For your entertainment (I hope), I am going to give you some beautiful gems I found in homework assignments and exams.
Let's start with my youngest kids (who have an exam at the end of the year) and their preferences. I'll let the quotes speak for themselves. . . .
"I am with pig."
"I hate to invade."
"I prefer girl to boy."
"I dislike boy."
"I love girl."
"I love pretty girls."
"I like none thing to drink."
"I don't like to eat corn."
"I dislikes wool."
"I like paw paw because it's sweaty."
"I love my girlfriend."
"I love Lucia."
"I love daddy."
"I like drawing pork."
"I love you FLAVIEN."
"I like Bethany."
"I like Miss Betany."
"I dislikes my hard of hearing."
"I prefer beef bird to ox."
"I dislike home my haughty."
"I am fond of humbergers (food)."
"I don't like clothe."
"I likes eate and hate cooking."
"I likes in the M/bo. Dislike or M/va."
"I don't like the child a stuborn."
"diske my fiend."
"God blesse me and you Mrs. English."
Next we'll do high schoolers asking questions.
"How year wold are you? I'm year wold twenty-two."
"Who is your mee heser? Your's mechese is Bethany."
"Whe bethany going in Etat Unis? bethany is going in November 21th."
Same students but with dialogues. How they fill in blanks.
What's up? "Yes, I up."
See you later! "No! I'm late!"
The oldest students on advice, family, daily schedules, and AIDs.
"You clean water by to dead the microbe."
"Every Sunday, I stand 06 o'clock. I go to toilette."
"The cousins does Philip have two many."
"You protect yourself by going to club night."
"No respect husband." (how to get AIDs)
"mother's pregnant on my baby" (how to get AIDs)
"No sexual after marriage." (how to avoid AIDs)
"Nowdays Many people got the problem as them about love. Let us talk about it."
And my favorite. What happens when my young high schoolers try writing their own dialogues. The topic is apologies.
"Please forgive me for liking you."
"Why you eaten my 'goute'?"
"I have forgetter my notebook."
"Please forgive me for arising you."
Anita: Why you broken my heart?
Onitra: I apologize I didn't.
Julien: Please stay with me my love.
Rebecca: I am sorry! but I must to come back at one.
Rebecca: I apologize even if you sad.
Julien: No problem! don't forget I LOVE YOU
Rebecca: Well, let me say to you goodbye.
Julien: It's ok! I am agree.
Rebecca: Please forgive me I want to kiss you.
Julien: GOOD-BYE EVEN IF . . .
Incredible . . .
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Current State of My Life
(as of one month ago)
In my shower, you can find dead ants and cockroach crap all over the ground. I made a trade for the dead ants when I got sick of all the dirt they got everywhere while apparently tunneling for who knows what under the shower. My neighbor poisoned them for me and I swept away the bodies. Too bad it didn't work on the cockroaches . . . Here's the thing. I understand that a person (or bug) has to live and all that jazz. But the shower? I have two problems with this. 1. Why?? It's not as if there's any food there. . . . 2. I'm sorry, but if I get to choose ONE space it my life to actually be clean, it would be the shower. No offense.
In other news, I was woken up last night because a giant snake knocked something off my table. It wasn't until I walked over to pick the thing up that I saw the giant snake. My neighbor came to the rescue again, beating it on the head then flinging it out the door. In my defense, I didn't think he was going to kill it. I'm not this psycho animal killer. It was just too big for me to sneak it into a bucket and remove it from the premises. And the Malagasy and seriously afraid of snakes, so I guess there was only one option in his mind. I don't get the fear--their snakes aren't even poisonous. Oh well. It was 2am and I was in no mood to think about snakes.
Moments ago, I climbed into my hammock only to find a bunch of white powder and some snake shit. Awesome. (You may have noticed that I am becoming a serious rockstar when it comes to identifying poop. A useful skill SOMEWHERE I'm sure.) Meaning, the snake didn't climb into my house at night--it simply climbed out of the hammock at night and dropped onto my desk.
