This story begins with a really fantastic idea and a sunny day and ends with what I am pretty sure was a mild form of hypothermia (only exagerating a little).
The 1st weekend in August my friend Mbola invited me to go with him out to his families land. They have 30 hectors about 7km from Anivorano at a place called Moca (this of course led to me trying to explain to him what a Moca was in the USA and then what a coffee shop is. I still don't think he has quite grasped the idea of a store where they only sell coffee or a cupo of coffee that costs $4, but that is a compleatly different story) I really wanted to go but was hesitant, the weather had been horrible and I felt like i should stay in Anivorano as I would soon be leaving for IST and then to go home for my mom's wedding. But then the sun came out and Jean Marie told me I should go, so it was decided we would leave Sunday afternoon and return on Wednesday.
Saterday night I was estatic, I had had one of those days where all the little annoyances pile up and just make you want to scream and throw a temper tantrum. I was ready for a little break and was looking forward to tramping around in the forest and seeing some lemurs. As I was packing my bag and trying to keep it to an absolutle minimum I was dancing around my room and making up little songs in Malagasy about how i wanted to punch certain people. My elation and the sunny day would contribute to my future downfall. I decided to not pack my jacket but to only bring it if it was raining the next day, figuring the long underwear would be enough-this is suppoused to be a tropical island paradise after all.
The plan was for me to have lunch with Mbola and his father (the delege) on sunday and then for us to head out. After a particularly restless Saturday night (damn mephlaquine) I got up sunday morning and washed some clothes as it was gloriously sunny (thus no jacket), and dinked around my room until 10:45 when i heard the church bells ringing. This was the signal that mass was over and that Mbola and the delegè would be headed hole. We were already behinde schedule as mass usually gets done around 10-wanting to leave on time and with a full stomache i quickly finished up a last few things at home and then went to help with lunch. Neither Mbola or the delegè are particularly dilligzent or inspired cooks and the mom (who typically dose all the cooking and is wonderful) was on vacation so i knew that if I wanted to eat something other than pasta on my rice I would have to participate in the preperation.
It took forever for lunch to be done, Mbola insists it was because the fule was wet, I am inclined to think it is because he isn't particularly good at building fires. We ended up finally eating around 1:30ish. As we finsihed eating Mbola announced it was time to go play basketball. I was a bit shocked, to say the least, and quickly asked what had happened to the plans to go to Moca. He said we were still going and would leave at three. After getting his assurance that that would leave us enough time to arrive before dark I went home to take a nap. Because this is Madagascar "at three" can really mean any time between 3 and 3:59, in true Gasy fashion Mbola showed up at 3:45 and we were finally off.
To be continued ...