Thursday, November 29, 2012

You know you are a Peace Corps Volunteer when...

You know you are a Peace Corps Volunteer when: 

1. Ants crawling all over your food ceases to bother you...protein yum!
2. Traveling seven hours just to check your e-mail and Skype becomes a norm.
3. You can live for weeks out of just one backpack.
4. You read every letter you receive at least thirty times.
5. You forget how to use makeup.
6. You become upset over a 50 cent increase in taxi fare.
7. People commonly ask you why you don't have children yet, even though you are only 23.
8. Any cold beverage taste like heaven on earth.
9. You sometimes forget what language you are speaking.
10. You become frugal over water.
11. You start "beeping" people to not waste phone credit.
12. You consume anything American even if you didn't at home. Have you seen Justin Bieber's new haircut? (yes realize he is Canadian, but he's part of the average American teenage girl's idol list so I'll leave him here).
13. You speak and play with village children that aren't your own.  You forget how creepy this is considered    in the States.
14. When you ask what time something is supposed to happen you are used to being answered: "morning-morning" "afternoon afternoon" "night" "evening" "very morning"
15. You get funny tan lines all over your body.
16. You are constantly asked for your hand in marriage by locals.
17. You learn to NEVER trust a fart.
18. You feel like you are in a retirement home when talking to other pcvs, because the subject always ends up with sharing health problems.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Adieu coucou


Tonight I celebrated Anne’s farewell with roommates, as well-as some of her counterparts, and Malagasy friends.  Understandably she was exhausted after all of the goodbyes, last minute preparations, and packing but we still made it a night to remember.  Being two of the only women foreigners in our town naturally we gravitated towards each other even though we came from completely different backgrounds and have a different mother tongue, we found a way to communicate.  It happens like this, you become friends with people you would have never imagined befriending in your own country.  

Living abroad really helps one become open to different types of people.  The last few days were spent enjoying special dinners, desserts, wine, exchanging presents, and bitter-sweet moments.  Even though I’ve known her since last February, for the past three months particularly we’ve become close; spending most dinners together, as well as traveled, and other activities.  For the past two weeks we’ve lived in the same house with two new French missionaries.  It’s extraordinary how much we’ve shared in such a short period of time.  We've learned to rely and trust each other since we were all we had.  We sought the words that we needed to express ourselves to each other when we didn’t have them, and as a result both my French and her English has improved tremendously. 

As she’s sitting next door to me right now, I ponder to myself what the rest of my service will be like without her.  She leaves tomorrow to the capital upon which she will fly straight to her home in Paris.  I also sit here and wonder how many farewells I’ve expressed over the past five years since I left my home in Minnesota as well as how many there are to come.  I’ve chosen a life of transience and as a result I attract and am attracted to transient people; as I’ve moved between Minnesota, Chicago, Beijing, and Madagascar.  This includes anything from family, friendship to relationships.  And every time I think I’m getting better at saying good-bye I realize how heart-breaking it is to lose someone.  I really shouldn’t think of it as a lost since real friendships stand the test of time and distance.  But let’s be honest and say how different it is to actually have some in your presence versus someone thousands of miles away. 

Also, because I will live here a lot longer than most foreigners who come here I am the one who is left behind.  The emotions between the two parties are very different at the time of departure.  Usually I was the one leaving so I couldn’t really comprehend what it was like to be in the other’s shoes.  The person leaving is of course sad but is mostly excited about the next step since they are in a transition period.  The person who stays knows tomorrow will be the same but without that person. 

I know for myself that I will have to make a choice someday where I need to build a permanent (or  permanent-like) nest.  Instead of acquiring defense mechanisms to make constant transitioning better I feel I’ll just combust.  I don’t know when this will happen necessarily since I still have ambitions with continuing my education (and away from home)  as well as seeking a career in the international arena.  But I have a gut-feeling that I’ll know when to “settle-down” when the time comes… j’espère. 

