I've done some nice diving this week, very aware that each dive brings me closer to my last dive here. Went surveying at THB, deep on 007, and led a navigation training dive with the advanced course. I saw a gurnard on the latter dive which is a very very cool fish to see.
Justin and I also had a lovely morning with Italo and Nina on Saturday. We paid to go out diving with them and though the dive was pretty shit - three metres visibility and a strong current meant we aborted after 15 minutes - I still enjoyed being a customer for a change! It was nice to hand over responsibility to someone else and we got to spend a few hours on the boat away from site. So it felt like a break, even if it wasn't the dive that we'd been hoping for.
Also this week was the 'medivac' operation. Becks, the medical students and a few helpful persons acted out some emergencies for us to respond to, in order to see how well we would cope under pressure, stress and if any real emergencies occurred. We did pretty well I think. They made it quite real and it was a good exercise to have done. We probably should do one each expedition.
Justin and I are not the only ones leaving. Tomorrow (Monday 21st July) Becks, our medic, leaves us. Hanta leaves too and will be missed by Lalao, her partner in crime and in seagrass surveying.
The women's association held a party last night and there was dancing and drinking and the usual epi-bar shenanigans. There were lots more drunken nahodas than usual - the togagash was flowing I think - and the old men and teenage boys a little bit more amorous in their dancing than they usually are. Justin and I stayed til about 12, when the five songs on rotation started to get a bit repetitive after the third, fourth or fifth time. We left most of the staff behind and a few of the volunteers, some of whom stayed til sunrise. There was no curfew.
I admire their tolerance - for alcohol, for being able to hear (and dance) to the same songs all night, and for putting up with the amorous men.
We retired with a few of the other volunteers to half moon beach with my ipod and speakers before heading to bed at 2am. Late for us. There's now only three more party nights left til we leave. Three weeks left til the end of the expedition. Then two more days after that. Then we leave. The clock is ticking.
When we arrived, I was hyper aware of everything - trying to take it all in and appreciate each aspect of being here. Somewhere in the middle, it began to be a bit more normal. Less remarkable. My level of awareness dipped. Now, it's back up again. Each time I trudge up the sandy hill to the batcave, I'm aware that there will be a last time for that short walk. I pay attention to the feel of the sand over my feet, to the sound of the sea and to the full moon in the night sky. It's my last full moon in Andavadoaka now.
I'm hyper aware of how the winter and dry season has changed the landscape. Walking across the football pitch on the way to the village this morning I realised that nothing now remains of the grass that grew during the brief rainy season. It's no longer a trodden down field of dusty green grass. It's back to being a very sandy dust bowl. The spiny forest is dry, and the road to the phone point sandy and hard to trudge through again. The kite flies past our hut late morning, regularly mobbed by the pied crows.
It's only been ten months, but somehow it almost feels like a full cycle of the year as things appear very similar to the way they were when we arrived. It's strange to think that the view from my hut that I've seen every day will soon be just a memory.
In ten days, my replacement will arrive and then we'll just be another two staff members from BV who came, stayed for the best part of a year and left again. Vainly, I hope that we'll be remembered positively. But who knows? I'm certain that the memories of Andavadoaka will stay longer with me than the memories of us will remain here. Since we've been here we've seen many staff members go and new ones arrive. The gap that you feel once they've left closes pretty rapidly and the staff turnover means that by this time next year, there may only be one fazahar staff member to remember us by.
Hopefully the Magalasy staff won't forget us too quickly though. I hope that I've made a positive difference overall - to BV, to the village and to the environment.
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
A quiet week
This week is possibly the first time I feel stumped for something interesting to write. It's been a busy week with only a few volunteer mishaps and one telling off, but other than that, it's been probably the most unremarkable week that I can remember.
I've been diving. I've eaten fish and beans. I've seen some lovely sunsets and I've hung out with volunteers. That is more or less it. We did have one volunteer go AWOL for a
couple of days. She'd decided that she wanted to go to a desert island for a couple of days and went with an ex-BV volunteer but did not tell any of us that she was going. She managed to send us a message the following day to say she'd be another day away. Even so, she got a good ticking off when she returned and has been 'punished' with a bunch of 6am boat marshals.
Living without phone coverage really is a bit of a bind at times. Yesterday, for example, Justin and I went to Laguna Blu for lunch. Some volunteers also went and we'd tried to send a message the previous day to let their kitchen know. However, the person didn't manage to take the message over and so we turned up unannounced. Happily, the kitchen was(just about) able to accommodate us.
Laguna Blu is really only a couple of kilometres away. Not far at all. And yet without a phone, it might as well be miles and miles away when there's no wind (or too much wind) or it's dark you want to get a message to them.
So, that's about it for this week. No bok bok making extravaganzas. No major wildlife sightings by myself (though some other volunteers did see a very enormous stingray). In fact, nothing very exciting to report at all. Just lots and lots of hard work (4am until 9.30pm last Thursday on the part of Justin) and mental arithmetic - working out the numbers for the meals with people coming and going. There are over 40 of us at dinner each night, but luckily the kitchen is keeping up, which is kind of a miracle in itself.
Next weekend, we have an STD play competition, a women's association party and Justin and I may go and do a couple of tourist dives with Laguna Blu. So, hopefully I'll have more to report next week.
I've been diving. I've eaten fish and beans. I've seen some lovely sunsets and I've hung out with volunteers. That is more or less it. We did have one volunteer go AWOL for a
couple of days. She'd decided that she wanted to go to a desert island for a couple of days and went with an ex-BV volunteer but did not tell any of us that she was going. She managed to send us a message the following day to say she'd be another day away. Even so, she got a good ticking off when she returned and has been 'punished' with a bunch of 6am boat marshals.
Living without phone coverage really is a bit of a bind at times. Yesterday, for example, Justin and I went to Laguna Blu for lunch. Some volunteers also went and we'd tried to send a message the previous day to let their kitchen know. However, the person didn't manage to take the message over and so we turned up unannounced. Happily, the kitchen was(just about) able to accommodate us.
Laguna Blu is really only a couple of kilometres away. Not far at all. And yet without a phone, it might as well be miles and miles away when there's no wind (or too much wind) or it's dark you want to get a message to them.
So, that's about it for this week. No bok bok making extravaganzas. No major wildlife sightings by myself (though some other volunteers did see a very enormous stingray). In fact, nothing very exciting to report at all. Just lots and lots of hard work (4am until 9.30pm last Thursday on the part of Justin) and mental arithmetic - working out the numbers for the meals with people coming and going. There are over 40 of us at dinner each night, but luckily the kitchen is keeping up, which is kind of a miracle in itself.
