ETHIOPIAN ARRIVAL

The flight from Tana to Adis Ababa, Ethiopia once again passed through the Nairobi airoprt...and by popular demand, I performed another concert. This time the front row spectators were not 5 Burmese Buddhists, but 8 very intense Pakistani Muslims. I invited to sit down with me and played them one song I have written called "Inchallah" (or "If God Wills" in Arabic). We talked at length about God, Mouhammed, Jesus, the works. They could not eat the bread and oranges I offered them as it is Ramadan, and they do not eat until after dark. We didn't come up with many solutions, except that I would probably would not see them in the eternal garden of bliss after death...well, I might get a job as a gardener there or something. All of the airport staff recognized me there, and said "You are Back"! The flight did not get in to Adis until very late, but I managed to get my visa and untampered luggage in record time! The first impression of the Ethiopians is that they are beautiful, well-mannered, and very relaxed. The cab driver I got drove me to one of the few hotels I had an address for, but when I got there it was all locked up. Then there was some shouting in Amheric (the language here), from inside of a little corrugated coffin in front of the hotel. Some buildings have these little coffins, where someone sleeps/guards the business. The cab driver then took me to a neighborhood where we knocked on a big blue steel door, and inside was a cheap, clean, and safe hotel!
When the sun was up, I took to doing what I spend a lot of my time doing. Walking the streets and people watching. Observing the world in action. I must say Ethiopia is one of the most wildly bizzare places I have ever been. Amheric letters slightly resemble Arabic, but are unique to themselves, and it helps having some of the signs (at least here in the capital) in English, or other languages as well. Many speak a little English here, so it is not quite as difficult as Madagascar was. I walked down the street and stumbled upon the largest Orthodox Christian Church in Ethiopia....and soooooooo fascinating to see all of these people cloaked in white garments, and very cool beards. They were pounding out beats on drums, and singing together, strange smells of incense in the air. Many of the ceremonies have not changed in over a thousand years, and must say they seemed together. The country is 30% Orthodox Christin, 30% Muslim, and 30% Wild tribal religions....very wild. Big Black robed priests in Red, Green, Yellow (these colors are everywhere), walk around with gold cross-staffs and say prayers as people come up to kiss it. They kiss everything....the ground, walls, each other.
Later, I walked more. There was this beautiful little girl standing on the street corner looking at me as traffic went with quiet eyes that seemed to ask for something. Then a man walked up without saying anything took her hand, and we crossed the street. I thought maybe she was is daughter or something as she was maybe 6. But at the other curb, they just walked seperate ways....no thank yous or goodbyes. It flattered me with sweetness. Later, I walked upon a large mob in the street that seemed to be discussing something. One person would talk, and everyone would listen. Then someone else would talk and there weere policemen there involved in the discussion. In the center there was a young boy sobbing. An old woman cloaked in a white dress was gently comforting the boys head. I could not quite make out what was going on, so I asked a well dressed old man next to me. He explained that the boy was getting physically abused by his father, and they were resolving it...right there on the street corner. I then walked upon a few guys chewing ghat, a leave indigenous to Ethiopia, Somolia, and Yemen. Many of the men chew it as the have tea or beer. I sat with this guys and chewed some, but it really does nothing...tastes like asprin! Its legal by the way...Then as the thunder clouds rolled in in the late afternoon, a bunch of guys showed up at the little bar and huddled around the TV. The big 5 km. run in some quasi-olympic event taking place in Berlin. Ethiopia won! U.S. took second! We cheered! Truth is, marathons and track are the National sport here, and they go bezerk for it! I can see why, its like horse racing without the astronomical stud fees.
There are a number of NGOs here....ALL OVER. U.N. trucks and relief agencies. I imagine the modern streets of Adis are not the same as the country side. I see many people begging in the streets with all sorts of wild sicknesses and ailments. Then right in the middle of a busy city street, a sheperd who looks right out of Biblical times comes trotting through with his herd of sheep or goats. Then there is this beautiful dark Ethiopian music that seems to sound sometimes like jazz, sometimes like Arabic yodeling, and sometimes like a great mystery. But overall there is a real feeling of chivalry here. Tolerance. If one country can solve the world's religious or ethnic clashes it is Ethiopia.