Thursday, November 15, 2012

A day in the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer

I just realized I've never posted what my daily schedule looks like.  It's hard to give a definitive description since I've transitioned so much between housing, have traveled (especially in the past five months), and in general my life in Madagascar doesn't follow such of a pattern.  Rather I've had to adjust to the local mode of life, which is especially not keen on the idea of using planners. I feel that nearly everyday has been another adventure for me, full of surprises and blooper moments.

My initial adjustment period was pretty long.  I took my time to feel comfortable at my last site.  I spent most of my days promenading around town and scavenging the forest with children in search of food, this was especially helpful with learning my dialect Tsimihety.  Children I've found are the best teachers.  I would sit at the local hôtely every morning and bury myself in my English-Malagasy dictionary trying to keep up with conversation with a local friend.  Finding a Malagasy, even one, who I could confide in helped not only with integration, but my own understanding and appreciation of this culture.

I'd take long bicycle rides along the main road past neighboring hamlets during the late afternoon.  This was a good way to reflect on a number of things since no one was allowed to interfere with my train of thought since I was quickly moving past them.

I liked taking the opportunity to walk through the local national park, usually accompanied by at least one of my adopted sisters.  We would take off our shoes as we past rice fields so we wouldn't get stuck in the thick mud.  We'd rest and snack on mangoes which we picked up along the way.  We'd surpass sandy streams, keeping our shoes off the entire way.  If we were motivated enough we'd go deep enough to spot sifikas and brown lemurs.  I always stood in awe of the tsingy formations and bat caves.

In the beginning I started washing my clothes in a large basin in front of my house once a week and continue to.  I feel any sort of manual labor is good for you.  I liked that I had to travel three times to the pump just to get enough water for one load of laundry.  It was a great workout.  I'm at a point now that I can wash my clothes as fast and as clean as any machine, or so I think.

I taught English once a week.  In the beginning many students showed up, then slowly less and less did.  I was a bit offended at first.  But since this wasn't mandatory  I think once the idea of being taught a foreign language by a vazaha wasn't novel anymore people weren't as interested.  But I am back to teaching English at my new site, and honestly being able to speak Malagasy better helps tremendously in keeping students engaged and interested.  So I really dislike it when people dismiss English teachers at being the worst at speaking Malagasy, because in my opinion they must be the best. Also there is more structure to my classes.Teaching English is a way to ward of boredom and feeling unproductive if the work within my own sector, community enterprise development, has been slow. I teach at a school and have a fixed schedule, and give small assignments.

I visited members in my women's onion microenterprise in their fields constantly.  I helped them in the whole process of preparing the field, planting, and harvest. It was an educational experience since I've never farmed a day in my life. I also received many lovely gifts of onions.

I made my rounds between these fikanbananas, or formal or informal groups.  Another group I visited on a regular basis were my fruit ladies.  Anjiamangirana is famous for its papayas.  These are the sweetest papayas I've ever tasted in my life.  I'd sit and talk to the women while snacking on this fruit trying to encourage them to not only think of themselves as farmers but as business people, capable of making entrepreneurial choices.  After a few months at my old site, I realized I wasn't going to be able to make giant strides in helping them with income generation.  I was the first volunteer there.  Really my work focused more upon establishing what Peace Corps was and trying to foster new ideas, or at least trying to make them more open to them.

I also worked with a group of women who made confiture, or jam and concentrated juice.  These came in different varieties, and depending on the season we'd always have new jam to work with.  They created papaya jam, papaya/ banana, pineapple, pineapple/ banana, Chinese plum, acai berry, and tamarind. I visited the homes where these women would put large cauldrons with boiling fruit and cook it on burning charcoal and sticks.  It was interesting watching how meticulously they measured the ingredients, making sure that the right combination of citrus juice, sugar, and fruit were put in each tightly sealed sanitized glass bottle.

