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252 chapter 8 The Social Worth of Children “Oh, Madamo é, mampalahelo be—misy tsaiky lahy maty. Maty izy. Mampalahelo . Mampalahelo be” [“Oh, Madame, it’s so very sad—a boy has died. He’s dead. [It makes one] sad, so very sad”], Maman’i’Ricky, a bookkeeper in the county accounts office, said to me one morning. Her office window is low to the ground and overlooks a path I use, and so for several years now I have often stopped by simply to say hello before venturing out on a day of interviews and other research. On this specific day in July 1994, however, Maman’i’Ricky did not greet me in her characteristic fashion, smiling and full of silly jokes and teasing me about my work. Instead , she was clearly disturbed and saddened, and she uttered these words with great difficulty. She nevertheless remained stalwart and shed no tears, for such behavior would be dangerous in the shadow of death. As she explained, her office director’s son, Achille, was dead. Everyone who worked at the fivondronana was rattled—how could harm come to so productive and healthy a young man? The accounts office was in complete disarray, everyone appearing dejected and forlorn , and work had come to a near standstill in the director’s absence. My heart, too, was heavy for the rest of the day: although I did not know the director well, I, too, mourned his loss. This chapter explores the social worth of children in Ambanja, my discussion set against the sudden death of a treasured young man cut down in the prime of youth. If, as Ratsiraka and other politicians have repeatedly argued, Madagascar’s future rests with its children, then sudden tragedies such as this only further accentuate the lifetime sacrifices made by kin and communities to enable youth to succeed in so precarious a world. Life in Madagascar is rife with danger, and thus elders must be vigilant in their efforts to usher youth beyond their early years, through schooling, and into adulthood. The urban schoolyard emerges as an especially perilous milieu, where the very students who succeed academically may quickly become the targets of virulent forms of jealousy. Thus, their very survival depends upon the care of older kin who ultimately require their labor for their own survival. Because so much hinges on a child’s success, some adults or other students may resort to destructive forms of magic that can maim and even kill their victims , who are inevitably the most gifted students. These developments are explored here in reference to larger concerns, where the focus then shifts to an analysis of children as wealth in Madagascar. As I shall show, their value hinges simultaneously on adults’ deep emotional and economic investments in their children. Such institutionalized practices as child fosterage offer especially lucrative ways to share this wealth among kin. In the end, the most valued of all are those who successfully integrate knowledge acquired in school and in the domestic sphere. Such children labor carefully, skillfully, and willingly to ensure the economic independence of their own kin; at times, boys’ and girls’ experiences vary radically within their respective domains. LOST YOUTH The Death of a Beloved Son Within a few days of Achille’s death, much of the town was abuzz with the story. Shortly after my encounter with Maman’i’Ricky, I was scheduled to meet with Félix in order to interview him on schooling in Ambanja. As I soon learned, Félix and many of his peers had already heard the news, and they were deeply distressed by Achille’s sudden death. Félix lives a stone’s throw from the director’s house, and he had witnessed much of the comings and goings in preparation for Achille’s wake and funeral firsthand. As we sat and talked on Félix’s veranda, our conversation was periodically punctuated with the wailing and sobbing of mourning female kin only two houses away. Félix, like his friend Hasina, is yet another outstanding lycée student. At eighteen , he stands poised to take his bac exams for the first time. He is the son of Tsimihety parents, and the third of seven children (one of whom died in his teens). Félix is currently the eldest of four who now live with their mother, who brought her family here when Félix was seven, following the death...

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