Monday, June 20, 2011
One day as Gina and I wandered Pamplomousses (where we catch the bus that takes us to the Eli Africa education center), we couldn't stop talking about what an incredible day it had been. So many positive things. So many fun moments with new, interesting people. Just as we were on the hunt for a place to buy fried noodles for a late lunch, we spotted something colorful coming down the road. It was a procession, led by a small group of men carrying a large pile of flowers on their shoulders. It didn't' take long to realize that the pile of flowers was much more than that--they sat upon what looked uncannily like a dead body. As the processional grew nearer, we realized -- we were in the middle of a Hindu funeral procession! Immediately (and respectfully) I pulled out my camera. It wasn't a coffin they were carrying; it was a canvas of some sort holding the weight of a body covered in giant flowers. The face of the deceased man was exposed to the open air and still visible--old, shrunken and peaceful looking, with white powder seemingly dabbed onto his forehead. (A religious symbol, I assume.) We immediately began asking passersby the specifics of what was happening. One villager eagerly suggested that we follow him, and just like that we were taking part in the funeral service.
We walked at the back of a long line of about fifty men who trailed behind the carried body. The processional winded down the village streets until veering off the main roads onto a small dirt path in a field thick with sugar cane. We walked down the path, dodging the large corn-like husks of the cane that were hanging over the trail. At the front of the line--far in front of us--we could still see the flowers of the deceased. Behind us trailed a few village boys. Finally we arrived at a giant tree, which marked an open cement clearing where there sat two giant altars. The first was covered in ashes, still simmering with the heat of recent fire. Upon the second altar, however, sat a carefully assembled pile of wood. Ready to make fire. The group of men walked forward to this alter and--gathering together tightly for greater strength--carefully transported the deceased man's body from the greenery-covered carrying canvas onto the pile of wood. It was immediately clear what was happening--the body was prepared to burn.
I slowly approached the scene from the back. Gina was required to stay put over by the tree, because women are not allowed to take part in Hindu burning ceremonies. (They do not burry their dead; they burn them.) I was nervous to take out my camera because I wanted to treat the situation with the utmost respect it deserved. (But let's be real--I really wanted to take pictures.) Without even asking permission, my guide urged me to take out my camera and begin shooting. I double and triple checked to make sure it would be socially and culturally acceptable, and then began photographing the scene. Nobody seemed to notice that I had a camera and those that did notice didn't seem to care. Everyone was watching the ceremony, and nobody was worried about the white boy floating around with a Nikon in his hands.
I photographed the ceremony like crazy. First they placed the body on the logs. Then they piled wood up on top of him, and on all sides. From there, they proceeded to dump on dried powders that smelled of ginger and incense. Two men in Hindu robes sat with their legs crossed at the head of the altar. One sang in a deep baritone voice a series of (peculiar) traditional Indian songs. Each song was a prayer (they told me) that bears significance for Hindu dead. The two robed men mixed a series of colorful herbs and plants in a strange concoction that sat on the floor near the altar. Eventually they filled a wooden goblet with a liquid they'd mixed and blessed. The taller of the two men--wearing a long white headdress--placed his right arm over his head and with it held the wooden goblet over his left shoulder. (A strange and fascinating way to hold a wooden goblet.) The other robed man picked up a small hatchet and began hammering into the goblet. He hammered until puncturing a small hole in the goblet's side, which leaked out a steady stream of the liquid mixture. They began circling around the altar where the deceased man lay, leaving behind them a trail of the liquid. This ritual was followed by another in which they lit on fire a pile of green leaves. These leaves, of course, were then thrown onto the altar. With the assistance of more scented powders, the wood soon caught fire. I stood back watching these men--most dressed in jeans and typical street clothes--set fire to their deceased friend and relative. Nobody was crying. Nobody was mourning. In fact, some were even chatting off to the side about things seemingly unrelated to the funeral. I was still taking pictures, and nobody raised an eyebrow (or even acknowledged me for that matter.) It was bizarre, but perfect. As the body (completely hidden by wood at this point) began to go up in flames, I walked slowly back to Gina. Our guide joined us and together we walked back onto the dirt path through the sugar cane. I turned back to catch a final glimpse of the scene--the men now separating and watching the fire from various spaces in the clearing--but was immediately told not to do so. Our guide explained to us that one should never look backward after a funeral service, for doing so will keep the spirit here on Earth. "We must not look back. Only forward, so you can leave the dead behind and let them go free."
