rain, rain, rain!

I have had one crazy adventure after another these past couple months in Manompana! The weather has made things especially interesting. I’m not sure whether it’s just this part of the island or just an unusual spell or the affect of global warming but I’ve never seen so much rain and flooding in my life. One night earlier this month it started raining in the late evening. At my usual 8 o clock bedtime it was still raining, and not just a sprinkle but a full-on downpour. I woke up several times during the night to the sound of rain still pounding down outside. And at 6 in the morning the downpour still had not ceased nor even let up a bit. I opened my front door that morning to find that the entire village was underwater. There was a lake right in front of my house reaching all the way up to the fence near my front door. There was also a river flowing down the foot path from the school a few 100m away down past my house and into what was now a lake in the center of the village. Everyone was wading through calf-deep water in order to go about their daily chores or buy things from the shops.

A few days after the flooding I had to bike from my village 10km north to Manompana to meet up with my NGO staff and help them with their work. I was a bit apprehensive, as I wasn’t sure how much destruction the flooding had done to the roads. I had heard from some of my friends in the village that none of the ferries from Soanierana going north to Mananara were running because all the flooding had made the river currents too strong for the ferries to be able to cross. One ferry up north towards Mananara had apparently been swept away in the torrential water flow. There had been no vehicles traveling north or south on Route National 5 the past several days. As I biked the three kilometers north to the ferry crossing at Fandrarazana, I found that the sand was actually nicely compact from the rain and the lack of large trucks passing and messing up the road. There were a few spots where I had to bike through water that was almost up to my knees, though, which was an interesting experience. At the river crossing I took a canoe with my bike laying over the top of it, since the ferry wasn’t running. Normally the river basin has only a weak current but that day it was quite strong as all the extra water from the tributaries was still emptying out into the ocean. The canoeman had to paddle especially hard to counter the brisk flow of water. After the river crossing the road was still nice and compact although there were washed out ruts, a few bumpy sections and some large puddles to bike/wade through. As I approached Manompana, I was shocked to see that the little concrete meter-long bridge over the marsh entering into town had sunk down into the water and there was now a canal a few meters long that I had to cross in order to complete my journey. Since the canoe was free I opted to cross that way, though it felt kind of silly to ride in a boat for all of three meters.

The work in Manompana went well and the sun came out to make it a beautiful day, so the intrepid journey ended up being worth it. Together with the NGO field staff we went around to random households in town to talk with families about the advantages of using improved latrines and strategies for building their own. I helped by bringing along a poster I had made of a simple latrine using locally available materials that effectively prevents against the spread of diarrheal disease. I also prompted the field staff to come with me to inspect the latrines that the families were already using if they happened to have one. Though it’s not so pleasant venturing into the dirty, smelly places that people use to relieve themselves, we gained useful information about the conditions of sanitation facilities that people were already using and were able to give recommendations to the families we visited on how they could improve their existing latrines to cut down on the spread of intestinal illnesses. Most of the latrines we observed were very basic made of materials that ranged from old tires to metal barrels to rotted wood with shacks built of bamboo and palm leaves on top.

A clean, healthful latrine can be made of such local materials, but it needs to have a lid for the pit, a ventilation pipe to release the smelly air, and door that closes. The pit itself should not be dug too closely to the water table below and should have some kind of lining to reinforce it. We found that many people in Manompana already had latrines, but very few had improved latrines that effectively prevented against the spread of disease. One of the major challenges is the type of soil in our area—all sand with a shallow water table less than a meter under the ground. The only real solution for this type of soil is an above-ground latrine, which means that people can’t simply dig their own pit and stick a shack on top of it. They have to at least find a metal barrel or a mason who can construct some type of cement, super-terrain “pit.” Even the simplest models of such latrines are still cost-prohibitive for poorer Malagasy families.

Another barrier in a larger community like Manompana is the lack of space to build a latrine. Most families we visited had only a very small piece of property where they had their main house and maybe a small shack for a kitchen; hence they didn’t really have a good place to build a latrine close to their house. We suggested communal latrines with surrounding neighbors to address the problems of expense and lack of space, but sharing can also be challenging in terms of cleanliness and shared responsibilities for maintenance. Although I probably grossed the NGO staff out by making them go with me to look at people’s latrines, it was all in all a very interesting day.

On my way out of Manompana at the end of the day the canoe wasn’t there, so I had to wade through the mucky mess on the other side of the bridge. The small detour made me sufficiently dirty and provided quite the entertainment for all the kids and other spectators crowded around the broken bridge. Otherwise I made it uneventfully and safely back, only wetter, muddier and sandier for the wear.

A little over a week later, it decided to rain absurdly again. I was all set to go on a canoe ride over to Ile St. Marie for my birthday, the small island off the east coast from where I’ve been living and working for the past few months. I had already postponed my trip by a few days on account of a meeting with NGO staff and local community leaders concerning rules and regulations on the usage of our newly installed pump-wells bringing potable water to rural villages throughout the Manompana commune. It was quite an interesting meeting, where we decided on how much to fine people for things like latrines and trash pits built within thirty meters of the new water points, washing or herding animals near the pumps and even swearing or fighting at the pumps. I was glad I stayed and helped with the decision-making process, but I was ready to get to St. Marie already to celebrate my birthday with overpriced cocktails at a nice resort on the beach.