Next weekend, we have an STD play competition, a women's association party and Justin and I may go and do a couple of tourist dives with Laguna Blu. So, hopefully I'll have more to report next week.
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
This is the last time I'll......
Expedition 39, our final expedition, is now fully underway. It's the largest ever BV group - 23 volunteers, two researchers and two medical students.
Happily, it's a really lovely group, full of interesting, helpful and amicable people. Consequently, though it's been hectic, busy and a little bit full-on, it's also been great to have some new energy around (the last group were quite lacklustre overall). Unlike the last group, it's also much more diverse in terms of ages, with the youngest volunteer coming just after his A'levels, and the oldest being 64. So, all in all, I'm quite glad that I've got such a good group for my last expedition.
I'm trying to appreciate every minute (when I'm not too busy to appreciate anything). However, I also find that many of those minutes are tinged with sadness as I remember that this is the last time I'll be doing something - such as meeting with the nahodas (a very lively and successful evening) or dancing with the WA, or just doing the site tour with a bunch of new volunteers.
The influx of new volunteers has also brought an influx of new germs and viruses and so first Justin, and then myself were floored for a couple of days with a heavy cold and fever. Having had a holiday recently, I think my immune system is a bit more robust than Justin's who is finding it hard to fully recover.
Today (Monday) is the first of our days off this expedition. Being a list person, I had constructed a list of things I wanted to do before leaving.
I'd already started on a few of the things last expedition (going whale watching, diving on Dos De Baleine) and today I was able to tick another thing off the list as I went into the village for a bok bok making lesson.
You'll hopefully remember that bok bok are the deep fried doughnut doughy balls much loved by Andavadoakans and volunteers alike. I went down to the coffee shop opposite the supermarket and was greeted by a smiling Fastine who welcomed me into the small hut that serves as a coffee shop, and is immediately in front of her living quarters.
I sat down on the bench while she gathered the ingredients together. The children (four of them) gathered round me, a fazahar and therefore and endless source of fascination. Once the ingredients were gathered together, Fastine talked me through the process (in Malagasy).
First of all we sieved the flour into a rattan basket/bowl. Then, in a metal bowl we mixed up the sugar (two of the tomato paste tins worth), yeast, bicarbonate of soda, oil and water. We then added the flour and I got to take over, mixing it all together with a spoon until we had a big mass of dough. We then went out to the back of the hut where Fastine built a small fire and added more oil to a heavy iron pot. Once the oil was hot enough, she showed me how to make the small balls of dough which she dropped into the oil.
She prepared about eight, and then I continued with the rest - letting them fry until they turned from a vanilla colour to a dark crispy caramel. Simple. Fastine tended the small fire - I'm more used to turning knobs on hobs to control the heat - and we sat on a rattan mat on the floor while we cooked. It's a far cry from the sterile steel kitchens you see on tv cooking shows. There are flies galore, the water bottle used as a vessel to contain the oil looked old and never washed and there was a baby chicken hopping about and dodging the children, who themselves looked far from sterile.
While we were cooking, a kid goat wandered through, passed me and the fire and meandered out to the back, baaing as he went.
Gordon Ramsey would have had a field day. Still, I'm sure deep frying would have killed any possible germs and I brought twenty still-warm bok bok back for some hungover and very grateful volunteers. As Lalao said, anytime that I get homesick for Andavadoaka I can now make myself some bok bok and imagine myself back here.
Happily, it's a really lovely group, full of interesting, helpful and amicable people. Consequently, though it's been hectic, busy and a little bit full-on, it's also been great to have some new energy around (the last group were quite lacklustre overall). Unlike the last group, it's also much more diverse in terms of ages, with the youngest volunteer coming just after his A'levels, and the oldest being 64. So, all in all, I'm quite glad that I've got such a good group for my last expedition.
I'm trying to appreciate every minute (when I'm not too busy to appreciate anything). However, I also find that many of those minutes are tinged with sadness as I remember that this is the last time I'll be doing something - such as meeting with the nahodas (a very lively and successful evening) or dancing with the WA, or just doing the site tour with a bunch of new volunteers.
The influx of new volunteers has also brought an influx of new germs and viruses and so first Justin, and then myself were floored for a couple of days with a heavy cold and fever. Having had a holiday recently, I think my immune system is a bit more robust than Justin's who is finding it hard to fully recover.
Today (Monday) is the first of our days off this expedition. Being a list person, I had constructed a list of things I wanted to do before leaving.
I'd already started on a few of the things last expedition (going whale watching, diving on Dos De Baleine) and today I was able to tick another thing off the list as I went into the village for a bok bok making lesson.
You'll hopefully remember that bok bok are the deep fried doughnut doughy balls much loved by Andavadoakans and volunteers alike. I went down to the coffee shop opposite the supermarket and was greeted by a smiling Fastine who welcomed me into the small hut that serves as a coffee shop, and is immediately in front of her living quarters.
I sat down on the bench while she gathered the ingredients together. The children (four of them) gathered round me, a fazahar and therefore and endless source of fascination. Once the ingredients were gathered together, Fastine talked me through the process (in Malagasy).
First of all we sieved the flour into a rattan basket/bowl. Then, in a metal bowl we mixed up the sugar (two of the tomato paste tins worth), yeast, bicarbonate of soda, oil and water. We then added the flour and I got to take over, mixing it all together with a spoon until we had a big mass of dough. We then went out to the back of the hut where Fastine built a small fire and added more oil to a heavy iron pot. Once the oil was hot enough, she showed me how to make the small balls of dough which she dropped into the oil.
She prepared about eight, and then I continued with the rest - letting them fry until they turned from a vanilla colour to a dark crispy caramel. Simple. Fastine tended the small fire - I'm more used to turning knobs on hobs to control the heat - and we sat on a rattan mat on the floor while we cooked. It's a far cry from the sterile steel kitchens you see on tv cooking shows. There are flies galore, the water bottle used as a vessel to contain the oil looked old and never washed and there was a baby chicken hopping about and dodging the children, who themselves looked far from sterile.
While we were cooking, a kid goat wandered through, passed me and the fire and meandered out to the back, baaing as he went.
Gordon Ramsey would have had a field day. Still, I'm sure deep frying would have killed any possible germs and I brought twenty still-warm bok bok back for some hungover and very grateful volunteers. As Lalao said, anytime that I get homesick for Andavadoaka I can now make myself some bok bok and imagine myself back here.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Declining fish catches
It's been another eventful week here in Andavadoaka. I interviewed two more women from the village on Monday. Celestine, who was around 50 years old had 12 children and 23 grandchildren. Though she wasn't quite sure. Susanne, the 70 year old woman, had 11 children but she wasn't sure at all how many grandchidren or great grandchildren she had. One of her grandchildren was sat next to her on the sand as I interviewed Susanne. She looked like a teenager and was breastfeeding her baby.