The question IS, did I or didn't I sit in the hammock WITH the snake??
And unfortunately, as I swept the poo out the door, it smooshed, leaving a smear of both shit and blood (? your guess is as good as mine . . .). Yes, I realize I've probably just crossed the border into the land of too much information. Sorry? At least you didn't have to clean it up.
In my shower, you can find dead ants and cockroach crap all over the ground. I made a trade for the dead ants when I got sick of all the dirt they got everywhere while apparently tunneling for who knows what under the shower. My neighbor poisoned them for me and I swept away the bodies. Too bad it didn't work on the cockroaches . . . Here's the thing. I understand that a person (or bug) has to live and all that jazz. But the shower? I have two problems with this. 1. Why?? It's not as if there's any food there. . . . 2. I'm sorry, but if I get to choose ONE space it my life to actually be clean, it would be the shower. No offense.
In other news, I was woken up last night because a giant snake knocked something off my table. It wasn't until I walked over to pick the thing up that I saw the giant snake. My neighbor came to the rescue again, beating it on the head then flinging it out the door. In my defense, I didn't think he was going to kill it. I'm not this psycho animal killer. It was just too big for me to sneak it into a bucket and remove it from the premises. And the Malagasy and seriously afraid of snakes, so I guess there was only one option in his mind. I don't get the fear--their snakes aren't even poisonous. Oh well. It was 2am and I was in no mood to think about snakes.
Moments ago, I climbed into my hammock only to find a bunch of white powder and some snake shit. Awesome. (You may have noticed that I am becoming a serious rockstar when it comes to identifying poop. A useful skill SOMEWHERE I'm sure.) Meaning, the snake didn't climb into my house at night--it simply climbed out of the hammock at night and dropped onto my desk.
The question IS, did I or didn't I sit in the hammock WITH the snake??
And unfortunately, as I swept the poo out the door, it smooshed, leaving a smear of both shit and blood (? your guess is as good as mine . . .). Yes, I realize I've probably just crossed the border into the land of too much information. Sorry? At least you didn't have to clean it up.
solar oven update
This is all I have to say. I let the sauce simmer in the oven while I made the dough and let it rise. Then I threw the pizza in the oven and it was done in less than an hour. I can leave a soup in it all day, and by the time I get off work, I have a delicious supper, still warm from sitting in there.
My life has become so much fancier.
This is amazing.
My life has become so much fancier.
This is amazing.
Fashion in Madagascar
Before I start, I just want to say that five minutes ago some little kids looked at a magazine with me. One girl kept saying, "Look! It's Morondava!" and another girl would respond, "No, stupid! That's in another country!" So these kids struggle to remember my name (usually not a problem because it's the same as a fishing village in Morondava--Betania--clearly these kids aren't into fishing--or just don't know their geography). And one of them tried really hard to remember and came up with, "Bastawe!" (pronounced bah-stah-way). Yes, yes. Amazing. I love it.
Now. Malagasy fashion.
On the plateau, I'll be honest--they dress better than I do. I mean, they seriously look more vazaha than me in Tana. Then again, "nice" here usually means its Chinese and, well, not the best quality. Pretty and shiney, but broken oh so easily. Cheap. I mean cheap in quality--but expensive in price. Go figure. You get the point.
Here on the coast, however, we play a different game. Life is easier. Particularly in my region, Menabe--which means . . . "very red" or "big red" or maybe even "extreme red," if you will--ha. But so it's too too hot for those fancy Chinese clothes in my part of town. It's much more practical to wrap a lamba around you.
Note: Lamba = the short name (do you really want the long one?) for about a meter of fabric that is super handy and has multiple uses. They usually have a random picture on them with a random saying in Malagasy.