Unfortunately it decided to rain absurdly again for three days straight, so I wasn’t able to leave my village, but rather sat in my house shivering and wrapped up in a sweatshirt and blanket until the wind and rain decided to let up. Finally a few days after my birthday I was able to leave for St. Marie with a motor-powered, Malagasy-style wooden canoe leaving from my village filled with lots of wooden planks (I’m hoping legally logged) bound for sale on the small island. I biked 3km north to the ferry crossing at Fandrarazana to meet the canoe and we threw my bags and Carlton (I’ve named my bike since we’ve been on so many adventures together now) on top of all the wood. Then I sat on top and we headed off. It was a bit scary passing over the point where the waves brake at the sandbar barrier where the basin of the Fandrarazana river and the ocean meet. We went over a pretty steep wave and I got a nice salty splash in the face. From there on out to the tip where the mainland makes a steep point was smooth sailing for several hours. The narrow strip of land that juts out to almost meet the island of St. Marie protected us from the strong winds blowing in from the southwest. The wind died down and the sun even fully came out making it the warmest I had felt in three days.

Once we arrived at the tip however, we saw that the open channel separating us from St. Marie was too choppy for us to cross. We decided to park in the small village of Antsiraka at the very eastern tip of Madagascar. After a lunch of rice and freshly-caught fish we waited around, hoping for the weather to improve. Unfortunately the Indian Ocean was still too choppy for us to cross over to St. Marie, so we had to stay the night in Antsiraka.

It was probably the roughest night I have ever spent during my two years in Peace Corps combined with all of the camping experiences I have had in my life, which is really saying something. We slept in a bamboo shack close to the beach that belonged to a friend of the canoe captain. The owner of the shack slept in his bed while two of us slept on the ground with nothing but a woven grass mat as cushioning. I was wedged in a small space between a bicycle leaning precariously against the wall of the shack and our captain, also sleeping on the ground. There wasn’t a place to wash or change so I slept in the clothes I wore on the boat that morning, muddy and sandy scraped up feet and a salty face covered in dried layers of sunscreen. I didn’t even have a blanket or sheet and it was freezing cold with the strong ocean wind blasting through the thin bamboo walls. Since Malagasies are afraid of the dark, the owner of the shack made sure his oil lamp burned all throughout the night. At one point, as I shifted to relieve the pressure from my sore, boney hips, the bicycle fell on top of me. Needless to say, I didn’t get even five minutes of sleep throughout the entire, longest night of my life.

I listened to the rain pattering and wind blasting all throughout the night and stepped out of the shack in the dim morning light to find that we probably still weren’t going to be able to leave for a while. I legitimately almost had a meltdown as I walked through the cold drizzle to the river where I washed my face and legs. The morning slowly took a turn for the better, though. I spent several hours in the kitchen of the family with whom we stayed, chatting, drinking coffee and sitting by the warmth of the cook-fire. Even though it was the most basic of living conditions, I was grateful that the Malagasies lived up to their reputation for good hospitality, offering us hot food, company and a place to stay for the night without asking anything in return…only that we come back another day to visit them again.

By mid-morning the weather miraculously cleared up and the water quieted down enough for us to finish the last seven kilometers of our journey to St. Marie. It was still rough going in our tiny boat filled with lumber. I was gripping the side of the boat with white knuckles, but I never legitimately thought that we would capsize. I was more worried that some of my stuff would fly overboard or get soaking wet (although I did waterproof everything inside with plastic). I certainly got a lot of salty splashes in the face, but we amazingly made it over the whitecaps and swells in our tiny little motorboat without any problems. Only as we were trying to dock into our arrival spot did we run into trouble. We ended up getting stuck on top of a rock under the water. The boat tilted 45˚ and my bags and Carlton spilled out into the water. Luckily we were only waste-deep, but it was quite a shock and made for an awkward departure out of the water-filled boat.

Though it was a wet and shaky landing, the day got much better from there. Carlton and I walked not even a kilometer north to this beautiful set of bungalows with a lovely outdoor patio and a quiet private beach for swimming. As it is low tourist season right now, there was only one other couple staying at the hotel and I got a very reasonable and Peace Corps budget affordable price for the room. The staff was lovely too, and I enjoyed chatting with them in Malagasy and learning more about the island of St. Marie. The sun stayed out for the rest of the afternoon so I was even able to go for a swim and sit out on the lounge chairs without having to bundle up in three layers of clothing, much in contrast to the cold and windy wetness that I had experienced at the point in Antsiraka that morning and the day before.

The next day was unfortunately cold and rainy again. I was low on cash however, so Carlton and I braved the terrible weather and got very very wet biking the 13km south to the largest town of Ambodifotatra where there is the only bank on the island. Even though I was chilly and soaked, the vistas where the road hugged the steep cliffside looking down and out to the coast were absolutely beautiful and the stormy weather made for some dramatic skies. After a bit of shopping and banking I biked a few more km south to another very lovely hotel with a long, private jetty running out into the deserted blue water and a charming restaurant and seating area by the waterfront. There were quite a few more guests since it was closer to the main town of Ambodifotatra, but it was actually kind of nice having the livelier atmosphere. Unfortunately it stayed very cold and rainy and all of my clothes remained soaking wet.

We finally got a full day of sun the next day. I was also able to meet up with a fellow Peace Corps volunteer who was teaching English at the local high school on the island. We had a nice time chatting over lunch and enjoying the sunny weather. In the afternoon I headed further south to explore more of the island. I hope to make it to the little island off of the southern tip of St.Marie, not only because it’s supposed to be beautiful, but also so that I can say I’ve been on an island off of an island off of an island. Hope to head back in a few days, but its all really dependent on when the weather will let me go.