The name of the women's association in Andavadoaka is "women for development" and in all the interviews, the women talk of 'developing' women or the village being more 'developed' than 'before'. But when you ask them to describe what they mean by developed and developing, they cannot elaborate. It's as if they know it's a positive concept, but they cannot actually break it down and say what it means for them.
So far, it seems that the women have more 'festivities' now, can wear trousers and clothes (compared to when Susanne was a child when they had no proper clothes at all) and are more organised with doing things. Though she claimed that life was easier for women now, this seemed to be tied in to the fact that they have more material goods now than they did before. Fish and octopus catches have declined drastically. Both women described how daily catches used to reach 20 - up to 40, but now they are averaging about 4 or 5 octopus, maybe as few as 2.
Fish catches have declined similarly and pirogues have to go further and further out, and are catching fewer and smaller fish than they used to find just in front of the village. Last week I talked about how important the WA was for providing the women with financial alternatives. Celestine and Susanne highlighted the importance of the WA for a social support and network. All the women I spoke to talked about how great it was that the WA got together and sang and danced and hosted parties.
For Celestine, the festivities were her main reason for belonging to the WA and Susanne described how a WA in another village paid for her to return here to Andavadoaka when her husband died. Celestine wished for a road to be built to Andavadoaka as it would make it easier for the women to send their products out of the village and to sell them further
afield.
Susanne meanwhile hoped for a mobile phone to communicate with her family elsewhere in Madagascar and for a TV. The most rewarding aspect of the interviews was taking the women's photos afterwards and being able to show them the photo on the back of the camera. Their hysterical laughter and pleasure at seeing themselves on screen is quite a contrast to the way most of us western women react when we see our photos.
Independence day
The day the volunteers left Andavadoaka, the rest of the BV staff hopped onto the back of a 4x4 and went inland to the village of Befandefa for the independence day celebrations. Befandefa is a village inland from Andavadoaka and the administrative capital of this small region.
The 25th was the mayor's inauguration and we got there just in time to see the inauguration ceremony. This culminated in presentations and dances from different villages in the region. Morombe donated a zebu (which was slaughtered shortly afterwards) but other gifts were somewhat less extravagent and included some flowers and from us, some cash. Charlie danced with the family of Thomas - our boat driver and her boyfriend - while Becks and I were roped into dancing and singing with the women's association of Andavadoaka. All of this took place in the dusty large square of the village. The square was lined with lots of stalls selling food (bok bok, fudge, peanut brittle) drink (beer, rum, togagasy), had a flagpole in the centre, and at the east side an awning under which all the important people (including the mayor himself) were sat on chairs, watching the entertainment. The awning was flanked by two enormous speakers out of which was pumped very loud epi-bar music throughout the morning, afternoon and night.
It was interesting to see everyone in their finest clothes and there were some very impressive suits and dresses. The entertainment was followed by 'cocktails', toasts and lunch. We all got suitably tipsy on rum or whisky and spent the afternoon hanging out in the sun and entertaining all the children (and some of the adults too) by... Well, just by existing really.
Underneath the biggest (only?) tree of the square, a man spent much of the afternoon hacking the zebu to bits with an axe watched on by the hungry eyes of dogs and goats. Angelo bought a segment which was cooked up later by his wife. It wasn't much of a holiday for her as she not only cooked for her own extended family, but all of the BV staff as well (and kindly did an omelette for us non-meat eaters). We ate in the mayor's office and hten we headed back 'out' to the bar.
It was like a proper festival, except that instead of queuing for the toilet, you to head out into the spiny forest and try and find a cactus or spiny tree to give you enough cover. Sometimes I had to walk for quite a while before stopped feeling conspicuous. The most popular drink on offer was the togagasy - cheap, cheerful and very very strong. I did not partake. There were fireworks at 8 which sent many of the crowd running away in terror (they had probably never seen them before) and then more music and dancing.
Our crowd (BV staff, both international and Malagasy) went to sleep in the mayor's office on the floor at a very lightweight time of 11pm. However, the main party didn't kick off until midnight and continued right up until about 6am! One of the first things I saw that morning was an old man (maybe in his 50s) dancing on his own to the still-playing epi-bar music. It was a sight that would not have looked totally out of place at a British festival.
I enjoyed breakfast in the sun - coffee and bok bok, and avoided the eyes of the men who were still drunk from the night before.
Independence day itself followed a similar format to the day before, except that this time, all the villages joined a parade, and marched through the village singing. The women's associations from many villages had uniforms - and the Andavadoakan women managed to find two of their (new) uniforms for Becks and I to wear. We marched through the village singing, ending up back in the square for the raising of the flag again. Then followed four hours of 'play', as Gildas put it - as each group sang or danced or both to two songs. Sadly, the programme ran too far behind for the women's association of Andava to get their turn. I was most disappointed by this, especially as many groups were not really singing, just dancing to epi-bar tunes. However, there were a few groups who were very tuneful and fun to watch, so we were entertained for much of the time.
After a late lunch, the final of the football tournament took place on a massive football pitch. Andavadoaka played Lamboara. It was quite a lacklustre game really - possibly as a
result of the party the night before - and unfortunately, we lost on penalties. Gildas missed one, which was quite upsetting to watch. Being English, I'm not unfamiliar to losing a football game on penalties, but even so, it was quite hard to watch the jubilant Lamboaran sing and dance around after their final goal.
We got a lift back to Andavadoaka on a loaded 4x4 and were back in time for dinner. Much of Andavadoaka was partying again that night in the village (those that managed to get back from Befandefa), but we just could not take the pace and had an early night! I thoroughly enjoyed my first independence day in Madagascar, all the more so for being able to share it with my Malagasy colleagues. It was also particularly flattering to have been asked to participate in both of the days' events rather than just experiencing it as a spectator.
Wildlife update:
There is still plenty more positive news to counter the dead sharks and cats of recent weeks. As well as a few more whale sightings, we were extremely excited to get news from the guardian in Lamboara that the turtles that he had been guarding had hatched. Charlie zipped down there the following day and managed to get some film footage and photos of about 72 baby turtles scrambling out of the nest and into the sea.
Some of our volunteers had clubbed together to help pay for the guardian to guard the nest and so all our efforts have paid off. Sadly, only something like 1 in 10,000 turtles makes it from egg to an adult. Still, at least we've done our bit and stopped the nest from being excavated and the eggs from being eaten. Now, it's up to the turtles.
