Hello Morondava
Do any of you remember the “Small is Beautiful” movement during the 1970s?. One summer during my college years, friends and I experimented with “intentional community”. We rebelled against polyester and donned baggy-brown-earthy-cotton clothing, we girls stopped shaving our legs, were fans of Ina May Gaskin (Tennessee midwife) and vowed to forever birth our babies at home, shun pain killers and simply breathe the birthing pain away. The world was outraged at South Africa’s apartheid regime and we joined the protests chanting “Free South Africa Now”’, boycotted Nestle products to save the formula-fed babies of the world, and Bruce slept on a mat to be at one with the poor people in India. We read books like Barefoot Doctor, Our Bodies Ourselves, Silent Spring and followed the “when yellow, let it mellow, when brown flush it down” rule to save the planet’s water. White flour and white sugar were banned from the kitchen, we suffered from a heavy (undercooked) soybean diet, bought an Amish-made energy-free yogurt maker, and took turns cooking mostly vegetarian meals, using recipes from Moosewood Cookbook, Laurel’s Kitchen, Diet for a Small Planet and The Enchanted Broccoli Forest.
Flying into Morondava yesterday Bruce and I watched a real broccoli forest of baobabs floating below our tiny Tsaradia airplane – massive grey leathery bottle trunks with a tuft of spindly branches in the air.
On exiting the plane, we experienced an oven-like blast of heat and were sweating even before we reached the one-belt baggage hall of airport terminal.
Santa (pronounced like Shanta) – the SALFA hospital administrator and her husband Tantely (meaning Honey), greeted us warmly and gave us a lift to Menabe Hotel. After settling in, we went on a noon-time walk, soukous music from the roadside bars serenading us to the sea. Miniature shrimp and fish were spread to dry in the sun in thin layers on all the sidewalks. The air was fishy, like putting your nose into a jar of Thai-fermented fish paste. Passed a shop selling baobab fruits, brown velvet softballs.
The seeds are ground into a powder”, the shop keeper told us. “You mix the baobab powder with sugar water to make a refreshing drink.”
We enjoyed a meal of rice, sauteed vegetables packing a wonderful garlic punch, and shrimp cooked in a rich coconut milk sauce. A woman who had applied a yellow herbal face-pack agreed to pose for a photo. She told us that the main ingredient in the mask paste is ground tamarind bark, mixed with water.
“It makes my skin soft and protects me from the sun. I wear it seven hours every day.”
The Marilyn Monroe-like dress that she wore stood in sharp contrast to her tribal-like appearance, both beauties from vastly different cultures. What a contrast to Antananarivo, with its poverty, broken cement sidewalks full of pot holes, and endless traffic jams.
Last evening Hanitra and Elson called us on WhatsApp. Elson relayed that the head of Antalaha prison had contacted them, hearing that we were ready to roll again. He requested that our priority this year should be repairing the roof of the men’s chambers as the tin sheet is rusted through and the starving inmates get soaked at night during the rainy season and fall ill. We discussed how the holes in the roof actually save their lives at this point, as it allows at least a modicum of air. The prison sleeping chambers were built under French rule, often to lock up freedom fighters, and are now in a dilapidated state.
Elson and Hanitra have asked our contractor to examine the building, and we will probably consult an engineer to see how we can incorporate proper ventilation without compromising the prison security or the structure of the colonial era buildings. Solar energy to power fans would be ideal, but we don’t have the funds for this level of renovation work yet. Wind driven roof ventilators are also an option.
I leave you with photos of this amazing part of the world.
