Toilets, Toilets Everywhere But Not a Seat to Sit

Using a toilet, I thought, was a very simple matter. However, as I travel through Madagascar, I have found out that all toilets are not created equal. I have vague memories of learning this lesson in my past – a hole in the floor of a boat in Istanbul sticks out in my mind. However, I have blocked out almost all of the details of any non-Western bathroom experiences. Outhouses and porta-potties are the closest thing I have really encountered in terms of dealing with bathroom related trauma.

Madagascar has been a virtual shmorgas board of toilet experiences. And as my travel adventures progress in this country so do my bathroom adventures. I started my travels in the capitol of Antananarivo where I found the Western porcelain toilet in my hotel room. Although amazingly the city rarely smells of urine, it is quite common to see men stop anywhere on the sidewalk, angle their back to the street, and nonchalantly mark that area. As I moved to Ranamofana National Forest for my first month of shooting, I took this free-wheeling approach to urination. The American research station I was staying at had amazing private bathrooms with even hot showers, however at night we lived in tents across the street and up a hill. I was often too lazy to trek back across the street for my ritual evening pee and the “bathroom” by the tents looked exactly like the one found in the movie “Slumdog Millionaire.”

But it wasn’t until one of researchers asked me to join her on a nine day trek into a remote part of Madagascar when I realized how difficult toilet matters can be. It took four days to drive only 120 km. The degradation of the road to the village of Ivato was paralleled by the progressively worse toilet situation. On our second night of travels, we stayed at a hotel rarely frequented by foreigners - very simple place where one was lucky to not find bed bugs. There was a bucket shower and a communal toilet to boggle the mind.

I am now convinced that all toilets should come with instructions – pictoral instructions similar to the emergency pamphlets found in planes. In this hotel’s bathroom, I recognized the porcelain type material found in the small room. I even understood the properties behind the whole in the floor. But for the life of me, I could not convince my bowels to work out the process I know they needed to do. After standing upright and hanging out for twenty minutes wondering what the hell I was doing wrong, divine intervention occurred and for some reason or other I used my hands to balance on the walls and I squatted down. Ah, success! It was only then that I remembered the term “squat toilet.” And squat you must do. However, even in yoga class, I am not very good at balancing and it became a real challenge to hold my nose in this bathroom while not falling in. But this “toilet,” I was soon to find out was just warm-up for the real show. This toilet was Shangri La compared to the one in Ivato.

I am a fan of going to the bathroom outdoors. There is a certain freedom to it while camping. I think the villagers of Ivato use this born-free method. However, as important guests of the village, we were provided an honorary location of camping out in one of the rooms of the village’s schoolhouse. With only good intentions, I am sure they were proud to provide us with such comfortable accommodations and the formal bathroom that accompanied this important building.

The bathroom was a small concrete walled shack with a drophole dug out of the soil packed floor. An ingenious addition to the drophole where two raised bricks that, like a professional diver, you stepped onto in order to help your body position itself for expulsion. The stench was overwhelming but the raised brick situation leave your hands accessable for nose-holding. Enormous spiders lived along the walls and I have scientifically concluded that spiders have no sense of smell. Despite the dread that accompanied each visit to this abode, there was a certain sense of fun and pride I have never found on a Western toilet. Aiming and making the hole was an exciting part of the day…never mind the two new species of nocturnal lemurs I might have filmed. I was thrilled to become a master of the squat toilet. Perhaps peeing on my feet from time to time, but I accomplished a level of efficiency that never required the little broom found in the room in case you missed. A five year old’s sense of potty trained joy flooded me with each visit. Of course, remembering toilet paper each visit created its own adventure that I do not need to elaborate upon. And perhaps this blog post was really more information than people wanted to know. However, these small differences in life and lifestyle are really what add up to make a culture its very own. These are the details of my travels and adventure that for some reason stick out. And I am now, ever more grateful for the culture of the American toilet…never again will I even complain about a roadside public bathroom.

If you have time, look up a YouTube video posted of a cat repeatedly flushing his owner’s toilet and delightfully watching the water swirl down the bowl. It must have been such a luxury compared to stepping into his previously used litter box. When I am back in the States, I plan to find this cat and maybe make the sequel movie to this ode to the toilet. At the very least, we might collaborate on some directional pamphlets designed for any level of language barrier.

Photos of ValBio Research Station, Ranomafana National Park

Research Station I stayed at for the past month. This is where the offices are located, the dining hall, the bathrooms, the lab. We slept across the street up a hill in tents.

