13 March 2009

homecoming

Well, it's been real. It's been fun. But Peace Corps is leaving Madagascar for the time being. This means I'll be in the United States in a couple weeks? maybe? It's a slow process. Anyway, it's overwhelming and sad and... overwhelming. I don't know what to think or say about our evacuation. I've been frustrated and sometimes frightened by the political situation, but I don't think I ever really believed that PC Madagascar would be suspended. Now that I'm being sent home, I think about all of the friends I've made, language I've learned, and work I've done and have yet to do. I haven't even begun to scrape the surface of life in Madagascar...

Anyway, more to come when I can process all of this :)

amy menaraka indray! - till next time!

07 March 2009

Looking Forward

During my first 3 months at site, I have been primarily concerned with the future.


“I have only 22 months left! That's less than 2 years!”


“If the Peace Corps experience was one week long, we would be coming up on midnight of the first day!”


But just recently I have become intrigued by the desires and expectations which brought me here to begin with. I was reminiscing with a fellow volunteer the other day about how we started applying for Peace Corps, and we both realized that we began the application and never looked back. I don't ever once remember thinking of applying to another job. Now, I'm not one to believe in fate of destiny or “everything happens for a reason,” but one almost has to think that way to make it through the first couple of months of service. Right now I'm trying to believe that somehow this life decision, to live here for 27 months of my life, is going to turn out to be completely worthwhile. Somewhere in my mind, I know I will look back on this experience with nothing but tenderness and gratitude.


Already I have had flickers of light shine on the murky future. When my 16 year old friend, Yvette, came over to my house with an officially stamped ticket inviting me to her dance performance, I realized I had won the respect and admiration of a local. When I walked down the street today to the chorus of children shouting their many forms of “Lindsay,” I knew I was no longer a tall, scary “vazaha,” but a welcome member of the community. (For the record my name sounds like: Wendy, Linny, Lindy, and my favorite, Lin-Chee!)


Stepping onto that plane leaving JFK airport, I threw my “what if” questions out the window and just trusted that Peace Corps was going to be something I could survive, even enjoy. When I walked home with my host family, not even able to say, “So what is your name?”, I put one foot in front of the other, hoping I was going in the right direction. And as I waved goodbye to the Peace Corps car and closed my door on the first night alone in my home, I let out a sigh and began the next 2 years of my life.


Someone said that Peace Corps will cause you to experience your lowest lows and highest highs. Even within one day of Peace Corps service I can feel those two extremes, but I'm realizing now what little time I have to feel these feelings and sense these surroundings. 2 years will probably not be enough, and did I mention I only have 22 months left?!

18 February 2009

18 Febroary 2009
So after 3 weeks of being away from site, I finally get to return tomorrow. On January 26, all hell broke loose in Tana as the (now ex) mayor Andry declared himself president, and protests turned into burning and looting. The unrest spread throughout the country during the next few days, causing Peace Corps to call all volunteers into consolidation. By the 31st I was at Mantasoa, Peace Corps old training center, where between 40 and 80 volunteers (depending on the day) were held in limbo. Each day, news from Tana was different. Some days I was sure we would soon be on a plane for South Africa; other days I was mentally preparing to go back to site.

But here I am now in Tamatave, buying provisions, finally checking internet, picking up mail, and other odds and ends. Going back to site is going to be challenging. As the newest volunteers in country, my health stage had only been at site a mere 7 weeks when we were yanked out. My return feels like starting all over again, and I can't help but have a sneaking suspicion that we'll be yanked out again...

Every day in Tana there are demonstrations, Andry's people trying to take over the ministry and convince the current president to resign. Although the violence is almost entirely confined to Tana, something has got to give sooner or later – whether Andry is arrested or the president resigns or who knows what – but this stale mate is doing nothing but upping the prices of rice and oil. Even in the past week there has been looting in Diego and Toliara, signs that people who already don't have enough money to eat are feeling an increase in desperation.

Fortunately for me, Tamatave has been quiet and well behaved. I hope it lasts so I can forget about this ridiculous political coup and get on with life in ambany-volo (the backwoods). My little village is, of course, safe and far removed from the dirty politics in Tana, but the moment violence spreads again, or planes stop flying, or roads are cut off, I could find myself in South Africa or even America. And from what I hear about job availability and the economy, the U.S. would not be the best place right now. These next few weeks and months will be tense, but I'm just going to try to live the quiet village life and forget about Tana. Hopefully it all works out in the end!

10 January 2009

Think of me...

Whenever you have downtime, think of me in Madagascar and what I'm doing at that very moment halfway across the world. I'll give you a hint. I'll most likely be doing one of the following :

1. Having a laughable conversation of perpetual misunderstanding with a Malagasy person.

2. Cooking an unappetizing concotion, usually containing potatoes or rice or pasta.

3. Sleeping fitfully under the protection of my mosquito net, wondering if that noise is coming from a rat or a cockroach or yet another disgusting creature Madagascar has yet to reveal to me.