On our way to the center, we piled onto an overcrowded rush hour bus in Pamplomousses (I got to sit up front on the window ledge next to the controller--best seat on the bus!) We only had time to buy veggies on the street (not fried noodles), so we snacked away at raw green beans until arriving at the center. My mind was reeling with the events I'd just seen, but we quickly took to the tasks at hand. A small group of kids was at the center, but fortunately the other teaching fellows had everything under control. Soon we dove into our respective educational projects. (I didn't end up teaching today though because I was busy making a trip into town to pick up a rod to hang our new curtain in the theater we created. Turns out my good friend who owns the hardware store happens to be the body guard of the President & Prime Minister of Mauritius! Pretty cool, no?)
On our way back home tonight with the whole group we decided to try a new bus route. (The usual one has been taking an awfully long time lately.) The sky at this point had shifted to a dark royal blue (it gets dark really early here) and out of the bus windows we saw something magnificent--a glowing full moon. Of course it was a full moon, I reasoned. A day like that could have ended in no other way.
[mckay]
my job as an Eli Africa fellow has quickly evolved from theater teacher to include: program recruitment officer (an unofficial title that seems to fit the sort of work we've been doing to get our education center started), music instructor, occasional cook (scary), and dance instructor (MY FAVORITE). lots of work, yes, but these kids are incredible. Absolutely incredible.
Every morning for the last week, I've been visiting Mauritian schools (working in classrooms and promoting the Eli Africa educational center.) After leaving a school a few days ago with my recruiting parrtner Gina, we decided to spend time exploring the vegetable market in the heart of Rivier du Rampart (a wonderful village.) I've been eyeing the market for days now, and was SO EXCITED to finally spend some time there. As we walked along, I pulled out my camera and began shooting like crazy. So much eye candy in front of me! Fruit and veggie stands filled the streets, some sporting traditional produce and others selling exotic produce I've never seen. (They sell a crazy cucumber-like vegetable, for instance, that has sharp edges naturally carved into the skin.) Most of the merchants stood behind the produce and would try convincing us to make a purchase. I was taking a mad amount of photos, and I found that most men would stand still and let me take their photograph, even without asking. (I was still nervous about photographing women, due to the various cultural issues that could arise should I accidentally photograph a religous woman whose husband decides I am violating her, etc. I was instructed to be careful about that when I arrived in Mauritius.) I kept stumbling upon new and interesting people to shoot. A man who made some delicious colorful kettle corn (which I purchased for a whopping 10 rupees, or 30 American cents) stood still while I photographed him with his kettle corn. A man shaving the skin off of fruit looked at me long enough to catch a few shots. BUT NOTHING COMPARES TO THE BOY WITH THE RED CAP.
I was walking along totally consumed by the village's good vibrations when I spotted the most adorable child sitting most adorably on a big chair, wearing a red baseball cap tilted to one side. He looked about five or six years old, and had giant brown eyes that immediately locked with mine. I had to take a picture. Feeling brave and totally comfortable at this point, I walked behind the fruit stand where he was sitting and started photographing him, sitting with his hands on the chair beneath him. His dad stood nearby (whose permission I was granted via a quick connection of eyes and friendly smile) and started laughing as I photographed the boy. He shouted for his son to smile, but the kid just stared into my camera, and then to either side of the camera as I furiously shot what I felt was such a precious moment. Having a camera--and a crazy addiction to the sound of its shutter--brings such a welcome dynamic to exploring new locations. I can't not see something without thinking about how beautiful it is, and how I simply must take a picture.
I eventually left the cap-wearing boy behind and continued my stroll. By this point, Gina had wandered off somewhere (we both agreed we'd surely run into each other in the village at some point.) I turned the corner and struck up a conversation with a short Hindu lady from whom I tried buying papayas. Turns out, it's pretty rare to find papayas at any general marketplace. "You come back tomorrow?" she asked me. I nodded yes and she added, "Okay. I bring you two!" So guess who's going back to that fruit stand tomorrow to score myself two papayas? :) As I walked away, a few men standing behind yet another fruit stand called out to me, "Where you from?" I responded and then heard, "Your China lady went that way." It's great exploring Mauritius with an Asian (Gina), 'cause everyone pays attention to the white boy and the Korean girl (who they always call Chinese.)