Au Revoir Madagascar...

Tomorrow is the day to leave. I catch a flight back to Nairobi, to perform a second concert for the immigration officials (by popular demand), and then connect on to Adis Ababa, Ethiopia. Madagascar was wildly different, and thanks to all I met here as well. I spent the last few days in city called Antsirabe, south of Tana by 3 hours. It is high rolling hills and rice fields all over. On the bus ride down, I met a guy named Nehemia who lived there, and invited me back to his family's house in Antsiribe for a night as we arrived late in the evening. I had a great meal and experience everday life in Antsirabe...dried shrimp and rice! The next morning, I rented a bicycle and rode about 25 kilometers through the country side to Lake Trivalty, a small lake considered holy by local taboo. What a magnificent ride... All of the children would yell "Salam Vihaza!", or "hello white man!". They all wanted to know my name. When I arrived at the lake, there was a stick fence in which a few guys charged 3,000 ariary (1.50 USD) to pass. Okay, so I went to a little brick store in the village. There was a cow screaming tied to a log. Inside the smokey little hut, there was an old man buying 6 little oyster crackers and 3 peanuts. THis is commerce here! When I arrived at the lake, there was the usual crowd of people following me trying to sell me something. I sat down quietly and meditated at the lake. They thought this was so peculiar, and went about taking. Now the strange thing is that I do not speak oe word of Malagasy, but there were moments were I could understand what they were talking about! Quite bizarre. Anyways, when I finished, I asked the few remaining people to allow me to walk around the lake in silence. They now all understood completely. There was two little girls who followed me around the whole lake....in silence! It was so cute, as sometimes they could not hold back and I could here them whisper to each other, and the other would whisper back..."Sheesh...he wants to walk in silence!". One girl said..."Moisseur, attencion!", just as we passed an enormous spider. I thanked her, and this opened up a bit of discourse for the last quarter of the walk...but always at a whisper. They could not hold back from getting into guide mode, and tell me how deep the lake was, and that there was no fish because of the carbonic acid, and that Jacques Cousteau once dove there. When we returned to where we started, we sat down and shared a piece of bread. I bought a rock from them, and rode back to town....down hill all the way! I woprked on a few ne songs in my hotel room, and often stopped to stare at the rickshaw drivers down below on the street. Running all day barefoot through the streets. The streets themselves are painted with florescent green phlem that the Malagasys love to cough up. You also see them often covering one nostril and blowing a high note out of the other...the old farmers blow. Well, the last night is a nice one. The usual gas lanterns romantically light up all of the small street kiosks casting big shadows of the old ladies wide brimmed hats. There is a choral ensemble rehearsing in the cathedral across the street, and I do believe I saw a few stars through the city's haze. (pictures are not cooperating, so will add to this post later).

