Ny maha-izy azy (That which makes it what it is)

We had a little party at our apartment for students from Ambatofinandrahana, our Peace Corps site (2007-2009), who are living in Antananarivo. It was great to see them and catch up. We had seen some of them earlier, so we were already brought up speed on much of the news in Ambatofinandrahana, but we learned some more, which is always good. And it was good to see my former students doing well. Many have either completed their undergraduate degrees or even Master’s degrees.  I am proud of them and happy for them. They are doing well and making lives for themselves. The fact of the matter is that there is not much work in Ambatofinandrahana. There was an Italian company there that mined marble—‘Ambatofinandrahana’ literally means the place where stone is cut—but they pulled out after the coup d’etat in 2009. Now there are some foreigners buying gems, but there are not many jobs being produced. So, it’s good that my former students are in the capital, working and studying.

It was nearly 10 years ago that I started teaching them—summer of 2007.  I can’t help but be happy when I think about that time in the classroom. Yes, there were struggles I faced as a teacher, but it’s where I really became a teacher. Before that, my teaching experience was limited to being a teaching assistant to large-lecture classes at the University of Florida. In the Peace Corps I was truly on my own in front of 50 or so students teaching them English in a mixture of English and Malagasy. After that experience, I figured there wasn’t much I couldn't do teaching-wise. It wasn’t just the time in the classroom, though, that made me a teacher. My wife, Emily, and I would bounce ideas off of each other about teaching constantly in those two years, and we even team-taught adult classes in town.  I learned a great deal from her. To be honest, no one has taught me more about teaching than she has. To this day, if I am in need of an idea, she is always there to help. And I haven't learned from just our conversations. I also learned a great deal from watching her teach during the Peace Corps. She is a natural educator: always prepared, always there with fresh ideas, always in command of the class and the content, always doing what is best for the students.

So I’ve learned a thing or two about teaching in the 14 years I’ve been at it. And I am now back at it. I just started up again this Monday with some third-year college students in a new Philosophy of Language class I am teaching. (I will start with my Master's students soon.) I have to say that my favorite thing about teaching is being in front of students and working with them. It seems like a cliché, but one of the best feelings as a teacher is having a real conversation with students who are interested in something that interests you. That is the sweetest part of the job for me. The actual teaching rarely ever feels like work. The grading feels like work. The lesson preparation sometimes feels like work, but there are moments for me in teaching when a big philosophical idea is truly considered, explored from different angles, and really engaged with--moments when the truth is fully sought. Those moments do not feel like work. Those moments feel like the opposite of work. They are moments in which I can’t hold back my smile for the joy.  They don’t happen everyday, but when they do you savor them. They feed you. They lift you. They power you on.

I have realized that this is what I do. I teach. I pursue knowledge and I share it. That’s a large part of what makes me who I am. I embrace that and it hones my focus, my being, my action, and my work.

10 years is no mere moment. As we age the possible paths for our lives, once seemingly infinite, start to drop off the map. What once seemed like a life of many possible journeys narrows to but a few. How to look at this fact? What to think about those paths that disappeared off the map—those things that never will be? I used to feel like my life became somehow diminished as paths dropped off. But I don’t now.

Here's how I see it. You try to spend as much time as you can doing the things that make you who you are. Maybe you are on a path now doing those things. If not, find an offshoot of the path you are where you can do what makes you who you are. And don’t look back on those things that never will be. Those things that are nothing. Those are paths for no one now.  Instead find those things that make you who you are. Do those things as much as you can as well as you can with as much of yourself as you can. Do that and sharpen yourself everyday.

Sambatra tokoa izahay (We are blessed)

We went to Lemur’s Park Sunday. It is a private park where at present they have seven kinds of lemurs. It’s only about 30 km outside of the capital of Antananarivo, so it makes for an excellent day trip. We went today with our two kids, our good friends and their four kids, as well as a brother of one of the friends and his two kids. So, we were thirteen in total! It was a wonderful trip. The park is very nice and situated near a river and beautiful village. You see lemurs and endemic flora through the entire hour-and-a-half tour of the park. The landscape is breathtaking and the park is very well arranged. After a tour of the park, we had lunch at an outdoor restaurant that serves traditional Malagasy food to people at picnic tables. All in all it was a great trip. It reminded me of how blessed and lucky I am to have gotten tied to Madagascar. Some lines borrowed from the Malagasy National Anthem say it best: Sambatra tokoa izahay (we are truly blessed). 

