Dispatches From The Field

19 June 2003 -- Ted Gilliland

Eighteen in Madagascar

Today was my eighteenth birthday, but I turned eighteen in a place where that age is not the same landmark that it is in the United States. In the U.S., eighteen is your formal entry into the adult world, but I have not found that eighteen has the same right-of-passage characteristics in Madagascar. In fact, it is like many things in Madagascar, which are done out of necessity and not long-standing formality. By the age of eighteen, most Malagasy males have probably been working (hard manual labor) for several years and many women already have families. I have never actually had a “real” job (neither out of necessity or personal interest) and I have never even considered a family.

Most wouldn’t imagine the forests of Madagascar as the ideal place for their eighteenth birthday, but the research team and I had a wonderful celebration with the most precious thing we have (other than our anti-malarial pills), food. Some researchers from the field station down the road came up for a huge lunch of rice and squash. We ate, laughed, and struggled with each other’s native languages.

Without me knowing, the team bought sambos (fried dough triangle filled with meat or potatoes), and presented them to me at dinner. Sambos are a precious commodity around here, as are any food items other than rice and beans (rice and beans are the staple crops in Madagascar). As I am going to bed, I am not thinking what I might have missed out on because I spent my eighteenth birthday in a rather non-traditional manner. I am in the remarkable forests of Madagascar, with a great team, conducting research, learning about conservation, and eating good food. I don’t need or want anything more than that. With out an experience like this, it would be easy to live my entire life and never realize that so clearly.

Ted Gilliland