I thought I'd try a little more creative approach to this blog. While I'm sure this will include my characteristic ramblings, I noticed some funny things that I thought would make this post a little more exciting. So look forward to 10 questions you've never asked, and their answers, throughout the blog!
Ok so there's only 2 questions in this blog, but there will be more "Questions You've Never Asked" in posts to come.
Ok so there's only 2 questions in this blog, but there will be more "Questions You've Never Asked" in posts to come.
Friday
Like I said, the day started out quite nicely - waking up in a comfortable bed. Morning in Antananarivo is probably my favorite time of the day there. Especially in winter, it’s usually mist in the mornings which makes for great sunrises and excellent picture taking. Also, the architecture and way of life seem very European to me and morning is always full of interesting little cameos of Malagasy life: people cooking breakfast, feeding chickens, pumping water, kids walking to school in their uniforms, women sweeping dirt out of the house, men going off to work.
Like I said, the day started out quite nicely - waking up in a comfortable bed. Morning in Antananarivo is probably my favorite time of the day there. Especially in winter, it’s usually mist in the mornings which makes for great sunrises and excellent picture taking. Also, the architecture and way of life seem very European to me and morning is always full of interesting little cameos of Malagasy life: people cooking breakfast, feeding chickens, pumping water, kids walking to school in their uniforms, women sweeping dirt out of the house, men going off to work.
The rest of the day was spent getting to the taxibe station in Ankorondrano (near downtown). Getting in to town from Ivato (the airport / Sr. Fanja’s house) takes a good hour, up to 2+ in rush hour traffic.
Questions #1: How many people does it take to buy taxibe ticket to Mahajanga?
Answer: Seven.
We got off the bus in Ankorondrano and started walking down the rows of taxibe stalls (I don’t have a picture, so basically there’s a street with a bajillion Mazda vans all lined up with little stalls that sell tickets for buses going to Mahajanga, Tamatave, Antsirabe, you name it).
As soon as we were on the street, teenage boys started running up to us “Vous allez au Tamatave?” No. “Vous partirez a quelle heure?” NO. “Antsirabe? Antsirabe?!” NO!
Finally I relented by telling one/all of them that I wanted to go to Mahajanga, AND that I spoke Malagasy. Boom.
We got whisked to a stall where a Mazda van was sitting. I told them I wanted to leave in the morning and I wanted the front passenger seat. Deal. Wait wait wait, I want to look around first. Why? So I can make sure I get a good price, or see if there are Speeders that go (a Speeder is a much nicer bigger van than the Mazdas). Nope, speeders only go in the evening. So we (and our entourage of teenage boys) hustled from stall to stall looking for Speeders leaving the next morning. No such thing. So finally they took us to another stall where they started signing me up for Place Deux (front passenger next to the window). Wait – what about the original stall? They seemed nice…
Nope, the teenagers no insisted that we buy my ticket from this new stall, for no apparent reason. So I double checked the time and the price and my place and all that and gave in. It took one person to fill out the ticket, and one to handle the money. Plus myself and Sr. Fanja (that’s four) and three teenagers (seven).
As soon as I had my ticket, the three teenagers, who had done nothing other than follow/hustle us around and obnoxiously repeat information I already knew or could have figure out for myself much easier, decided that they had done me/us a great service and should be thusly compensated…
Nope.
And I walked away. : - )
Sr. Fanja and I caught a bus back to Ivato where I bought groceries at Shoprite to make Pasta Carbonarra for the missionaries who were coming over.
Question #2: Can you make Pot Roast in a RiceCooker?
No.
This (cooking for the missionaries) all started when I told Sr. Fanja a story about how when I was a brand new missionary, Papa Secrist (my trainer) told me that our “slow cooker” in our apartment (in Mahamasina) was broken. Undeterred, and fancying myself an American slow cooked pot roast for Sunday dinner, I decided to check it out. So I put some water in the “slow cooker” and decided that if it boiled, then the “slower cooker” worked and I could make my pot roast. It boiled!
So one Sunday I got my chunk of cow and some onions, potatoes, and carrots and got my pot roast all ready. We left it to cook while Secrist and I went out to work.
I was very excited as we walked home to eat a delicious American Sunday Dinner.
But when we walked in the house, none of the lights would turn on, it smelled like burning, and smoke was wafting from the kitchen.
So we broke out a flashlight…
Zombies!
No jk. But the “slow cooker” was dead. Anything that was plastic, was melted, the wires were exposed, and the metal was singed with blackness. The entire thing had burned into our wooden kitchen table and apparently shorted a fuse so the lights wouldn’t turn on.
Moral of the story: That wasn’t a slow cooker, it was a rice cooker. As I learned, in the dark smoky kitchen by way of flashlight.
