My Friend, the bread baker

Wood Fired Ovens, hand-shaped loaves, locally milled flour …

artisanal bread loaves

Curious as to the inner workings of a wood fired bakery I rode my bike out to the country one morning to the bakery my friend manages. Touds bakes the daily bread, biscuits, quiches, pizzas, and other assorted treats at a school north of town. He arrives to bakery well before sunrise to start the wood fires and proof the loaves for the day. After a few wrong turns, I arrived mid-morning in time to document his work and the aromatic loaves as they emerged from the oven.

sweet treats made with eggs from the farm

head baker

Touds is a phenomenal baker. Despite his hectic schedule, he is also a farmer and an electrician, he allowed me to shadow him in the bakery and ask questions all morning. Thank you friend!

Thank you for taking time to share your work story with me, it was a wonderful morning in the bakery.

waiting for delivery van

These are images from the school bakery my friend works at. It is a non-profit enterprise that provides meals to their students.

A popular retail bakery

that I spent many cups of coffee at, in Anstirabe is Chez Jeannette. There you will find a tight selection of hand-formed loaves, including their chewy, crusty baguettes, and delicate pastries all baked in the classic French tradition.

Traditions hold true during Harvest Time

Harvest season along RN-34

In rural Madagascar, as in many countries around the world where the cost of a family-owned car is simply unattainable, walking is a common form of transportation. People walk on and alongside the roads to get to their fields, school, the market, visit friends, or work.

One day, As I rode further and further from town, I noticed that there were more people walking than usual. It seemed as if entire villages were heading to a rice field. Yes, it was harvest time!

Rice is the major staple crop and contributor to food security in Madagascar

RN 34

Harvest time is a special part of the year for all agricultural communities. In my northern Midwestern community, everyone worked from sunup to sundown during harvest. Farm kids were excused from classes for a few of those especially crucial days to work with their parents. It was critical that crops were harvested at the peak of ripeness and before storms settled in.

The same principals hold true in rural Madagascar. Families were working alongside each other, harvesting and processing the rice as quickly as possible. A sense of relief was present, relief that there was an abundant harvest and relief that families had the capability to bring their harvest in together. The principals of a successful harvest are true here as they are in Northern Indiana.

rice distribution from Antsirabe

 I never took pictures of farmers working in my U.S. American community. They would have had little patience for such frivolity when important work needed to be completed. My Malagasy hosts were patient with my requests to photograph them. A few farmers requested that I not take their photograph, but most were quite indulgent and let me shoot away. Thank you to all of the hard working farmers, just west of Antsirabe, who shared some of their time with me in April 2023.

a great travel advisor for exploring Madagascar is Wild Madagascar

For a clear summary of how global climate change is impacting agriculture in Madagascar check out Climate change risks and adaptation options for Madagascar (2021) published by Ecology & Society.

Neighbors in Tsarasaotra, Antsirabe

daybreak in Antsirabe

I reach for my fag, ½ smoked from last night. That first drag clears the fogginess of sleep. I throw back the heavy acrylic blanket, head to the kitchen slowly as to not awaken anyone. Soon enough my son and another’s grandson will be stumbling into the kitchen, expecting their pot of steaming vary (rice). The apartment next door is quite still. It’s always been reserved for American Peace Corps volunteers. Nine different volunteers have lived next door since 1998. The current volunteer is a tall woman named Michelle. She seems nice enough, she’s often seen walking around town and at the various food markets. I wonder what it’s like for her to sleep and eat in the apartment all alone, how lonely.

entry into my neighborhood

I smell the cigarette smoke even before I open my eyes. I glance at my phone to check for messages. It’s 4:30 AM. No messages. Gawd that smoke. I sleep for another hour with a man’s cotton undershirt over my head to block the smell. As light emerges through the shutters I pull back the curtains, carefully prepare my morning coffee, then pump up my bike tires. Gleefully I wheel my government issued bike out the gate, waving good morning to the neighbor lady, Adeline.She is there everyday, standing at her kitchen window feeding the coal fire cooking vary for her grandson’s breakfast. At times some of her adult children live with her and the boy, leaving when they find short term work elsewhere. Somehow she isn’t irritated by the assumed roles of cook, washerwoman, and housekeeper placed upon her.

North of the Tsarasaotra neighborhood

Herding cattle to feed on an empty lot, North Side of Antsirabe

Agricultural lands on the R7, a favorite bicycle route on Sundays

Morning Sounds

May 2023

I know exactly where I am, the first wafts of cigarette smoke from next door clearly place me in Antsirabe. It’s pitch dark. Soon, at 5:30 AM, I’ll swing my tanned legs out of bed, prepare my morning coffee and get my bike ready for the day.

Waiting

Waiting

Waiting

…for the sun to explode (Carreras)


At morning’s first light, on certain weekday mornings civil servants march up and down the of streets of Antsirabe singing in unison. Their melodies drift over the neighborhood.

Then I ride for meditation. If I’m up for socializing I’ll walk instead. If I feel especially bold I’ll take my camera. Pousse-pousse drivers especially love having their pictures taken leading to general joviality on the street.

I don’t have to be here alone.  (Carreras)

May 2024

In Denver, I wake to the incessant sound of traffic. The drone of highway noise begins around 5 AM as coffins* are maneuvered to work. I sing to myself as I pour coffee. Imagine if the City of Denver employees agreed to greet their work day in song and march down 15th Street occasionally. A friendly thought.

