Getting into the Fomba

Forty-eight hours of travel, minimal sleep, and half my luggage lost at the airport later, I arrived back at site.  It was New Years Eve, and of course as soon as I arrive everyone wanted to chat, but I made a dash to my neighbors house to fetch my stove and cook a proper meal (I had only had airplane food and fruit and bread bought out the widow of a taxi brousse since leaving the states).  Still exhausted and grumpy, but fed at least, I made a round of visits.  The time away plus lack of sleep resulted in sucking at speaking Gasy, which made me pretty irritable.  The bag I lost included my new hammock, a bunch of the nicer gifts I brought back for people (i.e. booze), and a pack of Solo cups so I could teach them flip-cup and beer pong on New Year’s.  Bummer.  The real festivities weren’t starting until after dinner, so I ducked out for a 2-hour nap.  Bounced back, felt worlds better, and it didn’t matter that my Gasy sucked, because all we did was drink and dance for the next 6 hours ‘til 3am.

Most of the candy I brought back wasn’t lost, so I brought that out and shared it as best as I could, though it was pretty limited.  I felt kinda dumb and a little patronizing giving an adult a half mini-box of Nerds as a gift, but most people were glad for it and enjoyed trying something new.  I think a lot of people are just looking for a gift as an acknowledgment of a relationship and don’t care so much about what it is.  There are definitely a few who just want freebies, and after receiving a gift are like “what else ya got?”  They’re terrible and grate on my nerves.  I’ve added “live in a 3^rd world country” to my “Just because you (blank) doesn’t mean you’re not a dick” list.  “Are a humanitarian” is also on the list; lookin’ at you, Bono / myself in the mirror.  The vast majority smile, say thank you, and move on, making me happy.  There are some, though, who are just amazing.  A young chicken farmer who I didn’t know very well gave me some eggs and a Metallica t-shirt after I brought by some candy for his family and told him I would bring over coffee later.  (To be fair, his family is significantly richer than a lot of other people in town, likely myself included).  He’s awesome, and we’re becoming better friends.  Ah, the coffee!  Candy being limited, I tried to bring something else that I could share more widely.  So, I brought back some Nesquik, tracked down some milk at site, made a ton of coffee, and gave out makeshift mocha coffees to a bunch of people.  It’s easy enough to keep around, so I can make it for visitors whenever too.  I made some ice in the hospital freezer, so a select few got to try iced mochas (whaddap bougie stage!).

By my third day back at site, I was much better rested.  I had taken a good chunk of time to go through my notes and get my Gasy back up to speed.  Even at my best, my Gasy is ostensibly pretty rudimentary, but having lost so much of it for the first 2 days back was like waking up with brain damage; there’s a constant feeling of “I should know this, I’ve done this, people are expecting better from me, but I can’t.”  Fortunately it comes back with a bit of practice, so I can now continue sucking at Gasy at the level I’m accustomed to.

So it’s definitely rainy season.  No cyclones have hit me yet, but one passed by in the south-west.  We’ve been getting the residuals, which are torrential rains that come out of nowhere, last for about an hour, and turn everything to mud.  It has been raining more days than not since I’ve been back; great news for my garden, bad news for all my muddy laundry.

During my first week back, I went to a town about an hour away to visit a family I am friends with.  Only the mother, Lalatiana, was there; the rest had gone to Fianar for the day.  It was a fairly uneventful visit until I found out an elderly man had died in the town that morning.  Since I am also a man, I was allowed to observe them prepare his body (if it was a woman who had died, only women would be allowed to be present for this part).  A group of about 10 male family members were responsible for cleaning and dressing the body.  It’s all done inside.  They dig a hole in the corner of the room (dirt floor) and use a sloped woven mat to direct everything into the hole.  Aside from that, no tools are used; the men scrub the body by hand and then clothe him, fighting rigor mortis.  The mood wasn’t particularly somber, but serious and direct.  Outside of the room, people were chatting normally or asking me things about America or how to say something in English.  Inside the room, all conversation was task oriented.  No one was flinching or averting their eyes or hiding at the back of the crowd.  Everyone was taking part, playing a role and treating it as something that just needs to be done.  Family is with the body at all times for 3 or 4 days until the burial.  When asked, I did my best to explain that in America morticians take care of everything, embalm and preserve the body, and make sure there’s no smell or decay days later when family arrives.  Running through it in Gasy, I was wishing I knew words like “impersonal” or “detached” to compare our approaches.  Some people do funerals well in America, but even the best of ours are very hands-off and deny some realities of the situation.  We don’t smell death, and we don’t touch the dead, and we don’t see a true picture of a body that has died.  The embalmed, postured, makeup-ed, and sometimes reconstructed people we bury appear more asleep than anything.  There are merits to our way of preserving a person to respect them and remember them as they were, but I’m starting to think it takes away from the finality of a funeral and adds to our grief.  Malagasy people seem a lot more comfortable than us when handling a funeral or talking about people who have died.

