantime I sit here hoping beyond hope that when election-time comes I will be settled in the Northern provinces tending my vegetables and caring for the children and not still here in the capital, negotiating with ministries ripe for restructuring and trying to avoid the turbulence and violence which often accompanies African elections. However, I must tear my mind from such musings, as it is time for me to pack. Emma, Jill and I are rewarding ourselves for two weeks of hard graft with a weekend away in Antsirabe. So while I leave you all to puzzle over the complicated past of Madagascar’s political process I am off to hunt out my sun hat and pack my sandwiches for the 3 hour bus ride South which will take me on an adventure of markets, lakes and waterfalls and hopefully at least one night’s sleep uninterrupted by the night-time antics of the mice who have taken up residence under my floorboards. 

Thoughts From A New Year

The days between Christmas day and New Years Eve passed in a bit of a haze. There aren't many children here (around 50 or so on the last count) because many have been given permission to spend the holidays with their extended families. This means there was very little work for everyone and we largely got the holiday season off entirely. The volunteer house now only consisted of Emma, Aurore and I as everyone else had disappeared for the holidays and I think we mostly spent the next few days in a haze of sunshine and left over Christmas chocolate... oh and Christmas movies.

On Friday the 28th us three girls decided to pop down to the village for dinner, we usually get brochettes (little skewers) of chicken or zebu meat washed down with a coke or shandy. It's nice to get out of the compound and the people know us here so its relatively safe.  This night however stewed chicken's feet were on the menu washed down by some festive dark rum which may or may not have led to some stomach problems over the next couple of days which accounts for my activities, or lack thereof, on the 29th and 30th.

On the 31st of December I headed down into the village to stock up on essentials and also but the ingredients for New Years Day brunch, a tradition in Akany where the volunteers are in charge of preparing for and providing brunch to all the children and staff (roughly 100 people in our case). In this was the day passed rather relaxedly, which was good for me since my stomach was still feeling a little delicate. By this time Emma too had disappeared to Mauritius for her routine VISA replacement leaving the country session and Aurore and I were alone. We treated ourselves to a takeaway pizza and a shandy for dinner before heading to the refectory for the party. On this evening every year the children and staff put on a kind of talent show before dancing the night away in the cafeteria. They also are treated to a spread of sweets and snack food to see them into the New Year.

Special New Years spread

The kids have an amazing amount of energy and I simply did not have the stamina to keep up so after 5 hours of dancing and singing I counted down to 2013, wished everyone a very happy new year and slunk off to bed just as the kids were sitting down to a bowl of noodle soup.

Dancing off all those snacks I guess...

I rose bright and early (around 06:30am) on the 1st to start prepping for the brunch we were hosting. We had decided to make our lives as easy as possible since there were only 2 of us so we opted for a bread based breakfast which is a real change for the children (no rice in sight) and also an easy option for us. With this we gave each person some cheese, ham and fruit as well as jams and juice, all of which were either a totally new experience or certainly a very novel one for the kids. Our job for the day done we headed out with Chad and Puce for a wonderful drive in the country, which we very much needed and enjoyed.

Car full of country enthusiasts on Jan 1st

True love= Chad + Puce + 4x4

Not content with providing our entertainment for the afternoon Chad also more than kindly invited us to dinner at his house for a local new years day tradition- sauerkraut, stewed apple, pork and potatoes. We contributed by providing banana-rum crepes and a bottle of bubbly for afters. Then I very innocently went to bed, having not an inkling of the shocking surprise the morning of the 2nd would bring me.

The next morning I rose early and got ready for my second attempt at collecting my package. I had a shower, packed my handbag, woke up Aurore and headed for the Akany gate. As I approached it I noticed Chad talking to another Vaza (foreigner) and my curiosity was piqued because we had no visitors scheduled that day. As I got closer the figure became more familiar and I almost died of shock when I finally recognised my uncle, Vincent, casually chatting to my boss, at my home, in Madagascar. Turns out he decided to come on Saturday 29th, bought a ticket the same day and boarded a plane on the 30th. No warning, no clues and no plans, just one month exploring this wonderful island as a present to himself (and a little to me also- its so great to see a face from home).