I'm also very excited to report my first ever sighting of a yellow-spotted scorpion fish, nestling in amongst some pocillopora coral. I don't know how rare it is, but I've never seen one before and it looked very cool - like a cartoon fish, red with yellow spots and big bulbous eyes. It was only about 2 or so inches long and well camouflaged.
I finally got to dive one of the deep dive sites to the south of Andavadoaka and enjoyed seeing one of the biggest groupers I've ever seen. It was probably as large as me, except with scarier looking teeth. It was hanging out with lots of other fish, who were most likely using it as protection against the school of gold spotted sweetlips that were swimming through.
The name of the women's association in Andavadoaka is "women for development" and in all the interviews, the women talk of 'developing' women or the village being more 'developed' than 'before'. But when you ask them to describe what they mean by developed and developing, they cannot elaborate. It's as if they know it's a positive concept, but they cannot actually break it down and say what it means for them.
So far, it seems that the women have more 'festivities' now, can wear trousers and clothes (compared to when Susanne was a child when they had no proper clothes at all) and are more organised with doing things. Though she claimed that life was easier for women now, this seemed to be tied in to the fact that they have more material goods now than they did before. Fish and octopus catches have declined drastically. Both women described how daily catches used to reach 20 - up to 40, but now they are averaging about 4 or 5 octopus, maybe as few as 2.
Fish catches have declined similarly and pirogues have to go further and further out, and are catching fewer and smaller fish than they used to find just in front of the village. Last week I talked about how important the WA was for providing the women with financial alternatives. Celestine and Susanne highlighted the importance of the WA for a social support and network. All the women I spoke to talked about how great it was that the WA got together and sang and danced and hosted parties.
For Celestine, the festivities were her main reason for belonging to the WA and Susanne described how a WA in another village paid for her to return here to Andavadoaka when her husband died. Celestine wished for a road to be built to Andavadoaka as it would make it easier for the women to send their products out of the village and to sell them further
afield.
Susanne meanwhile hoped for a mobile phone to communicate with her family elsewhere in Madagascar and for a TV. The most rewarding aspect of the interviews was taking the women's photos afterwards and being able to show them the photo on the back of the camera. Their hysterical laughter and pleasure at seeing themselves on screen is quite a contrast to the way most of us western women react when we see our photos.
Independence day
The day the volunteers left Andavadoaka, the rest of the BV staff hopped onto the back of a 4x4 and went inland to the village of Befandefa for the independence day celebrations. Befandefa is a village inland from Andavadoaka and the administrative capital of this small region.
The 25th was the mayor's inauguration and we got there just in time to see the inauguration ceremony. This culminated in presentations and dances from different villages in the region. Morombe donated a zebu (which was slaughtered shortly afterwards) but other gifts were somewhat less extravagent and included some flowers and from us, some cash. Charlie danced with the family of Thomas - our boat driver and her boyfriend - while Becks and I were roped into dancing and singing with the women's association of Andavadoaka. All of this took place in the dusty large square of the village. The square was lined with lots of stalls selling food (bok bok, fudge, peanut brittle) drink (beer, rum, togagasy), had a flagpole in the centre, and at the east side an awning under which all the important people (including the mayor himself) were sat on chairs, watching the entertainment. The awning was flanked by two enormous speakers out of which was pumped very loud epi-bar music throughout the morning, afternoon and night.
It was interesting to see everyone in their finest clothes and there were some very impressive suits and dresses. The entertainment was followed by 'cocktails', toasts and lunch. We all got suitably tipsy on rum or whisky and spent the afternoon hanging out in the sun and entertaining all the children (and some of the adults too) by... Well, just by existing really.
Underneath the biggest (only?) tree of the square, a man spent much of the afternoon hacking the zebu to bits with an axe watched on by the hungry eyes of dogs and goats. Angelo bought a segment which was cooked up later by his wife. It wasn't much of a holiday for her as she not only cooked for her own extended family, but all of the BV staff as well (and kindly did an omelette for us non-meat eaters). We ate in the mayor's office and hten we headed back 'out' to the bar.
It was like a proper festival, except that instead of queuing for the toilet, you to head out into the spiny forest and try and find a cactus or spiny tree to give you enough cover. Sometimes I had to walk for quite a while before stopped feeling conspicuous. The most popular drink on offer was the togagasy - cheap, cheerful and very very strong. I did not partake. There were fireworks at 8 which sent many of the crowd running away in terror (they had probably never seen them before) and then more music and dancing.
Our crowd (BV staff, both international and Malagasy) went to sleep in the mayor's office on the floor at a very lightweight time of 11pm. However, the main party didn't kick off until midnight and continued right up until about 6am! One of the first things I saw that morning was an old man (maybe in his 50s) dancing on his own to the still-playing epi-bar music. It was a sight that would not have looked totally out of place at a British festival.
I enjoyed breakfast in the sun - coffee and bok bok, and avoided the eyes of the men who were still drunk from the night before.
Independence day itself followed a similar format to the day before, except that this time, all the villages joined a parade, and marched through the village singing. The women's associations from many villages had uniforms - and the Andavadoakan women managed to find two of their (new) uniforms for Becks and I to wear. We marched through the village singing, ending up back in the square for the raising of the flag again. Then followed four hours of 'play', as Gildas put it - as each group sang or danced or both to two songs. Sadly, the programme ran too far behind for the women's association of Andava to get their turn. I was most disappointed by this, especially as many groups were not really singing, just dancing to epi-bar tunes. However, there were a few groups who were very tuneful and fun to watch, so we were entertained for much of the time.
After a late lunch, the final of the football tournament took place on a massive football pitch. Andavadoaka played Lamboara. It was quite a lacklustre game really - possibly as a
result of the party the night before - and unfortunately, we lost on penalties. Gildas missed one, which was quite upsetting to watch. Being English, I'm not unfamiliar to losing a football game on penalties, but even so, it was quite hard to watch the jubilant Lamboaran sing and dance around after their final goal.
We got a lift back to Andavadoaka on a loaded 4x4 and were back in time for dinner. Much of Andavadoaka was partying again that night in the village (those that managed to get back from Befandefa), but we just could not take the pace and had an early night! I thoroughly enjoyed my first independence day in Madagascar, all the more so for being able to share it with my Malagasy colleagues. It was also particularly flattering to have been asked to participate in both of the days' events rather than just experiencing it as a spectator.
Wildlife update:
There is still plenty more positive news to counter the dead sharks and cats of recent weeks. As well as a few more whale sightings, we were extremely excited to get news from the guardian in Lamboara that the turtles that he had been guarding had hatched. Charlie zipped down there the following day and managed to get some film footage and photos of about 72 baby turtles scrambling out of the nest and into the sea.