Lambas are worn at ceremonies. They are worn by everyone at home. And by everyone, I mostly mean women. Others wear them all the time (if you have a job that is more work and less office--so farmers and market merchants versus teachers and postal workers). You can wear them as a dress or a skirt. Our cook in Kirindy Mitea enjoying rocking (no joke) a sports coat with a lamba like a shirt. Seriously. It was amazing. VERY stylish.
You use lambas to attach babies to your back. Lambas are handy for women when you are on a taxibrousse and need to pee. Other uses: Rag. Cushion on head to help you carry things up top. Blanket. Towel. Strainer (particularly when extracting coconut milk). Wall decoration. Cushion cover. Pillow case. Table cloth. Cover to protect from dust. Emergency swimming suit. Curtain. Beach towel. Means to connect two motorcycles when one is broken and needs to be pulled behind the other. You think I'm kidding on that last one? I've seen it. Point is, lambas are amazing and you can use them for any and everything.
Final lamba note: Once, I arrived in Tana and was cold (naturally), so I pulled out a lamba and wrapped up in it to keep warm. A Gasy guy from Tana laughed at me (as he pulled out his fleece) and called me a hick. Apparently I'm kind of country bumpkin on this island. I love the coast.
Back to regular fashion.
The best part of fashion here is that anything (ANYTHING) goes. The bad news being, it may permanently destroy whatever fashion sense I had. . . . Men can wear frilly hats. Women can wear matching skorts and shirts made of out bright plaid. A hat seller walks around wearing a stack of 50 hats on his head. I can walk around barefoot and it's totally fine. Just avoid noon or the sand will burn your feet of, that's all I have to say.
The clothes I brought have pretty much fallen apart or gotten so stretched out that if I want to wear them, I either need to gain 5 million pounds (approximately) or get pregnant. Like 9 months pregnant overnight.
I tried using a seamstress, but I've discovered that my favorite source of clothing is the frippe (pronounced frihp). It's kind of like the Salvation Army. America and Europe sends their old, unwanted clothes our direction. Sellers throw it into piles and you dig around for treasures. Sometimes they'll even put things on hangers. So for a buck or two I can buy and wear the clothes that you got rid of! And I DO! Most of my current wardrobe consists of your rejects!
The clothes go two ways.
1. It's something legit. A tank top from Express, for example. I got a new supply of tank tops in Tamatave and I'm afraid to say they're nicer than the ones I brought with me in the first place. They fall under this category.
2. It is something RIDICULOUS. This is my favorite. They are ridiculous but they WORK. At least in Madagascar, they do. As long as it fits, right? One of my favorites is a white dress with thing horizontal stripes--and (get this) pictures of a woman from the 20s-esque on a bicycle circling the bottom. Another favorite is bright blue and green and just might be leftover from the 70s. And let's not forget the pink and white dress with pictures of women in bikinis saying, "Hello!!! Isn't it wonderful!!" and "I like it so much!!! give it to me and don't worry . . ." Right. Who does that? Seriously--who thought this up?
I have to work a bit from time to time--sewing it tighter so it's smaller, cutting the back open so it's bigger. Remove that bow, cut this dress a little shorter. It's all part of the game.
Frankly, it's the best thing ever. Digging through the piles of clothes is like searching for a costume in your grandparents' attic. And then it's arts and crafts time when you make those tiny adjustments. All for the price of a beer!
That being said . . . . Don't be surprised if I come home wearing your clothes.
Love,
Bastawe
Now. Malagasy fashion.
On the plateau, I'll be honest--they dress better than I do. I mean, they seriously look more vazaha than me in Tana. Then again, "nice" here usually means its Chinese and, well, not the best quality. Pretty and shiney, but broken oh so easily. Cheap. I mean cheap in quality--but expensive in price. Go figure. You get the point.
Here on the coast, however, we play a different game. Life is easier. Particularly in my region, Menabe--which means . . . "very red" or "big red" or maybe even "extreme red," if you will--ha. But so it's too too hot for those fancy Chinese clothes in my part of town. It's much more practical to wrap a lamba around you.