A week later, my counterpart Hary brought me to the burial of an elderly family member of hers.  It was a huge event, with maybe 200 people attending.  A priest was there leading people in songs and prayers, and giving a eulogy.  Then groups of men, 4 at a time, would give long speeches about…I’m not sure what.  At least some of it was recounting the life of the departed, thanking the guests, and thanking the people preparing the food, but it went on for probably 2 hours, so that couldn’t have been all.  They slaughtered 2 cows for the occasion.  Soon after arriving, someone shoved about a pound of raw beef in my hand; I stood there agape for a second, brand new camera in the other hand and nowhere to put either, contemplating if it would be rude or snobby to ask for a bag.  They caught on to my expression after a moment, got me some large leaves to wrap the meat, and brought me some water to wash my hands.  This town was far from my commune, so almost no one had seen or heard of me before.  Thus, half my conversations of the day consisted of, “No, I’m not French.  Yes, I speak some Gasy.  Yes, I eat rice.  No, really, I’m not French.”  A couple particularly drunk guys aside, it was a really great day.  A relative of Hary’s, Christian, made me feel very welcome, lead me around explaining the customs of the day, and helped buffer between me and the many inquisitive people.  It being a large gathering, the toaka Gasy was flowing, and everyone was offering it to me.   I used to pretend I don’t drink except in moderation on special occasions, to keep some kind of reputation, but I’ve recently decided to just go with it.  If my responsibilities for the day are done and people want to drink, screw it.  And I’m getting used to the T.G. in small doses.  Small-ish.  So I got a little warm and loosened up at the burial.

Some asked me about funeral practices in America.  I got chuckles when I told them we bury people 6ft under.  I realized why once I saw their tomb.  I’ve often seen mausoleums dotting the landscape around the country, and assumed they were mostly above ground.  As I approached, I saw that they had to dig a long ramp, descending maybe 15ft, to get to the entrance of the tomb.  Pretty dang impressive.  This part of the day was pretty straightforward and short.  They carried the body into the tomb (I would’ve loved to take a look inside, but there’s no way that would’ve been allowed) and sealed the entrance with stones.  I had to leave at that point, but I assume they filled in the ramp and, as Betsileo are wont to do, ate, drank, and danced until late in the night.

As I promised myself, my work schedule post-New Year is a lot more lax, and I’ve been spending more time visiting people and taking in the culture.  A big part of that has been learning to harvest rice.  I’ve tried most of the process, won’t bore you with the details, but my favorite has been cutting down the stalks.  A dozen guys working together with hand-scythes will take down an acre or so in about an hour.  If you’re not careful, you end up thigh-deep in mud; if you ARE careful, you’re still shin-deep in mud.  My left hand (hereafter referred to as my non-scythe-wielding hand) was purple for a couple days, likely over-exfoliated from grabbing the stalks.  And I may have caught some fungus from the mud (no worries, treatable).  But it was fun!  And whenever I work, I get a ton of rice out of it.  I basically have 2 months of rice from working 4 days.  Sweet deal.

Stuff coming up:

Tomorrow a few of us are taking a train to Manakara, a Southeast coastal city.  The train passes through some remote areas and supposedly has some great views.

In February I have a week of training so that I can train new volunteers in April.  Because of my work with latrines, I will be training on sanitation.

                  In Aprial, a few of us will be organizing Malaria events at each other’s sites.  It will basically be a travelling event, with each of us covering a topic and repeating it at each site.

That’s it for now, folks.  ‘Til next time!

Hey guys.  Welcome back.  Here’s another tome.

More backtracking: After the training in August, pretty much all of us took vacations.  My group went to Ankaranfantsika (rough translation: Nail in the Skull) to see a national forest with lemurs.  The drive was about 10 hours of stuffy heat, winding roads, and passengers puking out the window, because, well, it’s pretty effective so why stop?  I may institute a “window puking” policy for road trips in the states.  Anyway, the scenery definitely made up for it.  Every 2 hours or so, the landscape changed dramatically; from jutting rocky hills, to farmland, to dry gold grasslands, to rolling green hills, to forest.  There was alleged “camping” and “hiking” at Ankaranfantsika, but that wasn’t quite true.  The “tents” were canvas boxes inside of pavilions with roofs, cement floors, electric lights, beds/mattresses inside, and showers/toilets 30 ft away.  As Don pointed out, the hiking was kind of hiking, but without an incline, it’s really just walking.  This aside, it was an enjoyable time.  The best part was our hike to the canyon.  After hiking through a deciduous forest, we suddenly came out into open prairie grassland, dotted with 3ft termite mounds and scraggly trees.  It was like walking out of New England into the Savannah; from a narrow path through dense trees into an uninterrupted expanse.  And then the canyon.  Eroded into layers of earthy colors, smooth windblown waves in the rock, and pointed turrets.  As always, check Facebook for the photos.  Oddly enough, the only lemurs we saw were in the trees over the parking lot. 

Part 2 of the vacation was in Mahajanga, a coastal city in the North West.  Beach.  That was my goal for vacation.  I went from New England winter to Madagascar fall and winter, to Mantasoa Super Winter, and my bones needed beach.  Mahajanga delivered, with coconut drinks to boot.  The second day there, we took a boat across the bay to Katsepy, hearing rumor of lemurs and nicer beaches.  We didn’t really know what we were doing and there isn’t much for organization there, but we happened upon the mayor and he personally hooked us up with transportation…which turned out to be way too expensive.  We decided screw the lemurs, let’s find some beach, and took a cheaper car out to a lighthouse.  And that is how we got the best lemur experience of all time.  The guy at the lighthouse led us behind his house to a short tree with 6 or 7 lemurs in it, just feet away from us.  As luck would have it, I bought a bunch of bananas for the road and we used them to lure the lemurs down closer.  We had lemurs eating out of our hands and licking our fingers.  Feeling the moment, I held my fist up toward one lemur and he put his little lemur paw on it.  That’s right: I fist-bumped a lemur.  Life is all downhill from there.  Speaking of, we ran out of bananas and descended down to the shore.  The whole beach was deserted except for us.  Standard beach fun ensued, but was enhanced by the rare circumstance of being outdoors without locals watching you. 