A few months ago a friend, with incredible insight, blurted from across a crowed room “Michelle you’re going back to Africa aren’t you!”  I laughed. How easily she knew before I even knew myself. 

Heading to Market

Coffee Time

 References

Carreras, Jordi (2021)  Sweet Deep 202

*Cars-R-Coffins, online store and blog.

Saturday Morning in Antsirabe

Diners line up at local hotely for breakfast

The stringy little boy nestles next to his granny under the tarp. Last night they set up behind a non-descript hotely on the side street around the corner from the Alliance Francaise complex. They were begging on the corner last night, well into the dark morning hours, as hundreds of bar-hopping revelers streamed past them without a glance. Popular neighborhood karaoke bars competed with the thumping speakers of the all-city block party held on the central boulevard, just past the Carrefour supermarket. The promise of an almighty hangover only seemed to extend the party until, finally, the generators run out of electricity.

A hotely on the way to the market

When Joslyn arrives to open her hotely for breakfast, the revelers had just left a few hours ago. She recognizes the tiny, huddled frames under the tarp in the back. Her hotely is supported by a few odd boards with pieces of tin nailed together as a roof. As customers stream in and out of Joslyn’s place, she will set a bowl of white rice and weak coffee on the ground for the woman and child.

I walked by this scene every day, unprepared for their consistent schedule. Impossible to guess their ages, the boy underdeveloped due to his diet of rice and coffee, and the woman is prematurely aged for the same reason. I feel the intensity of their stares when I walk by.

There is little to be said.

Antsirabe Street Shots

I lived in Antsirabe for 8 months It was never boring.

The influence of France still observed in architecture and manners.

I compiled a few of my photos which may illustrate just what I mean.

evolving, modern, connections.

Weekend Morning

Student's Action in Language Learning

Scene along the RN7 Roadway

She’s there! My favorite vendor was standing at her roadside-stand, a bicycle ride away from my apartment in Antsirabe. I recognize her as a sister. She always greets me with a smile just I used to do when I was a retailer welcoming customers into my store. She wears sturdy shoes, to support her through the day with a knitted wool stocking hat pulled firmly down. The type of hat with little crocheted flowers attached on the crown, the hat style that young American women gave to each other 10 Christmases ago. This well-worn hat is Camille’s defense against the damp cold breeze of the Central Highlands. 

There, in front of her stand, we eagerly bantered back and forth, she always gave me the best price on freshly harvested watercress and ginger root. My sister encouraged me to continue with my Malagasy* lessons.

My Malagasy Kitchen

 Language acquisition is a fickle thing. 17 out of 20 of my American cohorts seemed to learn Malagasy quickly, conversing in relative ease within two months. My style of learning involves introspection, observation, and motivation. Motivation seemed to be my last barrier.

It is common for language teachers to emphasize the importance of learning technical linguistic rules in conjunction with learning associated societal customs. But customs are not stagnate. They vary according to region, generation, social-economic status; the variations are infinite. It was the culture of local food that was my inspiration to learn. I needed to actively barter for my daily sustenance. And as an avid home cook I wanted to ask about cooking techniques, the growing conditions of the local produce, and I was curious about the business experiences roadside vendors have in Madagascar. I needed to acquire language tools to hold these conversations.

 Author Deoksoon Kim (2020) wrote an insightful paper about the importance of intercultural learning to new language acquisition, stating that “Educating the ‘whole person,’ when teaching language, requires engaging with the cultural ways of life within which that language lives.” Every student has a different motivator to learn. The trick to my language learning was to find aspects of Malagasy culture that resonated with me.

Activity Points for Language Learning

As a retailer in Colorado I enjoyed engaging with my customers,, I saw that my Malagasy sister has this trait too. My interactions with Camille along the R34 roadway were more than trying to find the right Malagasy words. I approached her with an open heart and a warm demeanor. My attempts to speak in her language delighted Camille, but our mutual trust and respect for one another were paramount in our intercultural relationship. I just needed to take the first step by pausing to listen to her story.

*Malagasy is the language spoken throughout Madagascar.

RN34

Reference

Kim, Deoksoon (2020). Learning language, learning culture: Teaching language to the whole student. ECNU Review of Education. Vol 3(3) 519-541. DOI: 10.1177/2096531120936693

I Will Ride About

Morning in Antsirabe

I have to ride about ½ hour to get out of the city then I’m riding through little towns, suburbs really, maneuvering my place on the road with semi-trailer trucks, taxi brousses, scooters, and motor bikes. There are some dirt road offshoots that I can explore. Muddy and deeply rutted paths. I’m saving those for when I’m brave or have time to get lost.

Most mornings, if I leave early enough, I greet the goat herder who allows his few animals to munch on the green grass lining our lane. Later in the day the goats will be replaced by street mothers asking for money, always in French.

Skinny cows pull their carts in belching traffic, sometimes the equally skinny farmer will hop out to guide them, whip in hand. Supplying the city of meat isn’t hidden in large regional packing houses, it is front and center of daily life.

Cycling in Antsirabe is not that different than Denver. I would dodge traffic and angry truck drivers there too. Though I reap new rewards here, all types of vendors line the road ranging from fresh vegetables and fruits to bicycle repair to used clothing.

sunrise in Antsirabe