Okay let's continue from a few days ago.
On Freckles
In Malagasy, you literally call freckles "flea shit." No I'm serious I couldn't have made that up if I tried. Hahaha I don't care I still love them. It's a good thing, too. Then again, maybe that's why I love them--you get what you et and you don't have a fit, right?
My recent luxuries
I now have a hammock in my room AND (thanks to Shawn Taylor--you are AMAZING) I also have a little DVD player. After winter break, I'm bringin popcorn, and my proviseur and her neice and nephew and I are having an American movie night. Ha. OH! AND yesterday some carpenters made me a swing! When I get home I'm going to hang it in my back door where there's a breeze and where you can hear the rain on the tin roof when it rains. Yes, I realize I am very spoiled. But cost me like a dollar and I decided it was necessary for my happiness. Everyone needs a swing in their life.
On Christmas Break
I'm camping and hiking in 4 different National Parks!! SO excited. Going with about six other people from my stage. The parks are: Andringatra, Isalo, Zombitse/Vohibasia, and Ifaty. I'll let you know :)
On accidentally visibly talking and laughing to yourself in the street
You shouldn't do that. People will think you're crazy. Probably because that's one of the main things every town's crazy person does (no seriously--every town has one--it's like the village idiot idea but for real--every one gets a crazy person).
PS The other day I saw a lemur in my backyard in the banana trees.
Okay. That's all. I'll try not to be silent so long again. Keep writing! Your letters make a HUGE difference and make me feel less isolated. MISS YOU ALL!!!
Friday, December 14, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Dearest Lovelies
So sorry I've neglected you so long . . . . Let me start making amends with a few highlights--snapshots--from my life at this point in time. I will not promise them all to be interesting or entertaining or even all that informative. But now you know I'm still alive.
The Market
Every day I walk to the market to buy the food I need for the day (this is for those of you who wanted the mundate). I have certain people I buy certain things from, and honestly I love it. Except on Saturdays. That's the big market day and it is WAY too crowded. My main food source is tomatoes. It's amazing how many different ways you can manipulate them--my meals may all taste different, but they're essentially the same thing. Ha. On the way home I occasionally am given a ride on a motorcycle by a strange man (never the same one--they seem to know where I live though). Riding a motorcycle in a skirt is now one of my useful skills. Thank you, Peace Corps. But I enjoy the walk home instead, and end up saying "Salama!" approximately five million times. About. I once accidentally even said it to a goat. Oops? At home, I make lunch while listening to music from you. My meals usually consist of tomatoes (as I said), rice, and lentils or kabaro (lima bean esque?). This is my chill time of the day. Wait let's go back to the market. There are 2 things in abundance in my market: rice and mangos. Oh, wait--new subject.
Mangos
I believe I mentioned this in that last quick update, but I don't think you understand. Let's talk about this for a minute. I'm a little bitter. Now, when I found out I had a mango tree in my backyard, I thought to myself, "Me and mangos are gonna have a special relationship." When I saw mango trees everywhere in my town, this thought was confirmed. Little did I know just how special that relationship would be. No I'm serious--you're getting the long story now. It's important. So once upon a time, I got hives all over my arms and chest and neck and ears which progressed to severe rashes all over my arms which then became a swollen face with an eye swollen shut (now I know wht I'd look like as an ogre) which ended as little itchy blisters on my fingers and feet. Now, when this happened the FIRST time, I was concerned, but pushed through it with lots of benedryl, calamine lotion, anti-itch cream, and bacetracin. But when it happened the second and THIRD time, I accepted the ugly truth. I, who have never had the slightest food allergy in my life, an violantly allergic (not deathly--just painful for over a week--over ONE mango) to MANGOS. Mangos. The fruit piled on the sides of roads and at the market. The fruit kids eat in and between classes. The fruit we talk about once a week at our student assemblies (eat from these trees not from those, eat in these places not in those, wipe your juices hands here but not there). I kid you not. It's like being allergic to lemurs, except the fruit version and infinitely more common. I am so hungry for fruit! I have to keep picturing myself as an ogre to keep myself from giving in and eating it in any case for lack of any other fruit option. In my own backyard too! Free fruit! Ripe and beautiful! It is my personal forbidden tree, and I am Mahabo's Eve. SUCKS.
On Rain
You can imagine my excitement as the rainy season approaches. Of course, cyclones don't tend to visit Mahabo, so I don't have to worry as much as others. My neighbors will appreciate the rainy season in a different way this year. When thunderstorms come, they spend the whole time laughing at me--lying down at first then just generally playing in the rain. I guess they don't do that here? Every time they think I'm crazy, I just tell them it makes me happy? This makes them laugh--which makes me even happier. Needless to say, I'm grateful for neighbors who appreciate me as I am. Maybe I'll be able to convince them to come jump in the puddles with me.
My English Club
So here is what makes me laugh: It's so hot that my skin is gritty with salt from sweat, and I have a class full of students singing, "Let it snow!" It is a beautiful thing.
My 2nde Kids
We have a lot of fun. I enjoy making them do embarrassing things, they enjoy making fn of me doing embarrassing things, and we mention Batman at least once every class. My favorite was when doing the lesson on preferences, one of my boys gave as an example: I like Betany! Then got embarrassed. It was almost as good as a girl giving an opinions example: "According to Ms. Betany, Domi is lazy." Domi = class clown.
My 5e Monsters
I love love love these students. They continue singing "I love you Mdemoiselle!" They beg to play "pirates." We make animal noises at each other while they do exercises? I've seen students doodle my nme in their notebooks. I make them dance if they're neughty. I wipe chalk dust on their arms and tell them we're the same--white. I sent them home during a fun non-lesson day because they were being naughty and they begged me to let them stay and do exercises for me (and clapped and said thank you when I agreed). They are ridiculous and precious.
On the neighbor boy
We've made a truce and are now friends. We bond by making faces at each other. My tongue is WAY bigger than his. Then again, he's only 3. Papita is still my favorite. He runs around naked with this sweet little smile on his face.
Fruit in season now
Litchis! Yum :)
Okay wait maybe I'll write more later but I have to run. Ha. Bye!
The Market
Every day I walk to the market to buy the food I need for the day (this is for those of you who wanted the mundate). I have certain people I buy certain things from, and honestly I love it. Except on Saturdays. That's the big market day and it is WAY too crowded. My main food source is tomatoes. It's amazing how many different ways you can manipulate them--my meals may all taste different, but they're essentially the same thing. Ha. On the way home I occasionally am given a ride on a motorcycle by a strange man (never the same one--they seem to know where I live though). Riding a motorcycle in a skirt is now one of my useful skills. Thank you, Peace Corps. But I enjoy the walk home instead, and end up saying "Salama!" approximately five million times. About. I once accidentally even said it to a goat. Oops? At home, I make lunch while listening to music from you. My meals usually consist of tomatoes (as I said), rice, and lentils or kabaro (lima bean esque?). This is my chill time of the day. Wait let's go back to the market. There are 2 things in abundance in my market: rice and mangos. Oh, wait--new subject.
Mangos
I believe I mentioned this in that last quick update, but I don't think you understand. Let's talk about this for a minute. I'm a little bitter. Now, when I found out I had a mango tree in my backyard, I thought to myself, "Me and mangos are gonna have a special relationship." When I saw mango trees everywhere in my town, this thought was confirmed. Little did I know just how special that relationship would be. No I'm serious--you're getting the long story now. It's important. So once upon a time, I got hives all over my arms and chest and neck and ears which progressed to severe rashes all over my arms which then became a swollen face with an eye swollen shut (now I know wht I'd look like as an ogre) which ended as little itchy blisters on my fingers and feet. Now, when this happened the FIRST time, I was concerned, but pushed through it with lots of benedryl, calamine lotion, anti-itch cream, and bacetracin. But when it happened the second and THIRD time, I accepted the ugly truth. I, who have never had the slightest food allergy in my life, an violantly allergic (not deathly--just painful for over a week--over ONE mango) to MANGOS. Mangos. The fruit piled on the sides of roads and at the market. The fruit kids eat in and between classes. The fruit we talk about once a week at our student assemblies (eat from these trees not from those, eat in these places not in those, wipe your juices hands here but not there). I kid you not. It's like being allergic to lemurs, except the fruit version and infinitely more common. I am so hungry for fruit! I have to keep picturing myself as an ogre to keep myself from giving in and eating it in any case for lack of any other fruit option. In my own backyard too! Free fruit! Ripe and beautiful! It is my personal forbidden tree, and I am Mahabo's Eve. SUCKS.