Mahajanga has great vazaha food everywhere (and less-great vazahas showing off their young Gasy girlfriends).   I experienced the Second Coming of Crust (pizza twice in one day), and got actual fast food!  Burger, fries, and a shake in under 10 mins.  ‘Merica.  Also got some street meat with a side of morning diarrhea, so the 12hr brousse ride back to Tana was SMECTA-cular.  (That’s a pun for any PCVs reading this).

A week after getting back to site, Antoinette held a soccer tournament/American-Malagasy culture exchange event for fun.  She had been planning it for months.  A bunch of PCVs came to represent U.S.A and do games/presentations on Health and Business between games.  I used a Frisbee to talk about disease transmission.  The demo was about how one sick person touching the Frisbee can get everyone else sick if they’re not washing their hands and covering their coughs.  The soccer game started late, so we kept the kids occupied playing Simon Says and Parasy, Parasy, Tazo Moka (ostensibly Duck, Duck, Goose, but translates to Parasite, Parasite, Malaria).  Thankfully, the soccer game went long too, so the Americans vs. Gasy game was only 15 minutes long.  We were terrible.  There weren’t enough of us, so some Gasy guys were on our team.  Strategy became “get the ball to the Gasy guys as quickly as possible.”  They would occasionally pause and tap the ball to one of us so we could be included, but the result was usually disastrous.  Really successful day though; everyone had a lot of fun.

                For my birthday, I took a much-needed 2 nights off from site and went to Fianar.  I was greeted by 2 big packages from my Mom and my brother Nat.  Jana retrieved them from the post office during a thunderstorm, so shout out to her.  Best gifts ever.  Nothin’ but snacks, seasonings, sauces, and beer.  I’ve adjusted fine to life here, but life is just plain better with Oreos and Sriracha hot sauce.  I should get a commission for that plug.  There was a little Halloween make-up thrown in, which sparked one of my better ideas since I’ve been here.  More on that later.  A few of us went out in Fianar that night.  Nothing crazy, but we got fantastic food, quality drinks, and played pool at a bar (‘Merica).  On my actual birthday, my hospital staff threw a small gathering for me.  Little speech, snacks, beer, toaka, and a really nice gift from all the health workers.  It’s a painting done inside of a sahafa, a large woven dish used for sifting rice.

                The day before my birthday, I taught my first English class.  Gresya, a new education PCV, came out for support and advice, which I needed that first day, and so the class went really well!  A mix of beginners, semi-experienced kids, and adults showed up for the class; about 20 in all.  We got through the ABCs, some pronunciation tricks (“th” doesn’t exist here), and simple sentences (“I am happy” etc.).  Teaching itself was really fun.  I get to be animated and interactive, acting out words rather than translating everything.  I taught mostly in Gasy too; it’s much easier to speak Gasy when I’m the only one talking and the responses are kinda in English.  (quick aside: one of my co-workers comes to class, and one day I found her drunk, singing nonsense to the tune of the Alphabet song.  Priceless.)  The students were well-behaved and motivated, which is an uncommon thing anywhere.  I think it’s because I have them pay for the class.  Keeps out the riff-raff.  I have them bring me items for building gardens as a fee for my class.  Sticks, bricks, or nails for fences, or fertilizer.  I’ve taught 3 times now; I have about 30 students, plus more listening from outside.  It’s getting pretty popular, and probably more so soon because…

Inspired by the Halloween makeup in my care package, I taught my class about Halloween and told them I was throwing a party.  The explanation was basically “wear scary clothes, try to scare people, get candy.”  Pretty easy sell.  Over the next few days, we made a bunch of masks together using some cardboard from the hospital and bug eyes with the bottoms of plastic bottles.  I taught them to say “trick or treat,” “happy Halloween,” and “I am a monster,” with mixed and adorable results. 

The day of the party, I spread hay on the floor of my spare room for the dance party.  There was makeup and markers for last-minute costumes.  I set up snacks and drinks on a table just inside my door.  Proper Halloween stuff.  But what the early attendees DIDN’T know was I was hiding under the table with an awesome rubber demon mask, and the hardest-core metal  I have (“Bambi The Hooker” by The Number 12 Looks Like You; look it up) cued up on my ipod.  While they were still distracted by the snacks, I hit play and pounced at their feet, screaming my head off.  Scared the crap out of a dozen kids and the pastor’s wife.  They returned the favor by voraciously devouring everything in front of them; I may need to do a lesson on sharing.  The party started great and got fantastic.  Started with dancing, face painting, and taking photos.  More than 50 people showed up to my tiny house.  Lots of people showed up with masks they made themselves, without any kind of input.  Creativity!  Then the sun started going down and it progressed to me trying to scare everyone around me.  My throat was sore and my face hurt the next morning from all the growling, scowling and screaming.  I chased mobs of kids up and down the street all over my town.  When I caught them, I’d haul them up over my head or carry them around upside down or spin them around in the air.  It was bonkers, and a lot of fun for everyone.  And at last, we’re in the present day!  We did it, guys.  Great job.

Ok, that’s probably enough for now.  Real quick, my garden is nearly done.  Already started planting.  I still need to sift rocks out of the land, but it keeps raining, and the ground is too wet to sift.  The SEECALINE doesn’t have any funding at the moment, so I changed my plans.  Now, the garden (first of many, hopefully) will support my CHWs, Gasy health volunteers who, unlike me, REALLY don’t get paid.  I started my second round of latrine reviews.  So far not a lot of progress, which is frustrating.  I brought in technicians to look at one of my water sources.  By next month I should have a full report and budget ready so I can start applying for funding for pumps.

