August 28, 2007
One of the statistics I learned while obtaining my public health degree is that on average, indoor air pollution is 5 to 100 times worse than outdoor pollution. 5 to 100 times worse! I just can't get over that. My point in imparting this disturbing statistic is that while we were tramping across Sainte Maire, we camped in a couple of villages and I realized that most of the Gasy probably don't have to worry about the difference between indoor and outdoor air pollution.
Most houses in Madagascar that we've seen are made so there's lots of air flow from inside out and vice versa. There's a frame to the house made of tree branches that are just thick enough to be grabbed around without your thumb and middle finger touching. I really want the walls of the houses to be reeds, nice thick ones, because that's what they look like to me, but Martial, who among other things, is a botanical expert, assured me that the sticks are from a tree. So the walls are actually each a single row of tree branches thin enough that you could grasp four together. These are very carefully lined up vertically between the thicker frame tree parts and kept in line at the bottom by resting them on a thin piece of more or less flat wood. They're cut to fit, so they slot in at the top, just under another horizontal frame piece.
The roofs are all angled, due, I suspect, to the heavy rains that the country gets in various seasons. The covering is almost always rows of large fan palm leaves, carefully overlapped every two inches so there may be five layers at any one point. Sometimes the roofs are made of corrugated tin and sometimes they're a combination of palm and tin, but it's usually just the palm leaves, which are quite effective at keeping out even torrential downpours.
The houses are almost always just one room where everyone sleeps, stays dry and talks together. But not, to my surprise, cooks together. In the first village in which we camped we discovered that the kitchen is actually a separate, slightly smaller, one room house where the women of the two extended families that make up the village prepare the meals. Inside there was an unfinished plank wood table and four similarly rough-cut stools, a charcoal brazier for small dishes and the tea kettle, a free-standing cabinet of sorts where the staples of rice, cassava, oil and spice were stored, and a fire "bank" area where the main cooking was done. The fire area was large enough for three large pots to be going at once and had a three shelf rack built over it where the fire wood was kept. David expressed surprise at this arrangement thinking it might be dangerous, but Martial explained it was the best way to keep the wood dry in the humidity. Plus, it's good for smoking fish. (I am embarrassed to say i hadn't even though about it as a potential fire hazard, which is probably why I no longer have the pleasure of lighting our stove.) Even with all the wood smoke in the kitchen, there's still lots of airflow in and out, especially since doors, if installed, are always left open during the day, and frequently at night, as well.
Despite their non-air polluting benefits, you wouldn't really want to live in one of these houses. Partly because of bugs. With the inevitable spaces that allow airflow comes space for bugs and I am just not a fan of bugs moving around while I sleep. Especially on me. But more importantly, you wouldn't want to live in these houses because they only last for about four years. Can you imagine having to rebuild your house every four years? What a boon for construction workers, though.
And now, having finished this doubtlessly fascinating description of housing construction in Madagascar, may I encourage you all to go outside and enjoy the cleaner air. Unless, of course, you're in the U.S. where we've read that much of the country is on fire.
