The Sights, Sounds, and Smells of a Saturday Stroll

Dear Family and Friends,

The mornings are one of my favorite times to walk through my town, not only just because I am able to escape the sweltering heat at that time, but also because I always enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of daily life. The following is an account of my walk around town this past Saturday, but it is characteristic of most mornings.

Like always I woke up to the sound of chickens crowing outside my door and then dragged myself out of bed so I could go to the market for fresh bread. As I left the hospital compound; where my house; is located I saw a woman using a broom made of little twigs to sweep the dirt path in front of the church. Further down the path I heard a group of kids waving shouting my name(I call them my fan club). I stopped to greet them and ask them how they were doing. As I turned back to head toward the market I caught the wiff of burning garbage.

I headed down the hill and as I passed the house where the baker was making the bread I stopped to enjoy the aroma of freshly baked bread. I saw his son outside with a large basket full of bread attached to the back of his bicycle. He was on his way to sell the bread to small corner stores out in the smaller villages. From the house next to the baker I could hear a radio blaring with a popular Malagasy pop song. Often I can listen to the entirety of a song on my walk to the market as many people listen to the same radio station. They find it funny if I attempt to sing along.

I passed by the post office to drop off a letter. On the road from the post office to the market I passed by the basketball court where a group of teens were cheering on their friends in a match. Off in the distance I saw a group of women carrying baskets of produce from the fields headed to the market. There is a lot of produce every day of the week, but Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays are the official market days so many more food sellers come from far away villages to sell in my town.

Upon entering the market I head the sizzling sound of makasoka(bread cut into slices, dipped into a bread batter, then fried in an pan of oil). While makasoka is often a post jogging snack for me, I resisted and went further down to pick up mofoboda(small loaf of bread). On my way back home I heard the tapping of rocks, I looked over to the side of the path to see a group of small kids playing a rock story telling game where they pretend the stones are people in a make believe story.

I returned home to hear my new kitten(Peanut) meowing at the door. I think he was happy that I was back from my walk around town.

Love,
Teena