Some of our volunteers had clubbed together to help pay for the guardian to guard the nest and so all our efforts have paid off. Sadly, only something like 1 in 10,000 turtles makes it from egg to an adult. Still, at least we've done our bit and stopped the nest from being excavated and the eggs from being eaten. Now, it's up to the turtles.
I'm also very excited to report my first ever sighting of a yellow-spotted scorpion fish, nestling in amongst some pocillopora coral. I don't know how rare it is, but I've never seen one before and it looked very cool - like a cartoon fish, red with yellow spots and big bulbous eyes. It was only about 2 or so inches long and well camouflaged.
I finally got to dive one of the deep dive sites to the south of Andavadoaka and enjoyed seeing one of the biggest groupers I've ever seen. It was probably as large as me, except with scarier looking teeth. It was hanging out with lots of other fish, who were most likely using it as protection against the school of gold spotted sweetlips that were swimming through.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Second blog this week
Some animals are actually alive!!!
It's been such an eventful week that this week seems to warrant two blogs.
Yesterday was the winter solstice here - the longest night - and also the two year anniversary of my first date with Justin. We celebrated by going whale watching, and actually seeing a whale!
We took a pirogue over to Nosy Hau (the island just west of Andavadoaka) and sat on the purpose-built whale watching platform looking out to sea. The platform is about eight metres high and is on the south west of the island. Behind it, there are great views of the whole of the island - and beyond to Andavadoaka. In front, there is the reef flat, and beyond that the deep channel.
We scoured the horizon for a good 90 minutes. Every time I saw a pirogue or a white-cap, I
looked closer to make sure that was what it was. Then, I saw something unusual - a spout!!!! I asked Justin for confirmation, and yes, he confirmed that it was indeed a spout. Shortly after that we both saw the iconic sight of the whale's tail. After a few sightings of this, that was it. The whale had dived back under and we did not see it again. It might have been far off. It might have been tiny in comparison to the large sea in front of us but it was most definitely a whale - probably a humpback - and absolutely
definitely alive. Hoorah!
In the afternoon, the village took part in a 'theatre competition' initiated by Becks, our medic. The idea was to get a number of different groups to write and perform a play about STDs and using condoms and was inspired by the success of the play that BV has now put on twice.
Becks was terribly worried as there didn't seem to be many entrants. In fact there were only two. However, there was a good audience turnout - mostly of children it has to be said. I think there must have been about 100 of them - maybe more - and about 50 adults. The first play was almost identical to the BV "Captain Kapote" play - even down to the cross dressing theme with girls playing male characters and boys playing girls. When the young female character came out from behind Club Alo Alo the audience laughed for a good five minutes without stopping. With very tight jeans (complete with thong showing over the top of them) over his slim legs, a tight t-shirt with fake breasts underneath and pigtails, the vezu man made a very good woman. The audience thought it was hysterical and he really played up to the crowd. The crowd also loved the characters of the two drunk nahodas as well and the play finished with a song.
The second play was less obviously comical though the characters were all familiar as they were all supposed to be well-known members of the community and BV including Bic, Georgi, Farah (from Coco Beach) and Becks our doctor. This story was a bit more realistic and
involved the director of a big fish company sleeping with all the women in the village (including Georgi and Farah) but not using condoms, so that they all got sick.
Unfortunately, the audience got extremely distracted about three quarters of the way through, and in fact, more than half the children ran off into the village when the street lamps turned themselves on for the first time.
Yes, Andavadoaka - not on the national grid (or any grid at all) - now has its own street lights. Five of them to be precise. Powered by solar panels, they were erected over the last two days and funded by the money that the village received from the Equator Prize which they were awarded last year. Eventually, many families in the village would own their own battery which would then get charged up by the solar street lamps. So, as you can imagine, there was much excitement when they were turned on.
Back at Club Alo Alo, the second play finished and the judging began. The judges - Gildas, Becks, Garth and Mr Roger decided that though the second play was the more original, the first ended on a song and had more inventive costumes and so was awarded the first prize.
The shortest day was topped off by a sur boom (organised party) in the village organised by the women's association. BV staff and volunteers all went down to Chez Leon's - the epi-bar on the main street - and joined many women from the association, a few of the village nahodas and various other community members in the epi-bar. As we were there by official invitation, the curfew was lifted which made the evening much more relaxing for me as it meant that I didn't have to keep clock-watching to make sure that everyone left by 12. I managed to keep going until nearly 1. I think the last volunteer left by about 3.30 but I suspected that some of the village were still dancing past that.
Most volunteers really love the epi-bar nights. I much prefer organised events like this one when fahazar (tourists) are in the minority and where the attendees are from the whole community rather than just being teenage boys, very drunk fishermen and Floretta.
Unusually, Floretta wasn't actually there last night, and her shakey arse was definitely missed. I danced to more than a few tunes and it was really great to see a range of women from the village out dancing and having fun. I left just before 1 and walked back along the main street lit by solar street lamps and then back through poo beach, lit just by the almost full moon.
Though it was the 'shortest day' I think it has been one of the most eventful and is one of those days where I feel extremely happy to be here and to have had this experience.
Wildlife update: This morning, the group of volunteers plus staff members Louis, Justin and Al went out on a night dive. I had volunteered to shore marshal so woke up with Justin at 4am. They were held up for one reason or another and did not get out to the dive site until about 5.30ish. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they all had an amazing dive and got out to see about 12 whales not far from the boat - playing, jumping, breaching and
whatever else whales do. They got about 50 metres away from them and all came back glowing, saying it was the best morning of their lives. I am only a little sore that I woke up at 4am to NOT see any whales close up, but glad at least of my superdooper binoculars as when I was looking out for the boats - literally on the horizon, I actually spotted a whale breach and create an almighty splash on its way down. A small compensation for not being as close to them as the divers. But a compensation none the less.
It's been such an eventful week that this week seems to warrant two blogs.
Yesterday was the winter solstice here - the longest night - and also the two year anniversary of my first date with Justin. We celebrated by going whale watching, and actually seeing a whale!
We took a pirogue over to Nosy Hau (the island just west of Andavadoaka) and sat on the purpose-built whale watching platform looking out to sea. The platform is about eight metres high and is on the south west of the island. Behind it, there are great views of the whole of the island - and beyond to Andavadoaka. In front, there is the reef flat, and beyond that the deep channel.