On Rain
You can imagine my excitement as the rainy season approaches. Of course, cyclones don't tend to visit Mahabo, so I don't have to worry as much as others. My neighbors will appreciate the rainy season in a different way this year. When thunderstorms come, they spend the whole time laughing at me--lying down at first then just generally playing in the rain. I guess they don't do that here? Every time they think I'm crazy, I just tell them it makes me happy? This makes them laugh--which makes me even happier. Needless to say, I'm grateful for neighbors who appreciate me as I am. Maybe I'll be able to convince them to come jump in the puddles with me.
My English Club
So here is what makes me laugh: It's so hot that my skin is gritty with salt from sweat, and I have a class full of students singing, "Let it snow!" It is a beautiful thing.
My 2nde Kids
We have a lot of fun. I enjoy making them do embarrassing things, they enjoy making fn of me doing embarrassing things, and we mention Batman at least once every class. My favorite was when doing the lesson on preferences, one of my boys gave as an example: I like Betany! Then got embarrassed. It was almost as good as a girl giving an opinions example: "According to Ms. Betany, Domi is lazy." Domi = class clown.
My 5e Monsters
I love love love these students. They continue singing "I love you Mdemoiselle!" They beg to play "pirates." We make animal noises at each other while they do exercises? I've seen students doodle my nme in their notebooks. I make them dance if they're neughty. I wipe chalk dust on their arms and tell them we're the same--white. I sent them home during a fun non-lesson day because they were being naughty and they begged me to let them stay and do exercises for me (and clapped and said thank you when I agreed). They are ridiculous and precious.
On the neighbor boy
We've made a truce and are now friends. We bond by making faces at each other. My tongue is WAY bigger than his. Then again, he's only 3. Papita is still my favorite. He runs around naked with this sweet little smile on his face.
Fruit in season now
Litchis! Yum :)
Okay wait maybe I'll write more later but I have to run. Ha. Bye!
Friday, November 23, 2007
quickly quickly
I don't have much time, but for those of you worried about whether or not I'm still alive, I've made it so far--despite the constant battle with random illnesses like giardia, baseball-sized bruised elbows, and the various afflictions that come with mango allergies (eyes swollen shut, hives, rashes, etc.). I haven't written mostly because I just haven't had the chance. I don't have time now either, but wanted to drop a line so you remember I exist. I will leave you with this:
My current least favorite person in the world: the chicken next door. No, I am not calling names. I literally mean the neighbor's hen. He (well, she) is a cocky thing that enjoys obnoxiousities such as sneaking into my house and jumping on my bike or kitchen table--especially right after I've wshed the dishes. One point me: I have kicked the punk. One point chicken: he has somehow managed to knock me straight up off my feet and flat on my back. I don't know. These things happen. I have a bruised tailbone to prove it. I have tried throwing a bucket of water at him. The first time he was too quick. The second time I nailed him. I'm serious. This is war. And now that I'm learning karate, that poultry better WATCH ITS BACK.
And now, while you sleep during snow flurries, I am going to go swim in the ocean because it is too too hot.
My current least favorite person in the world: the chicken next door. No, I am not calling names. I literally mean the neighbor's hen. He (well, she) is a cocky thing that enjoys obnoxiousities such as sneaking into my house and jumping on my bike or kitchen table--especially right after I've wshed the dishes. One point me: I have kicked the punk. One point chicken: he has somehow managed to knock me straight up off my feet and flat on my back. I don't know. These things happen. I have a bruised tailbone to prove it. I have tried throwing a bucket of water at him. The first time he was too quick. The second time I nailed him. I'm serious. This is war. And now that I'm learning karate, that poultry better WATCH ITS BACK.
And now, while you sleep during snow flurries, I am going to go swim in the ocean because it is too too hot.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
on postcards
1. For those of you who write regularly and might probably get multiple postcards, I apologiwe in advance if I accidentally send you the same one twice . . .
2. I don't think my mailman dude is charging me enough, so we'll see if they make it to you . . .
2. I don't think my mailman dude is charging me enough, so we'll see if they make it to you . . .
Notes from the Classroom
During my 10 weeks of training (ha--it felt like 10 months), they told us that discipline is a real problem in Madagascar--a huge hinderance to teaching--that we can't smile until December else they'll alk all over us and never listen.
Now, I tried--really I did. I prepared myself. But I'd hardly stepped into the room for the first time when I realiwed I couldn't last 3 MINUTES, much less 3 months, withough smiling. There went THAT idea.
But here's the thing. People are people wherever you go. And when it comes down to it, all people want is for you to be sincere--genuine. And it's the same with these kids too. When I played the stern teacher, they played the naughty students. When I am my normal positive self--when I throw training out the window (sorry, dearest trainers)--it is contagious and they are positive in return. When I am smiling and eager, so are they. When I laugh to myself while they are working, for some reason, they smile and work on the exercise instead of blowing it off and chatting with their friends. And what do you know? After I was told that discipline would be my biggest problem because I'm "too nice," I haven't had a single discipline issue.
But it gets better. See, I tend to . . . find life very entertaining--and I like to laugh at it. So I make fun of myself when I slaughter their names during attendance. I make them do ridiculous warm-ups and exercises. And this is my favorite--I taught them how to pronounce "R" for hangman (the English way instead of the French way) by making them act like pirates. Hahahaha I'm not even kidding. After I acted like one myself, of course. And now our man in hangman always has an eyepatch, peg leg, and hook.
Now here's why this makes me happy: Speaking a foreign language is embarrassing. You sound stupid when you practice, but you can only get past sounding stupid by practicing. Tricky, right? Well, apparently I make weird noises to myself sometimes? Which I realize only when I hear them make the noises back at me (hahaha we acted like kittens and goats one day it was awesome). But hang on--so the point IS, when their teacher is willing to sound ridiculous and act like an indiot and seems to enjoying embarrassing herself, they seem a little more willing to do so themselves. And that's so important if they're going to not sound like zombies when they speak English! But more than that, I think that teaching them to LAUGH at themselves could be the most important thing I could teach them--both for English and life in general.
I'm still learning a LOT (like, you know, how to be a teacher? ha). I've had a couple nearly disastrous lessons when I SERIOUSLY over-estimated what they knew. But come on--when you and a room of 60 kids sit and yell "ARRRRRRRGH!!" at each other like pirates. . . . What more could a girl hope for?
Now, I tried--really I did. I prepared myself. But I'd hardly stepped into the room for the first time when I realiwed I couldn't last 3 MINUTES, much less 3 months, withough smiling. There went THAT idea.
But here's the thing. People are people wherever you go. And when it comes down to it, all people want is for you to be sincere--genuine. And it's the same with these kids too. When I played the stern teacher, they played the naughty students. When I am my normal positive self--when I throw training out the window (sorry, dearest trainers)--it is contagious and they are positive in return. When I am smiling and eager, so are they. When I laugh to myself while they are working, for some reason, they smile and work on the exercise instead of blowing it off and chatting with their friends. And what do you know? After I was told that discipline would be my biggest problem because I'm "too nice," I haven't had a single discipline issue.
But it gets better. See, I tend to . . . find life very entertaining--and I like to laugh at it. So I make fun of myself when I slaughter their names during attendance. I make them do ridiculous warm-ups and exercises. And this is my favorite--I taught them how to pronounce "R" for hangman (the English way instead of the French way) by making them act like pirates. Hahahaha I'm not even kidding. After I acted like one myself, of course. And now our man in hangman always has an eyepatch, peg leg, and hook.