Note: Lamba = the short name (do you really want the long one?) for about a meter of fabric that is super handy and has multiple uses. They usually have a random picture on them with a random saying in Malagasy.
Lambas are worn at ceremonies. They are worn by everyone at home. And by everyone, I mostly mean women. Others wear them all the time (if you have a job that is more work and less office--so farmers and market merchants versus teachers and postal workers). You can wear them as a dress or a skirt. Our cook in Kirindy Mitea enjoying rocking (no joke) a sports coat with a lamba like a shirt. Seriously. It was amazing. VERY stylish.
You use lambas to attach babies to your back. Lambas are handy for women when you are on a taxibrousse and need to pee. Other uses: Rag. Cushion on head to help you carry things up top. Blanket. Towel. Strainer (particularly when extracting coconut milk). Wall decoration. Cushion cover. Pillow case. Table cloth. Cover to protect from dust. Emergency swimming suit. Curtain. Beach towel. Means to connect two motorcycles when one is broken and needs to be pulled behind the other. You think I'm kidding on that last one? I've seen it. Point is, lambas are amazing and you can use them for any and everything.
Final lamba note: Once, I arrived in Tana and was cold (naturally), so I pulled out a lamba and wrapped up in it to keep warm. A Gasy guy from Tana laughed at me (as he pulled out his fleece) and called me a hick. Apparently I'm kind of country bumpkin on this island. I love the coast.
Back to regular fashion.
The best part of fashion here is that anything (ANYTHING) goes. The bad news being, it may permanently destroy whatever fashion sense I had. . . . Men can wear frilly hats. Women can wear matching skorts and shirts made of out bright plaid. A hat seller walks around wearing a stack of 50 hats on his head. I can walk around barefoot and it's totally fine. Just avoid noon or the sand will burn your feet of, that's all I have to say.
The clothes I brought have pretty much fallen apart or gotten so stretched out that if I want to wear them, I either need to gain 5 million pounds (approximately) or get pregnant. Like 9 months pregnant overnight.
I tried using a seamstress, but I've discovered that my favorite source of clothing is the frippe (pronounced frihp). It's kind of like the Salvation Army. America and Europe sends their old, unwanted clothes our direction. Sellers throw it into piles and you dig around for treasures. Sometimes they'll even put things on hangers. So for a buck or two I can buy and wear the clothes that you got rid of! And I DO! Most of my current wardrobe consists of your rejects!
The clothes go two ways.
1. It's something legit. A tank top from Express, for example. I got a new supply of tank tops in Tamatave and I'm afraid to say they're nicer than the ones I brought with me in the first place. They fall under this category.
2. It is something RIDICULOUS. This is my favorite. They are ridiculous but they WORK. At least in Madagascar, they do. As long as it fits, right? One of my favorites is a white dress with thing horizontal stripes--and (get this) pictures of a woman from the 20s-esque on a bicycle circling the bottom. Another favorite is bright blue and green and just might be leftover from the 70s. And let's not forget the pink and white dress with pictures of women in bikinis saying, "Hello!!! Isn't it wonderful!!" and "I like it so much!!! give it to me and don't worry . . ." Right. Who does that? Seriously--who thought this up?
I have to work a bit from time to time--sewing it tighter so it's smaller, cutting the back open so it's bigger. Remove that bow, cut this dress a little shorter. It's all part of the game.
Frankly, it's the best thing ever. Digging through the piles of clothes is like searching for a costume in your grandparents' attic. And then it's arts and crafts time when you make those tiny adjustments. All for the price of a beer!
That being said . . . . Don't be surprised if I come home wearing your clothes.