So yeah, I told Sr. Fanja that story and she goes:
“Oh! Lets invite the missionaries over and you can teach me how to make Pot Roast! It will be a surprise and I’m sure they’ll love American food.”
So I said yes. She called the missionaries and told them there would be a surprise that evening.
…We stopped at Shoprite on the way home, and she then decided that Pot Roast might be too tricky/dangerous/long to make in a Malagasy pot on a Malagasy charcoal stove. So I decided to make Pasta Carbonarra instead (figuring it would be a relatively nice American treat for the missionaries).
On the way home, we stopped by the Quincaillerie VA-HA (quincaillerie = Home Depot in French… basically). Which is run by Fr. Fidy & Family who is an awesome awesome member who just got called to be the 2nd Counsellor in the new Stake Presidency. I chatted with his wife Sr. Hasina and the kids Vaniala (VA) and Hajaina (HA) who goes by Bainina which sounds like Ben.
pic
He is one of the most adorable kids in Madagascar and apparently thinks I’m cool too haha.
We used to spend Friday evenings at their house doing missionary planning when Fr. Fidy was the DMP (Ward Mission Leader) and I would always play with Bainina. He was 5 or 6 then, and now he’s 7 – turning 8 in a year (if that seems like stating the obvious, in Madagascar its not).
Questions #1: How many people does it take to buy taxibe ticket to Mahajanga?
Answer: Seven.
We got off the bus in Ankorondrano and started walking down the rows of taxibe stalls (I don’t have a picture, so basically there’s a street with a bajillion Mazda vans all lined up with little stalls that sell tickets for buses going to Mahajanga, Tamatave, Antsirabe, you name it).
As soon as we were on the street, teenage boys started running up to us “Vous allez au Tamatave?” No. “Vous partirez a quelle heure?” NO. “Antsirabe? Antsirabe?!” NO!
Finally I relented by telling one/all of them that I wanted to go to Mahajanga, AND that I spoke Malagasy. Boom.
We got whisked to a stall where a Mazda van was sitting. I told them I wanted to leave in the morning and I wanted the front passenger seat. Deal. Wait wait wait, I want to look around first. Why? So I can make sure I get a good price, or see if there are Speeders that go (a Speeder is a much nicer bigger van than the Mazdas). Nope, speeders only go in the evening. So we (and our entourage of teenage boys) hustled from stall to stall looking for Speeders leaving the next morning. No such thing. So finally they took us to another stall where they started signing me up for Place Deux (front passenger next to the window). Wait – what about the original stall? They seemed nice…
Nope, the teenagers no insisted that we buy my ticket from this new stall, for no apparent reason. So I double checked the time and the price and my place and all that and gave in. It took one person to fill out the ticket, and one to handle the money. Plus myself and Sr. Fanja (that’s four) and three teenagers (seven).
As soon as I had my ticket, the three teenagers, who had done nothing other than follow/hustle us around and obnoxiously repeat information I already knew or could have figure out for myself much easier, decided that they had done me/us a great service and should be thusly compensated…
Nope.
And I walked away. : - )
Sr. Fanja and I caught a bus back to Ivato where I bought groceries at Shoprite to make Pasta Carbonarra for the missionaries who were coming over.
Question #2: Can you make Pot Roast in a RiceCooker?
No.
This (cooking for the missionaries) all started when I told Sr. Fanja a story about how when I was a brand new missionary, Papa Secrist (my trainer) told me that our “slow cooker” in our apartment (in Mahamasina) was broken. Undeterred, and fancying myself an American slow cooked pot roast for Sunday dinner, I decided to check it out. So I put some water in the “slow cooker” and decided that if it boiled, then the “slower cooker” worked and I could make my pot roast. It boiled!
So one Sunday I got my chunk of cow and some onions, potatoes, and carrots and got my pot roast all ready. We left it to cook while Secrist and I went out to work.
I was very excited as we walked home to eat a delicious American Sunday Dinner.
But when we walked in the house, none of the lights would turn on, it smelled like burning, and smoke was wafting from the kitchen.
So we broke out a flashlight…
Zombies!
No jk. But the “slow cooker” was dead. Anything that was plastic, was melted, the wires were exposed, and the metal was singed with blackness. The entire thing had burned into our wooden kitchen table and apparently shorted a fuse so the lights wouldn’t turn on.
Moral of the story: That wasn’t a slow cooker, it was a rice cooker. As I learned, in the dark smoky kitchen by way of flashlight.
So yeah, I told Sr. Fanja that story and she goes:
“Oh! Lets invite the missionaries over and you can teach me how to make Pot Roast! It will be a surprise and I’m sure they’ll love American food.”
So I said yes. She called the missionaries and told them there would be a surprise that evening.