The favorite part of my day is going to the market.  Local farmers travel several kilometers each day, carrying their produce on head, bicycle, or ox-pulled cart.  I love walking through the bizarre and smelling the fresh mangoes, watching the women winnow rice before pouring it into large gunny sacks.  Many volunteers have what they call a "market Mama" or the lady whose vegetable/ rice stand they frequent the most.  I buy carrots, onions, and cabbage most days from mine.  Before I went to a stand in front of my house to buy rice, yam leaves, dried shrimp, and onions. Because there wasn't much variety I spent less time loitering around town buying "groceries".

I visit an epicerie almost every other day to snack on homemade yogurt, and the most refreshing tamarind juice in town.  The owner Daddy Voany is this jolly man, who goes shirtless, and walks around with a lamba (brightly colored cloth) around his waist.  Sometimes I don't see him there because he's at home fixing small electronics such as radios and watches as a side-job.

Moving into the French Mission has been a bit of another adjustment for me.  I am forced to try to speak French now.  I was still struggling to express all of my thoughts in Malagasy, this is just another challenge for me.  I really adore all three of my room mates though.  I've forgotten how much fun it can be to live with women.  Perhaps I'm speaking too early and the drama hasn't unfolded yet, but these seem like wholesome ladies, worth spending a good amount of my day with.  I love their attitude towards food.  They really enjoy it.  They don't just scarf down every bit of grain of rice as fast as they can.  Instead they look at their food, slowly put it in their mouth and masticate, perhaps reacting to it, then commenting on it.  They love to talk about food, either on the table or off.  They take time to enjoy hors-oeuvres and desert (and again there is more commenting on food and drink).  It seems to them that the main course is just as important as the others.  

I visit Madame Vivianne, the leader of the sewing association I was assigned to work with by my counterpart NGO Prosperer, at her atelier pretty regularly.  I check up on her students and help in whatever way I can to improve her business, since I see there is so much potential in her skill.  I've custom made several articles for her and have recommended that friends do so to.  She's made the models which I've given her to a T.

I bike once a week to a nearby hamlet to a group of basket weavers.  Its always shocking to see the disparity of wealth and resources of my town and this village not seven kilometers away.  Most of the members are unmotivated or unable to weave baskets, leaving only a couple who weave on a regular basis.  It's difficult to find a market in Madagascar for them since it is inundated with these sorts of products, and difficult to export because of all of the red-tape put up.

I've read more in Peace Corps then I think my whole life combined as well as hand-written more letters than all my friends will in the 21st century.

Ever since I've had electricity I sleep at a much later time an arise much later than I previously did.  For instance its nearly mid-night and I'm still awake.  I will probably wake up around 7:30 am tomorrow.  During my days without electricity I slept an hour or two after dinner and arose with the sun or roaster, whichever one came first.

Although I don't really abide by a strict schedule feel my life is rather mundane on a day to day basis, as things do take a long time to change here. But then if I really sit down and reflect on my life I realize I've underwent a dramatic change of lifestyle from my previous life in the U.S.  It's exciting yet nerve racking to think of reintegrating into American society after being abroad for so long.  I'll have to relearn what is "normal" again, and this makes me a bit nervous.  But I suppose one valuable lesson Peace Corps has taught me is to be flexible.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Love or something like it:



Webster dictionary defines love as: “strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties (2) : attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers (3) : affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests.”  Just as in English, Malagasy has one single word for love: fitiavana.  The way to say I like you and I love you is the same, Tiako anao zaho.  

 This has given me some difficulties since its been hard to express whether I simply like a man or like him or the degree to how much I like an inanimate object.
Just like in most places on earth the relations between men and women is difficult.  I will try to write this blog in the context of my host culture as best I can.  Monogamy is not a cultural pillar here.  On the coasts marriages are not-common.  I have witnessed one marriage since my arrival.  Many times people who cohabitate together are considered “pi-vady”,  or a married couple.  If one is in a serious relationship the significant other is to be called their spouse even if there is no paper proof or wedding ceremony.  A sipa, or girlfriend or boyfriend, is considered someone who isn’t taken as seriously, perhaps our cultural equivalent would be an open-relationship or more crudely put a F*&^ buddy.  Although marriages are uncommon and cheating occurs frequently it is still frowned upon, and intense still jealousies arise.  The wife of my counterpart can be found policing around town on her scooter trying to keep her husband in check. 