Love,
Bastawe
New Beginnings
(So FYI I wrote these next blogs earlier this fall, but waited until I was in America--aka the land of free internet--to post them)
After spending the summer with other people, coming home has been a refreshing but difficult adjustment. I guess I forgot how lonely it can be as the only vazaha in a large village! (I tried calling it a small town once and was shot down by our Malagasy Peace Corps doctor who downgraded Mahabo to a large village . . . whatever--not bitter at all.) It didn't help that half my classes weren't able to start this week (aka the first week of classes). LOTS of free time. That and my proviseur (my best friend in Mahabo) is away for the week--aka no bonding / summer catch up time. THere have definitely been moments of near-panic at the sudden quietness and lack of activity in my life! Ah, well. Once again finding the beauty of stillness . . .
Of course, it hasn't been ALL quiet. My older students started this week. They were rather quiet--and are doing HOMEWORK this weekend. This year I have the two grade levels with national exams (to finish middle school and high school), plus another high school grade. I mean, technically I'm not supposed to teach the exam classes--but the only other English teacher retired, so having non-exam focused Peace Corps English classes is better than no English at all, right?
So this means I have ALL new students (okay, exxcept for those who flunked . . . but that doesn't count). Which means I'll have taught over 1000 of the students in town--and all of my middle/high school students except the two youngest years. Crazy, right? But it's STRANGE being in one of the same classrooms with new students . . . And I LOVE running across old students. I count it as a success when they ask me to teach them again. Okay, maybe they just miss watching me sing and dance and make funny noises for them. I still count that as a success. My students really are the sunshine of my life--I guess I just need time to get to the new ones . . . And while yes I agree (Emily) that teachers need a break (I was certainly ready for it in June!), 3 months without my students was SAD--and 3 months without work nearly made me lose my mind! Even if I DID do that whole lemur thing for a huge chunk of that time. Let's face it--one week without work is even pushing it for me. Ah, the price you pay when you're a workaholic living in a large village in Africa . . . I'll be sure to let you know my thoughts on the new students some time . . .
Also on the agenda this week has been enjoying my new hammock. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. There are these women with sewing machines (and we're not talking electric--you turn these babies with your hand--as you sew) who chill on street corners and sew stuff for you. So I bought fabric and cord and explained what I wanted--and paid this woman a couple bucks to make me a new hammock. It's great! More comfortable AND it matches my house! Did I mention I added more color? I'll try to get you pictures . . .
I ALSO have a new solar oven! Might as well put that sunshine to work, right? I've made refried beans (for the Mexican I crave so often) and herb and onion break--and I'm making pizza and cinnamon swirl bread this weekend. It's wonderful!
One of my younger students from last year has been coming over lately--to watch movies, play games, listen to music, or do Pilates and yoga with me. She prefers yoga when it's just the two of us, as opposed to us and a crowd of giggling girls (and boys trying to watch). I'll often walk to town with her afterwards--an excuse to get out of the house!
Speaking of which, I am currently at a hotely, watching 5 million kids go home (the private schools started sooner than we did). And a crowd is heading to a funeral. It's the older brother of my neighbor. I call him Ramose--aka Sir. He calls me his child. I know they're all going because the women are wearing lambas--just like I knew it was a funeral the first day it started by the wailing and crowds of people. That being said, they deal with death well here. They are more often celebrating ancestors than mourning the dead. And when a stranger learned that my grandfather died recently, his quick response was, "It's okay--that's what old people are SUPPOSED to do." Good point.
There are piles of red dirt in the road. I think they are trying to fix the road--which would be INCREDIBLE. I'll take a picture of it for you--how bad the roads are here. I think we should win a prize or something. . . I swear it makes us badass. Somehow.
I also visited my friends the Catholic fathers (the one in particular is my close friend--I call him--and the others--"Mompera"--which is Gasy for "Mon Pere"--which is French for "My Father"). He's the one I worked for at the private school last year. They are Indian missionaries and speak English with me while giving me coke. The soft drink, not the drug. VERY kind people I'm lucky to have as friends.
Okay. Well, those are some little updates for you. And by little I mean that was way too long, sorry. I'll try to give you something more entertaining later . . . .
