​The Yoghurt King and the Disc Jockey
The event that has dominated my entire stay here in Madagascar is la crise politique. The present regime, headed by a baby-faced ex-radio disc jockey, took power illegally, just over a year ago. The ex-president, a yoghurt factory-owning multi-millionaire is now in comfortable exile in South Africa. The ex-Pres, although being legitimately elected, generally approved of by the populace, and having presided over strong economic growth and significant environmental protection, had difficulty distinguishing between state assets and his own. He also was taking Madagascar out of the sphere of French influence and into the arms of the anglophone world. Most Malagasy people believe that France helped organize the coup that brought our disc-spinning friend to power, with the assistance of a dissident army faction. The result has been an unmitigated disaster for the country and the already long-suffering people. Madagascar has been isolated internationally. The US won’t buy its maquiladora clothes, the tourists have fled in droves and the present regime is selling off everything it can at bargain basement prices. Crime has exploded and the feeling of insecurity among the population is palpable. This state of affairs has cast a pall over my entire stay here and I can only hope that it is resolved soon to alleviate the suffering of these peaceful, hard-working people.

Madagascar
​It was a quick decision just before I left Berkeley, to pay a visit to Madagascar. Like many people, I was aware of the exotic uniqueness of the flora, fauna and human culture, but it hadn’t been on my radar as a place for Solar Roots, (my new nom de plume), to operate. This is what I found:
Madagascar is the world’s oldest island and its fourth largest in size. It used to be literally jammed in between Africa and India, back when Gondwana was a going concern. Of the 200,000 forms of flora and fauna, a staggering 150,000 are found nowhere else on earth. The Malagasy people first arrived 2,000 years ago and are a mixture of immigrants from what is today Indonesia/Malaysia and the African continent. The culture and the features of the people are a rich mélange reflecting now one backgound, then the other.

​One arrives in Antananarivo (Tana) and is immediately taken by its cute tall, tiled-roof houses, its cobbled hilly streets, and its active street markets.
After about two days of Tana’s appalling air quality, its hordes of street beggars and hustlers, its ever-present poverty and crime rate, one is ready to take off to gentler climes. That may be the easy way, but it’s not the Solar Roots way! I had to stick it out in grimy Tana for another six weeks. The reason being, I had agreed to get some new innovative solar cookers out of Customs and to demonstrate them to interested parties. I might as well have agreed to run for President of Madgascar, with as much hope of success in the allotted time! By the way, the post of President of Madagascar is available. More on the solar cooker saga and the current illegitimate regime later.

​Antananarivo, means the Place of 1,000 People. This should be updated, as something north of 3 million people now crowd into its hilly streets and its sprawling slums. My own accommodation trajectory is an interesting illustration of the Tana neighborhoods. At the insistence of Ihanta, the founder of Association Zahana, the organization I had first made contact with, I started off in La Residence, a somewhat pretentious, empty hotel costing $40/day. “Because of crime”, Ihanta also insisted that I shouldn’t go out at night, so meals drove it up over $50/day. The neighborhood was fancy, but due to the ban on independent movement, I still don’t know where it’s located. After two days I moved into a Protestant Mission Guest House. At first, I was concerned I would have to have breakfast with zealous missionaries, but thankfully, it too, was empty. This neighborhood is high on one of the two principle ridges that form the core of Tana’s topography. For neighbors I had the Ministry of Justice, the huge Church of Saint Jean Baptiste and Le Bureau, cybercafe. It was very quiet at night. At $12.50 a day, this was more like the thing. But the hilly climbs, the dreadful air from the city center and the fact that it was a $3 taxi-ride away from my solar cookers drove me into the arms of Akany Tafita. Meaning “Nest of Progress”, Akany Tafita is a children’s center operated by the Anglican Church in the bas-quartier (slum) area of Anosibe. At $5 a night, I had finally arrived in Solar Roots territory! I have never lived in a severely deprived urban neighborhood before and I find that I really like it here. It feels less dangerous than the city center, but I do have to be home within half an hour of sunset!  People treat me with a mild curiosity, but never regard me as the key to their economic salvation. Artful Dodgers and Dodgeresses abound, but they pursue their own games and scams, and leave me in peace.

​There are 18 distinct ethnic groups in Madagascar, the dominant one being the Merina, who arrived 500-600 years ago. They compose 95% of Tana’s population and are the most evidently Asian-looking of all the groups. On the coasts one finds the predominantly African descended groups. The Malagasy people, though composed of many different tribes, are united by a common language and a belief in the power of their dead ancestors. The departed are considered to play an important role in the on-going well-being of their off-spring. They must be remembered, honored and sometimes taken out of the tomb, re-dressed and told about all the family events subsequent to their passing! So-called “taboos” (fady) abound and seem quite strange to the outsider. It’s fady to sing when you eat, (to say nothing of its difficulty!), as you will develop elongated teeth. It might be fady to work the land or hold a funeral on Tuesdays. It might be fady for a child to say his father’s name, or for a pregnant woman to sit in the doorway of her house. These proscriptions vary from tribe to tribe, even family to family. Luckily, vazaha (foreigners),are given a pass on such intricacies, and are not held to book for blunders like standing up while digging the corner post holes of a new house!

​The Malagasy language is Indonesian in origin, with Swahili and Arabic additions. It’s not so difficult to pronounce, but knowing just where to put the accent can be challenging, as many words are over a dozen letters long. I’ve stopped talking about socialism in Malagasy, as that requires using the word foto-kevitra miompana amin’ny fitanan’ny fanjakana ny taozavatra sy ny varotra! Beautifully poetic and descriptive, Malagasy language is rich in imagery. Dusk is Misafo helika ny kary, which means, Darken the mouth of the cooking pot. Actually, I’m giving the wrong impression that I’ve made much progress in learning Malagasy. I have learned the basic polite phrases but have been communicating 99% of the time in French. I am thrilled that my French abilities have bounced back amazingly well after 35 years of dormancy. If I have the time, I’ll do a week-long course in Malagasy before leaving. If not, it’ll be my first priority when  return next year.