We scoured the horizon for a good 90 minutes. Every time I saw a pirogue or a white-cap, I
looked closer to make sure that was what it was. Then, I saw something unusual - a spout!!!! I asked Justin for confirmation, and yes, he confirmed that it was indeed a spout. Shortly after that we both saw the iconic sight of the whale's tail. After a few sightings of this, that was it. The whale had dived back under and we did not see it again. It might have been far off. It might have been tiny in comparison to the large sea in front of us but it was most definitely a whale - probably a humpback - and absolutely
definitely alive. Hoorah!
In the afternoon, the village took part in a 'theatre competition' initiated by Becks, our medic. The idea was to get a number of different groups to write and perform a play about STDs and using condoms and was inspired by the success of the play that BV has now put on twice.
Becks was terribly worried as there didn't seem to be many entrants. In fact there were only two. However, there was a good audience turnout - mostly of children it has to be said. I think there must have been about 100 of them - maybe more - and about 50 adults. The first play was almost identical to the BV "Captain Kapote" play - even down to the cross dressing theme with girls playing male characters and boys playing girls. When the young female character came out from behind Club Alo Alo the audience laughed for a good five minutes without stopping. With very tight jeans (complete with thong showing over the top of them) over his slim legs, a tight t-shirt with fake breasts underneath and pigtails, the vezu man made a very good woman. The audience thought it was hysterical and he really played up to the crowd. The crowd also loved the characters of the two drunk nahodas as well and the play finished with a song.
The second play was less obviously comical though the characters were all familiar as they were all supposed to be well-known members of the community and BV including Bic, Georgi, Farah (from Coco Beach) and Becks our doctor. This story was a bit more realistic and
involved the director of a big fish company sleeping with all the women in the village (including Georgi and Farah) but not using condoms, so that they all got sick.
Unfortunately, the audience got extremely distracted about three quarters of the way through, and in fact, more than half the children ran off into the village when the street lamps turned themselves on for the first time.
Yes, Andavadoaka - not on the national grid (or any grid at all) - now has its own street lights. Five of them to be precise. Powered by solar panels, they were erected over the last two days and funded by the money that the village received from the Equator Prize which they were awarded last year. Eventually, many families in the village would own their own battery which would then get charged up by the solar street lamps. So, as you can imagine, there was much excitement when they were turned on.
Back at Club Alo Alo, the second play finished and the judging began. The judges - Gildas, Becks, Garth and Mr Roger decided that though the second play was the more original, the first ended on a song and had more inventive costumes and so was awarded the first prize.
The shortest day was topped off by a sur boom (organised party) in the village organised by the women's association. BV staff and volunteers all went down to Chez Leon's - the epi-bar on the main street - and joined many women from the association, a few of the village nahodas and various other community members in the epi-bar. As we were there by official invitation, the curfew was lifted which made the evening much more relaxing for me as it meant that I didn't have to keep clock-watching to make sure that everyone left by 12. I managed to keep going until nearly 1. I think the last volunteer left by about 3.30 but I suspected that some of the village were still dancing past that.
Most volunteers really love the epi-bar nights. I much prefer organised events like this one when fahazar (tourists) are in the minority and where the attendees are from the whole community rather than just being teenage boys, very drunk fishermen and Floretta.
Unusually, Floretta wasn't actually there last night, and her shakey arse was definitely missed. I danced to more than a few tunes and it was really great to see a range of women from the village out dancing and having fun. I left just before 1 and walked back along the main street lit by solar street lamps and then back through poo beach, lit just by the almost full moon.
Though it was the 'shortest day' I think it has been one of the most eventful and is one of those days where I feel extremely happy to be here and to have had this experience.
Wildlife update: This morning, the group of volunteers plus staff members Louis, Justin and Al went out on a night dive. I had volunteered to shore marshal so woke up with Justin at 4am. They were held up for one reason or another and did not get out to the dive site until about 5.30ish. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they all had an amazing dive and got out to see about 12 whales not far from the boat - playing, jumping, breaching and
whatever else whales do. They got about 50 metres away from them and all came back glowing, saying it was the best morning of their lives. I am only a little sore that I woke up at 4am to NOT see any whales close up, but glad at least of my superdooper binoculars as when I was looking out for the boats - literally on the horizon, I actually spotted a whale breach and create an almighty splash on its way down. A small compensation for not being as close to them as the divers. But a compensation none the less.
Conflicts and contradictions
I seem to be full of contradictions. We are nearing the end of expedition 38 and also therefore, the end of our 10 month contract, as the next expedition will be our last. On the one hand, I can't wait for it to be over. I'm excited about travelling around Madagascar, and about seeing what happens to my life once I get back.
On the other hand, I'll be very sad to leave here, sad to say goodbye and it will be strange not to be living in a one-room hut by the sea any more. Generally, though, the positive emotion about being near the end is stronger than the negative emotions about leaving it behind.
I've also been wanting to avoid scuba diving as much as possible as the water is now 22 degrees centigrade, which is cold for tropical diving. At the same time, I'm also feeling that I want to log as many dives as possible while it is so easily accessible and part of my job. While I want to make the most of being in a marine environment on the one hand, I keep putting it off because it's too cold for morning swims.
This group has been quite young and on the whole, quite, dare I say it, bland. Yet, they've been pleasant to be around and easy to manage. So, on the one hand, I'm looking forward to a new group with older volunteers and a mix of nationalities. Yet the next group has 27 volunteers and researchers, which is so large, I'm also not looking forward to managing it. I'm getting used to the fact that it's possible to want two completely different things at the same time. At least this way, I'll be happy whatever happens. Or I could be unhappy whatever happens I suppose, I guess it depends on whether I'm in a glass is half full mood or a half empty one.
As well as being full of conflicts and contradictions - which isn't really that much different to usual - I've been interviewing some women from the village women's association. Mainly, it's to get some background about the WA but it's also with a view of maybe writing an article at some point about them.
I found it quite a frustrating experience - Lalao's English doesn't really capture the subtelties or complexities as well as I would have liked. It is her third language after all. Sometimes, I'd ask a question which she'd translate into Malagasy. The two women would talk, laugh with each other and be animated in Malagasy, and then Lalao would turn back to me and either say something like "yes" or maybe "no" or ask me to repeat the question! It's not the first time I wished that I'd been able to learn the language. However, I did in the end manage to interview three women (and will be interviewing three more).
I think I really really appreciated for the first time just how important the volunteer revenue is to the women here. The village largely depends on the sea for its income and, indeed, its sustenance. But the marine resources are depleting rapidly and the fishermen have to go out fishing for longer and need to go further away. For many women, the situation is even bleaker. With fewer octopus around for them to glean, their options for earning money are pretty reduced. For many women - especially those with children, and no husband - the money they earn from selling souveniers to BV tourists is therefore vital for their survival as it gives them ready cash which they can use to buy essentials.