Now here's why this makes me happy: Speaking a foreign language is embarrassing. You sound stupid when you practice, but you can only get past sounding stupid by practicing. Tricky, right? Well, apparently I make weird noises to myself sometimes? Which I realize only when I hear them make the noises back at me (hahaha we acted like kittens and goats one day it was awesome). But hang on--so the point IS, when their teacher is willing to sound ridiculous and act like an indiot and seems to enjoying embarrassing herself, they seem a little more willing to do so themselves. And that's so important if they're going to not sound like zombies when they speak English! But more than that, I think that teaching them to LAUGH at themselves could be the most important thing I could teach them--both for English and life in general.
I'm still learning a LOT (like, you know, how to be a teacher? ha). I've had a couple nearly disastrous lessons when I SERIOUSLY over-estimated what they knew. But come on--when you and a room of 60 kids sit and yell "ARRRRRRRGH!!" at each other like pirates. . . . What more could a girl hope for?
Ah, the male ego
Boys will be boys, no matter the age--or country. On Sunday I went on an outing to this natural source about 16 km away from my town. It ended up being me and 3 guys. Now, at first I was pleased--3 boys instead of 1 means I'm not accidentally on a date, right? (Note: When the one who invited me started asking if I could have a Malagasy boyfriend, I freaked and said I already had one in the States--but you know me and lying, so let's hope he doesn't ask any more questions because I won't be able to keep up the charade--and my Malagasy isn't quite good enough for me to say, "Oh, I'm sorry but I made up an imaginary boyfriend so that I could hang out with you and be your friend without worrying about you hitting on me.") So it was a good thing, right? But no? I forgot that if there are 3 men, there is 3 times the pressure to prove that they ARE men. One showed off. One couldn't let me bike faster than him. One told me the names of all the towns and trees, kept checking to make sure I was okay, and insisted on carrying my water for me.
Now, at first this ticked me off. I mean, seriously? Would I have to spend the afternoon moving aside to make way for the male ego? But then I couldn't decide which was the true source of my irritation: their egos or my own and the fact that I had to be at the end of the line of bikes. SO I decided to try looking at it a different way.
The fact of the matter is, there are many perks to being female when men are . . . well, men. They carry random things for you. They find that elusive karate instructor you've been searching for. They buy you beer. They bring you bicycle repairmen. They write you 3 front-and-back pges of Malagasy-French-English translations to help you learn the language faster. They let you swim in their bungalow's pool. They invite you over to cook shrimp from their fishing company. And they take you on cool bike rides, for goodness sake. So yeah, it sucks sometimes--but you might as well make the most of being female, right?
This helped, of course. It also helped when the road changed and we could all ride side-by-side. And sometimes, when you're soaring down a slight decline, they'll forget about gender and just whoop and holler the faster you go. (Ha--people are so funny)
And the thing is, I can't really comlain. Being American allows me to cross lines--to play both sexes. So yeah, I have to but up with a macho attitute from time to time--but in return I get to splash around in a natural source. Or, I COULD just sit in the shade with the women my age and their babies.
I'd rather go play with the boys.
Now, at first this ticked me off. I mean, seriously? Would I have to spend the afternoon moving aside to make way for the male ego? But then I couldn't decide which was the true source of my irritation: their egos or my own and the fact that I had to be at the end of the line of bikes. SO I decided to try looking at it a different way.
The fact of the matter is, there are many perks to being female when men are . . . well, men. They carry random things for you. They find that elusive karate instructor you've been searching for. They buy you beer. They bring you bicycle repairmen. They write you 3 front-and-back pges of Malagasy-French-English translations to help you learn the language faster. They let you swim in their bungalow's pool. They invite you over to cook shrimp from their fishing company. And they take you on cool bike rides, for goodness sake. So yeah, it sucks sometimes--but you might as well make the most of being female, right?
This helped, of course. It also helped when the road changed and we could all ride side-by-side. And sometimes, when you're soaring down a slight decline, they'll forget about gender and just whoop and holler the faster you go. (Ha--people are so funny)
And the thing is, I can't really comlain. Being American allows me to cross lines--to play both sexes. So yeah, I have to but up with a macho attitute from time to time--but in return I get to splash around in a natural source. Or, I COULD just sit in the shade with the women my age and their babies.
I'd rather go play with the boys.
Lessons from Crayola
Who is it that teaches us to color? SOMEONE does, because these kids do not know how. But while some countries value coloring education over others, some things don't change across the ocean. There are always children who color inside the lines. There are always children who don't notice the lines even exist. There are children who think crayons work better when they're rolling across the floor. And why is it that children love eating art supplies? Glue might mess with your brain, but crayons stick in your teeth. And is it bad that when one started coloring on my cement floor, my first thought was, "What a good idea!"? But somehow I suspect a crayon floor mural would come off on my feet.
A Guide to Befriending the Neighborhood Children
Because, let's be honest--you're more likely to play in the dirt with kids than do whatever it is the grown-ups do.
1. Accept and embrace the way they look. No, I'm not talking about the color of their skin--I mean the fact that in this heat one little boy wears a sweater. And nothing BUT a sweater.
2. Do things like pilates that they don't understand so they think you are crazy (read: interesting). It will make you a magnet.
3. Learn their names. Of COURSE the little boy in the sweater is named Papita.
4. Teach them that your name is not in fact vazaha.
5. Let them watch you do things like washing your dishes.
I don't get it either.
6. Let them eat some of your peanut butter.
7. Convince them it is cool to dance to Snow Patrol. Note: You know you've convinced them when they join you.
Result: It will be the new cool thing to go to the vazaha's house to listen to music while coloring.
1. Accept and embrace the way they look. No, I'm not talking about the color of their skin--I mean the fact that in this heat one little boy wears a sweater. And nothing BUT a sweater.
2. Do things like pilates that they don't understand so they think you are crazy (read: interesting). It will make you a magnet.
3. Learn their names. Of COURSE the little boy in the sweater is named Papita.
4. Teach them that your name is not in fact vazaha.
5. Let them watch you do things like washing your dishes.
I don't get it either.
6. Let them eat some of your peanut butter.
7. Convince them it is cool to dance to Snow Patrol. Note: You know you've convinced them when they join you.
Result: It will be the new cool thing to go to the vazaha's house to listen to music while coloring.
top ten things that make me happy right now
10. No school on Thursdays or Fridays! Just like college, right? Oh wait, minus the five million things to do with that extra time. Though going to the market IS very exciting.
9. I am in a kilalaky dance video. NOT EVEN KIDDING. I couldn't make that up. The other day this guy was like, "Hey come see this music video" and I was so confused and I went to his house and we started watching and BAM there I was. They'd filmed me when I went to the market once--and they filmed themselves coming up to me and shaking my hand. So that's in the video and then at some points this guy is lying on a couch daydreaming and I am in his thought bubble no joke! It's HYSTERICAL. And I was at a hotely the other day and they put it on and were like "Look! It's you!!" HAHAHAHAHAHA Um yeah no seriously I find this so funny. My goal is to be in another before I leave, but actually dancing. Ha.
8. On a taxi-brousse ride someone told the boy facing me that I'd eat him (hahaha). For the rest of the ride, every time the boy and I caught each others' eyes we would start smiling uncontrollably--once I couldn't even keep from busting out laughing. I'm not sure WHY we were so amused, but it was so funny to me.
7. When I walk, I hear people say "Betania!" and I say hey back even though I often have no clue who they are. It helps that I have the same name as an island in Morondava . . . Easy to remember. Plus now they know me from the kilalaky video.
6. I hear my neighbors laugh and say they think I'm crazy. Now, I realiwe that many of you would consider your neighbors thinking you're crazy a BAD thing, but I LOVE it. See, it's kind of liberating. I can do anything and it won't shock them because they already think I'm nuts. >Plus, you're a vazaha so of course they'll think you're crazy--at least they think it's FUNNY. And it's a fast way to make friends, insanity. Note: I'm not sure whether or not you would be calling me crazy too, or if it's just a cultural thing . . .