Good friends

Hoby (pictured) was one of our first teachers of Malagasy when we arrived for our Peace Corps training. He is now in charge of the entire Peace Corps Environment Sector here. We of course had no children at the time when we met and neither did he. And here we are today, with six kids between us, visiting this beautiful space that contains so much of what is unique about Madagascar: gorgeous views of hills with terraced rice patties, lemurs, biodiversity, and the sheer lushness of the flora. Of all the Peace Corps countries to end up in, we ended up in Madagascar, a country of incredible beauty, not just in terms of its unique flora and fauna but also in terms of its unique culture and its people. We were blessed to not only have the chance to serve in the Peace Corps but to serve in Madagascar, to share our skills, to become immersed in the culture and to promote mutual understanding between Malagasy and Americans. 

Black-and-white ruffled lemur 

The Fulbright is in some ways similar to the Peace Corps in its focus on improving the mutual understanding between cultures and on exchanging skills and knowledge between cultures. I am incredibly fortunate to have gotten the chance to come back to work here again, to see friends, to enjoy life in Madagascar again, and to push my teaching and research to new levels. I try to remain conscious of just how lucky I am to have gotten both of these opportunities and to take advantage of the present one to my fullest potential. One of the most amazing things this time around has been to share Malagasy culture with both of our children. To be honest, I never really stopped thinking about Madagascar since we left in March 2009. It would come to me in dreams, in images, and the idea of going back somehow with a family seemed impossible. But we are back now and making a life here. The return has contained many blessings. The opportunity is once-in-a-lifetime. I realize that. I work in light of this realization, and it drives me forward.  

The Calm Before the Storm

After wanting to go for some time, we finally made it to Parc de Tsarasoatra, a nature reserve that is only 2 km from our apartment. It is a truly beautiful oasis in the general hustle and bustle of Antananarivo. It was great for the four of us to be out in nature together. After a few minutes of walking, I was quickly reminded of the intense natural beauty of Madagascar, which can be forgotten, to be honest, if one spends too much time in the capital. There are many birds at the reserve, 14 endemic species in fact. It was very peaceful to be there. Grady, our 3-year-old, was happy because he discovered a rundown bulldozer that must have been used at one point to clear paths. He loves all types of work vehicles so that was the highlight for him.

Parc de Tsaratsoatra

On Thursday Cyclone Enawo hit Madagascar’s northeast coast, near Sambava and Antalaha. So far, there are five reported deaths, though that number will likely rise. The main problem with such a natural disaster is that the great majority of people here live on a razor’s edge. They make it through the days but not with much to spare at the end. When you come to Madagascar from the developed world, the poverty is outsized and inescapable. Based on recent estimates, Madagascar is the 10th poorest country in the world. It’s GDP per capita is $1,504 compared to $53,042 in the US. These figures show the vast gap in material standards of living between the two countries. Before we left for Madagascar, a hurricane struck Myrtle Beach. It was serious and some in coastal regions were forced to evacuate. However, no matter how bad things got there, people could always count on the emergency services provided by taxpayer dollars to help them if things got very bad. The same is sadly not true here. And much more could be said about the disparity between the wealth and infrastructure in the US and Madagascar. I will say this for now: I had no idea how much cushion we were riding on in the states until I came here the first time around and saw what it is like to live so close to the bone, so on the very sharp edge of it, so near to tragedy. Some calamities seem to come right from the pages of the Bible. There are plagues of locusts, after all. Not to mention outbreaks of the bubonic plague and polio recently. Of course, the cyclone exposes the fact that life is lived so close to the bone, as does the severe draught in the south, as does the lack of proper rainfall all over the island, as does the general lack of security.  It is a great testament to the will of the Malagasy people that they forbear with so few resources, with no cushion whatsoever, in the face of so much that tries to crush them. While the poverty persists or worsens in many cases, they grind on. They refuse. They remain.  