Back to Tana

The bus ride from Mahambo to Antananarivo was long, and I have very long legs to be in those little seats. It was a lot of coughing children and there mothers. It was very cute to see all of the fathers leaning in the window to sat goodbye to their wives and children...the kids cried and cried and the mothers laughed and laughed. Often times, the kids will also cry if they see me. White people or "Vahazas" as they call us here, are a strange sight for the kids here. In some villages, they have never even seen them. After traveling all night and having a sore ass, we drove into a little gated compound. I thought it was just another one of those stops for the driver to get out and have a cigarette or bowl of soup. So I stayed in the bus for 2 hours trying to sleep. Finally, I got out and asked the driver when we continue on to Antanarivo. He looked a little confused, and his friend came over. After a little while, I learned that we were already in Tana!!! There is this very team like spirit on the bus rides though, and I believe every single male in Madagascar smokes cigarettes. It seems every bus has a mix of some great American Pop love ballads. They love Chicago, Celine Dion, and I have to say, I have been singing along. When you arrive at the bus staion by taxi, there are men that come running up to the car. It is a bit frightening at first. I now know how the Beatles felt when they got in and out of taxis. But instead of screaming teenage girls, its screaming 40-year old drunks with no teeth or shoes. The buses stop frequently at police check points, and a lot of these dudes look rough. There was a coup here in Madagascar about 5 monthes ago, and the new president (a 35 year old ex-disc jockey) is trying to get them on track. He is actually very well liked, and seemd bright and courageous to stand up to a long history of corruption. He is still trying to gain allies in the West as the US and Europe do not recognize him as the official presdident because he was not democratically elected. The president they ousted ran out the back door of the palace and caught a flight to Maputo, Mozambique.
There is a lot of cultural taboos in Madagascar. They follow an Indonesian tradion for many centuries. When a person dies, they bury them. SEven years later, they dig them up and wrap clothes around the bones. This is done in conjunction with having a grandiose party in which every person the dead guy knew is invited. It is apparently in order to help the person ring in the new life. Very expensive, and its a no wonder they remain one of the poorest countries in the world. they also have a tradition in the south that when you die, your village has to eat all of your zebu (the horned cattle here). Then the horns arre hung from your grave. This is to show the wealth you had...If you had 1,000 cattle, thats a lot of steak! You also never point at a tombstone...
The firsttime back in Tana was more pleasant than the arrival. You can understand a country's cities more by spending some time in the country. Walking around on Sunday was very comforting. I passed a big chubby black man who had his beard died bright yellow for some religious reason perhaps???? He just looked at me and started to laugh in a deep rich voice. I then passed a man selling scorpion bites on the street. Out of curiousity, I had to stop...only 20,000 ariary (10 bucks) to get bit by a scorpion! The man was saying that it is a way to know Madagascar. He was very nice, and I am sure it would have been a great experience, but I thought I would choose a differnt way to know Madagascar...what can I say, those things are scarey looking! We did go for a nice long walk through the city, as he showed me a market where I could find some old LPs...boy it is quite a hunt searching for them in Africa.

Veluma Mahambo

Alas....goodbye to the cyrogenically frozen little village of Mahambo.....Impossibly pure. Amazing the combinations one can make out of palm leaves, grass, fish, coconuts, vanilla beans, bamboo, and coral. I started to work on my video for the song "Tomorrow", which my dear pals Vaughn, Barry, and Ted helped compose. So funny trying to teach Malagasy people to sing lyrics written from half way around the world. I'll miss my little candle lit bungalow complete with posters of Britanny and Jessica. I was able to surf my first coral reef waves, which was a bit daunting, and then downright thrilling! Learning French has been the most difficult thing that I have ever attempted, but I made a little progress, and will continue. It is impeccable attention to detail, and I have a deep respect for those that are able to speak it. I am heading to the central highlans before returning to Tana to depart. Ever forward.....

Mora-Mora

Mora-Mora is the local Malagasy word for "Slow Slow" (Would mean Rasberry-Rasberry in Spanish!). This is the motto for there unimaginablly beautiful innocent life here. The village I am staying in is called Mahambo, and thereis no logical reason to travel any further than here. A perfect place for some decompression. It rains for a a few minutes, thensome rainbows, then sunny, then big puffy clouds roll in. This cycle continues day and night. There coast is ladden with crooked spine coconut tress, coral reefs, and white sand beaches. There is NO trash on the beach, which I find amazing. Not because they clean it, but maybe the currents do not bring all of the trash across the ocean. Who knows, but it is refreshing to see. The sand is big and round, and tickles my feet when I run on it in the morning. They sell lychee (those red prickly fruits here) in baskets that they make from palm leaves. NO PLASTIC BAGS THROWN ON THE GROUND! Never have I beenso excited to see litter. Beautiful rotting baskets. I am diligently learning French, but it is not something that comes naturally. The sounds are so delicate, and often I have Portuguese or Spanish floating around between my ears. Not to mention that the language her isMalagasy, and French is not preffered. However, the French culture is infused here. The woman wear bright sarongs, and big wide brimmed sun hats. Their grass and palm woven huts are so ornate, and they paint the doors and windows various colors. They landscape with the rich well of local plants. The food is wildly fantastic as well. Fresh fish and home grown rice, and sauces made from curries, coconut, and fresh picked vanilla beans. The drive from Antanarivo to here was wild. Four different overturned trucks, two dead bodies, and a lot of car sick children. I do not think there was a stretch of highway longer than 100 meters of straightaway. The landscape itself is hard to put in words. So lush and green and the colors seem to vibrate.Madagascar is home to a lot of plants that are found no where else on the planet because of its isolation, and often I felt like I was walking through a Dr.Suess book. There is the cutest little movie theatre in the village which plays movies at 6 in the evning when the generator turns on to provide a bit of electricty. The little kids pile in there and sit on row after row of little wooden benches and watch trashy and often violent American movies. It is no wonder they often beginning to gleefully kick and punch each other on the beach! The one noticable difference between here and Africa, is the affection for children. It seemed in Africa, the women would squeeze out a baby , throw it on her back and head of the farm more corn. Here, the children are held and hugged making them impossibly innocent and gentle. Never have I seen such smiles...including mine!