5. Um, so on occasion, I chase this group of 5 or 6 girls home from primary school. Sometimes. Hang on, don't judge. See, they kept looking back at me once, so OBVIOUSLY I had to start chasing them. It was so funny. And a bunch of other kids ran to get in front of me so they could play too. Hahahaha. No wonder they think the vazaha eat them.
4. Uh, I'm slowly getting rid of my tanline that is a white tank top painted on my body. Awesome.
3. I've put all your cards and pictures on my walls! It's GREAT--especially for those nights when you just want to go out with friends, but you can't because you kind of live in Madagascar so then I can just look up and think of you. It's strange, but the hardest part is proving to be SITTING STILL. Guess I'm not so good at that.
2. Molly, the volunteer in Morondava, is great and has made my first month even better. No seriously--I really lucked out.
1. I AM LEARNING KARATE. I am so serious . . . . Hahahaha--Shin you'd be so proud. We'll see if I can refrain from laughing at the idea of it while I practice. Love it.
I thought about adding the fact that roosters are constanting chasing and mounting chickens in my front yard--but then I realized it's not so much something that makes me happy? Mostly just . . . scenery. HA. Miss you all. I'll give you some stories.
9. I am in a kilalaky dance video. NOT EVEN KIDDING. I couldn't make that up. The other day this guy was like, "Hey come see this music video" and I was so confused and I went to his house and we started watching and BAM there I was. They'd filmed me when I went to the market once--and they filmed themselves coming up to me and shaking my hand. So that's in the video and then at some points this guy is lying on a couch daydreaming and I am in his thought bubble no joke! It's HYSTERICAL. And I was at a hotely the other day and they put it on and were like "Look! It's you!!" HAHAHAHAHAHA Um yeah no seriously I find this so funny. My goal is to be in another before I leave, but actually dancing. Ha.
8. On a taxi-brousse ride someone told the boy facing me that I'd eat him (hahaha). For the rest of the ride, every time the boy and I caught each others' eyes we would start smiling uncontrollably--once I couldn't even keep from busting out laughing. I'm not sure WHY we were so amused, but it was so funny to me.
7. When I walk, I hear people say "Betania!" and I say hey back even though I often have no clue who they are. It helps that I have the same name as an island in Morondava . . . Easy to remember. Plus now they know me from the kilalaky video.
6. I hear my neighbors laugh and say they think I'm crazy. Now, I realiwe that many of you would consider your neighbors thinking you're crazy a BAD thing, but I LOVE it. See, it's kind of liberating. I can do anything and it won't shock them because they already think I'm nuts. >Plus, you're a vazaha so of course they'll think you're crazy--at least they think it's FUNNY. And it's a fast way to make friends, insanity. Note: I'm not sure whether or not you would be calling me crazy too, or if it's just a cultural thing . . .
5. Um, so on occasion, I chase this group of 5 or 6 girls home from primary school. Sometimes. Hang on, don't judge. See, they kept looking back at me once, so OBVIOUSLY I had to start chasing them. It was so funny. And a bunch of other kids ran to get in front of me so they could play too. Hahahaha. No wonder they think the vazaha eat them.
4. Uh, I'm slowly getting rid of my tanline that is a white tank top painted on my body. Awesome.
3. I've put all your cards and pictures on my walls! It's GREAT--especially for those nights when you just want to go out with friends, but you can't because you kind of live in Madagascar so then I can just look up and think of you. It's strange, but the hardest part is proving to be SITTING STILL. Guess I'm not so good at that.
2. Molly, the volunteer in Morondava, is great and has made my first month even better. No seriously--I really lucked out.
1. I AM LEARNING KARATE. I am so serious . . . . Hahahaha--Shin you'd be so proud. We'll see if I can refrain from laughing at the idea of it while I practice. Love it.
I thought about adding the fact that roosters are constanting chasing and mounting chickens in my front yard--but then I realized it's not so much something that makes me happy? Mostly just . . . scenery. HA. Miss you all. I'll give you some stories.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
oh and listen
I realized just now a lot of you have e-mailed me? Sorry . . . . Write me a real letter and I'll respond--I'd be too stressed and can't really afford it if I responded via internet. So let me know how things are!
Also, I don't have service in Mahabo yet and I don't get any texts later if you sent them when I had service, so, you know, we'll figure the phone thing out eventually. Okay.
Also, I don't have service in Mahabo yet and I don't get any texts later if you sent them when I had service, so, you know, we'll figure the phone thing out eventually. Okay.
PS Disclaimer
So internet is super expensive and I'm using a French keyboard, so please be kind when you come across the many typos I'm not going to try to fine. Okay thanks
The Funny Thing About Dead People
It's interesting, the way respect is expressed. In Madagascar, the ancestors are traditionally ery much honored. Once dead, they can bless or curse the living. Because of this, you are not allowed to point at tombs. Instead, you bend that pointer and point with your knuckle. This is something you learn early on, along with how not to accidently swear at people with your body.
But it is NATURALLY more complicated than that. Allow me to introduce you to the famadihana. It is a party whose theme happens to be dead people. Get ready for this.
So once upon a time, a dead person gets cold. This usually happens in the winter (surprise surprise--America's summer, PS). So the dead person will tell its descendents (through visions or a telegram, I assume--I don't know--I'm not dead). So then the descendents are like, " Oh no! Nenibe / Dadabe / other dead relative is cold!" They then go to the town oracle (um, best job EVER--did someone say secondary project??), who tels them what day to have their famadihana.
The night of the start of festivities comes, and the family goes to the tomb of the dead person and say "Stay here!" so the dead person doesn't miss the party (apparently there is a problem with run-away dead?). They then go to this outdoor tarp hut thing (because winter here isn't all that winteresque). They proceed to get HAMMERED and everyone and their mom (literally) dances to a loud live band all night long. And by all night long, I mean you better hope your neighbors are immortal if you want to get some sleep in famadihana season.
Now, let's talk about this dancing for a minute. Imagine if you will a strange mix of awkward parents dancing, awkward junior highers dancing, and a sketchy drunk guy dancing to himself at a bar. All that mixed together. THAT is Malagasy famadihana dancing. Okay. I am going to help you re-enact it for your own Malagasy experience. Get a high school marching band to play fast happy music. It is okay to have a ratio of 5 players to 20 dancers. No biggie. The louder the better (PS I wish all of life worked out that way, for my own sake). It's also okay if they're blasting away only a few feet from your ear. So then you stand in a group of friends with your legs apart a little and start bouncing awkwardly on your knees--don't move, don't sway--just bounce. Now put your hands up in the air. Add jazz hands. And finally, have a fuzzy, happy look on your face--remember, you are drunk. Every once in a while, go ahead and just shout "hey." Congratulations! You are at a Malagasy famadihana dance party. PS I would be MORE than happy to do this dance for you once back in the States. In fact, I look forward to it.
Now for the morning after. It is banquet time, and I tell you what--you have NEVER experienced something like this. And if you have, well, dude--no seriously, what? I will describe this one party in particular, because it was the KING of famadihanas. All of my stage go to this thing at like 10am. We line up in the rain next to the huge tarp hut thing. For 3 hours. Because it is NOT a party during training unless you stand in the cold rain for hours doing nothing. Good thing there is a rocking band playing Lola music (Lola . . . another time, another time). It is finally our turn. We enter the tarp hut. I look around. It is like an elementary school cafeteria, only Malagasy style. The tables and benches are made of wood (neatness doesn't count). On the tables plastic is stapled--and COVERED with a thin layer of something that resembles (though I am no expert) animal fat. YUM. With the scattered pieces of rice, of course. So we squeeze into the tables and wait and wait and wait. Finally it begins--hundreds of bowls are brought out (some with a little rice stuck on them already--an appetizer, if you will). Then come out the spoons (with a similar layer of animal fat). We can see a man we assume is the cook off in the corner through a crack in the tarp--or at least he has a GINORMOUS wooden spoon slash shovel, and why else would you have that?? PS Add death by vat o' vary aka rice to your top ten list of worst deaths). Once the rice is ready, they bring it out in tubs. They slop it into your bowls. Then comes the meat. I'm pretty sure they killed about a dowen animals (of the pig and cow variety), chop them up (not that thoroughly) and then cook them in lots and lots of oil. Though truth be told, it KIND of reminded me of a Southern BBQ (sincere apologies to my Southern friends out there). Post-meal, we all filed out--a parade of spoons--dropping the spoons in a bag on our way. Once we were out, new guests filed in.