How It Came To Be

A lot of people ask me how I wound up on this adventure in Madagascar. It is often difficult to pinpoint the exact moment a part of your life’s path unfolds. However, amazingly, I clearly remember five years ago when this journey began. I was on a Native American reservation with Caleb Dogeagle visiting his extended family. We were both very excited to see the new animated movie “Madagascar” and we took his young nephew out on our date. Although the movie spends quite a bit of time getting to Madagascar, eventually our heroes (a lion, zebra, giraffe, and hippo) arrive in “THE WILD.” THE WILD is of course Madagascar. A lush land devoid of humans and full of plushy dancing, singing techno-crazed lemurs. I know a good party when I see one and I knew at that moment that I had to join the soiree. After the movie ended, I turned to Caleb and said, “I need to go there.” He soundly replied, “You know they don’t sing and dance like that.” And I thought about it…and thought about it…and thought about it…and decided, NO, I do not know if they sing and dance like that.

I have spent a large proportion of my life watching movies and most of my general education has come from their life lessons. One, as a Jew, I can excel as a part of the mafia but I can never truly be donned a “made man.” Two, when in the middle of any type of gang war situation, it is best to have a well-choreographed song and dance to solve the dilemma. Three, always have minority friends, if a psycho-killer is on the loose, they will surely be killed off first, giving anyone white more time to flee. So in regards to whether or not lemurs sing and dance, I was pretty sure that the movie wouldn’t lie. I hadn’t been steered wrong yet.

So I hopped onto the internet and searched for an NSF funded researcher in Madagascar. NSF has this little-known grant for media makers to make films about NSF funded science. The grant is for $75,000. Considering my wage at the time working for Montana PBS was less than the baby-sitting money I used to make when I was sixteen, I was ready to get my hands on the big bucks. I never did find my NSF researcher but I did log onto a primate research website where Erik Patel was looking for a research assistant in Marojejy National Park, Madgascar. Yes! This was ticket in.

I wrote Erik immediately saying that I would trade my services as an assistant if, in return, he let me film his endeavors. His reply was quite unexpected. He offered to help pay for a large portion of my trip over to his research site so that I could just focus on filming. His lemurs had never been filmed before. They are one of the top twenty-five most endangered primates in the world and he wanted to raise awareness of their plight. I find that it is extremely rare that life offers you more than you ask for from any specific situation. So, when this offer came my way, I knew that there was no other answer than “I’m in.” Of course, when the gods are cruel, they grant your wishes. My six week filming excursion in Madagascar became an almost four year post-production nightmare (but that is an insanely painful and boring technology-ridden story that has no place popping its ugly head into this blog).

So, six weeks in Madagascar plus four years in Montana, my half hour movie about Erik Patel, his silky sifaka lemurs and the research and conservation efforts in Marojejy National Park was complete. The show aired on the Research Channel and Montana PBS. It was highlighted on quite a few conservation and educational websites, and I am told that it is a smash-hit at my grandmother’s old-age home. However, I wanted more. I was looking for a broader international audience. I knew there were old age homes abroad craving new nighttime entertainment. My friend Hillary Hudson happened to casually mention that a woman she met at a film festival was looking for projects to distribute in Africa. I wrote an email to this Sophie Vartan of Natural History Unit Africa and pointed her towards the “Angels of the Forest” link on the Vimeo website (NOTICE - if you have not yet watched my movie, please follow the advice of this shameless plug). I also mentioned to Sophie that I was looking for a job and I attached my resume to the email. Not expecting much in return, since my six month job search in the States was going nowhere, I was extremely surprised when she asked not only for the international rights to distribute my film but she offered me a job shooting videos for her company over in Madagascar.

I did not have to think twice about this alignment of the stars and, as you all probably know by now, I took the job. Little did I know that that fateful day on the rez would lead to this adventure. But as one door opens, another orifice into a room often slams shut. That day on the rez led to my realization that movies often lie. Although I highly encourage everyone to watch the film, there were quite a few factual errors in “Madagascar.” Lemurs are actually a female dominant species - Sasha Baron Cohen would never hack it as king of the lemurs over here. Males often get slapped in the face if they forage for food before a female. And fosa are actually solitary animals. They do not hunt in packs and they certainly do not toss lemurs in gourmet salads. I’m not sure that they even eat any type of green foliage at all. I’m not exactly sure whether or not animals can really break out of the New York City Zoo and take the subway uptown to Penn Station. And I have yet to find a techno-dance-party in the forest…but I am certainly not giving up hope. If going from a movie house on the reservation to a forest in Madagascar can be a logical progression than I can’t even fathom what could be next in life. Maybe after this job is finished, I might just try to become a “made man” for the mob after all.

Gear Review

Packing for any trip can be quite the stressful experience and packing for nine months in the forests of Madagascar was no less trying. Luckily I had a crack team of family, friends, and REI specialists to get me through the ordeal. So far, most of my purchases have stepped up to serve their duty quite well. However, others have yet to be put to the test. In my “gear review” posts, I am going to single out pieces of equipment to analyze so that other adventurers do not have to reinvent the packing of the wheel. I am not sponsored by any of these companies, but if you know anyone that works for any mentioned manufacturers, feel free to pass on my posts so that I can gather some free schwag. For my first review…shoes.