I then walked into a little fabric store which caught my eye from the street. It was a small shop dimly lit with natural light from outside. Behind the desk sat a tall old woman speaking with a customer who couldn't have been more than 4"8. The customer, a Hindu woman with thick circular bifocals, began chatting with me in French. Surprisingly, I understood a bit of it (the bits that sound like Spanish) and we had a small conversation in English and French (I don't speak French, she doesn't speak English.) I felt so comfortable with the two of them and asked if I could take a photo. The small woman immediately beamed and set her bag down to pose, which I immediately (and obviously) took as overwhelming consent to let me pull out my camera. Photographing this woman was a delight--she beamed with the smile of a child, which shone through cute wrinkles she's collected over a lifetime. These women seemed so flattered to be photographed, and I walked away grinning. I'm sure if they spoke English there would have been a dinner invite. :)
Soon I ran into Gina and we decided to check out a second-story cafe called "Expresso." Gina loves coffee, and she was praying we'd find some there. Of course, we're in Mauritius, so we were not surprised to find that the cafe had nothing to do with coffee, despite its misleading name. (Worth a try.) On our way out, I peaked my head into a beauty salon where a young hairstylist my age sat reading a book. I asked if I could take her picture and, just like the elderly women, she beamed. I started shooting and she giggled to pieces. I don't think I'm wrong when I say that she was deeply flattered to be catching the attention of some crazy American boy. :)
We then wandered down to the bus stop, where we ended up making friends with a GIGANTIC man named Amassi who is a clothing merchant that splits his time between Mauritius and Pakistan. He is a jolly ol' fellow and a businessman at heart who invited us to his place in Grand Bay whenever we're in the area. (Grand Bay has the best beaches!) He looked awesome sporting a GIGANTIC robe and a funky flat African hat (surely that hat has a name.) Meanwhile, Gina made friends with a lovely lady (wearing a sheer yellow scarf!) who gave us her number and hopes that we stop by her village sometime. I LOVE THIS PLACE AND ITS PEOPLE. So many dinner invitations from so many kind people. Eventually our bus arrived and we hopped on, bidding farewell to our new friends and one of the most thoroughly enjoyable wandering experiences I've had on the island so far.
I'll post some of the photos soon. :)
Monday, June 13, 2011
6/4/11
Tonight we went to the wedding! We got back to the house at about five, and I headed over to the festivities at about 5:30. Vedant tagged along. As we approached the entrance, AJ popped out and said, "Ah! Just in time!" We walked in as the evening's religious ceremonies were commencing. AJ made sure I got a front row seat and said I should take lots and lots of photos. Obviously that wasn't a problem for me. (A front row seat to a Hindu wedding in Mauritius? HECK YES.) The ceremony was fascinating. The groom, a friend of mine by now, sat on a small stage with his sister and mother (I think.) A religious leader of some sort sat across from them, criss cross on the ground. Between them sat all sorts of incense, flower petals, leaves, and little bowls full of yellow and orange plants and herbs. The leader chanted in Hindu while the other three prayed, ate specific things, and bowed their heads. Eventually began the final part of the ceremony where, after lighting a big fire, all of the guests at the wedding entered the stage one at a time to dip a handful of green grass in a bowl of yellow herbs with which to bless the betrothed. They dabbed the soaked grass on each ear, each shoulder, and each knee of the groom. By the time the ceremony finished 45 minutes later, the groom was soaked in yellow. COVERED. He then moved to a back room where he was greeted by all of the male guests.