Photo of Enawo damage courtesy of CAREMadagascar

There are many things that will need to be changed for Madagascar to improve its living standards for the population. And it will obviously be a complex process. One thing that gives me hope that it will happen is that the people have the mettle to do it. They are waiting for it. Enduring this and suffering that and praying for the day of relief. A day when they can finally catch their collective breathe, laugh deeply, and say that they have finally made it. A day to show the truth of the famous Malagasy proverb, Tsy misy mafy tsy laitry ny zoto (There is nothing difficult which the diligent cannot accomplish). 

Vita soa (well done)

The final grades are in for my first American Studies course, and the students did well. We began meeting shortly after I arrived in Madagascar (11/18), and we wrapped things up with a party at the cafeteria for the humanities departments recently (2/14). I thought it would be nice to have some food and drink for our last meeting together. It was nice to get together with them outside of class. Soa ny fiarahantsika.

In total, there were 35.5 contact hours in which we talked about the following: traditional American values, religion in America, government and politics in America, ethnicity and diversity in America and whether traditional American values may change in the future and the extent to which they have actually already changed. As we covered these things, I tried to draw out similarities and differences with Malagasy values and culture. This method of comparison was helpful to get a deeper understanding, I think, of both cultures. In the end we covered a lot of ground in our short time. I will be meeting with the same students again in the new semester, and we’ll continue our discussion. I am also starting two other classes as well, which will cover many of the same topics as well as other topics in American studies.

It has certainly been interesting hearing their ideas. The level of sophistication that they can sustain in discussion in their second language consistently impresses me, and their humor, too, stands out in my mind. It was also interesting for me to talk to them about American values at such a unique time in American history, a time when things really do seem to stand at a crossroads in terms of our core values. Many people ask me what direction the country is heading in, and I find it hard to say anything precise or informative. I am not sure where the next four years will take us. Of course, the same uncertainty lies before Malagasy citizens. There is an election coming up in 2018, and it is pretty clear that people have not been satisfied with the political leadership of late and are looking for something new. But who or what will that be? There is not much hope or optimism that a new figure will emerge. I think the expectation is that it will be the same old faces running for president, and that is not likely to inspire a groundswell of hope for the future here. People already seem to be preparing to settle. I have started talking with students in the philosophy club about some practical political issues as well as more philosophical ones. Examining both the respective political situations here and in American has given us cause to reflect on what the most just form of government is. At present, a few of them say that it is a dictatorship. I don't agree myself but their view is not without reason. Their reasoning is basically Hobbesian. A dictator can provide peace by installing law and order, which is sorely needed. We will talk about it more next week, but they hinted that the dictatorship would be a phase to be passed before something more democratic is established.

It has also been interesting to talk about issues of race and ethnicity in the US with my Malagasy students, since I rarely ever talk about race with my American students. Because I am talking about a culture that the students are not themselves part of, I feel more free to speak directly to the heart of the matter about issues of race, justice, assimilation, segregation and so on. I do think that students in the US would like to talk about these issues, but it is sometimes hard to do so in the classroom. One idea I have is to talk more about these issues in my introductory philosophy classes alongside some of the material I currently teach (which mainly concerns the traditional “Big Questions” in philosophy). With the right structure, I think that most American students would welcome such discussions.

I think that the students got something out of the course. I know that I did. I am looking forward to working with them again and the new students as well.

Ndao hiantsena (Let's go to the market)

Most Malagasy people buy the bulk of their food from open-air markets. There are Western-style grocery stores in Antananarivo and other large cities, but in the countryside and in the villages there are no such things. Even in the capital and larger cities, many people still get much of their food from the Malagasy market (tsena ‘gasy). Now we buy some of our food there and some of it in the larger supermarkets such as Shoprite. Going to the Malagasy market takes longer most days. It is, as we say in the states, “a process.” Here is the procedure. You go to a seller (mpivarotra). You ask how much the stuff you want costs. Then they reply with the price. There is usually some room to bargain. In many cases, speaking Malagasy will get you a good price to start with but bargaining is very common (miady varotra, which literally means to go to war about selling). The produce is very fresh and organic. As a vegetarian, I have no idea about the meat. I see what you see below. Going to the market is certainly an experience. I go to the two that are most convenient for me as I travel to and from work (Analamahitsy and Antanimora).