Highlight of the lunch: this one (probably drunk) man came in through the exit (aka party crasher) and just grabbed chunks of meat and SHOVED them in his mouth. He had grease and meat everywhere. He even tried to steal a trainee's food. A server SMACKED him on the head with a bowl, pushed him out again, and kicked him in the back of the pants, no joke, it was hysterical, right out of a comic strip, I could not have planned it better myself.
Now for the main event: dancing with dead people. After the food, everyone marches up the hill (including the band) to the tomb. Now, remember, how you can't POINT at tombs out of respect? Well, you CAN dance drunk on top of them, bust them open, and pull out the dead bodies. Because THAT, my friends, is a famadihana. You pull your dead relatives out, wrap them in new fabric (remember--so they're not so cold anymore), then dance down the street with the dead body over your head. At one famadihana, people had t-shirts and hats with the dead person's face on them. At another, they wrapped a husband and wife together (romantic, huh? a post-death date).
Note: this is one Malagasy tradition I will not integrate into my life after the Peace Corps. Meaning, if you dance with my dead body, I WILL come back to haunt you. Promise.
But it is NATURALLY more complicated than that. Allow me to introduce you to the famadihana. It is a party whose theme happens to be dead people. Get ready for this.
So once upon a time, a dead person gets cold. This usually happens in the winter (surprise surprise--America's summer, PS). So the dead person will tell its descendents (through visions or a telegram, I assume--I don't know--I'm not dead). So then the descendents are like, " Oh no! Nenibe / Dadabe / other dead relative is cold!" They then go to the town oracle (um, best job EVER--did someone say secondary project??), who tels them what day to have their famadihana.
The night of the start of festivities comes, and the family goes to the tomb of the dead person and say "Stay here!" so the dead person doesn't miss the party (apparently there is a problem with run-away dead?). They then go to this outdoor tarp hut thing (because winter here isn't all that winteresque). They proceed to get HAMMERED and everyone and their mom (literally) dances to a loud live band all night long. And by all night long, I mean you better hope your neighbors are immortal if you want to get some sleep in famadihana season.
Now, let's talk about this dancing for a minute. Imagine if you will a strange mix of awkward parents dancing, awkward junior highers dancing, and a sketchy drunk guy dancing to himself at a bar. All that mixed together. THAT is Malagasy famadihana dancing. Okay. I am going to help you re-enact it for your own Malagasy experience. Get a high school marching band to play fast happy music. It is okay to have a ratio of 5 players to 20 dancers. No biggie. The louder the better (PS I wish all of life worked out that way, for my own sake). It's also okay if they're blasting away only a few feet from your ear. So then you stand in a group of friends with your legs apart a little and start bouncing awkwardly on your knees--don't move, don't sway--just bounce. Now put your hands up in the air. Add jazz hands. And finally, have a fuzzy, happy look on your face--remember, you are drunk. Every once in a while, go ahead and just shout "hey." Congratulations! You are at a Malagasy famadihana dance party. PS I would be MORE than happy to do this dance for you once back in the States. In fact, I look forward to it.
Now for the morning after. It is banquet time, and I tell you what--you have NEVER experienced something like this. And if you have, well, dude--no seriously, what? I will describe this one party in particular, because it was the KING of famadihanas. All of my stage go to this thing at like 10am. We line up in the rain next to the huge tarp hut thing. For 3 hours. Because it is NOT a party during training unless you stand in the cold rain for hours doing nothing. Good thing there is a rocking band playing Lola music (Lola . . . another time, another time). It is finally our turn. We enter the tarp hut. I look around. It is like an elementary school cafeteria, only Malagasy style. The tables and benches are made of wood (neatness doesn't count). On the tables plastic is stapled--and COVERED with a thin layer of something that resembles (though I am no expert) animal fat. YUM. With the scattered pieces of rice, of course. So we squeeze into the tables and wait and wait and wait. Finally it begins--hundreds of bowls are brought out (some with a little rice stuck on them already--an appetizer, if you will). Then come out the spoons (with a similar layer of animal fat). We can see a man we assume is the cook off in the corner through a crack in the tarp--or at least he has a GINORMOUS wooden spoon slash shovel, and why else would you have that?? PS Add death by vat o' vary aka rice to your top ten list of worst deaths). Once the rice is ready, they bring it out in tubs. They slop it into your bowls. Then comes the meat. I'm pretty sure they killed about a dowen animals (of the pig and cow variety), chop them up (not that thoroughly) and then cook them in lots and lots of oil. Though truth be told, it KIND of reminded me of a Southern BBQ (sincere apologies to my Southern friends out there). Post-meal, we all filed out--a parade of spoons--dropping the spoons in a bag on our way. Once we were out, new guests filed in.
Highlight of the lunch: this one (probably drunk) man came in through the exit (aka party crasher) and just grabbed chunks of meat and SHOVED them in his mouth. He had grease and meat everywhere. He even tried to steal a trainee's food. A server SMACKED him on the head with a bowl, pushed him out again, and kicked him in the back of the pants, no joke, it was hysterical, right out of a comic strip, I could not have planned it better myself.
Now for the main event: dancing with dead people. After the food, everyone marches up the hill (including the band) to the tomb. Now, remember, how you can't POINT at tombs out of respect? Well, you CAN dance drunk on top of them, bust them open, and pull out the dead bodies. Because THAT, my friends, is a famadihana. You pull your dead relatives out, wrap them in new fabric (remember--so they're not so cold anymore), then dance down the street with the dead body over your head. At one famadihana, people had t-shirts and hats with the dead person's face on them. At another, they wrapped a husband and wife together (romantic, huh? a post-death date).
Note: this is one Malagasy tradition I will not integrate into my life after the Peace Corps. Meaning, if you dance with my dead body, I WILL come back to haunt you. Promise.
On Mail
Bits of advice:
1. If you send something customs-worthy, use the green sticker instead of the white paper, because if it comes with the white paper, I have to go to Morondava and then go to the post office and then take a taxi with the lady to this other place and then open it in front of officials (not kidding you). FYI.
2. Also, using padded envelopes is best--they are cheaper, plus they project things better, plus they often go to Mahabo instead of getting held in Morondava (aka I get them sooner).
Thank you guys so much for all the mail you've sent--no seriously, it makes me feel not so far from you, and was life-saving during my first couple weeks. Great for a bad day. PLUS, I'm pretty sure my mail dude things I'm basically a rock star because of all the mail you've sent. No seriously--sometimes people in the street will randomly tell me I have to go get my mail because I have letters waiting. Have I told you how much I love you? I am slowly writing you all back. I think I will do postcards, so you can have lovely little pictures. Sound good?
AND the music is absolutely SAVING ME. Words cannot express . . . So thanks and I love you and all that jazz.
1. If you send something customs-worthy, use the green sticker instead of the white paper, because if it comes with the white paper, I have to go to Morondava and then go to the post office and then take a taxi with the lady to this other place and then open it in front of officials (not kidding you). FYI.
2. Also, using padded envelopes is best--they are cheaper, plus they project things better, plus they often go to Mahabo instead of getting held in Morondava (aka I get them sooner).