In the meantime, I went back over the house and found that all of the Eli Africa girls had borrowed authentic Indian garb from a friend to wear to the wedding! We made grand entrance into the wedding tent, walking down the aisle and fitting right in with the craziness of the event. By now the place was packed--people dressed in extravagant robes and fabrics all pack under the tent, bustling about and sitting in rows of plastic chairs to watch the ceremony. We snuck to the side porch space, where we found a series of long tables for food. The table was full, but we eventually found seats as the crowds kept shifting. We ate the same food they let me sample last night--fried flat bread with INCREDIBLE indian EVERYTHING. Male waiters in white shirts kept coming and coming with more and more food, each as absurdly delicious as the last. The food is not eaten with utensils. Instead, everyone eats with their fingers, which is sort of unsettling at first. All of us Americans were trying carefully to use the bread as a makeshift utensil, but most of us ended up failing at that and using our fingers a bit too. In any case, the food was the best Indian food I've ever had.
Eventually two Hindu singers started entertaining the crowd as we walked around socializing and congratulating the family. A crazy drunk man danced HILARIOUSLY on the stage (his entire body was literally vibrating at points) and the singers kept singing popular tunes from Indian films. Guests kept piling up outside and cramming in through the doors, adding to the ridiculously colorful atmosphere. The lights hanging from above set a fun tone, and a cameraman with a CRAZILY BRIGHT flash walked around shining his light in everyone's faces as he filmed them. (Thank heavens--it was perfect for my camera.)
One Hindu wedding down. A pleasant Mauritian surprise. :)
[mckay]
The most amazing thing that happened all day, however, occurred tonight. As I sat on the third floor balcony watching the sunset and working on the Mixed Co. album art (sorting through loads of fonts that Ian gave me), I began to hear music down the street. I looked to the east and saw a small building glowing with decorative lights. (It's located right next to the restaurant with the dumplings.) I decided to take a walk down there to photograph it from outside. I had no idea what I was in store for.
I introduced myself to a group of men working on hanging lights and decorations on the giant tent facing the street. They were immediately cool with me photographing them and were altogether a friendly bunch. One man, Viney, stepped up and said something like, "Ah! Inside. You come with me." Turns out, Mauritian weddings last four days and tonight was the first! He took me inside the tent where I saw a gorgeous wedding being set up. The tent was a lovely cream color, glowing with hundreds of christmas-style lights hanging down in a beautifully systematic form. He took me to a back porch area nestled between a giant house and the tent, where I met about six women (dressed in colorful robes and scarves) cooking. One sat on the ground frying some sort of scone-like flat bread. Three other women stood behind a table in the corner making dough and shaping the bread. One woman, Uma, introduced herself. She is lovely. Dressed head to toe in orange with an awesome nose ring, she introduced her self in beautiful English and offered to give me (lots of) food. Viney had already put down a placemat on which he'd plopped a huge variety of Indian foods for me to try. "You eat?" Of course I couldn't say no, and I was so intrigued by the food. I sat down and was handed a piece of piping hot fried dough and began to eat. WOW OH WOW. I was eating a variety of Indian pastes, sauces, cooked fruits, and meats all seasoned exotically and impeccably. Viney was so nice, the kind of man who'd give you the shirt of his back, and kept offering more and more food. Soon he and Uma poured me some Pepsi to drink and then were eager to take a photo of me on my camera. I let them, of course, and had a blast watching him use such a beast of a machine.
Soon thereafter Viney introduced me to his brother, AJ. AJ looks older than Viney and is a bit rounder. But he was immediately full of the same eager willingness to help me and show me an incredible time. After I finished eating, he took me into the house. I walked through a back room full of old Mauritian women (dressed in beautiful, vividly colored robes) and then down a hallway, where I met the groom of the wedding. I went through the house peaking into each room--some plainly furnished bedrooms with silk bed coverings, others quaint living spaces with old furniture and an assortment of hindi-inspired wall hangings. We circled through the house and back outside under the tent as AJ talked a million miles a minute about how the wedding would be tomorrow, and how he'd love for my friends and I to join the festivities. We wound up in the same back porch space as we began and, by this time, a group of teenagers was standing near another table filling small plastic bags with a strange nut. AJ gave me a handful of the nuts to try, of course, and I can honestly say I've never eaten anything quite like them. (A strange mix of a pine nut and some nut too strange to describe.) He offered at least two or three more times to feed me more, offers that I politely turned down. I knew dinner was being served back at the house, so I didn't want to overeat. People of all ages kept coming and going, smiling and saying hello. I introduced myself to most of them and loved seeing their reactions when I'd say that I'm American. (Everyone so far has first guess England, and always get big eyes and a smile when I correct them and say I'm from the USA.) It's fun to be in a place where the USA is adored.