Hena

Going everyday to a full stocked market is something of a luxury in some places in Madagascar. Outside of the capital and other large cities, there is typically one day of the week that is the market day. On this day, farmers bring their produce to the larger villages. (You can get some things on other days, but the selection usually pales in comparison to market day.) When Emily and I lived in Ambatofinandrahana in the Peace Corps, market day was Saturday. On Saturday, by the end of our market run we would fill up two large market bags with mainly fresh produce and rice. The only processed foods we purchased at the time were pasta noodles, Laughing Cow cheese, oil, flour, butter, and tomato paste. To be honest, there just wasn’t much else one could get. Now, things are different for us. We have a refrigerator, a Western-style stove and oven, and a very spacious kitchen stocked with both processed and fresh food. In the Peace Corps we cooked on either a cook stove (fantapera) or our two-burner hotplate. We were one of the few families in town who used a hotplate like this. You had to have a propane bottle for it. The bottles were so cost-prohibitive for most people in the town, that they were not even sold there. They could be purchased in the nearest larger town, Ambositra, which was two and a half hours outside of town by bush taxi. So, exchanging them was not an easy feat, though after a while we paid a reliable bush taxi driver to do it for us. All of that is to say that things are much more convenient for us now. Even so, I still enjoy going to the Malagasy market (miantsena). It’s a time to chat with people, to ask how to prepare fruits and vegetables you don’t see in the states, and to get produce at around half of what you pay in the supermarket.

Tsaramaso sy vary

And yet it doesn’t quite match up to market day in Ambatofinandrahana. First of all, there was the physical labor of the trip. We would walk about 30 minutes to the market. And then 30 minutes back with heavy market bags in tow. Then there was the time it took to buy everything. Once we made it to the market, we would spend at least an hour buying things, as you had to buy from different sellers that you had relationships with, often wait for change, and also make small talk with all the sellers. Then there was the time you spent talking to people that you saw on the road or at the market. Since it was a small village, we knew many people, so we did our fair share of chatting. All in all it was pretty much nothing like buying food in the states. Though it was more difficult and time-consuming, it was also an amazing thing to not only witness but also to be a part of. To be part of that—not merely going to the market but to be a part of people’s lives and included in their world—showed us that we were true members of that community.

After we got back home to our schoolroom, we would make some lunch and then head back downtown (where the market was). It was there that we did two one-hour English clubs, one for beginners and one for advanced students. After that we met with the English teachers in town for about an hour to share ideas about pedagogy and often review some of the finer points of English with them. At dusk, we would regularly walk home with some of the teachers (Lucien, Aurélie, and Ursula). I remember feeling such a sense of satisfaction and happiness as we chatted to them and the passers-by that we knew. Saturday was a full day of work but it was work that repaid in full. It brought that special sense of tired happiness that comes after you put everything you have into something important. I have often thought since then that the close contact between people that exist in a village setting is good for the soul. People really seemed to enjoy small talk (resadresaka) and getting news from their fellow villagers. Of course, people walked EVERYWHERE. There were maybe two or three cars in the village (and no functioning gas station). This meant that you saw your fellow villagers everyday, talked to them, and got to know them and their struggles and joys. And of course they got to know about you, too. That shared knowledge became like a rope that tied the people of the village together. It pulled fates together and maintained the sense of community. I have often wished that there were more of it in the states. It is important to be in a dynamic community, because other people give us breath when we are short of it. They give us hope when we are starved for it, and make us laugh when we become too hard and serious. And they shine lights on paths that before we saw as just ordinary darkness.

It was as if we each held the same rope and made something with many hands. A thing made for catching those who would otherwise have fallen. A thing made for helping each other do more and do better. A thing we knew needed to be fed some slack here and pulled taut there. A thing we worked at everyday. People do that. In places where some might look and see nothing, people do that. Everyday they do it, and they make something. They alone do it in spite of great and persistent hardship. And they alone bring light to places where there would otherwise be darkness.