Although most Malagasy walk the world barefoot, my American baby softs can’t hack it without protection. Shoes are important for an American voyager. Keeping in mind that I am trying to pack as light as possible due to the loads of gear I am also carrying, how many and what type of shoes does one pack that will be a formidable workhorse in the wet, muddy forest and then parlay into fun, flirty shoes in the city? And then add two pre-arthritic big toes onto that. I was going to take my low-cut, waterproof Merrell’s that got me through my 2004 trip in Madagascar. Luckily, my mother and Trevor Henry convinced me that this would not be enough. To rival any South American political royalty, I now have my own entourage of footwear.

I have strappy Chaco’s for casual/fancy wear (which tells you how fancy I will be getting this year). My Merrell’s function as my casual city travelers and serve as the understudy work shoe for my fabulous Vasque hiking boots. My Vasques are kick ass! I spend a lot of time precariously perched on the side of a steep muddy hillside filming lemurs and my Vasques become the platform support that does not really exist below me. I slosh through knee high mud, wade through streams, run through thick underbrush, and my Vasques keep right up with me. Actually, it is probably more appropriate to say that I keep up with my Vasques. Although it seems that the Malagasy way of navigating barefoot is much more trustworthy on mud slicked village pathways, my Vasques are the closest thing I could have to making me Malagasy agile and tough.

I love my Vasques but the undergarments to these shoes are even more important. I have metal shanks and expensive customized insoles inserted in my shoes to keep my toes happy. I wear quality socks and I sport a pair of knee-high flesh-colored grandmother stockings under it all! No, this is not for fashionable sex appeal. And yes, I do get made fun of constantly by the researchers around me. However, I have the last laugh. My feet have been through hell and back and I have yet to have one blister to show for it. A very wise, burly and somewhat scary special forces military man once told me that his whole platoon wore women’s knee-high stockings under their socks. And when a man like that admits to something like this…you take his advice seriously. I’m not sure about his stance on thongs in the forest, but I didn’t pack any anyway.

So – plan your shoe selection carefully. Make the room necessary for the extra pair. And make sure to pack the knee-highs. You could even get a little sassy and get a colored pair…perhaps black. However, I think fishnets would be pushing it.

Welcome to Sharon’s Nature World – a unique corner of the internet dedicated to the exploration of the world of nature, the nature of the world, and quite possibly the nature of Sharon.

I was hoping to update this site more regularly with videos and stories, however access to email deep in the forest of Ranomafana National Park, Madagascar, is limited and impossibly slow. The “internet café,” a tiny shack tucked into the back alley of the nearby village, has alarmingly old computers and a lumbering modem, all of which have been plastered with charming bumper stickers announcing “USAID – From the American People.” These computers definitely rank up there with small pox and syphilis, which I believe were also gifts from the American people at one time or another.

However, despite this white-elephant-party re-gift, the Malagasy people seem very happy to meet, share life and swap stories (as well as illegal software and pirated DVDs) with visiting Vasa (pronounced Va-zaaaaaa). “Vasa,” literally translated to “whitey foreigner,” is what exceptionally cute little children in tattered clothes run up to me screaming, pointing, laughing and then running away. Although feeling a bit used and empty (similar to the exploits of a pathetically unsatisfying one-night-stand), it is wonderful to bring so much joy, so easily, to so many people. I once saw a video of a waterskiing chipmunk and I can now truly relate to his heroic endeavors.

However, this circulation of joy, was not always the case when Vassa entered villages thirty years ago. In 1896, the French arrived to colonize Madagascar. By 1947, there was a bloody revolt and the Malagasy evicted all foreigners from the island. The Queen led the charge by ceremoniously dumping white foreigners off of her balcony. In 1960, Madagascar became an independent country and the Vassa became a cautionary tale. “If you don’t do all of your chores, the Vassa will eat you!” “Listen to your parents or the Vassa will steal you away!” “Be a good little boy or girl or the Vassa will get you in your sleep!” White people, despite being completely absent from the island, where remarkably busy keeping rule amongst unruly children. When Madagascar finally re-opened its doors to foreigners in the mid-1980s, many Vassa researchers and other white-whomevers were greeted with terror.

But, luckily for me, times do change. I am currently living in the very cushy research station of ValBio, spending a month filming the wildlife, science and conservation flourishing in this region for the South Africa production company, Natural History Unit Africa. Local collaborators are a must for all of these endeavors and I already have two amazing assistants, Tina and Velo, who are an integral part to making my videos a reality. Who says a woman can’t hack it filming in the field?! But that rant will be saved for another blog entry, on another special day. For now, I just want to get to town, so I can begin the painful process of uploading this entry to my blogspot. And while I let the good American people and USAID process my technology request, I will walk through the streets spreading the joy of Vassa. And since I have yet to have lunch, I think I will pick up a bad little boy or girl to munch on as I ponder the nature of this wonderful world.