The WA president is a wealthy woman in comparison to many in the village - she has her own business (collecting salt) and her husband is also an owner of one of the village epi-bars. She told me that women using men for money (effectively, prostitution) was one of their only options and that she wanted the WA to be able to offer them an alternative to this. I wanted to find out how many women in the village had children but no husband and were in this situation but unfortunately, no one is able to tell me.
Clarice, one of the women I spoke to, lives in a one-room rattan hut on the beach with her three children (and no husband). She is 33. The room is just large enough for her bed (in which they all must sleep), a tiny table and a couple of chairs. The holes in the rattan walls have been repaired by cardboard and there are holes in the roof. She is unable to embroider at night because the wind blows out her gas lamp. It's no wonder then that the women's main goal with the association funds is to build themselves a concrete building to work and meet in.
With only one expedition left, it's unlikely that I'll get to see them earn enough profits for their dream building. However, I hope to continue somehow with my involvement with the WA even after I return home. Even if I don't manage to accomplish much from the UK I do think that I'll leave here knowing that the work I've done so far with them has been positive and made a real difference to their lives.
Following on from last week's slightly morbid theme of dead animals I am sad to report that Coco Beach has three fewer cats than it had before. Al (one of the big cheeses from the UK office) is here for his PhD research and apparently had a word with the Coco Beach staff about the cats begging at mealtimes. The next day, three of the cats mysteriously disappeared, last seen being put into a bag. Past volunteers reading this might want to look away NOW if they don't want to know that Gummy and Levi, two of the friendliest and most domestic of the cats, are no more. Let's hope that next week's blog ends on a happier note.
On the other hand, I'll be very sad to leave here, sad to say goodbye and it will be strange not to be living in a one-room hut by the sea any more. Generally, though, the positive emotion about being near the end is stronger than the negative emotions about leaving it behind.
I've also been wanting to avoid scuba diving as much as possible as the water is now 22 degrees centigrade, which is cold for tropical diving. At the same time, I'm also feeling that I want to log as many dives as possible while it is so easily accessible and part of my job. While I want to make the most of being in a marine environment on the one hand, I keep putting it off because it's too cold for morning swims.
This group has been quite young and on the whole, quite, dare I say it, bland. Yet, they've been pleasant to be around and easy to manage. So, on the one hand, I'm looking forward to a new group with older volunteers and a mix of nationalities. Yet the next group has 27 volunteers and researchers, which is so large, I'm also not looking forward to managing it. I'm getting used to the fact that it's possible to want two completely different things at the same time. At least this way, I'll be happy whatever happens. Or I could be unhappy whatever happens I suppose, I guess it depends on whether I'm in a glass is half full mood or a half empty one.
As well as being full of conflicts and contradictions - which isn't really that much different to usual - I've been interviewing some women from the village women's association. Mainly, it's to get some background about the WA but it's also with a view of maybe writing an article at some point about them.
I found it quite a frustrating experience - Lalao's English doesn't really capture the subtelties or complexities as well as I would have liked. It is her third language after all. Sometimes, I'd ask a question which she'd translate into Malagasy. The two women would talk, laugh with each other and be animated in Malagasy, and then Lalao would turn back to me and either say something like "yes" or maybe "no" or ask me to repeat the question! It's not the first time I wished that I'd been able to learn the language. However, I did in the end manage to interview three women (and will be interviewing three more).
I think I really really appreciated for the first time just how important the volunteer revenue is to the women here. The village largely depends on the sea for its income and, indeed, its sustenance. But the marine resources are depleting rapidly and the fishermen have to go out fishing for longer and need to go further away. For many women, the situation is even bleaker. With fewer octopus around for them to glean, their options for earning money are pretty reduced. For many women - especially those with children, and no husband - the money they earn from selling souveniers to BV tourists is therefore vital for their survival as it gives them ready cash which they can use to buy essentials.
The WA president is a wealthy woman in comparison to many in the village - she has her own business (collecting salt) and her husband is also an owner of one of the village epi-bars. She told me that women using men for money (effectively, prostitution) was one of their only options and that she wanted the WA to be able to offer them an alternative to this. I wanted to find out how many women in the village had children but no husband and were in this situation but unfortunately, no one is able to tell me.
Clarice, one of the women I spoke to, lives in a one-room rattan hut on the beach with her three children (and no husband). She is 33. The room is just large enough for her bed (in which they all must sleep), a tiny table and a couple of chairs. The holes in the rattan walls have been repaired by cardboard and there are holes in the roof. She is unable to embroider at night because the wind blows out her gas lamp. It's no wonder then that the women's main goal with the association funds is to build themselves a concrete building to work and meet in.
With only one expedition left, it's unlikely that I'll get to see them earn enough profits for their dream building. However, I hope to continue somehow with my involvement with the WA even after I return home. Even if I don't manage to accomplish much from the UK I do think that I'll leave here knowing that the work I've done so far with them has been positive and made a real difference to their lives.
Following on from last week's slightly morbid theme of dead animals I am sad to report that Coco Beach has three fewer cats than it had before. Al (one of the big cheeses from the UK office) is here for his PhD research and apparently had a word with the Coco Beach staff about the cats begging at mealtimes. The next day, three of the cats mysteriously disappeared, last seen being put into a bag. Past volunteers reading this might want to look away NOW if they don't want to know that Gummy and Levi, two of the friendliest and most domestic of the cats, are no more. Let's hope that next week's blog ends on a happier note.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
Island life and Rats!
Been quite an eventful week this week. Justin and I took a little trip away to a small island 8km north west of here called Andramambala. This small, very sandy island is home to two tiny settlements of about 5 houses each and a few families live in each settlement. We took a pirogue there and back, and yet again were reminded about the importance of wind direction when it comes to travelling (oh, wouldn't Virgin Trains love that as an excuse).
It took us just over an hour to get there on Friday with a favourable southerly, and nearly three hours to get back, with barely a breeze at all.
It was a great visit. We were walked around the island when we arrived - just as the sun was setting. We were with two volunteers and we slept out on one of the dunes close to a fire which one of the villagers had constructed for us. We ate rice and fish along with some of the villagers, and about three of the young men came to our fire and played the guitar for us. I say guitar. It was actually a three stringed, home-made instrument - constructed from wood, drawing pins (instead of frets), nylon fishing wire for strings, and staples holding the wood together. Quite ingenious, and surprisingly effective.
