My move out of Anjiamangirana didn't exactly go the smoothest. After having spent a nearly a year in this community I was expecting that there would be the regular protocol before my departure: long-winded kabary's (speeches), a dance and song by my women't groups, a presenting of a lamba (colorful cloth), and more dance and drink. But since the reason why I was leaving was an unusual circumstance that no one foresaw the goodbye was also pretty unusual. Within two hours I had a meeting with all of the leaders and some of my counterparts in my home, immediately after people are helping me hurl all of my belongings into the back and roof of the Peace corps jeep, simultaneously I'm trying to finish up unsettled work matters. My head is spinning and emotionally I'm trying hard to keep myself together. Children have blocked off the entrances to my home staring in curiously at me while I pack up all of my things. During the meeting I felt a lump in my throat. I tried hard to keep a hold of myself but the waterworks start and I can't stop sobbing. Perhaps you think I was being a bit dramatic. Just imagine living side by side with these people everyday for a year. You've made deep and close connections to this place and its people and now you are abruptly forced to leave for reasons outside of your control.
I spot some of my little sisters and my heart breaks. I can't bear to look at them. I give them my nailpolish. We'd sit around and paint our nails when we had nothing else to do. I really hoped that I would have a solid two years to become close to these girls and hopefully influence them in a positive way. What I would really like to do is go back and visit as much as possible this beloved place that has shaped so much of my experiences in Madagascar.
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