                For any of you who are still reading, quick update on my sanity and such.  Doing fine, but I work too much and I don’t make enough time to stop and enjoy this place I’m in.  I’ve been pushing to get this garden together before rainy season really sets in, and my latrine review schedule keeps getting bumped by meetings, so I end up doing 3 day trips per week instead of 2.  Add to that my English class, so half my Sunday, while fun, is still work and stress.  My time off tends to be Saturdays in Fianar, which are whirlwind trips of errands and getting in some contact with the outside world (hey y’all!).  But I’m doing better with enjoying my time off.  My birthday kicked off my change in attitude.  With 2 days away from site, I got to take my time in Fianar and enjoy it.  Meander and whatnot.  Halloween was a blast; plenty of stress getting it together but the event as lots of fun and cathartic screaming/raging/pretend mauling.  Definitely made me feel more connected with my community throwing a big event, sharing something I really enjoy, and all of them getting into it too.  I’ve also implemented a policy that Sunday mornings are for cartoons and bananas with peanut butter (whaddap, Melmark!).  Once this garden is done, I can slack my pace a bit more.  And after New Years (or January at this rate) I’ll be done with this round of latrine reviews, and can plan the next round at a more manageable pace.  Best laid plans always work out, right?  In any case, I’m really looking forward to my trip home and seeing everyone.  That’s the cheese at the end of the maze for me at the moment.  ‘Til next time!

Catching up

Hey friends and fam!  Welcome back!  Sorry it’s been so long.  My computer's back in working order thanks to Nat and PCV Liz V., so I can finally fill you in on all that’s been going on here.  Here’s a smattering of what’s been going on.  Running out of time with internet, so this post will be disjointed and unfinished, but enjoy!

I’ve officially been here 6 months, so a lot of my life has gotten fairly routine for me.  The first few months at site have been going fairly smoothly.  I haven’t been getting significantly sick or injured (a rarity in Peace Corps.  We affectionately call simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea “Double Dragon”).  But I'm back from training, and starting projects; keeping really busy and productive.  More "job" then "adventure" these days, but still enjoying myself here.

Something you guys should know about the experience of being here is the Vazaha (va-ZAH) effect.  Vazaha most literally means “foreigner,” but tends to mean French, white, rich, educated, tourist.  It can be a term of respect depending on context.  I, however, make a great effort to disassociate myself from Vazaha whenever possible.  First some history.  Madagascar was a French colony until the 60s, which is always greatly appreciated by local populations.  In 1947, there was a rebellion for independence.  The French put it down with mass executions, totaling over 30,000 Malagasy, including my host mother’s grandfather.  These days, most foreigners are tourists, blowing loads of money in front of impoverished people, making no attempt to learn the language or culture.  Quite often, with tourists and expatriates living here, you’ll see older men take advantage of underage prostitutes, girlfriends, and wives.  I fortunately don’t have to witness much of that; I’m content to just scowl at the busses of Vazaha passing by on the paved road.  So, whatever positives come with being associated with Vazaha, they’re definitely not worth it for me.  Of course, I am white and foreign, so it’s not something I get to escape.  Though, in my own town, if you call me Vazaha, you’re gonna get a speech.  There are very few people who still do that.

Treatment of Vazaha.  On the negative spectrum, Vazaha are targets for crime, receive perpetual requests for money and gifts, and receive sneering comments from passersby (and aggressive come-ons if you’re a girl).  On the “neutral/moderately annoying for an American” spectrum, children will walk up and stare at you, or shout French greetings repeatedly, and adults will often continue speaking French to you after you explain that you’re not French and can actually understand a lot of Gasy.  On the positive, you can get a lot of trust and preferential treatment.  I’ve walked into a town commune office looking for a map and the Mayor stopped what he was to come arrange transportation for me.  PCVs have taken money out of the bank without any kind of I.D.

Food.  I just heard the words “French fries” in a song, and a pang of longing shuddered through the core of my being.  Fooooood.  American fooooood.  I want a lasagna.  I want a double barbeque bacon cheeseburger, medium rare if you please.  Twelve styles of burrito in one place.  Sure, SOME of it can be found at Vazaha restaurants in the cities, but it’s never quite the same (and WAY too expensive to eat regularly.  I could eat at site for 2 days for the cost of a side of fries, let alone a vazaha meal).  I want to get hungry, and have a burrito in my hand 5 minutes later INCLUDING travel time.  THAT’s America.  Also, I listened to that overplayed Adele song today, and it’s finally good again.

In August we had a 2-week In Service Training back at the training center in Montasoa (near Tana).  On the trip up, I finally bought a guitar.  Major milestone.  I’d been missing it a lot.  Occasionally at site I’d come across a person with a guitar and ask to play it, only to find it unplayable; all warped, strings older than me, no chance of ever being in tune.  Understandably of course.  Guitars are a pretty high ticket item here, and replacing strings costs half as much as a decent guitar.  Having a solid guitar around has been great for my sanity, though it attracts a lot of attention.  I tell people it was a gift sent from the U.S., so I can still present the image that I don’t have THAT much money.  Vazaha problems.  As luck would have it, immediately after spending all of my cash on hand on the guitar, I lost my bank card.  Literally moments after.  I was still in the checkout lane when I noticed it was gone.  Ridiculous.  On the whole, the day was still a positive, ‘cause, ya know, guitar!  Rock!