Antananarivo, Madagascar

It was a long flight here. I had to fly through Nairobi, Kenya, and then all the way back down south to get to Madagascar. Would have ben a lot easier to be a seagull or something. My layover was a VERY long hours in the Nairobi airport which would remind me of a prison, if I had ever been. But instead of cells, they would be duty-free stores. I found the cheapest box of Kenyan wine...3 dollars, and a plastic cup, and sqt down with my guitar. All of the people working around the airport would come and listen, before retreating back to their duties. I spent a few hours talking (barely) with 5 guys from Burma who were flying back from Senegal after working 7 monthes as engineers on a tuna fishing boat, and never getting paid one cent. Incredibly nice guys, and they showed me some photos from the very ornate buddhist temples in Rangoon (capital of Mynamar). By 2 o'clock, I was so tired and a bit woozy from wine, and airport jet fuel, I crawled of to slep in the airport prayer cubicle. Until about ( 5 a.m.) when some muslim women came into pray. Then I sta down tired and watched a group of Somalis (mostly young children) board some strange flight in the bottom level of the airport. I had no idea ther was even a flight into Mogadishu still! They reflected a lot of their country's problems: a few of the young boys started fighting and kicking each other. One young boy pulled a Full burka off of a 4 year old girl. The few older men stared at the ceiling. When the flight attendent/organizer tried to get them to line up in a line, they would roam around, or cut each other in line, and then aimlessly walk aroun, but always with a big smile. Quite fascinating really. Finanally they boarded in what wonderously became a line of thirty people, shortest to tallest!!!! I can't say if it was youngest to oldest because the women were in full wrap... The flight was very exciting as we flew right over Mt. Kilimajaro, the tallest in Africa. I arrived in Antananrivo (shortened to Tana by the locals) in one piece, except one backpack which resurfaced this morning! I would not have missed it too much as it was my dirty laundry. Tana reminds me a lot of Quito, Ecuador. A gorgeous city with cobblestone streets, and old French churches and houses built on step slopes. But the real reason is the numerous stret children with filthy hands and not a bit of youth left in them. They sleep in little packs like puppies at night. I almosty tripped over one tonight as I thought it was a trash bag. It hurts the heart. So so so so many of them. Two of them teamed up to pick pocket me the first afternoon, but fortunately caught on just in time. They come running up with their baseball caps out, and the other hand is in your pocket. I wanted to grab those two little - or è-year olds by the neck... but what else are they to do? The prostitution here is everywhere. I mean as soon as the sun goes down, out they come. In door ways, alleys, nightclubs, and huddle around little fires they make with the rubbish in the street. I suppose it keeps them warm, and the streets look good in the morning. Some of these are not women but no more than 12 or so. There is a number of old white men from Europe, the States, and all over who come here to keep this industry thriving. Quite sad. The people here look Indonesian, African, Indian, and French. They speak Malagasy in which I think every word is over 15 letters and begins with an "A". I went to one of the cabarets (clubs) last night to listen to some excellent music. Onward...