This year Madagascar celebrated 50 years of independence from French colonial rule – no small milestone. With this in mind, across the country, Malagasies partied accordingly. From an American perspective, coming from a country that’s already celebrated its bicentennial, it was really interesting to watch as well, and to compare the differences between le 26 juin and the 4th of July.
For one thing, the celebration began not on the 26th, but the day before. Most people had the day off from work, and many people took this as an opportunity to get completely wasted by midday. There was a carnival of sorts in the middle Fianar, with a little Ferris wheel and games like shoot-the-bottle and bingo. Children sometimes set off firecrackers, just as the French do for Bastille Day, keeping me on edge all day (have I mentioned that I HATE firecrackers?!).
Saturday the 26th I woke up late (tired from our return trip home from Ambohimahamasina the day before), and when I stumbled down to the kitchen I found that Ambinina had stopped by to visit and was chatting with Francesca. The three of us continued to drink tea and talk about cultural differences, world politics, and religion – what a way to start a day!
Sometime later our landlady, Madame Lulle (sp?) stopped by with “a favor” to ask. She wanted to invite us to have Independence Day lunch at her house as her guests. “Favor”? Hardly! Our pleasure!
I thought it rude to go over to their house without bringing something, so I grabbed the pineapple I had bought the day before and brought it along when we went over at around 12:30. Mme. Lulle led us to her living room, which took me by surprise: she had a large leather couch and huge wooden cabinet unit in the corner, filled with dishes and glass objects. I was impressed: despite the exterior of the house, it seemed like by Malagasy standards Mme. Lulle was quite well-off. She unlocked one of the cabinets to get out a pitcher and plates, and served us orange juice and cookies.
She was the utmost in welcoming, but seemed sad. She explained that her two sons were away, one studying in Tana, the other in Switzerland. “Je suis seule,” (“I am alone”) she said. En plus, she had always wanted daughters, so she was very happy to have us over. We talked a bit about what we were doing for Ny Tanintsika, what we were studying in the US, etc.
Soon (but not before I had eaten many, many cookies!) it was time to sit down to lunch. There were about ten of us total, if I remember correctly. One of the guests was the patissier and saucier from Tsara Guest House, a well-known restaurant in town; I’m pretty sure he brought some of the food, and it was indeed delicious.
Mme. Lulle explained that the meal was typically Malagasy. We started with some salad dishes: a lettuce salad, a dish of potatoes and green beans in some sort of creamy sauce, surrounded by grated carrots, garnished with tomatoes. And of course, bread! More orange juice, along with pineapple juice, Coca-cola, Bonbon Anglais (literally, “English Candy,” found only in Madagascar; actually a disgusting soda that most describe as tasting like Red Bull; I thought it smelled like cotton candy, not in a good way), and the strongest rum I have ever encountered. It burned my nostrils just sitting across from me at the table! But the Tsara Guest house patissier downed glass after glass throughout the meal! He takes his liquor like a Princetonian!
Next came the main course. I had warned them that I was a vegetarian, so a special dish of potatoes in a delicious orange sauce with onions had been prepared for me. Then, of course, there was rice a-plenty: two huge serving dishes full! Impossible to finish. Then, the main attraction: the turkey! The turkey from our yard, the one that’s been waking me up every morning! I may be vegetarian, but I’ll admit, I was glad to see him go. Francesca said he was delicious. He was cut into large pieces and served along with huge pieces of pork; I couldn’t tell which was which. Definitely not kosher!
One of the guests at the meal was a computer science student who lived in our little walled area. He’s seen us teaching English classes in the little room attached to our house, which is what prompted the most hilariously awkward comment from him (he speaks some English): “I’ve noticed you have a very beautiful laptop, I’d like to touch it sometime.” Priceless!
We were so stuffed by the end of the meal, we could hardly move. We thanked Mme. Lulle profusely and returned to our house to digest.
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Later, unfortunately, we had to go out to the bank; Gaia had called us to ask if we wanted to go to Ranomafana National Park with her tomorrow, and we needed money for the trip. We knew we didn’t want to be out in the streets that day because of all the drunkenness, but we had to make the quick trip.
It was a weird feeling: we were stared at even more than usual. The men hissed at us, called out to us. One punched Francesca in the arm in passing. Every child we passed laughed and pointed at us and yelled “Vasa! Vasa!” Why all the laughing? What’s so funny? Do you not think I know that I’m a foreigner?
It was very disconcerting. I realize that this was the day they were celebrating their independence from the vasas, from the French, but still – WE weren’t French! Strange to see how old animosity dies hard when it comes to national independence. I wonder if Americans were rude to Englishmen visiting the US 50 years after the Revolutionary War.
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That night there were fireworks. Francesca went over to the office to use the internet, but came back because she said the night guard at the office was completely trashed – he could barely speak and walked into a wall three times! Later, he disappeared – no one was there to guard the office!
Francesca and I cracked open a THB over dinner, safe at home – no need to go out. Let the Malagasies have their fun, we’ll stay here safe and wait for our own Independence Day!
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