Pregnancies occur frequently because even with all of the efforts made towards educating on family planning, most people do not choose to use contraceptives.  I’ve talked to mid-wives at the local hospital. Their main complaint is the amount of young girls lost between the ages of 13-15 because they are unable to perform cesarean section, and because of their frail and not-yet quite developed frames of their body they pass away during childbirth.  I often wonder to myself whether or not most of these female teens consented during conception.  Many times the fathers are nowhere to be found or have other families who crave his attention.  These girls immediately drop their schooling; the young men who impregnated them , I’ve noticed, are allowed to continue.  Teen pregnancy is commonplace and not much is said about it or against it.  

I witness a young group of girls passing to and fro from an epicerie where I spend a lot of time.  These girls look no more than 18 years old, they are scantily clad and receive patrons daily, some have even become regulars.  If you talk to some of them they aren’t allowed to return home empty handed otherwise they will be thrown out.  One session on average allows the girls in my town to earn 2,000 Ariary, equivalent to one dollar.  Posters can be found throughout the country, particularly in hotels, with cartoons to dissuade prostitution and the selling of young girls by parents to foreign men.  I’ve seen a fifteen year old girl escort an elder foreign man.  When I asked him why she was spending so much time with him and his friends, he answered by telling me her father was overjoyed to get rid of her, acting as if he were her savior.  There are full time prostitutes but for the majority of women who sell their bodies they do not consider themselves as prostitutes, but rather when the opportunity or need arises will perform these duties to earn what is needed.  I’ve seen once innocent and decent foreign men corrupted by lust and perhaps by power.  The men who are considered mediocre by their own country become king here.

Aside from prostitution there are Malagasy and vazaha relationships, some work out some don’t, just as with any other sort of relationship.  The difference here is that there is usually an uneven power dynamic.  The vazaha has access to a government that will support them, a passport to leave, and funds.  Many times this is what makes us attractive.  Perhaps the widespread desire to have light skinned metisy children is a form of internalized repression left behind by the French.  There are some pcv men will tell you that they’ve been propositioned to simply impregnate a woman with no request or obligation.  Their belief is that the child will have less struggles in life if he or she is lighter and has foreign features.

Even when a pcv dates a HCN (host country national) who is highly educated, comes from wealth, and shares many of the same morals towards relationships, there are cultural barriers that are difficult to transcend.  But in truth it seems like these relationships are more desirable for the pcv woman than dating foreign men in general.  My reasoning is straight-forward,  For the HCN this is his home he is not running away from his troubles and is tied to family and friends.  He is not taking a two-year break from his usual morals. These are all signs of stability. The novel  Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus comes to mind when looking into the microcosm of pcv relationships.  The opportunities are endless here for foreign men.  They most likely have never been so popular with women.  Their status as a foreigner and what this entails is impressive to many Malagasy and the vulnerable state that many pcv females fall into and their need for companionship in order to combat loneliness here causes these tadpoles to turn into barracudas.  I always found it heart-warming when I heard of couples who met during their tour in Peace Corps.  But the reality of the matter is is that promiscuity is high and since the selection pool is small the situation becomes somewhat incestuous.  I never thought I’d write a blog about relationships but I think its become important to break the stereotypes of the men and women who go abroad to do development work as being saints. 

I have met a young French married couple who works with the Mission.  This is the first time they've lived together since they joined right after tying the knot. It was interesting to hear their perspective.  According to Antoine marriage had liberated him.  Never again, did he feel he would be alone.  Having someone to confide in makes living in such a challenging environment tolerable they've told me.  I can only imagine serving together in Madagascar would be a good test for the strength of one’s marriage.  My friend Madame Florine is currently with her husband in Tana for an operation.  This has been an especially challenging past year for her because of her husband’s health.  “For the good times and the bad,” she tells me emphatically. 