Anyway, the 36 of us were brought back together after 3 months at site, most of us pretty deprived of American company, and not having much or any news of each other in that time.  So of course, our first night back, we all… went to bed early.  My taxi-brousse ride to Tana was about 11 hours, and mine was among the shorter trips.  People’s sites are as much as 2 days travel from Tana.  Pretty grueling.  On top of that, it was freezing in Montasoa.  Winter, high elevation, overcast and rainy weather, tree cover, wind off the lake, and a lack of indoor heating came together to make the first week miserable.  We were in 12 hours of trainings every day, wrapped in blankets and huddled around fires.  We each brought a Malagasy counterpart from site to train alongside us for the first week.  A lot of them only had sandals on their feet; felt terrible making them sit through that cold.  At least the trainings were good; when I got back to site later, my counterpart was excited and ready to get started on a fairly ambitious program.  More on that later.

Here is where I would’ve talked about my vacation.  In short: saw a national park, went to the beach, saw/fed/fist-bumped some lemurs (all true).

                Here is where I would’ve have talked about the Americans vs Malagasy soccer tournament PCV Antoinette arranged.  In short, Americans suck at soccer.  Playing games with Gasy kids is awesome; taught them duck duck goose, simon says, and Frisbee.

                Work-wise, in brief, I’ve been hunting down water sources so I can build pump systems.  The (intended) eventual effect will be that instead of hauling dirty water ½ km uphill from the source to their house, many towns will have a pump in the middle of town providing filtered, treated water.

                Work brief pt. 2- I’m touring towns and reviewing their latrines.  Showing them how to build them better, or build them to begin with if they don’t have them, to help prevent spread of disease.  As mentioned in previous posts, I talk about shit a lot, professionally.  In particular, I talk about how communities without latrines eat their own and their neighbor’s shit every day.  Shock tactics we learned in training.  So far, this is going very well.

This week I broke ground on a large-ish garden next to my house.  The area was actually a cement slab, which I got to destroy as violently as I wished.  Started with a neat chisel but quickly moved on to two-handed, overhead mallet-swinging.  I brought my ipod and speakers outside and blasted my music to make the work go by and, lo and behold, a bunch of kids came over to help me out.  Got them all nodding along to the likes of Daft Punk, Air, and The Strokes.  Day 2 of demolition went a little slower.  Only the more loyal of my little minions came to help me haul rocks and chunks of cement into piles.  A few kids joined in right as I was wrapping up for the day, but just kept on going without me.  I brought out my Frisbee after a little so they’d take it easy.  One girl tried to get a game going, but this tiny 5-year-old girl Aurelia was like “No!  We’re not done helping you!” and then they kept right on going.  It was adorable.  The point of all this, by the way, is to support the SEECALINE, an organization of women with young children that deals with education on proper nutrition.  If all goes according to plan, the produce from the garden will be used for cooking demonstrations, and possibly sold to raise funds for building subsequent gardens.  Fences, guys.  Fences drive me crazy.  There are chickens roaming everywhere.  They’ll tear up whatever you want to grow, so you always need to get funds and materials together for fences.  People seem to want home gardens, but they can’t afford the fences.  It’s ironic that fences are such a barrier.  Har har.

That’s all for now.  Fret not, I’ll be seeing you all soon.  I just booked my ticket home.  I’ll be in the U.S. from Dec. 12-29^th.  Take care ‘til then!

The nuts and bolts

I’ve been at my site for about two months now and life on the whole is rather good.  Don’t have a ton of time to write right now, but I’ll try to fill all you fam and friends on my daily life here. 

First my house: It’s 2, sometimes 3 rooms.  One of the rooms is sometimes an office for health-related meetings, which is great because 1) I’m a health volunteer and I can be involved in everything they do, and 2) I can use the furniture when there isn’t a meeting.  Regardless, the 2 rooms that are always mine have plenty of space.  I had electricity installed my second week at site, so I have light and can charge my electronics.  During the first week, I would cook and eat my dinner by headlamp and flashlight.  There’s no running water or heat/AC in my house or in basically any house outside of the cities.  I have a gated fence around the front of my house, which makes it set up pretty much like a zoo exhibit.  All my doors and windows face the main road, and my fence/yard provides a natural “habitat” for viewing.  There are often kids crowded around my fence trying to talk to me or just watch me do stuff.  It can be a nice break from whatever I’m doing, but more often I just want to chop carrots in peace.  I swear kids, there’s nothing interesting going on here!  (This situation has dwindled now that people are used to seeing me every day).  But maybe it is interesting by comparison to the norm…

My town has 4 small movie theaters, and there’s a soccer field a short walk away, but aside from that there doesn’t seem to be a lot of leisure activity around; not a lot of toys or games for kids.  My mom sent me a bunch of Frisbees, so I take one out pretty often.  I keep a knit one in my back pocket pretty much all the time.  See, the beauty of the knit frisbee is, I can be walking down the street, buying rice, whatever, and then just RIP that thing at a group of kids, maybe they catch it, maybe it hits them in the head, or I miss and hit their Mom or something, but it doesn’t hurt and everyone laughs!  Good times.

Household routines take up a lot of my time.  Shopping for food several times a day (time consuming, because half the people on the street will stop me for conversation), cooking 3 meals a day, hand-washing everything (in buckets, mind you); pretty mundane stuff, but it all just takes longer.  No fridge, no restaurants (in my town anyway).  You can’t just make a sandwich or pick something up.

My computer is out of order again.  The cable I bought in-country is fried.  BUT this has been a blessing in disguise.  Without the option of TV in my house, I get out a lot more, I work and study more, I read more, I’ve been exercising pretty much every day.  I’m really active and engaged most of the time, and I love that.  There’s so much that I WANT to be doing with my free time, so it’s always full, and not just sitting watching TV or puttering around the internet like in the U.S.  The flip side of THAT is I NEVER have the option of vegging out, so my brain seldom shuts off.  I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night with plans for projects, or ideas for vocab I want to look up, or whatever.  Last night I watched “Get Him To The Greek” at the Peace Corps house, and afterward was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks.  So, I’ll need to work on striking a balance, brain wise.

