When I talk to my children, I often find myself saying, “In our day, such things did not exist.” The “our day” I refer to is the 1980s and 1990s, the generation I share with them today.
The kids often mockingly ask, “What did you actually have?” We didn’t know what breakfast cereals were. We didn’t eat ‘La Vache Qui Rit’ cheese every day. There were times—whether due to “crisis,” “socialism” (as in the Red Book), or “crisis caused by socialism”—when even butter was unavailable. Chocolate and corned beef (Sevima) felt like rare luxuries.
Back then, chicken wasn’t bought as pre-packaged thighs in supermarkets; we chose them live at the market, and they were slaughtered and plucked at home (my father even did this with rabbits right in front of me). We roasted and tasted everything: locusts, crickets, beetles… “Yuck!” the kids say today.
We lit charcoal fires in clay stoves (they don’t understand why I suddenly bought a clay stove in Ankazobe). We picked and winnowed rice (what is a winnowing basket, anyway?). When there was no powdered salt, we knew how to grind rock salt with a bottle.
What didn’t we have? There weren’t many television channels to choose from, let alone 24/7 broadcasting. There was only one channel, the Radio Televiziona Malagasy, which would start in the evening, often occupied for two hours by the speeches of the respected President. There was no Canalsat, no Netflix. We would sign up at the CCAC (Albert Camus Cultural Center) and spend the whole day there just reading books. Yet, it felt like we traveled through many countries in our imagination.
There were no “délestages” (power cuts) in our day, but we had to turn off the lights when there was no Champions League, documentary, or film to watch. Instead, we could listen to “Maîtres du mystère” or “Tribune de l’Histoire” narrated by Alain Decaux.
There were no traffic jams either, so we could go home for lunch to listen to “Tantara mitohy” (serial stories), remembering the voices of Vahandanitra, Solofo José… On Thursday afternoons, when there was no school, we had an appointment with “Indray andro hono, Rankizy,” hosted by Mrs. Éléonore Rasolofomanana.
Perhaps we are the last generation that didn’t live too differently from the daily lives of our parents born between 1930 and 1950. I wonder, when today’s children become parents, what stories will they have to tell their children that are as funny, sad, or surprising as ours?
Captured & Published at: 2026-09-24 05:38:55 (Madagascar Local Time EAT)
Original Source: https://www.lexpress.mg/2026/09/taminny-andronay-tsy-nisy-anizany.html