After spending the summer with other people, coming home has been a refreshing but difficult adjustment. I guess I forgot how lonely it can be as the only vazaha in a large village! (I tried calling it a small town once and was shot down by our Malagasy Peace Corps doctor who downgraded Mahabo to a large village . . . whatever--not bitter at all.) It didn't help that half my classes weren't able to start this week (aka the first week of classes). LOTS of free time. That and my proviseur (my best friend in Mahabo) is away for the week--aka no bonding / summer catch up time. THere have definitely been moments of near-panic at the sudden quietness and lack of activity in my life! Ah, well. Once again finding the beauty of stillness . . .
Of course, it hasn't been ALL quiet. My older students started this week. They were rather quiet--and are doing HOMEWORK this weekend. This year I have the two grade levels with national exams (to finish middle school and high school), plus another high school grade. I mean, technically I'm not supposed to teach the exam classes--but the only other English teacher retired, so having non-exam focused Peace Corps English classes is better than no English at all, right?
So this means I have ALL new students (okay, exxcept for those who flunked . . . but that doesn't count). Which means I'll have taught over 1000 of the students in town--and all of my middle/high school students except the two youngest years. Crazy, right? But it's STRANGE being in one of the same classrooms with new students . . . And I LOVE running across old students. I count it as a success when they ask me to teach them again. Okay, maybe they just miss watching me sing and dance and make funny noises for them. I still count that as a success. My students really are the sunshine of my life--I guess I just need time to get to the new ones . . . And while yes I agree (Emily) that teachers need a break (I was certainly ready for it in June!), 3 months without my students was SAD--and 3 months without work nearly made me lose my mind! Even if I DID do that whole lemur thing for a huge chunk of that time. Let's face it--one week without work is even pushing it for me. Ah, the price you pay when you're a workaholic living in a large village in Africa . . . I'll be sure to let you know my thoughts on the new students some time . . .
Also on the agenda this week has been enjoying my new hammock. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. There are these women with sewing machines (and we're not talking electric--you turn these babies with your hand--as you sew) who chill on street corners and sew stuff for you. So I bought fabric and cord and explained what I wanted--and paid this woman a couple bucks to make me a new hammock. It's great! More comfortable AND it matches my house! Did I mention I added more color? I'll try to get you pictures . . .
I ALSO have a new solar oven! Might as well put that sunshine to work, right? I've made refried beans (for the Mexican I crave so often) and herb and onion break--and I'm making pizza and cinnamon swirl bread this weekend. It's wonderful!
One of my younger students from last year has been coming over lately--to watch movies, play games, listen to music, or do Pilates and yoga with me. She prefers yoga when it's just the two of us, as opposed to us and a crowd of giggling girls (and boys trying to watch). I'll often walk to town with her afterwards--an excuse to get out of the house!
Speaking of which, I am currently at a hotely, watching 5 million kids go home (the private schools started sooner than we did). And a crowd is heading to a funeral. It's the older brother of my neighbor. I call him Ramose--aka Sir. He calls me his child. I know they're all going because the women are wearing lambas--just like I knew it was a funeral the first day it started by the wailing and crowds of people. That being said, they deal with death well here. They are more often celebrating ancestors than mourning the dead. And when a stranger learned that my grandfather died recently, his quick response was, "It's okay--that's what old people are SUPPOSED to do." Good point.
There are piles of red dirt in the road. I think they are trying to fix the road--which would be INCREDIBLE. I'll take a picture of it for you--how bad the roads are here. I think we should win a prize or something. . . I swear it makes us badass. Somehow.
I also visited my friends the Catholic fathers (the one in particular is my close friend--I call him--and the others--"Mompera"--which is Gasy for "Mon Pere"--which is French for "My Father"). He's the one I worked for at the private school last year. They are Indian missionaries and speak English with me while giving me coke. The soft drink, not the drug. VERY kind people I'm lucky to have as friends.
Okay. Well, those are some little updates for you. And by little I mean that was way too long, sorry. I'll try to give you something more entertaining later . . . .
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