Ahh, there’s loads more I’d like to right, and more interesting than this stuff, but I need to catch a taxi-brousse back to my house.  Oh man, I need to tell you about taxi-brousses once I’m back.  Bye guys!

Training at the PCTC and Swearing In

Hey everyone!  Sorry it has been a while.  It has been a busy, eventful several weeks.  First the recent news:

I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I completed my training and had a swearing in ceremony this past Friday. It was in the capitol city Antananarivo (Tana for short.  TAH-nah).  Very fancy, lots of important people.  There was caviar at the buffet.  Our picture was in the paper and we were on the news.  After swearing in and some administrative stuff, we went out to celebrate in Tana.  It’s a pretty scary city at night, so we played it safe.  We went out for Indian food and then had a house party at a current PCV’s rather nice apartment.  We didn’t risk it going to bars and clubs in the city; Peace Corps people only.  And we took cabs everywhere.

I will be installed at my site tomorrow.  My site is Mahatsinjony.  There isn't a common short form for this, but let's just call it Zoony.  Try looking it up on a google map or something.  It’s temperate here in the highlands, but the coast (a couple hours away) is tropical.  Imagine you’re in New England, and it’s fall/winter, BUT you can drive 3 hours and be at a beach on a 90 degree day.  That’s my situation.  It’s ok to be jealous. 

Right now I'm at the Peace Corps house in Fianarantsoa (Fianar for short.  FEE-ah-nahr), which is I think the 2nd largest city in Madagascar.  If Tana is the New York City of Madagasar, Fianar is its Boston.  Fianar is safer, smaller, friendlier, less crowded, noticeably cleaner, gorgeous in parts, and fun.  There are apparently great temperate forests and hiking areas within a few hours of Fianar too, so let’s call that Madagascar’s New Hampshire.  And my site is probably like the Medford of the Boston of Madagascar.  Zoony is less than an hour drive from Fianar, so I can always visit the Peace Corps house and have internet, a hot shower, a real kitchen, and other volunteers around.  Not a bad situation.  Plus, there’s a chance I can get electricity installed at my site sooo… Posh Corps!  I could be living pretty ritzy.  Oh yeah, my departure group (“stage”), was dubbed the “bougie” stage (short for bourgeois).  There’s some truth to it, but we’re mostly grounded and agreeable people.  We DID have a milk frother at our coffee station, though.

My first 3 months at site I won't be doing major projects.  I will spend the time learning the language, integrating into the community, and learning about their needs/how I can be most useful to them in the future.  It will take me a little while to get internet working at my site, but I think I will be able to eventually.

Now the older news:

I last checked in soon after moving back to the training center (PCTC), so my lifestyle has changed dramatically from the first month of home-stay.

Language training was about the same at PCTC, except we started doing immersion, which means we need to speak Gasy during meals and breaks, not just in class.  I can be fairly conversant with Gasy.  It might even be better than my French by now.  The trouble still is that I can mostly understand my teachers and fellow PCVs and host family (because they’re sympathetic), but I have trouble understanding anyone who speaks at a normal pace or uses vocab I haven’t learned yet.  But that will just come with time.  My grammar is decent, so I just need to keep growing my vocab.  Our language classes are in small groups (1-4 trainees with 1 teacher).  Since we found out our sites, we had been grouped by our regional dialects.  There are I think 18 dialects in Mada.

Aside from language training, we got training on personal health, safety and security, cross-cultural adjustment, and technical training for our sector (Health for me and half of us, Agriculture and Business for the other half).  Personal health is mostly scare tactics about all the diseases we’re probably going to get, learning how to recognize if a disease is serious, or how to treat things ourselves when we can.  If something serious happens, the doctors will literally hop in a helicopter and come rescue us, so no worries, I will survive!  Safety and security is also a lot of scary lectures about being robbed and raped  and trapped by natural disasters and such.  I always leave those lectures pretty shaken up.  Cross-culture is usually fairly interesting.  There are a lot of taboo things called “fady (FAH-dee)” here, and each region and even each town has its own set of fadies.  So far it hasn’t been too difficult, but mishaps happen.  You know that thing people do where they snap their fingers and then clap their hand and fist together?  That really casual thing?  Here, that gesture refers to…certain indecent things.  Whoops!  Definitely did that accidentally in front of a classroom of kids.  Tech training for Health is pretty dry a lot of the time, but occasionally we get to be hands on or prepare presentations for the community.  Incidentally, a lot of my presentations have been about diarrhea prevention, so my ability to talk about diarrhea in Gasy is superior to my ability to talk about a lot of other things.  I have a similar thing going on with English.

One week, we gave presentations in Malagasy to the community about mother and child health/nutrition/vaccinations etc.  Most of us were reading off of note cards so it wasn’t very engaging, but after we finished the presentations we helped the doctor distribute vitamin drops and de-worming pills to babies and little kids.  That part was really cool; it felt like we were actually accomplishing something.  The day after that was World Malaria Day.  It was a huge event in our town.  Hundreds of kids met us at the training center and paraded with us into town to the school yard.  There were speeches and stuff about Malaria for a while, then the volunteers split into groups to demonstrate activities with malaria nets.  My group was altering mosquito nets so you can hang them from a single point (making a circle) instead of from 4 points.  My Gasy was good enough that I didn’t need note cards, and could really interact with the kids.  TONS of fun.  My group did a great job of getting the kids involved.  I’d, like, huddle them under the net and we’d pretend to be mosquitoes trying to get in.  Kids here are really shy about being singled out, but we got a bunch of them to volunteer and help me make the presentation, and then do it themselves.  Edu-tainment!