4. Sitting in my bamboo chair, staring at various parts of my banana leaf and baboo house lit by a single candle, wondering if 7:30 is too early to go to bed.

6 Janvier 2009

Today I gave a kabary (presentation) on clean water - add some "Sur'Eau" (bleach), set it in the sun, or boil it. Before I began, I was feeling confident and proud of the awesome poster I had made to complete the kabary. However, once I introduced myself and asked my introductory question:

"Can you drink the water directly from the pump?"
I was met with a bunch of tired faces nodding "yes."

"No!" I said in horror, "There are microbes in that water that can make you sick. It's really dangerous!"

From that moment on, I knew my message was falling on deaf ears. One face in the crowd particularly drew my attention. I could see what she was thinking:

"What the world are microbes? And I don't think I'll die from drinking the water I've consumed for the last 35 years. This vazaha's stomach can't handle it, but Malagasy stomachs are different."

I moved on and went through my demonstrations, knowing full well that no one was going to change the way they treat their water. It's really difficult to know which health messages are the most important for me to deliver and which messages are actually going to bring about change. There's not much use in telling a group of women that they need to fully vaccinate their children when they are already at the clinic for vaccine day.

Don't worry. I'm not giving up hope yet. Every day is a new challenge, and every day I have something positive to reflect upon. Today it was the woman with severe diarrhea who I gave the recipe for the oral rehydration solution to. Yesterday it was a compliment I got from a vendor at a local epicerie (store) :

"You're learning Malagasy so quickly! And you already have way more friends than the last volunteer did."

Right on! That last compliment has carried its positive energy for two days now, and I realize that I may not change the life of that disbelieving woman in the audience, but my friends are another story all together. In two years I will most certainly effect their lives, hopefully changing the way they manage their health and encouraging them to spread their knowledge to others. My goal here is to improve the health status of this community, and I think I will find that my impact will be greatest, not in giving kabarys, but through seemingly ordinary, everday contact.

Ohhhhhhhh Vazaha!

Not a day has gone by here in Ampasimadinika that I don't hear the word “vazaha” spoken. In Malagasy “vazaha” means “foreigner,” historically meaning a French person, but now applying to anyone obviously not Malagasy. It comes in a wide variety of forms.
General Commentary : “Oh look, the vazaha speaks Gasy... that's weird.”
Bad Pick-up Lines : “Ohhhhhhhh vazaha!” followed by a wink and a head jerk from a Malagasy man.
Referring to Language : “When you get good enough at Malagasy, can you teach us “teny vazaha?” - vazaha language, meaning English.
Discipline : “If you don't behave, the vazaha will eat you.”
Describing Merchandise : “Oh, you bought the vazaha broom.” - not the typical straw tied to a stick kind.
My favorite is actually the experience of another volunteer who quickly put out his cigarette, took off his hat, and bowed in reverence after noticing a passing funeral procession. Just as quickly, a man from the procession pointed excitedly and yelled, “VAZAHA! VAZAHA! VAZAHA!”
It's like a nervous tick. A Malagasy person sees a white person, and as if forced by some other power, they must utter the word “vazaha,” whether it be shouted or muttered almost inaudibly. White people aren't the only ones haunted by the labels of the Malagasy. Anyone looking remotely Indian is labeled Karana. Anyone looking Asian is called Sinoa (Chinese). And anyone who looks anything like them is Malagasy, even if that person is actually American.
It's no wonder the Malagasy are obsessed with that which is different; after all Madagascar is an island and poor infrastructure makes travel within the island difficult. Many Malagasy are born, grow up, work, and die on the same part of the island. If they can afford it, they will have a radio or a TV to give them a glimpse of other cultures and other kinds of people. But the stations provide little of reality and a lot of Michael Jackson, Johny Halliday, Star Academy, and Celine Dion.
Although this obsessive labeling can be annoying, it's rarely to never done out of hostility and generally done out of curiosity or out of surprise at that which is out of the ordinary. I compare this to the United States where labeling is politically incorrect and someone who labels is sure to explain why they did so. With easy access to other cultures through TV, the radio, or the internet, I'm surprised at how few Americans are interested in exploring other cultures and religions and nations. We are so uninterested in that which is different from us.
I ran across a quote from Terry Tempest Williams, “I have... listened, observed, and quietly formed my own opinions, in a culture that rarely asks questions because it has all the answers.” It's true. We do seem to have all the answers... for now. But with the increasing instability in this world, I think we need to start looking outside our borders for some solutions.
Maybe we should take a lesson from the Malagasy and begin pointing out differences, and more importantly find out the root of those differences. I think we would discover that we are all humans living on the same planet, trying to achieve that elusive emotion : happiness.