Prologue - Preparations:
Preparations had begun even before my arrival in mid-July. The dining room of Monsieur Emma was cluttered with heavy bags rice, where each day one part stretched out to dry in the sun, in the village square, on raffia mats. The women peeled in large mortars. Meanwhile, the men repaint the homes of members of the clan, with yellow and pink. Indeed, in a record time in the courtyard of the house of Monsieur Emma made his appearance a new shower cubicle. "You're lucky! At the end of month there will be a big party. The Kridy Dada-be, my father "- he says Emma. So I start looking around, trying to figure out what it is, this Kridy, Lanonana or if you prefer the official end of which they speak.
The family of Emmanuel (aka Emma) Ratsimbazafy, as I have stated, is very influential here in Ambohimahamasina. The mayor is his brother, he's used to the municipality, and the father, Dada-Be in fact, is a ray-amandreny, literally "father and mother" of the community, a name by which we mean the older members of each clan . Dada-Be was mayor in turn, and for many years. Now, he has 80 years, an angular face, his eyes gloomy and always lost in thought, walking slowly and mind bright. Hop around the country wrapped in his blanket striped blue and white, which protects from the cold and gave him the appearance of a little king wandering in search of a throne stolen by the years. In April, is seriously ill hospitalized due to various el'hanno weeks. However, his harsh temper has mocked the attack of evil, so that, to thank God and celebrate the newfound health, his family decided to organize a celebration that has not only invited the entire community, but also the numerous family scattered to the four corners of the island. We provide a couple of thousands of guests, a huge sum, considering that Ambohimahamasina center alone is home to not a few hundred. The celebration, Kridy precisely, it will last 3 days and seems to offer an interesting mix of Christian beliefs and traditional customs Betsileo.
this occasion no expense was spared: they were bought Kapok 6000 rice (the kapok is the local unit, corresponding to a can of condensed milk, Nestle (?). kapok A kilo is equal to 3 and a half. Doing calculations quickly, should be about 1700 pounds!) and sacrificed two Zebu, the value of 2,500,000 ariary of each, slightly less than 2000 € of beasts. To this, add an indefinite number of chickens, the fuel to run generators that light up the party, the community mobilized to provide housing, etc.. etc. etc. etc. That said, reflect on poverty in Madagascar, and this region in particular, seems to be a joke in bad taste!
August 1, 6:30 am - Sacrifice the first zebu: food for the guests
A procession of men who dragged a black man struggling on the path and fed zebu is a sign that the celebrations have begun. The beast is accompanied by laughs, if you know of mockery or fun.
must be said that the Malagasy are a very special use of laughter. Normally, more than for fun, laughing at the screens, and less often to mock. However, when I find myself to be the object of laughter, which happens quite often and for more understandable reasons, is the irritation to win on a more desirable self-mockery.
Anyway ... the zebu is brought under a tree next to the Protestant church, where it slaughters. His blood is collected in buckets. Then it is skinned and with lewd gestures and wise, it lays bare the mechanism of that was soft and milky living organism, which is so reduced, in strict sequence, to the minimum of each of its components. A beast in the flesh. Separate the tripe and feet, which are resting on a bed of leaves, the brigade of the butchers, all men, moves into a rundown house a short distance to continue the preparation of sauces. The operations are carried out in complete lack of hygiene, on the bare ground without protective cloths or gloves, and water, among men who sputazzano chewing tobacco, which come and go around the slices of scattered to right and left bloody in the middle of the intestines leaking feces of slaughtered beast.
11:00 - Tsodrano and Sokela, Buying and speeches
While the first zebu disappears with a hatchet, a little further north are most closely connected with Dada-Be fitted in the main square, a banquet for the reception of guests, who come for family groups, each bearing an abundance of gifts: an offer of money and bags of rice. The presentation of the gift is called Tsodrano, that blessing is in a singsong speech, well-orchestrated, always done by men, which reveals the extraordinary eloquence of Betsileo in the art of kabary (speech Journal) and their irrepressible logorrhea, matched with a true passion for the microphone and a lack of familiarity with the equalizer.
spokesman says where they came from each group, whose children they are, why they came and what they have brought in figures and books. Then it's the hosts who tell - having regard to the duration of each intervention, I dare say, word for word - the long life of Dada-Be, his illness, the time-consuming organization of the party and the amount of food available in figures and volumes. Each exchange lasts for at least thirty minutes. When finished, the guests are led to the Tran-Maintso, an area where they are fed a meal at a fast pace from the refectory, Meanwhile, the next group is ready at the starting blocks. The talk will happen throughout the day, always different, but certainly also always the same, stopped in a couple of occasions to ballet, where women with baskets on their heads ideally containing rice, mimicking the exchange of gifts.
