Let me tell you about home

Let me tell you about home.
Antanifotsy is located about 2 ½ hours from the capital and an hour away from the regional capital, Antsirabe in the highlands region of Madagascar. Being in the highlands we have lots of green due to the immense amount of rain in our area. Its cold in the winter and warm and rainy in the summer. The days can be absolutely beautiful with clear or slightly clouded skies and pure sunshine. All of these things add up to our main source of work, agriculture.
We are known for our carrots and potatoes. And where do the scraps from those crops go? To our third most known product, pigs. Yes, we are farmers. As you travel from the capital into the district of Antanifotsy all you see are rice fields, and crops growing from the earth. Long ears of corn reach for the sky, cabbage and different types of greens cover the earth that isn’t flooded for rice production. It is absolutely beautiful. If you ever want to see how many colors of green can exist in one area, travel to my town. Carrots are the size of your forearm in a color orange that Crayola has yet to discover. Our potatoes are large and delicious; purple, yellow, and white. And the pork is steaming fresh at the butchers every morning. Cows add to our scenery in small private groups; maybe two, maybe five. I once commented to a friend that it sometimes seemed the cows were just roaming on their own. I was told that while you may never see them, the herders are always there, finding a moment of relaxation while their bovine investments graze.
Antanifotsy is the center of the district of Antanifotsy. “What is a district?”, you may ask. Well, the closest thing I can compare it to is like Fresno. It is only a city because there are some many random farms and settlements around it that the people needed a place to meet and sell. The city itself is small, maybe 2-3,000 people. But because of its location and status as a district capital we are blessed with a military and police presence, governmental offices, and the occasional presence of NGO’s working with our water and malarial issues. We have two private schools through our catholic and FJKM churches, as well as our public CEG ( my work and the equivalent of an elementary/jr high school) a lycee ( high school) and an EPP ( pre-K and Kindergarten). The educational possibilities here are high and stressed to the local children. Possibly because of the close vicinity to the capital and its universities, the interest in education seems to be pretty high. The motivation of the parents and adults filter down to the children. As an activity in my higher level classes I asked my students what they wanted to do and over half of them responded as doctors or dentists. Another quarter of the students responded towards a military style occupation and others said teachers. So the motivation level is high, although the opportunities maybe less than so. But that’s where I come in. ( Or so I think)
When you walk through my town you have the distinct feeling of being home. Last month I had the unfortunate need to walk the 4k from the main road into town due to a lack of cars that could take me to my actually site. At first I was a little nervous walking home late in the dark but within the first few minutes my fears were gone. I couldn’t go three minutes without people shouting greetings from balconies and doorways as I walked in the dark streets. You are home here within seconds with people yelling “welcome back” and “why are you walking so late?” or just commenting on the darkness.
During the day it is just as friendly and the hustling market place invites you to come visit our fresh produce. The smells of fresh tomatoes, cilantro, onions, carrots, greens, spicy sakay peppers greet your nose as you travel the smooth dirt path between the vendors stalls. Stall are constructed from wood and plastic sheeting set at a height for most Malagasy in the area, which is a foot of disadvantage for me. The first things you meet are the multiple vegetable stalls with their friendly smiling woman sitting behind them. Most vendors sell the same things although some can be counted on for fresh peeled chickpeas, sliced carrots or green beans, cabbages the size of your head, or sweet melons. A chorus of “hello”s and “how are you”’s greet me as I path my way through, weaving through children, carts, and shoppers. After the vegetables come the fruits, an old man with a smile to brighten any day sells small pile of apples and grapes, now that they are in season, and offers samples every day, hoping for a sale to help feed his family. Five families sell bananas of all shapes and sizes year round. Small fat bananas that require two bites per layer, long thin ones that are cheaper but feel almost silly to eat due to their small finger size shapes. Then the butchers in their breezy stalls that never smell too overpowering with the stench of death. Fresh sausages hang on racks, slabs of meat are carved, new layers steaming when you order the delicious meat hidden under fat and ribs. Pork and beef, butchered every morning waits on tile slabs to be carved for your order in six different and yet identical stalls. Dogs and children run around, the dogs grabbing scraps, the children grabbing the dogs. Cats wait on windowsills, geese wander the streets in menacing packs, ducks curl on stairwells waiting for the day to pass as chickens wander the streets with clutches of chicks to tempt my dog. Children cry out “good morning” no matter what time of day it is. Small stalls sell juice, fresh yogurt, and small breads for coffee. In the morning there are women who sell small breads, coffee, and tea for breakfast (my morning routine) and share the gossip of the day, or comment on the weather. The occasional cow cart forces us to the side as they pass and Thursday mornings the cow herds are driven through town, blocking our one road for a good ten minutes.
Life is continuous here and happens right on the street. Lined with houses in all shapes and sizes with families spilling out of them, the streets are our social and economic centers for all happenings. Most houses here are converted into store fronts offering flour, salt, sugar, oil, homemade soaps, and other basic essentials to the locals and travelers passing through. Our two taxi stations serve not only to take us to the capitals and on to the other areas of our great island, but we also serve as transportation to the outlying communities beyond the reach of the paved highways. Its quite the hustle and bustle six days of the week. On Sundays our churches regulate all business. Only a handful of stores and vendors continue their work while the churches offer religious service throughout the day. The children in our local schools often live far from our actual town and may walk 10K to get to school if they cant find a local family or relative to live with. They make their way to our town on Sundays and are often the only feet treading our roads. We have one paved road heading in to town, the same road takes you out. One dirt road travels you out to one church, the other takes you down to the CEG and the buses to take you to the farm fields. We have small hills in the distance littered with houses overlooking the family farms and the town center and when the thunder storms come to town they find themselves trapped in our community. You can feel it in your bones when the storms hit. It thunders, rains, and five minutes later the earth and the people dry under the pure sunlight hitting your face. Everyone is smiling, selling, buying, supplying, traveling and living.
And that is my home.