Thank you guys so much for all the mail you've sent--no seriously, it makes me feel not so far from you, and was life-saving during my first couple weeks. Great for a bad day. PLUS, I'm pretty sure my mail dude things I'm basically a rock star because of all the mail you've sent. No seriously--sometimes people in the street will randomly tell me I have to go get my mail because I have letters waiting. Have I told you how much I love you? I am slowly writing you all back. I think I will do postcards, so you can have lovely little pictures. Sound good?
AND the music is absolutely SAVING ME. Words cannot express . . . So thanks and I love you and all that jazz.
Can't get enough?
If you are bored and want to read more, check out the blog of my friends Tony and Stacey: tsmad.blogspot.com. They're a married couple from my stage--really good friends of mine--and they might be able to give you a little more info (on training and Malagasy life, though they're now at a very different site than me). I believe they also post pictures. Thought I'd throw it out there . . .
Finally Home
Aaaand I've made it. September 1st I spent my first night in my one-room house (+ closet to take cold bucket showers). I spent a couple days paining and now I have trees and a sky in my house. Two weeks later, my body is finally starting to adjust to the temperature (though I take at least 2 showers a day--always shocking but refreshing). It's a close call--whether there are more freckles or mosquito bites on my legs. I'm going to go with freckles, but that's probably wishful thinking on my part (ha). Apparently there's a swampy area behind my house, so the mosequitos are everywhere. Ha--reminds me of Minnesota--except, you know, with the added risk of malaria. Apparently I must learn to co-exist with the spiders that eat them. And to make my life a little more exciting, I decided it'd be good to have a hive of bees on my water pump, to test out my allergy. I guess they like my mango tree :) Don't worry--I keep my bee meds handy, and I'm on malaria medication stuff (which is currently messing with my body--as we speak, my entire right arm is tingy--ha).
But seriouly, I'm very happy with my home and enjoy the nice walk to town. My neighbors are great too--though I think they think I'm a little strange. Every morning I have to justify wearing some clothes inside out (um, ha I realize that sounds weird--so I'm not going to explain--ha) and drinking my coffee black. The most common question I get is "What's that?" referring to either my freckles or my nose ring. I don't know how to explain either. My town is small with one main road, so people are slowly becoming familiar. I finished my first week of teaching (is anyone else still thrown by the fact that I'm playing teacher for two years?) and honestly it's just been a relief to finally be working. I teach students in the 7th and 10th grades. And my proviseur is awesome--I really lucked out. Once school gets more into the swing of things, I'll start an English club and think about other projects I want to do. And I'll also start giving you more entertaining messages, as soon as I am no longer spending all my time trying to avoid getting hit by cars and cows, and instead just looking and laughing at life. Not to fear--it will be à la Paris in no time, for those of you who were along for that ride.
For now I'll just give you some random stuff and one funny story, but I mostly wanted to let you know that I'm safe and settled and happy. Miss you all!
But seriouly, I'm very happy with my home and enjoy the nice walk to town. My neighbors are great too--though I think they think I'm a little strange. Every morning I have to justify wearing some clothes inside out (um, ha I realize that sounds weird--so I'm not going to explain--ha) and drinking my coffee black. The most common question I get is "What's that?" referring to either my freckles or my nose ring. I don't know how to explain either. My town is small with one main road, so people are slowly becoming familiar. I finished my first week of teaching (is anyone else still thrown by the fact that I'm playing teacher for two years?) and honestly it's just been a relief to finally be working. I teach students in the 7th and 10th grades. And my proviseur is awesome--I really lucked out. Once school gets more into the swing of things, I'll start an English club and think about other projects I want to do. And I'll also start giving you more entertaining messages, as soon as I am no longer spending all my time trying to avoid getting hit by cars and cows, and instead just looking and laughing at life. Not to fear--it will be à la Paris in no time, for those of you who were along for that ride.
For now I'll just give you some random stuff and one funny story, but I mostly wanted to let you know that I'm safe and settled and happy. Miss you all!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Little Notes for Random People
Shawn: Yes, you can definitely send me movies. I'm not sure yet how I'll watch them, but I'm sure I'll be able to figure something out eventually. By the time they get through the mail? Ha. PS Thanks for the regular letters!
Grandpa and Grandma: A million thanks for all the updates. I love hearing the news and seeing the pictures.
Belinda: Are you kind of in Europe right now? I realiwe you won't be in one place long enough for me to really write to you, but I will when you're back and also I want to hear all about it--expecially when you are in Paris. Hope you love it, Bwinda. Don't miss me too much. Ha.
Shin: No never mind I'll e-mail you.
Grandpa and Grandma: A million thanks for all the updates. I love hearing the news and seeing the pictures.
Belinda: Are you kind of in Europe right now? I realiwe you won't be in one place long enough for me to really write to you, but I will when you're back and also I want to hear all about it--expecially when you are in Paris. Hope you love it, Bwinda. Don't miss me too much. Ha.
Shin: No never mind I'll e-mail you.
Crazy Little Thing Called Vazaha
The funny thing about being one of the few white people in a country is that--no matter how well you integrate into the culture--you will always stand out; you will always be different. Here in Madagascar, if you are different, you are called "vazaha" (vah-zah). The name comes from back in the day when the French were first spotted on the island. These days, parents tell their children that if they are naughty, a vazaha will steal and eat them (yum--my personal favorite Malagasy meat). Now, babies and the like may be straight up frightened by a white face, but I think most children are more afraid of witches than vazaha.
Child-eater or not, the vazaha is quite the phenomenon around here. At this random party (oh don't worry--the Malagasy party will be described in another update), the drunk host made everyone take pictures of the vazaha dancing. Even better, at this event where they get drunk and then pull out dead bodies and re-wrap them (another thing I will explain later), someone had their camera focused on us instead of the 5 dead bodies next to us. That's right--a vazaha is more exciting than dead people.
The most relevant application of the word vazaha is that whenever you walk down a road, every child (and many an adult) who sees you yells "vazaha" at you. Now, some people are bothered by this. I, however, am definitely not. For one thing, there is nothing cuter than a Malagasy kid yelling this word. The look of astonishment and excitement in their eyes? Priceless. The color of your skin automatically makes you more mysterious, interesting, and special than--let's face it--you could ever hope to be on your own. Plus you get more attention than ANY Malagasy person around. Let's be hoenst--I've never been this popular in my life. I am not kidding you--it's incredible. At an airport once, an Asian photographer asked if I was a famous actress here in Madagascar. On a 24-hour taxi-brousse ride (another thing for another time), I was the communal child: "Did someone make sure the vazaha ate? Did the vazaha eat rice?" Also on that ride, I pretended I was a monster. That is not a joke. We stopped at this village briefly and a few kids noticed me. Every time I smiled in their direction, one little boy would burst out laughing, act as if he'd been shot, and fell to the ground in spasms. Then I'd look away, he'd get up, and we'd do it all over again. This lasted for about ten minutes. It never got old? The spasms only got more dramatic. I swear, I have gotten more phone numbers than I can afford to call? Okay, well you can decide if that's a reflection of my Peace Corps salary or my new-found allure. The point is, being a vazaha is an automatic in. And I love it. You are the star, the freak, the alien. You are the new kid on the playground, except IT NEVER GETS OLD. It's AWESOME.
As I said, some people are bothered by the vazaha phenomenon. For me, it's as if they all know your name already, only it's not the one your mother gave you. For some others, they find it racist and infuriating--as if they are constantly looked at like a freak. Well obviously some of us are more used to that than others, so maybe that's part of it. But here's the thing: Yes, it is race-specific (for the most part). But they do not have mean intentions. If ANYTHING, vazaha has very positive connotations. And besides--if a white person only comes to town as often as Papa Noel, of COURSE it will be strange. If they were used to living with white people, yeah, it'd be rude to stare--but then, they probably wouldn't stare if they were used to us, would they? The fact of the matter is, they look at us like aliens because we ARE like aliens. We are different--and it's not a good or bad thing--it's just the way it is. And if being vazaha is a way for me to connect to other people, then that's an okay thing, isn't it?
