Hello and welcome back to my blog! I had a three week break to overhaul the hosting and design of my site and posting will now return to once a week, every Monday at 6pm.
This is Part 3 of my Madagascar series, to start from the beginning, click here.
I will keep this brief because it still hurts, but I have to admit that I am one of the thousands of people who did not vote in the referendum. NOT, I might add, because I assumed we would stay, or because I couldn’t be bothered or am not politically engaged. Getting everything organised for my Madagascar expedition was so hectic and rushed that I forgot to send in one of the postal vote forms and therefore forfeited my vote, as it occurred whilst I was away.
I had been out in the forest since 5am with the botany team doing plots and generally having such a great time that I’d completely forgotten about the vote. I arrived back at camp all cheerful and ready for lunch, only to be confronted by a large group of very morose looking scientists.
“Have you heard the news?” asked one.
“What news?” I said.
“About the referendum.”
“Oh yeah! Are we in?”
“No, we’re leaving the EU.”
“Haha yeah… but seriously are we still in?”
I was pretty shocked, we all were. Nearly everyone had been hoping to remain, and many of the scientists I was working with had projects at least in part funded by grants that they were only able to get through the EU. There were a couple of people who were pleased with the result, and subsequently very unhappy at the intensely angry and upset atmosphere on camp.
So that was frustrating. What was equally annoying was not being able to take part in the inevitable internet outrage, something that I am a huge fan of. The country had been thrown into disarray we heard, Labour was falling apart, David Cameron was resigning, no one knew who was going to be Prime Minister or what was going to happen. The trouble was we got all this news in dribs and drabs, often weeks apart. Either in a brief email over a satellite phone from a friend of family member, or from sixth form students and teachers passing through. It was immensely frustrating to be so far away from home when something so important was happening. Like the time I was in Australia during the 2012 Olympics, maybe not quite as important though…
So I felt quite down on the 24th of June. However, this was also the day that I discovered Dhazma vanilla rum, the tastiest rum in all the universe. You can only buy it in Madagascar (I’ve checked) and it is sooo tasty. It reminds me of that short spell where Coca Cola brought out Vanilla coke, except without the weird aftertaste. So there was still a pretty big positive to my day.
Going Down the Pub
The following evening we all had a party. It was the night before the Malagasy Independence day and we dressed up in lamba’s and did the conga through the camp. We danced around to Malagasy music before moving the party to Mariarano village.
We piled into the local pub, It was basically someones back garden with one long table, two long benches, chickens behind a fence and sometimes a turtle or parrot in a cage behind the table. We brought music and small speakers with us, and proceeded to drink all the rum and all the THB, which I am told is one of the best beers in the world but as I find all beer disgusting I can’t really comment.
It was a great night, I got a little tipsy off the rum and spent the evening dancing around with friends, insisted to Harison the botanist that he was now my best friend, and tried to convince every staff member to hire me. I was one of the positive stories from that night, some people were a glorious shit show that only the British can bring to foreign countries. Still, nothing bad happened; a couple of people had to be carried home along the dusty path between the village and our camp, my friend lost her flip flop, someone threw up in their tent, that kind of thing.
Madagascar’s Independence Day Celebrations
The Americans joked that it was sweet how Madagascar’s Independence Day was the day after Britain’s, so we will never forget it. It was too soon for these jokes.
As a result of yesterdays drinking everyone felt too rough to go out to Mariarano village the following night, on actual independence day. Despite being cursed with disproportionately awful hangovers, I managed to drag myself to the village in the morning to watch the Independence day celebrations. There were school kids and women’s groups singing and dancing, and there seemed to be some very important people around.
A few of the Malagasy OpWall staff invited us students to join them in performing a dance. A few of us agreed despite my fear that I would throw up or pass out or both. We performed the only Malagasy dance we semi-knew; the conga. We danced – badly – in front of the entire village and dignitaries. Even from the photos you can tell we were out of time.
Suddenly the conga line would reverse with no warning and we’d all knock back into each other like dominoes.
Then we stood in a circle and one by one went into the middle and did a little solo dance. Lara started us off, and as she can actually dance she was setting an unrealistic precedence for what to expect from the rest of the Westerners. I finished up with a little shuffle and swinging my arms around, just to really drive it home that honestly, we have no rhythm. As my Scottish friend Jen said afterwards, ‘I think you did a good job of introducing them to our native culture.” Sadly I have no video footage of this finale, but here is Lewis and Jeneen giving it their all.
Boxing in Madagascar
There was a boxing match later on in the day. A bunch of us decided to go, so we wandered down to where we had danced earlier on to find a length of tarpaulin around the perimeter. Getting into the arena itself was the most intense part of the day. Apparently there was a side way in that a lot of people managed to get into, I was not one of these people, and found myself in a scrum for the entrance with the locals all smiling, shouting, screaming and treading on each other. I got elbowed in the face accidentally a few times. I think everyone did. The scariest bit was the tiny children trying to sneak in, I had no control whatsoever over which way I was pushed and crushed and was so concerned that these children would be squished. I was dragged to the front by the guy collecting tickets eventually, having been pushed back a thousand times. Why does nowhere except Britain enjoy queuing? I love a good queue.
When I finally burst into the surprisingly empty stadium (there really was no need for that lack of queue), I spotted my friends on the other side and hurried across. We settled ourselves on a grassy slope and waited for the match to begin.
There was no announcement, no introductions or explanations. People just started circling the field with their fists raised, literally looking for a fight.
Two people would start fighting while everyone else carried on circling. A referee would watch over the fight with some dried palm leaves to aid him in breaking up the pair. It was bare-knuckle boxing, and by the second match someone had already been knocked out and had to be dragged off. I was concerned this was setting the precedent for the rest of the evening, but luckily that was the only knock out, and we are pretty sure we saw him walking around again later.
The winner of each match would be lifted up by the referee, and if it was a draw the two fighters took turns lifting each other up. There were often multiple matches occurring at the same time, it was brilliantly chaotic. Sometimes really young kids would fight, some of them looked about 8 years old. Those fights were incredibly brief and would always be declared a draw. In fact all of the fights only lasted for seconds. No women or girls ever took part in the fights.
What I liked was the cheerful live Malagasy music in the background. It was impossible for the boxing to have a menacing atmosphere, because everything about the day was just so cheerful.
Everyone was happy and smiling, the sun was getting lower in the sky and from our vantage point on the slope, we watched the glorious sunset over the hills behind the forest below.
Plot twist: It turns out it wasn’t a hangover making me feel like I wanted to rip out my insides, a load of us had actually caught a really aggressive stomach bug! Which made me feel a lot better about my post-drinking state.
Until next time!