Romantic love is a luxury that not many in impoverished situations have.  I feel that when we look condescendingly at prostitutes, not-quite prostitutes, and gold-diggers we understand how their life situation prevents them from prioritizing finding a “soul mate” and rather securing food and shelter for themselves.  I joined Peace Corps at the tail-end of being 21 years old, I will have had three birthdays in-country.  I never took the prospect of having a lifetime partner seriously, but now the idea doesn’t  seem so daunting.  To be honest I couldn’t imagine doing Peace Corps at a later age.  I guess I’m growing up. 

Sunday, November 11, 2012

A Move

This is the fifth time I've moved since the start of my service.  I really pray that this will be the last as I only have six months of my service left fingers crossed.  Because of a passive negotiation between my NGO and an associate organization I was indirectly kicked out of the house I have lived in for nine months.

An electricity bill that included all the other buildings in my compound for five months was delivered to my home...no this didn't push me to move.  Finally the representative of the center e-mailed my APCD to put pressure on my counterpart in the Antsohihy headquarter to put pressure on my counterparts in my town to find appropriate housing for me.  I threw up my hands and asked  my friends at the Catholic Mission house if I could squat in one of their extra rooms.  The answer was an enthusiastic yes.  I've gotten so used to having my own space that I felt that living with other people might intrude on my current lifestyle.  After the tiring move, and the realization that I buy too much frip (used second hand clothing), I received a warm welcome from my new three French roommates.  I find it nerve-racking to speak French, even more than Malagasy.  The French in general are not very forgiving when it comes to mistakes being made in their language. But really its more of my personal psychology that is the problem I've realized.  They've been nothing but helpful and open in trying to help me speak French.

I've had a bit of a change of heart about this language.  I do believe that Malagasy should continue to emphasize it in their education.  But I hope that they can teach it effectively.  Another wonderful thing about living with other foreign volunteers is that we can come home to each other and rant about our daily struggles and not have to constantly worry about offending our host culture.  They run a French library in my community.  The knowledge available in these books is enormous and at the fingertips of people here if only French comprehension was higher.  According to a German friend who has worked in Madagascar for forty years, French has been on the decline since the process of Malagasization by Raziraka's administration.  I suppose I associate how much I love or despise a language based on my encounters from people from that country.

This truly is another immersion experience for me.  Even with a Catholic background and education I feel that I am being surrounded by an extra layer of faith. None of them impose any type of religious doctrine on me though, in fact I feel that they are some of the most accepting and non-judgmental people I have met since my arrival.  They've broken many of the stereotypes I've had of overbearing religious practitioners and "zes Frenchies".

Also, I love living with women.  We share intimate discussions sans les garcons, which remind me of the days of college roommate bonding. Being able to share meals, drink, and activities with other people on a regular basis actually fosters, I've found, a balanced state.  I've spent my service as a "black hole" volunteer as my region has been nicknamed because of the scarce number of volunteers here (I am a whole day trip away from the closest Peace Corps volunteer).  Maybe its good that I end my service with other like-minded foreigners.  

COS crisis

I've recently reversed my decision to extend my Peace Corps contract.  The idea of adding on three months to my contract had originated from the  fact that I had automatically lost three months of my service due to the time it took to move to a new site and to having been put on medical hold.  I grew a bit envious when I witnessed the tight bonds that other PCVs formed with community members and how my ability to do this at my original site was cut short because of my abrupt displacement.  Integration into my new community was a bit more of a challenge than my first. I'm not certain whether it was because of the much larger population and quasi-metropolitan ambiance that this place exudes or because of my fatigue from moving that prevented me from feeling as tamana (at home) in Port-Bergé.