So, the PCTC is an enclosed compound with fences and guards and such, so we CAN be out at night now.  It’s only Peace Corps people here.  It was weird not being able to go out at night during homestay, but it’s understandable why we shouldn’t.  I mean, there isn’t public electricity; there aren’t street lights.  And there are plenty of drunk guys milling about…all the time, but especially at night.  There’s this stuff called taoka gasy, which is basically moonshine.  It’s like 60-80% alcohol, and 100 AR (about 5 cents) for a shot of it.  Also, it might make you blind.  But some locals drink it and stay drunk all day (not entirely unlike some people in America).  Anyway, I don’t particularly want to bump into those guys on an unlit street.

But the PCTC is a different story.

So this is the scene here.  We have 36 20-somethings at a summer camp together, living in dorms.  We spend most of our days in seminars and lessons and working on projects.  Whenever we aren’t in a session, everyone is looking to either blow off steam or get away from each other, because we spend all of our time together.  The people here are really diverse and interesting, and interested in sharing activities.  People play sports together (volleyball, Frisbee, soccer, basketball).  Some volunteers put together yoga or zumba most days.  One PCV, Cody, taught a Capoeria class (Brazillian dance-fighting), which I enjoyed quite a bit.  Also, there are canoes.  Our language teachers are Malagasy, and they’ve taught us some dances and songs.  They’re pretty young and hip, and come to our parties.  I was surprised to find that so many Malagasy people play guitar, and not many play percussion, it seems so far.  Not really what you picture when you think of Africa, but Madagascar is a special place.  I’m friends with the teacher, Eddie, who is a FANTASTIC guitarist.  I organized a talent show one Friday and an open mic the Friday before that.  At both, Eddie played a lot of guitar and the other teachers would sing Gasy and American songs.  So the open mic was only supposed to be about a half hour, but it ended up being close to 2 hours long.  The audience was way into everything, and people kept getting up to share their instruments or singing or poetry.  It all happened really organically and was a really beautiful experience for me.  And it was especially cool because it was a cross-cultural experience too.  The teachers didn’t seem familiar with an open mic format, where everyone can go up and be in the spotlight for a time and share whatever they want.  And then they gave us our first experience of Malagasy music being performed, and it was all great.  Once the show ended, the dance party began.  We got DOWN.  Booze flowed, music blared, and we danced our asses off.  Gasy dancing is a workout.  Talent show was pretty much the same, except people put more preparation into things.  There were more group performances and skits and such.  Again, people loved it and joined in spur-of-the-moment with other performances.  Our teacher Nicole sang while Eddie and I played a guitar duet of Hotel California.  I sang “Call Me Maybe” in Malagasy and brought the house down.  I topped it off by kicking myself in the head, to the delight of all.  They demanded 2 encores of that one.  And of course, drunken dance party afterward.  Later that weekend, we did indeed build a blanket fort, and it was glorious.  People got behind the idea and made it happen rather quickly.  We set up a projector inside it and, best part, we watched “Hook.”  So good.  I was just, frigging, buzzing with happiness over the whole thing.  I went out and bought snack food for everyone for the occasion.  We kept it up for a few days before they made us take it down.

The last full week before swearing in was a bit intense because aside from our usual trainings, we had our final language evaluations and a 30-minute presentation to the community in Malagasy.  On the same day.  And then another presentation 3 days later.  My stress level was pretty high through all that, but it was actually pretty manageable. I think I stress about assignments and performances more than is necessary.  But we made up for it in style.  In the intervening weekend, we threw a lavish brunch of bacon, omelets, banana pancakes with nutella, grilled cheese with avocado, fresh baked bagels, fresh made yogurt, and fresh squeezed juice.  Bougie stage fo’ life.

            OK, this got pretty long.  A couple things before signing off.  I can’t comment on politics here in Madagascar, but you guys should look into the election that’s happening here soon. Also, there are massive swarms of locusts that are taking a toll down here.  We drove through a swarm on the way to Fianar, and today there was another swooping through the city.  Things could get interesting.  Not unsafe for me or anything, but interesting.

            Off to bed, then to my site in the morning.  Here goes nothing!

Internet, At Long Last!

Hello all!  At long last I have internet!  You’ve waited a while, so I’ll try to give you a lot of material.

First off, I am great.  Aside from learning the language, life is pretty easy-going.  Training takes up most of my days, but it’s not terribly difficult.  Weather’s great, food’s great, I have tons of cool people around me (my departure group, or “stage,” pronounced like “massage”).

Madagascar is like its own continent, and every part of it is beautiful.  Each region (and there are many) has its own wildlife, culture, and dialect.  You could travel here for years and not get sick of it…I imagine.  Fun fact: Peace Corps Madagascar is #1 in volunteers extending their service, and has the lowest rate of volunteers leaving early (ET-ing).  SO, you might not see me for a while.

The view of Madagascar flying in was amazing.  The landscape is carved with hills and rivers and fractal-shaped lakes and all kinds of greenery.  The scene never stayed the same for long.  My life during training is pretty restricted, so I haven’t seen Mada beyond my current town, Mantasoa.  And…it’s a lot like New England so far.  Pine trees all over, pretty temperate, no unusual wildlife (except crazy spiders!  Mary, I’m taking pics of as many as I can!  There’s one with what looks like a crab shell, and another with a shiny silver butt.  I hear on the coast there’s jumping spiders the size of your hand!).  No, I haven’t seen any lemurs yet, but it’s only a matter of time once I’m at my site.