There are lots of different reactions people everywhere have to the color of skin. If my whiteness causes children to laugh and fall to the ground in spasms, I'm happy. I'm more than okay with being vawaha. It's just one more (unique) way to bring joy to the lives of others.
Then again, maybe I just like the attention. . . .
Child-eater or not, the vazaha is quite the phenomenon around here. At this random party (oh don't worry--the Malagasy party will be described in another update), the drunk host made everyone take pictures of the vazaha dancing. Even better, at this event where they get drunk and then pull out dead bodies and re-wrap them (another thing I will explain later), someone had their camera focused on us instead of the 5 dead bodies next to us. That's right--a vazaha is more exciting than dead people.
The most relevant application of the word vazaha is that whenever you walk down a road, every child (and many an adult) who sees you yells "vazaha" at you. Now, some people are bothered by this. I, however, am definitely not. For one thing, there is nothing cuter than a Malagasy kid yelling this word. The look of astonishment and excitement in their eyes? Priceless. The color of your skin automatically makes you more mysterious, interesting, and special than--let's face it--you could ever hope to be on your own. Plus you get more attention than ANY Malagasy person around. Let's be hoenst--I've never been this popular in my life. I am not kidding you--it's incredible. At an airport once, an Asian photographer asked if I was a famous actress here in Madagascar. On a 24-hour taxi-brousse ride (another thing for another time), I was the communal child: "Did someone make sure the vazaha ate? Did the vazaha eat rice?" Also on that ride, I pretended I was a monster. That is not a joke. We stopped at this village briefly and a few kids noticed me. Every time I smiled in their direction, one little boy would burst out laughing, act as if he'd been shot, and fell to the ground in spasms. Then I'd look away, he'd get up, and we'd do it all over again. This lasted for about ten minutes. It never got old? The spasms only got more dramatic. I swear, I have gotten more phone numbers than I can afford to call? Okay, well you can decide if that's a reflection of my Peace Corps salary or my new-found allure. The point is, being a vazaha is an automatic in. And I love it. You are the star, the freak, the alien. You are the new kid on the playground, except IT NEVER GETS OLD. It's AWESOME.
As I said, some people are bothered by the vazaha phenomenon. For me, it's as if they all know your name already, only it's not the one your mother gave you. For some others, they find it racist and infuriating--as if they are constantly looked at like a freak. Well obviously some of us are more used to that than others, so maybe that's part of it. But here's the thing: Yes, it is race-specific (for the most part). But they do not have mean intentions. If ANYTHING, vazaha has very positive connotations. And besides--if a white person only comes to town as often as Papa Noel, of COURSE it will be strange. If they were used to living with white people, yeah, it'd be rude to stare--but then, they probably wouldn't stare if they were used to us, would they? The fact of the matter is, they look at us like aliens because we ARE like aliens. We are different--and it's not a good or bad thing--it's just the way it is. And if being vazaha is a way for me to connect to other people, then that's an okay thing, isn't it?
There are lots of different reactions people everywhere have to the color of skin. If my whiteness causes children to laugh and fall to the ground in spasms, I'm happy. I'm more than okay with being vawaha. It's just one more (unique) way to bring joy to the lives of others.
Then again, maybe I just like the attention. . . .
Ends and Beginnings
It is official: I have sworn to serve in Madagascar as a Peace Corps Volunteer for the next 2 years. Training is finally over and it is bittersweet. For over 10 weeks, 23 of us have spent every moment together, learning Malagasy, struggling with host families, sitting through hours of sessions, and trying not to kill each other. We are ready to get away and regain our independence--to begin our actual lives in Madagasikara. But at the same time, we HAVE been with each other for over 10 weeks and it is only a matter of days before we are alone in a village. I am ready to move to Mahabo, but I know I will miss all of my stagemates. But for now I'm just excited to get to move forward and start DOING something. They say training is the hardest part of service, and I believe it. I am ready to start doing my job--to start actually helping people. This morning I sworn in at the Ambassador's house, and on Thursday I fly to Morondava. By the weekend, I will move into my house, adjust to my new life, and start preparing for my first day of school. I'm sure I'll have plenty to tell you within a month. For now, I will leave you with some tidbits from training. Drop me a line at my new address! I'll have more time to write back now that training does not rule my life. Miss you all :)
and a phone number
Also, once a month when in Morondava, I can be called slash texted at: 032.48.166.40.
My New Address
From now on, please direct all mail to:
Bethany Allen
Lycée Resaotsy
BP 14
Mahabo 615
Madagascar
Thanks for all the letters you've sent so far!!
Bethany Allen
Lycée Resaotsy
BP 14
Mahabo 615
Madagascar
Thanks for all the letters you've sent so far!!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Mail Update
Also, fyi apparently writing "Jesus Saves" on mail helps it arrive safely. So do that if you want it to be protected. Seriously--thanks to those of you whohave already written. Will write more soon!
My Rite of Passage
To go to the bathroom here (let's get down to it), you squat on two bricks over a hole in the ground. It is called a kabone. My family's kabone is down the street with the pigs. Plus, you can't go outside when it's dark out (circa 6pm) for fear of dogs and witches, obviously. So at night you get a po (pronounced poh)--a lovely bucket with a lid that you get to clean in the morning (I clean mine in a creek--not the same one we get water from, don't worry). In any case, so one night around my first week, before bed, I saw a spider in my room about the size of my hand (we're talking body to palm here). I thought about making a brother deal with it, but realized that for ME, this is the worst that could happen, really. So I had to deal with it myself. So I got my po, and I scraped the thing into it with cardboard (and that thing CLUNG to the wall), then flung him out the window, only he wouldn't fling and so I had to bang my po on the wall to knock it out and the handle broke off, but the spider did fall out. I spent the next 15 minutes shaking visibly (ha). I spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how to explain to my family what the hey the handle to my po was doing around the corner outside of our house. Africa is officially my home.
Pardon my French (or, my first time teaching)
I figure I have to give you at least one story. so here it is: the first day we taught in practicum (oh--fyi I'm teaching English here), we had to do something random. So I taught them this camp song called Herman the Worm in which a worm eats his entire family. So I was explaining the story to them, and we got to the word worm, and I drew a picture, and they shouted out a Malagasy word. Now, I suspected it's meaning, but instead of clarifying or explaining, I paused awkwardly then moved on, leaving them to believe the song actually means Herman the Shit. Yes, the shit. Sixty Malagasy children can now sing a song in which a shit eats its dad. AWESOME. I know you now feel better about the world.
A Request: to help me STAY alive
No seriously. This is not a joke. I have a HUGE favor to ask. I found out that I will have electricity in my one-roomed house and I can buy a little boom box. And I am DYING without music. Ha. So please--I beg of you--burn me CDs and mail them to me. I don't care if it's something you already know Iike, something you think I might like, or something you just listened to--I would appreciate every bit of it. So seriously--if you love me at all, start burning CDs and sending them to me. I will love you forever. I swear.
Business: to let you know I am alive
My sincere apologies to those of you who were curious over the past month or so. I am in training until the end of August (I swear in August 28th!), and it's pretty much boot camp. They have slightly over two months to teach us enough to send us into the middle of nwhere all by ourselves for 2 years. Ha. Plus there's no internet, so please understand the light gap in communication. Let me update you quickly (we're in Tana briefly for a yellow fever shot):
1. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's sent me mail. It literally brightens my day (Amy I am still GLOWING from your care package) and reminds me that I'm not SO far away. Okay I am. But seriuosly--thanks. I will write back as soon as I can. Please keep writing!
2. I would just like to point out that I will come home fluent in Malagasy--a language only spoken on one island in the world. Ha. Whatever--I'll just get in the habit of talking to myself in Malagasy.
3. My new home!! YAY. Okay. So in September I will be moving to the city (of 6,000) where I'll be living for two years: Mahabo. It's 45km from Morondava on the west coast. I will be visiting it in about a week and will tell you more eventually. I hear it's so hot on the coast that you just drip sweat constantly. YUM.
4. Morondava is my banking town so I'll be there about once a month and there is internet there so that's how often I'll eventually be updating.