We slept well considering the chilly winter air, and I opened my eyes on Saturday morning, looked out to the sea and saw the sun coming up over the horizon. We had some fresh bok bok for breakfast, along with the weirdest tasting coffee ever. There is no fresh water on the island - they have to import it - and the water they cook with is quite salty. They disguise this fact with the coffee by adding copious amounts of sugar. As you can imagine, it wasn't particularly palatable. I drank half a cup to be polite.
After this, we walked around looking at the fresh fish that had been caught that morning - and sharks too. Two tiny hammerhead sharks by one family, and a slightly larger shark, by another. Sadly these are the only sharks I have seen in nine months.
The routine appears to be that the men (and some women too) go out early in their pirogues, catch fish, and then collectively, they spend the day gutting, splitting, salting and drying them. They are no longer just subsistence fishing, and sell the dried fish to one of the fish companies which sells them on in Tulear.
It was fascinating watching the process. The troughs to dry the fish out in are just hollowed out wooden tree trunks - much like their pirogues in fact - and large turtle shells are where the fish have salt rubbed into them, before being placed into the troughs. After a night or so in the troughs, they are put out onto the hut roof to dry.
The island was also for me, a reminder of how prosperous Andavadoaka is in comparison to many of the fishing communities along the coast and on the islands. There is no well, no shop, no school and no epi-bar. Nothing, in fact, apart from the tiny huts - some not more than 5 foot high - a number of pirogues and a few home-made guitars to while away the spare time. Of which, there must be quite a bit really.
I tried for a while to imagine what my life would be like if I lived in a community as tiny as this, on an island so remote and so small. I failed.
After we snorkeled for a bit on one of the reefs, and watched two guys spear fishing (sadly, successfully), it was time to pirogue back the 8 miles to Andavadoaka.
My other news is that the rat, which was keeping us awake at night by rifling through our food and belongings, is now dead. One night, it had the audacity to drag a pot of almonds half way across the room before Justin got up and took it off him/her. Anyway, the next day, Justin managed to catch it in a box and borrowed my dive knife in order to kill it! I was slightly horrified at the idea, but the rat managed to get out somehow and thus
escaped a messy death by dive knife.
However, its reprieve was short-lived as Gildas dropped off a rat trap, and thanks to a dried apple ring (courtesy of Liz and before that Neal's Yard), it was lured in overnight and dead by the morning. Justin was overjoyed and took photos. I was just glad that
nights will be restful again, but had mixed feelings about being responsible for the death of an animal. Even if it was a rat.
Other than being a rat-killer, I have been trying to get lots of admin tasks done before the end of this expedition. This is because the next expedition is not only my last, it'll be the biggest we've managed yet. I don't anticipate any spare time for all those little jobs that I've been putting off for the past two months.
We're all a bit scared by the volume of volunteers and 'independents' that we're expecting actually. But I'm trying not to think about it or the rat's death will have been futile and I'll be up all night worrying anyway.
Wildlife update: the sunbirds are back. Haven't seen them for months. They're flitting about the place singing and looking decorative and petite.
The yellow beaked kite is also back - my favourite friend. It has been absent since Christmas.
It took us just over an hour to get there on Friday with a favourable southerly, and nearly three hours to get back, with barely a breeze at all.
It was a great visit. We were walked around the island when we arrived - just as the sun was setting. We were with two volunteers and we slept out on one of the dunes close to a fire which one of the villagers had constructed for us. We ate rice and fish along with some of the villagers, and about three of the young men came to our fire and played the guitar for us. I say guitar. It was actually a three stringed, home-made instrument - constructed from wood, drawing pins (instead of frets), nylon fishing wire for strings, and staples holding the wood together. Quite ingenious, and surprisingly effective.
We slept well considering the chilly winter air, and I opened my eyes on Saturday morning, looked out to the sea and saw the sun coming up over the horizon. We had some fresh bok bok for breakfast, along with the weirdest tasting coffee ever. There is no fresh water on the island - they have to import it - and the water they cook with is quite salty. They disguise this fact with the coffee by adding copious amounts of sugar. As you can imagine, it wasn't particularly palatable. I drank half a cup to be polite.
After this, we walked around looking at the fresh fish that had been caught that morning - and sharks too. Two tiny hammerhead sharks by one family, and a slightly larger shark, by another. Sadly these are the only sharks I have seen in nine months.
The routine appears to be that the men (and some women too) go out early in their pirogues, catch fish, and then collectively, they spend the day gutting, splitting, salting and drying them. They are no longer just subsistence fishing, and sell the dried fish to one of the fish companies which sells them on in Tulear.
It was fascinating watching the process. The troughs to dry the fish out in are just hollowed out wooden tree trunks - much like their pirogues in fact - and large turtle shells are where the fish have salt rubbed into them, before being placed into the troughs. After a night or so in the troughs, they are put out onto the hut roof to dry.
The island was also for me, a reminder of how prosperous Andavadoaka is in comparison to many of the fishing communities along the coast and on the islands. There is no well, no shop, no school and no epi-bar. Nothing, in fact, apart from the tiny huts - some not more than 5 foot high - a number of pirogues and a few home-made guitars to while away the spare time. Of which, there must be quite a bit really.
I tried for a while to imagine what my life would be like if I lived in a community as tiny as this, on an island so remote and so small. I failed.
After we snorkeled for a bit on one of the reefs, and watched two guys spear fishing (sadly, successfully), it was time to pirogue back the 8 miles to Andavadoaka.
My other news is that the rat, which was keeping us awake at night by rifling through our food and belongings, is now dead. One night, it had the audacity to drag a pot of almonds half way across the room before Justin got up and took it off him/her. Anyway, the next day, Justin managed to catch it in a box and borrowed my dive knife in order to kill it! I was slightly horrified at the idea, but the rat managed to get out somehow and thus
escaped a messy death by dive knife.
However, its reprieve was short-lived as Gildas dropped off a rat trap, and thanks to a dried apple ring (courtesy of Liz and before that Neal's Yard), it was lured in overnight and dead by the morning. Justin was overjoyed and took photos. I was just glad that
nights will be restful again, but had mixed feelings about being responsible for the death of an animal. Even if it was a rat.
Other than being a rat-killer, I have been trying to get lots of admin tasks done before the end of this expedition. This is because the next expedition is not only my last, it'll be the biggest we've managed yet. I don't anticipate any spare time for all those little jobs that I've been putting off for the past two months.
We're all a bit scared by the volume of volunteers and 'independents' that we're expecting actually. But I'm trying not to think about it or the rat's death will have been futile and I'll be up all night worrying anyway.
Wildlife update: the sunbirds are back. Haven't seen them for months. They're flitting about the place singing and looking decorative and petite.
The yellow beaked kite is also back - my favourite friend. It has been absent since Christmas.
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