…We stopped at Shoprite on the way home, and she then decided that Pot Roast might be too tricky/dangerous/long to make in a Malagasy pot on a Malagasy charcoal stove. So I decided to make Pasta Carbonarra instead (figuring it would be a relatively nice American treat for the missionaries).
On the way home, we stopped by the Quincaillerie VA-HA (quincaillerie = Home Depot in French… basically). Which is run by Fr. Fidy & Family who is an awesome awesome member who just got called to be the 2nd Counsellor in the new Stake Presidency. I chatted with his wife Sr. Hasina and the kids Vaniala (VA) and Hajaina (HA) who goes by Bainina which sounds like Ben.
pic
He is one of the most adorable kids in Madagascar and apparently thinks I’m cool too haha.
We used to spend Friday evenings at their house doing missionary planning when Fr. Fidy was the DMP (Ward Mission Leader) and I would always play with Bainina. He was 5 or 6 then, and now he’s 7 – turning 8 in a year (if that seems like stating the obvious, in Madagascar its not).
While we’re talking, who should walk by but the missionaries! So I yelled “vazaha” at them like 5 times and then “missionaire!” 5 times before they finally noticed and trotted over. No more surprise. Now they knew why there were coming over to Sr. Fanja’s haha. It was Elders Peatross and Southwith – Southwick just got out a month ago and I met him when I volunteered at the MTC the past couple months. They’re both great missionaries and it was awesome getting to talk to them.
We came home and I typed up my last blog post while Sr. Fanja … did something.
Eventually when the missionaries were on their way we cooked up the pasta and I made the sauce (which I thought came out quite nicely) and had a fun time eating dinner together and chatting about missionary work and Madagascar and such. They also thoroughly enjoyed the “lemonade” Sr. Fanja had made. In Madagascar “juice” is made my squeezing/smashing fruits up to get some juice of them, putting the pulp/juice in a blender with water and sugar, and then blending it.
I think Southwick’s quote was:
“WOAH. I didn’t know they made straight lemon juice this sour…” lol.
After they went home Elder Sender found out I was in the country so he called me up and we had a good chat. Sender was my second to last companion and my only “kid” – I often say that I have 3 daughters and a son: I “mommed” 3 missionaries (I was their second trainer, so I’m their mom, they’re my daughter) and then I “gave birth” to Sender. He sounds like he’s grown a lot in the interim year. Oh and somehow he only has 5 MONTHS LEFT!!! While I went home a year ago Sunday, I always forget that by that time he was already 6 months into his mission – 2 months in the MTC, 3 with me, and then 1 with a mini (Malagasy missionary). So yeah, time flies.
Alright well I’ll update about the trip from Antananarivo to Mahajanga in the next post. Don’t worry – much more exciting adventures lie ahead.
Also, leave comments! Either on Facebook or here. I want you guys to enjoy the blog so give me feedback (and yes I’ll try and keep the posts shorter). Let me know what you like and don’t like!
-Ciao.
Eventually when the missionaries were on their way we cooked up the pasta and I made the sauce (which I thought came out quite nicely) and had a fun time eating dinner together and chatting about missionary work and Madagascar and such. They also thoroughly enjoyed the “lemonade” Sr. Fanja had made. In Madagascar “juice” is made my squeezing/smashing fruits up to get some juice of them, putting the pulp/juice in a blender with water and sugar, and then blending it.
I think Southwick’s quote was:
“WOAH. I didn’t know they made straight lemon juice this sour…” lol.
After they went home Elder Sender found out I was in the country so he called me up and we had a good chat. Sender was my second to last companion and my only “kid” – I often say that I have 3 daughters and a son: I “mommed” 3 missionaries (I was their second trainer, so I’m their mom, they’re my daughter) and then I “gave birth” to Sender. He sounds like he’s grown a lot in the interim year. Oh and somehow he only has 5 MONTHS LEFT!!! While I went home a year ago Sunday, I always forget that by that time he was already 6 months into his mission – 2 months in the MTC, 3 with me, and then 1 with a mini (Malagasy missionary). So yeah, time flies.
Alright well I’ll update about the trip from Antananarivo to Mahajanga in the next post. Don’t worry – much more exciting adventures lie ahead.
Also, leave comments! Either on Facebook or here. I want you guys to enjoy the blog so give me feedback (and yes I’ll try and keep the posts shorter). Let me know what you like and don’t like!
-Ciao.
So when is Pasta Carbonarra an 'American Food'? Yes we eat it in America, but its imported from Italy, by your father a return Italy Milan missionary of the late 70's. . .
ReplyDeleteoh, and the black text on the dark blue background is very hard to see / read. And the background picture looks like Doha Qatar or Dubai UAE, not Madagascar. Its not the desert scene, but the white lines on the road that give it away, haha.
ReplyDelete