Tsy maninona (No problem)

Above is a picture of questions from a final exam I gave today in my American Studies course. My plan was to print the exam out in the department office. However, the power was cut when I got to campus to do the printing. Tapaka ny jiro, as they say here. I often joke with people that after manahoana (hello) and misaotra (thanks), people likely learn tapaka ny jiro next, because, well, the power is always cut. When I was a Peace Corps Volunteer and taught English at Lycee Ambatofinandrahana, I would write my exams on the board, because we had no electricity in our village except for 30 minutes or so in the late afternoon. When I first encountered the problem of no electricity as a Fulbright Scholar, I did as a friend said to me the other day: go with what you know. I have been doing the last few quizzes like this (sometimes just writing the questions as above and then reading off the possible answers), because the power has been frequently out due to a lack of electricity, which is due to a lack of rain as some portion of the electricity is hydroelectric powered.

Going back to writing the exams on the board was a good reminder to me about flexibility. I think that one lesson I learned as a Peace Corps Volunteer that has certainly carried over to my Fulbright is that you have to be flexible to get things done in Madagascar. If the bush taxi doesn't leave for another four hours, then tsy maninona (no problem). Or if there is no electricity today, tsy maninona, let's find a way to get it done. So you have to go to six places to do something that would require one stop in the states, tsy maninona, let's do it and be done with it. I remain in awe of the gap between the attitudes toward tolerating inconveniences and hardships that exists between Malagasy and Americans. Malagasy people often seem willing to accept their condition and try to find a way around the problem or just live with the problem, while Americans are mostly the opposite--often unwilling to accept their condition and seemingly always ready to complain. I think that the right attitude is probably somewhere in the middle of these two. Malagasy people seem to be too tolerant of hardships at times (but, of course, what can be done?) while Americans seem to be severely hardship-phobic in many cases. There are things in life that must be endured and there are things to which people must say, "This is not right and should not be endured." And, of course, it is not always easy to know how to sort the events and phenomena that cross our paths into these two categories. 

I know for certain that my time in the Peace Corps helped me to deal with the bumps in the road in life, and I know for certain that I learned valuable lessons from my Malagasy friends about perseverance and flexibility. Seeing people work together to achieve something without giving up hope when they routinely face difficulties before them teaches you some things. For all of us, it's true that you never know quite how things will turn out, so it's good to keep working at it, remain positive and hope for the best. If you are with some other people who feel that in their hearts, then you are in good company. And if you fail, at least you fail with good friends. If you succeed, then all the better.

For what it is worth, after I had written half of the exam on the board, the power came back on and I was able to print my exams out in the department office. This reminded me of something that my wife, Emily, and I often said when we were volunteers. Things just seem to work out here. Perhaps it is the event-related conception of time that gives more slack and flexibility in the day's schedule thereby allowing for more ability to accommodate things. I am not sure. We were often amazed by how things just seem to come together in Madagascar in ways that they never would in the states. I think that a large portion of that has to do with the flexibility built into the day. And I think some portion of that has to do with the attitude that for me is expressed by tsy maninona. The attitude that says it doesn't matter, let's hang in there, let's get it done some way or other. Even if it's tough, here we are together, so let's do it. 

Malagasy Time Conceptions

In a previous post I discussed fotoan-gasy and an idea of Øyvind Dahl's that Malagasy people see the future as being behind them and coming up to reach them--not before them as most cultures do.  I expanded on the ideas in the post and am happy to say that I now have a paper about this topic in Contemporary Philosophy. Here is the link.

http://scholarworks.sjsu.edu/comparativephilosophy/vol8/iss1/8/

In the paper, I argue that Dahl's case for the idea that Malagasy see the future as coming from behind is not convincing. It's certainly an interesting idea, but it is not supported by the reasons he gives. Though that argument fails, he has some incredibly insightful things to say about Malagasy time conceptions--and other aspects of the general Malagasy worldview in his excellent book, Meanings in Madagascar. He says that there are three generic ways of thinking about time that are woven through all worldviews: linear, cyclical and event-related cocneptions of time. In Madagascar the event-related conception of time is prominent. This means that people's thinking about time is more concrete and driven largely by events. Events propel the day and not abstract markers such as '8 AM'. Dahl notes that understanding this is crucial for success communication in Madagascar and that is certainly right. I take these three conceptions of time and argue that they are all relevant to living the good life, that is, each conception should be taken up by people at different times in their lives in order to achieve key features that are necessary for living a good life. I say more about this, and the other ideas, in the paper. Please find it through the link above if you are interested! I thank Graziella Masindrazana, Hoby Rabarivelo and Jean de la Croix Malazamanana for helpful discussion!