Before I knew it I was getting ready for bed on the 4th January, tossing and turning in anticipation of the next day- the big one: MY 25th BIRTHDAY!!! I had originally had plans to do a day trip to Ampifey for my birthday but this would have included hiring a van, waking everyone up at around 05:30am and spending nearly 6 hours in a car and the closer it got, the less appealing that sounded so at the very last minute I changed my mind and decided on a significantly less taxing birthday plan.

I woke at around 8am having had a fitful night's sleep which included midnight Skype conversations with my father and boyfriend and a beautiful serenade of 'Happy Birthday' sung down the phone by the boys at 3am. The next day the asked how I knew it was them and bless them they might have gotten away with it if it wasn't for the thick German accents!

BIRTHDAY GIRL! QUEEN FOR THE DAY

At 08:30 Binh (who had just got back from holiday the day before) treated me to the most wonderful birthday breakfast of potato, omelette, cheese, bacon, bread, jam and mango juice. It was the loveliest gesture and a perfect start to my day, not to mention an over generous gift. After breakfast the present opening began: I got a mini bottle of Californian champagne and a new lamb from Binh, a beautiful yellow handbag from Aurore, a bright green scarf from the boys and a little Malagasy doll and domino set from Emma. I received a card from my dad in the post and then I finally cracked into my package from Brian- my loving boyfriend, who knows me so so so well sent me two christmas DVDs, the whole series of Human Planet and Downton abbey (Christmas specials and season 3).

Birthday present area :D

Having started the day just the way I wanted I headed to Tana with Binh and Aurore to meet up with my uncle Vincent for lunch. I had chosen a nice little place called Chez Suchette which specialises in Creole and Malagasy fusion cuisine. I have been before when I was alone here and spent hours reading my book at a corner table and the staff were kind and friendly and I was sure that it would be a relaxing and pleasant lunch, just the way I wanted. I was excited to try something new and I found the perfect thing on the menu... new and interesting, potentially tasty, certainly a once in a lifetime kind of thing. So when the waiter came to take our order I ordered one portion of Malagasy style bat. 

When it came it looked like, well like a bat- it had wings and fur and a face- in fact I even ate its ear. I was very strong tasting and took a few bites to get used to. It was kind of rodenty (I mean the way a rodent smells) and the meat was quite tasty, the leathery sections were edible, a little chewy/ slimy but nice enough- the fatty parts however, the parts which stretched under the arms and fatty parts around the legs were very very strong tasting and not particularly pleasant. Never one to be defeated I cleaned my plate, and the bones, and rewarded myself with a very tasty banana flambé. :D 

Bat in a pot

Bat coming out of a pot

Bat going into my tummy

REWARD

After lunch I wanted to have a massage, the mattresses are foam here and really hard on my back. I had looked around the posher places in Tana but in the end I decided to go back to a local place in Talatamaty closer to home. At less than half the price of Tana I could do a naughty thing and indulge myself in a two hour massage for 30,000 ariary (around 10 euros). The place is modest but clean and the women are friendly, professional and very very good. Having established how very hot the beginning of the day had been, and also my penchant for dramatic weather expressions I would like to believe that what happened next was a present to me from mother nature as an apology for making me age. As I lay on the table by the open windows in the massage parlour the rain started a persistent drumming on the corrugated roof and as I relaxed into the table the lightening illuminated the room and the thunder shook my bones. It was the loudest, longest and most impressive storm I have seen in a while and might have been the remnants of a cyclone that hit Reunion last week. Others may have considered it bad luck that this happened as I was lying down for my birthday treat but I know better- it was for me, and it was magnificent and as the smell of rain drifted in and the lightening danced through the window frame I let myself drift off with a smile on my face.

The final chapter of my birthday story happened back at Akany where I had booked the cafe for dinner. The older girls in the orphanage are given vocational training including cooking and hospitality, for practise they serve the occasional lunch or dinner in the centre's cafe and tonight they were doing curried chicken and chocolate bananas for me. I was joined by the whole gang; the boys, Aurore, Binh, Chad, Vince and Puce and by 9pm when the teas and coffees came round I was ready for bed.

Dinner at Akany

At the end of a perfect birthday I waved Vince off in his cab, had a hot shower, crawled into my bed and fell asleep watching Human Planet and thinking of all the things I have to be thankful for- not least of which being that the following day (January 6th) would mark a miraculous occasion: my boyfriend has officially put up with me for 5 years. Thanks Brian, I love you- Happy Anniversary xxx