So I arrived, had a day and a half of language training, and immediately moved to my homestay.  My family is Clairisse and Julien (Neny and Dada), and my three anabavy (sisters) Ony (16), Nomena (6), and Fasoavana (7 months).  The language barrier has made me a charades CHAMPION.  I make them laugh a lot, mostly intentionally.  They love horror movies and rap.  They helped me sew some pants into shorts my first week.  They taught me to wash my clothes in the river, which I did once before the Peace Corps told them not to let me anymore.  Possible parasites in the water.  Real bad ones.  Actually, all the fresh water is presumably full of parasites.  It’s hot most of the time, and I’m surrounded by all these lakes and rivers, yet can’t go in any of them.  But I digress.  It’s hard to express how much my new family means to me.  They’ve treated me like family from the start.  When I moved out last week, they gave me a mirror as a gift.  They know me so well.  Or maybe they want me to shave my goatee.  I’m growing a goatee, by the way.  It’s been almost a month and it almost looks like something now.  I also bought a sweet straw hat.  I’m a hat and goatee guy now.  And a handkerchief guy.

My family all speaks French better than me.  It helps bridge the gap between English and Malagasy.  It’s taken a lot of work, but I can now have basic conversations in Malagasy.  I often find myself making tri-lingual sentences, whenever I run into the limits of my ‘Gasy and French.

Here’s what you need to know about the language.  The letters C, X, W, U, and Q do not exist.  The letter Z is used pretty frequently (overdue recognition of its potential!).  I believe they compensate for the lack of letters by making their words massively long.  For example, “sky” is habakabaka and “think” is mieritreritra (6 syllables).  Almost all of the verbs begin with the letter M and end with either A, E, O, or Y.  I tend to get lost somewhere in the 3-6 syllables in between.  Despite all this, it’s not too difficult of a language.

Oh yeah, just for clarity, Malagasy (Gasy for short, pronounced “gassy”) refers to the language AND the people of Madagascar.

Gasy kids are awesome, because they don’t care if you can’t speak well.  They just want to be your bud.  I took out a Frisbee at a playground, and a group of about 6 kids quickly amassed to over 20 to play with me.  Unfortunately, the Frisbee broke after about a half hour.  FAMILY: send me some Frisbees!  Minimum 3, and durable!  And if you ever send me packages, lie to the post office and say something cheap and boring is inside of it, like socks or notebooks.  Otherwise there’s a decent chance it will be stolen.

The food!  I’m surprised and happy to say that it’s all good-to-great!  Lots of familiar foods: beef, pork, chicken, fish, tomatoes, cucumbers, avocados, onions, corn, etc.  There’s loads of weird and delicious fruit here too.  By the way, I totally didn’t realize that grenadine is an actual fruit!  A big pile of rice is part of nearly every meal.  Mada consumes the most rice per capita than any other country in the world.  Suck it, Asia!  My Neny made me pancakes!  Luckily, I brought some maple syrup as a gift and blew their effing MINDS.  Gasy people love sugar, and this was like a whole new WORLD of sugar.  Even more than sugar, they love salt.  There’s heaps of it in all of the food.

This week, I found out where my site is!  About a month from now, I will be in Mahatsinjony!  It’s in the southeast, nearish to the coast, but on the edge of the central highlands.  This means: temperate climate, less bugs, less mosquitos, and a diminished risk of Malaria!  Also, I hear ringtail lemurs are really common there, so…life’s pretty great.  I’m only 5km from another PCV, and there are 5 or 6 more within 2 hours of me.  I’m also <25k from a big city, Fianar, where there’s a Peace Corps house (MEVA) with wifi and showers and real toilets.  My site and the ones near it are brand new; they’ve never had a PCV before.  Which is great!  Blazing a new trail!  But I will definitely be an oddity.  All in all, I am beyond happy with my site.  On paper.  I’ll withhold judgment until I see it.

Potential visitors!: There’s an island densely inhabited by lemurs, and if you go there with some bananas, they will come to you and climb on you and eat out of your hand and friend you on facebook and invite you to all of  their parties.

Also noteworthy: most of the roads are terrible, including in the towns.  I wouldn’t recommend renting a car, and cabs can be a challenge if you want to leave town.

That’s all for now!  Internet access is still pretty spotty for me, and I’m having trouble with my smartphone.  I should mention that I lost my jacket, my belts, and (tragedy of tragedies) most of the cables to my electronics.  I forgot them on the plane in Johannesburg.  Because I am an idiot (this will be a recurring theme).  So electronically, I’m a bit limited right now.  BUT, I shall return to the interblog soon. 

Miss you all!  Send emails, keep me in the loop!

Welcome!

Hello friends and family, and welcome to my blog!  I'm writing from a bus to Boston, to catch a flight to Tampa (terrible planning; how ever will I survive abroad?).  The site is under construction, but I wanted to send out something before the big departure, so you all know where to find updates about my travels.  Please still feel free to email me individually (ztmardoc@gmail.com), or try to catch me on Skype (mardoc.zack), or Google Voice/Chat/etc.(which I haven't entirely figured out yet).

As I wrap up my farewell tour of the U.S., my mind is on all I'll be missing in your lives while I'm away.  The weddings and birthdays and holidays and degrees and promotions and accomplishments (Maybe babies too?  What a bunch of grown-ups we're all becoming.) that I won't be able to celebrate with you.

Thank you to everyone for their kind words and advice during my various send-offs.  I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to everyone I intended to, and I'm sorry for that.  If you're here reading this, that means I miss you.

We're pulling into Boston, so farewell for now.  Come back soon!