In this juncture, Dada-Well, which one would imagine sitting in the glory of the party, but it is not even present. As I will explain, in this particular type of family celebration of the birthday only to organize and host the guests, without making any other type of direct intervention or official statements or other pleasantries. In
stunning and the monotony of speeches, I am still stuck on his head a single expression: "Indrindra indrindra k'fa." Becomes the obsession of the day: "Indrindra indrindra k'fa", repeating to go over again. At that point, even when it touches us, well-stocked small group of foreigners to the community, a little 'Malagasy but no, our Tsodrano do not lose the opportunity to dress pretty well for our kabary, spreading laughs (this time of fun), the public now worn by such great rhetorical art.
a strongly hierarchical society
The unfolding of Kridy was an excellent opportunity to see the structure strongly hierarchical society Betsileo, a division that applies not only to different castes (that is to use the term inertia academic caste, but I am not sure that it is the better term), and then a vertical relationship, but also implies internal differences to the same caste, in a horizontal separating the various ranks of authority.
This structure was revealed, at one level, the separation of the tables: the guests arrived from the countryside were fed in an open area, on rough wooden benches. Their meal consisted of huge portions of rice and meat of zebu killed in the morning. I walked around the tables: the smell of burning was less nauseating burning. Rice, cooked, was again put back in the big white plastic bags in which it was purchased and from where it was ladled into bowls. Tripe, stale smell of guts, was released by plastic buckets. The rest of the flesh, hard wood because it lacks the slaughter, was mixed with blood and fat and cooked in large iron pots. After the meal, guests were made to accommodate the exit, pigeonholed as flocks. This dining hall, said Trano Maintso was located at the lower end of the country. The guests, in different shifts, were estimated at 1200.
In return, the guest, the closest family members and dignitaries the country, the treatment offered was of a different kind: the top of the village, right next to the square, was fitted with a real dining room, in the classrooms of primary school. The planks were covered with cloths and laid with care. Were to drink sodas and whiskey. All four had invited a lunchbox filled with rice - which are each served by only-a plate with selected pieces of chicken in sauce, a broth of vegetables and a salad of carrots. In this second table, have ruled in several rounds, about 500 guests, but even here there was a segmentation, this time horizontal. In the first room, about sixty people, were served Dada-Be, his relatives from the city and the country's authorities, including the three vazaha, I say, Samantha, an English girl who has lived here for several years and Romain, a French volunteer of a local NGO. Outdoors, they took place but the other guests, even those on a principle of taking turns. Romain Malagasy colleagues, for example, did not eat with us, as it would be logical given that we had done the Tsodrano all together, but in the next room. And from here, is also easy to imagine that the chicken was not just for their chest and thighs. The women of the family, including wife-Be Dada, served at table and ate last. The meal was consumed in just over half an hour and, with the exception of the opening prayer, in almost total silence.
After dinner, the feast began: an open-air disco that went on all night, all night, all night, to the hypnotic rhythms of the music malgasy, always the same, always the same, always the same, between the rivers of toaka, the poisonous local rum, which flowed, but just like water!
August 2: The second sacrifice of the zebu, a family communion through the flesh.
A mid-morning on Saturday, a new procession of men dragging a large zebu, certainly bigger than the previous day, along the main path of the country. This time, however, before the house of Dada-Be that stop. The great horned beast, despite the ties to the legs, desperately trying to wriggle. Need a little time, a few seconds and the blood already flows in streams, forming first a big red spot on the trail and then two big buckets of frothy liquid. Skinning is repeated like a script, but this time the meat will not serve to feed the guests come from afar, but will be distributed according to a meticulous ritual, among all members of the family, a small piece each. "The zebu has become flesh, and those pieces of meat are not just food. They represent something "- he says Monsieur Silvestre, extraordinarily talkative today. And in fact, distribution again reflects the hierarchy of caste and position of each group within the clan. For the first-degree relatives are given the vody hena, the back of the beast, the most valuable and meaty, the families of genres, the heart and lungs, the intestines of the lineage descending from the women of the clan ... and so on ... The liver is the Patriarch himself, Dada-Be, and all her join them, along with their piece of flesh, they receive a piece of that. The cutting of the meat goes on for hours until late afternoon. The defendants are waiting, not without some small protest, to be awarded a portion that belongs to him. "I wanted to stay at home, but could not, because you have to honor this zebu, which is our family in all its structure. "
Nofo Kena Mitampiavana: is the flesh that makes us blood relatives. This is the name of the ritual. A party's over, everyone goes home with her piece, bringing the flavor of this moment of family alliance, or the disappointment of having been, for reasons still somewhat indecipherable, excluded.
POSTSCRIPT: Even at my small group has touched a piece of Nofo Kena. After the carnage of the day, I really do not care about who he had picked up the honor. But the atmosphere of this festival has meant to me a small step towards integration Ambohimahamasina in the community. The next day, in fact, Mr. Emma invited me to eat the stew of zebu to the table of the patriarch. Not an easy call in the family, also the first that I receive, but a great proof of the esteem of which I hope to live up to. And between ourselves, was not so bad, poor zebu.
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