As I stood there amidst the vibrant energy of this family preparing for a wedding, I was so impressed. This is their world. This is their life. This is their normal. It's incredible. There are so many beautiful things here, too many incredible and rich traditions built on centuries of religious and familial practice. And it's beautiful. I especially adored that the entire family was involved in the wedding preparation. There was no silly wedding planner, just a giant group of people who were lovingly preparing for a very special day. Cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, neighbors. I love that. A union of lovers in its simplest, purest form. It truly felt like a celebration.
I eventually left and essentially SKIPPED back to the house SO EXCITED to share with everyone what I just experienced. I ended up walking in on a big dinner that Vedant was leading, but everyone was curious to know what I'd been up to. "WE'RE GOING TO A MAURITIAN WEDDING TOMORROW! WE'RE ALL INVITED!" That was a fun announcement to make. :)
Later that night, the adventures began. I'd been invited to the wedding dance, but when it came time to show up, I didn't hear dancing down the street and assumed plans might have changed (or maybe they were running late?) Turns out, there WAS a dance… just a very different kind of one than I'm used to.
BJ, Grace, Sabrina and I decided to head over and check it out. As we walked through the tent, we were directed to a small room in the front of the house. There we found at least a dozen women sitting while four or five more played a bizarre blend of percussive instruments. One woman closed her eyes and hit a lap drum on both sides. Another banged a small metal cup with two tiny metal rods. Another passionately shook what I can only describe as two very tall linear (not circular) tambourines. And all the while, a woman dressed in brilliant yellow danced in the middle of the room while all watched and sang. (IS THIS REAL LIFE?)
The style in which these women dance is peculiar, and striking. Their movement is at once fluid and clunky, in the most wonderful of ways. I was reminded of a bottle full of ice and water sitting on the floor during a bumpy car ride (an oddly specific metaphor, but appropriate.) As the bottle bounces up and down and from side to side, the water inside moves smoothly like any liquid, but the ice cubes jerk about in mildly abrasive motions. And it all works together, in some strange and powerful mix of movement. So it was with these women. They would pivot on a single foot, stirring the air in front of them with their deep brown hands. Eyes closed and heads to the heavens, they moved about in a way too free to be calculated, but too cohesive to be utterly random. I loved watching when a new woman would get up to dance, because every person moved in a different way. The general motion--ice cubs and water in a bottle--was present, but the specific body shapes and steps varied. One woman in blue would pivot on a single foot all about the room, swishing her hands up and down as if acknowledging and praising the bright light hanging above her. I was photographing them like crazy, though the lighting was dreadful and the photographs probably won't turn out. But I didn't even care--the experience is photographed so vividly in my head.
Soon AJ entered the room and excitedly urged me to start dancing. He asked for my camera, which I willingly gave him, so that he could photograph me and the gang dancing our first Mauritian dance. And dance we did! We stood up and began dancing in the same wild, calm, and free manner we witnessed in the Mauritian women. I had a few surreal moments where I imagined myself seeing this room from above, looking down at us dancing about freely in a tiny room full of colorfully robed Mauritian women singing dark, rich melodies in Hindi; all on a tiny island full of sunshine, wildlife, and so much spirit. Is this real life? Yes. Really incredible life.
Soon enough, Grace disappeared to a side room where she began getting Mandi, which is a floral henna tattoo painted onto the hands of single women at weddings. A tall-standing 20 year old girl with long dark hair was applying the Mandi, as a wide-eyed Grace looked on. SO COOL. So legit.
By the end of the night Sabrina also had Mandi on her hand. We left laughing and completely ecstatic about the unforgettable evening we'd just experienced. Dancing with a room full of love-filled Mauritians across the street from our palatial African house. And it was only day #2!
the three story house we get to live in while working here. not the hut i was imagining, but i guess it’ll suffice. :)
and the view from the (royal) second floor balcony.
these are some of the (wonderful) human beings with whom i get to live and work all day every day. we’re each here teaching different projects at an education center we are starting on the island. what’s better than helping kids on an african island participate in experiential learning? doing it with a group of super-duper friendly folks. :)
more about our organization here: www.eli-africa.org
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