Horseback Riding and the Croc Farm

Now that school has finally settled into a regular schedule, I’ve had less time to explore the city of Tana. Fortunately, due to the incredible amount of free time I had from Covid, cyclones, and just general cancelations, my fellow Fulbrighters and I have pretty much already exhausted what there is to do around the capital of Madagascar. Last weekend and this weekend virtually solidified this fact as we went on two separate excursions to the outskirts of the city.

The first was to a small ranch out in the countryside where we went horseback riding. I had never been before, so I was a little nervous as the idea of being on top of and trying to control an animal much larger in size can obviously be intimidating. Nonetheless, in typical Malagasy fashion, the boys running the ranch threw me up on the horse, full-well knowing I had never been on one before, and sent me along with the others without much instruction beyond only the most essential controls; go forward, turn, slowdown, stop.

Once we got into our little convoy, we started along the dirt roads of the countryside, making our way through little villages of mudbrick houses, curious children, and plenty of Malagasy countryfolk just going about their daily business. The scenery is beautiful in rural Madagascar, and the people are always friendly. They aren’t used to many vazaha (white foreigners). So the sight of three of us on horses meandering around the dirt streets certainly peaked curiosity and a great deal of laughter.

In fact, at one point we were along a short ridge that sloped down to a small river. The slope was grassy and filled with children. As soon as they saw us, they came running, all wanting a closer look at the strangers from beyond their little island village.

I’m not really sure how it makes me feel. On one hand, there is a feeling of warmth, pride, and joy. All these little children are so interested in me and so excited to hear me speak, to watch me move, or even just stand there so they can get a good look at me. On the other hand, I wonder what they’re thinking. I wonder what stories they have heard about us vazaha. I wonder if they think we’re monsters or demigods. Being on top of a horse doesn’t really help to deconstruct the image of rich, white tourists. Regardless, I’ll never really know what they think about us or where their assumptions come from. I’ve seen so much of this place already that I know better than to make assumptions about others. Nevertheless, we moved on our way along the dirt streets, passed by more homes, avoided carriages pulled by zebu, and made our way back to the ranch where we dismounted and were back on our way, bumping up and down on the dirt roads in our taxi which was certainly not designed for this kind of traveling.

This past weekend, however, we went on a much more touristic journey. We ventured out to the Croc Farm, a well-known tourist destination where they, as the name implies, farm crocodiles. In addition to this, however, they have a rather large collection of other reptiles, amphibians, birds, and more. They even have a lemur who wanders about the beautiful and intricately designed enclosure where thin paths meander through a variety of foliage found all over the island. In short, the Croc Farm was like a mini version of the entire island where we were able to see the immense diversity of Madagascar’s life.

When we got there, we found a guide who brought us around. He showed us all these birds, snakes, frogs, the lemur, crocodiles, and everything else. He answered our many questions and had a few, himself, about us and what we were doing in Madagascar.

It may seem strange to us that someone who works in a tourist hotspot would ask tourists why they’re in the country. But it’s important to remember that Madagascar has been virtually closed off from the world since 2020. In many places, us Fulbrighters are the first vazaha anyone has seen in over 2 years. When we tell them that we’re teachers here to teach English, the usual response is puzzlement followed by, “Oh so you’re American?” Not many people can tell the difference between an English and American accent here. On top of that, it is always the first assumption that we’re French, and since we can speak French, some people never actually figure out that we’re from the states.

This seemingly side-tracked idea is actually something that is on my mind quite often. That is, it’s impossible to avoid the fact that I am a foreigner and will always be viewed as such, for good reason. I don’t “look” Malagasy. I don’t speak Malagasy. I don’t act Malagasy. Some of these concepts are a little loose in their meaning, but the majority of the population share similar views on what constitutes someone from Madagascar and what constitutes a foreigner.

These ideas all lead back to the question of identity and how we identify ourselves and each other. Identity is such a complex concept that anyone who tells you they have it figured out is either a liar or too full of themselves. Indeed, the concept of identity lies in the crossroads of a million labels, ideas, traits, experiences, and more. Everything we do, think, say; everywhere we come from, have been, or will go; anything we have experienced, done, or accomplished; everything we believe, fear, or understand; these all play key roles in the formation of our personal and collective identities.

And perhaps that is why I felt so strange when those children came running after us or when I get the inquiry, “What are you doing here?” What these children and these guides are essentially asking, without knowing it, is “Who are you?”

I think this question terrifies us all. It certainly terrifies me. Who am I? Not what have I done, where have I been, what have I experienced, what do I believe, who do I know, or what can I do. But who am I? It’s a question we all struggle to answer, and I believe it is difficult to answer because we are often afraid of the answers we find, or still, the answers we don’t find.

This question strikes us most harshly when we transition from one point of our lives to the next because we are not only tasked with answering this question but also the additional question, “Who do I want to be?” The combination of these is a most daunting task for anyone of any age, whether you are leaving high school, deciding whether to retire, finding a major in college, looking for a new job, or whether you need to move away from family and friends. Moreover, it’s one thing to know that answering these questions is difficult, it’s another in actually going about answering them for oneself. I speak from past and ongoing experience.

Nonetheless, if one thing is certain, just because we do not have an answer, does not mean that we are without identity. Just because we are in the process of discovering and forging who we are, does not mean that we have wasted time or have no value. I think the following excerpt I found from a collection of anonymous reflections can help ease some of the stress of this question of identity.

“My eyes have been blinded for so long. Do I even have the strength to trust them? It is I who crippled them, turned them away from the light, and cast dust beneath their lids. That is why the light of truth is so painful, years surrounded by darkness. That is why the cleansing water stings, the grains of sand scratching my eyes. But joy, oh joy. To live in the darkness is pain, but the joy of the light tips the scales so forcefully it breaks. My eyes, cleared of debris, turned towards the light, are free to see the truth, that I am loved, that I am created, that I can always be who I am meant to be because I have been chosen for this life, a life in the present where the past is laid to rest, a life of holiness that is open to all, but only if we accept it. My eyes are open. I see the path. I know my destination. I know my God. He knows me. I am who I am when I am living.

I am created. I am chosen. I am known. I am freed. I am loved. That is who I am.”

As always, know that you are in my prayers each morning. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

May God be praised.