Oftentimes we are the first foreigner to ever reside in these places, therefore we are forced to win the trust and acceptance of community members before we are able to initiate projects.  I suppose I felt the need to buy time to solidify new relationships in my new town. Based on the level of activity that I witnessed here I felt the opportunities for work were endless.  I was ready to impart substantial change finally. My illness had interfered with my project from being completed smoothly.  I wanted another jab at the same project which I would have to wait another year to do.

However I place a much larger emphasis on my personal health which I've taken for granted.  I've realized that the medical resources I need simply can't be found here, even when there are excellent doctors, which frightens the hell out of me. I can rant on and on about horror stories found in some clinics here, but what's the point?   I can't afford to be evacuated to South Africa anymore, neither can the American tax payer.

And since I am no longer going to extend my service I am trying to weigh and seek out different options such as graduate school, travel, or work.  I am trying hard not to get lost in the web of online applications, resume building, and writing cover letters and open my eyes and realize I'm in flippin' Madagascar.  

Diaspora

Wherever you travel in the world you will be assured to find a Chinese population.  Even in most far-removed corners such as in Madagascar you can be assured to find a China town.  There is a Chinese run cotton factory in my small town in the Northwest.  They manage the fields that this commodity is grown on, process it, and export it to Guangdong Province on boat.  I’ve befriended the owners of this company and have been invited to share scrumptious meals that cause me to become a bit homesick.  I find it interesting how resource constraints and a burgeoning population have forced entrepreneurial spirits out of their home countries to try their luck elsewhere.  These I feel are some of the bravest souls I've ever met and make Peace Corps Volunteers look a bit wimpy.

  These are truly people who have thrown themselves into the unknown.  With perhaps one loose contact, no knowledge of the local language or culture, and an uncertain salary they feel the risk is worth taking.  Labels are thrown at these “Karani” (population with Indian/ Pakistani heritage) and “Sinoa” (Chinese immigrant) groups.  They are blamed for exploiting this country of its natural resources and subjugating the local populations.  I will not comment here exactly why this is but it’s evident that wealth concentrated in certain groups causes for stratification of class, and the abuse of power.  The entire population of East and South Asia are stereotyped as being the same.  This has made me especially conscious of how I am to represent Americans, because for the majority of people I encounter I am the only contact they will ever have from the US. 

  Being of Asian heritage many people here don’t believe that I am American or a Peace Corps volunteer, but rather judge me firsthand with carrying certain attitudes of those within the merchant class.  It’s difficult to walk down the road with adolescents trying to mimic fake Mandarin to me.  I used to haughtily answer in fast Mandarin then switch to fluent Malagasy chastising them then finally ask whether they wanted an answer in English, French or Russian.  Most times their jaws would drop, which was amusing for a while.  I believe I even initiated a physical match one time because of this issue.  I’m just not sure I have the stamina to fight anymore though.  My mother was able to relate, explaining to me that her experiences with bullying wasn't so different nearly thirty years ago when she first arrived to the US from Vietnam.  Classmates would pull their eyes back and chatter in gibberish.  “Turn a blind eye and continue your work,” she advises. 

  Because I’ve tanned quite a bit I sometimes here whispers behind my back as people try to discern what exactly I am.  “Is she Merina (the ethnic group in the highlands with Asiatic features), Metisy (of Chinese and Malagasy background), a vazaha (an Westerner)?  I know what its like to be viewed as a minority, however I grew up in America, have acquired an American identity that was new to my parents, and speak English as an American.  For the first time in my life I have felt like an alien life form.  Not only do I speak kind of funny, but act and look a bit strange.  One thing that is great about the Chinese expatriate community here is that they are extremely well networked across the country.  If I wanted 500 grams of raw sapphires and rubies, shark fins, hard to find cooking ingredients, medicines delivered within a week from Guangzhou I know who to turn to.  I find it fascinating how families are built when blood families are left thousands of miles behind as a form of protection and comfort.  It is our duty as Peace Corps Volunteers to engage with the local population and integrate as much as possible but understandably we need a break too, and we seek this in the places we find most familiar to us.