So now you know.
OH, and fyi training right now is in a city called Manjakandriana. I live with a GREAT family--I have 3 brothers (including twins), 2 sisters, a brother-in-law, a nephew--though the number living with us varies. My Dadanaivo makes me corn when he thinks I'm down, my Neny never believes me when I say I'm full, and one of the twins (Faniry, age 14) and I are pretty much bff. I really lucked out.
1. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's sent me mail. It literally brightens my day (Amy I am still GLOWING from your care package) and reminds me that I'm not SO far away. Okay I am. But seriuosly--thanks. I will write back as soon as I can. Please keep writing!
2. I would just like to point out that I will come home fluent in Malagasy--a language only spoken on one island in the world. Ha. Whatever--I'll just get in the habit of talking to myself in Malagasy.
3. My new home!! YAY. Okay. So in September I will be moving to the city (of 6,000) where I'll be living for two years: Mahabo. It's 45km from Morondava on the west coast. I will be visiting it in about a week and will tell you more eventually. I hear it's so hot on the coast that you just drip sweat constantly. YUM.
4. Morondava is my banking town so I'll be there about once a month and there is internet there so that's how often I'll eventually be updating.
So now you know.
OH, and fyi training right now is in a city called Manjakandriana. I live with a GREAT family--I have 3 brothers (including twins), 2 sisters, a brother-in-law, a nephew--though the number living with us varies. My Dadanaivo makes me corn when he thinks I'm down, my Neny never believes me when I say I'm full, and one of the twins (Faniry, age 14) and I are pretty much bff. I really lucked out.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
e-mail address
I'm not sure when my Duke account e-mail is going to expire, so you can send e-mails to baytanee@gmail.com to make sure I get them.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
on postcards . . .
Another volunteer just reminded me: If you send postcards, stick them in envelopes, because apparently they tend to get stolen. And who wants to steal a plain envelope? FYI.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
oh, the places you'll go
If you want an excuse to procrastinate (slash if you want to know anything about the place where I'll be living for a couple years--besides the fact that there are lemurs, for the Duke students among you), feel free to check out these websites. The Peace Corps says, "Below are a few links to get you started in your discovery." Doesn't that sound exciting? Settle down.
The World Factbook--Madagascar: http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/ma.html
Embassy of Madagascar: http://www.embassy.org/madagascar/
The Lonely Planet: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/destinations/africa/madagascar/
Cortez Travel and Expeditions: http://www.air-mad.com/
The Living Edens--Madagascar: http://www.pbs.org/edens/madagascar/
I haven't really looked at any of these sites yet, but the Living Edens one sounds either awful (if it refers to the quad I lived in for two different years) or amazing (if it, you know, refers to paradise). If you are too lazy to read (more than this entry, in any case), feel free to watch the movie. I haven't seen it, but I'm sure it's VERY accurate and will describe my future life in every possible way. Or just close your eyes and imagine me playing with animals. That will be very helpful as well. Or if you want, you could just wear the same clothes every day and eat lots of rice, and I'm pretty sure that might help you understand what my life will be like. And bucket showers. Take lots of bucket showers. With cold water. Awesome.
The World Factbook--Madagascar: http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/ma.html
Embassy of Madagascar: http://www.embassy.org/madagascar/
The Lonely Planet: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/destinations/africa/madagascar/
Cortez Travel and Expeditions: http://www.air-mad.com/
The Living Edens--Madagascar: http://www.pbs.org/edens/madagascar/
I haven't really looked at any of these sites yet, but the Living Edens one sounds either awful (if it refers to the quad I lived in for two different years) or amazing (if it, you know, refers to paradise). If you are too lazy to read (more than this entry, in any case), feel free to watch the movie. I haven't seen it, but I'm sure it's VERY accurate and will describe my future life in every possible way. Or just close your eyes and imagine me playing with animals. That will be very helpful as well. Or if you want, you could just wear the same clothes every day and eat lots of rice, and I'm pretty sure that might help you understand what my life will be like. And bucket showers. Take lots of bucket showers. With cold water. Awesome.
"Why don't you write me? I'm out in the jungle, I'm hungry to hear you."
I would love love love to get letters from you :) Or even better, postcards--then you wouldn't have to write as much (and would therefore be more inclined to send them because they wouldn't take much time) and then I could put them up on the walls of whatever I'll be living in and could have a visual reminder of you (Robin--I am expecting many postcards of very attractive men).
For now, my address is:
Bethany Allen, PCV
Bureau du Corps de la Paix
B. P. 12091
Poste Zoom Ankorondrano
Antananarivo 101
Madagascar
Be sure to write "Air Mail" and "Par Avion" on whatever you send so it gets here as fast as it can. Letters and postcards should cost about 90 cents. They can take 4 plus weeks to get to me (so send one now so I have it around when I get there and am most homesick!), and it can take even longer for me to send things to you (so be understanding and just keep sending me random stuff, assuming that I get it--or will at some point).
Eventually I might get a new address (when I get moved to a site), but I'll let you know.
Seriously, it'd be great to hear from you--you know, just to know that you haven't forgotten that I exist or whatever. Even if it's just to say hey--you don't need to write much. And I'll do what I can to get back to you!
For now, my address is:
Bethany Allen, PCV
Bureau du Corps de la Paix
B. P. 12091
Poste Zoom Ankorondrano
Antananarivo 101
Madagascar
Be sure to write "Air Mail" and "Par Avion" on whatever you send so it gets here as fast as it can. Letters and postcards should cost about 90 cents. They can take 4 plus weeks to get to me (so send one now so I have it around when I get there and am most homesick!), and it can take even longer for me to send things to you (so be understanding and just keep sending me random stuff, assuming that I get it--or will at some point).
Eventually I might get a new address (when I get moved to a site), but I'll let you know.
Seriously, it'd be great to hear from you--you know, just to know that you haven't forgotten that I exist or whatever. Even if it's just to say hey--you don't need to write much. And I'll do what I can to get back to you!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
2 weeks 2 go
With two weeks left before I leave the country for two years, I realize I'd better start figuring out how to communicate with you people while I'm gone. I also realize that some of you might not even know I'm leaving? Oops. I guess I'd better explain. My apologies if you know a lot of this already, but I will be writing this entry under the assumption that you know absolutely nothing.
I've been thinking about the Peace Corps for a few years now (I suppose after having coffee with one Adam Hartstone-Rose the summer we were in South Africa), but in August I finally decided that it was something I for sure wanted to do after graduation. There are many reasons why I made this decision, but I'll try to give you a quick summary: 1. I want to spend more time abroad, learning how I fit into the world--focusing on other people instead of focusing on myself (though I know that the experience will certainly help me personally as well). 2. I have a tendency to throw myself into whatever I do. I cannot do anything halfway--if I do it, I do it completely. I need to be passionate about whatever I get myself into. The Peace Corps not only encourages but requires this of me. I decided that this is something I need to do, because it will give me the opportunity to spend every waking moment doing what I can to make the lives of others a little better--all while learning from them and growing myself. And what a better time to do it? I don't have anything tying me down. More importantly, it will allow me to get my priorities straight--to figure out what exactly my values are and how I see my role in the world--before I do anything else. I anticipate the Peace Corps giving me a good foundation for the rest of my life.
So what's why I'm doing the Peace Corps. Now I'll try to explain what I'll be doing. I only know so much at this point, but I'll tell you what I can. On June 13th I fly to DC where I will go through staging--a type of orientation before we all leave the country. A couple days later, I will be flying to Madagascar (via South Africa, which makes me very happy) with the rest of the volunteers (PCVs, for future reference) who are starting in Madagascar at the same time as me. We will spend a few months in training: we'll live with host families and will spend our time in intensive language courses (I'll be learning Malagasy and working on my French) and generally getting used to the Malagasy culture. Oh, yeah, and also we'll be getting training on what exactly we'll be doing during our service. Training will take place on the plateau during the winter (that whole opposite seasons thing), so it will be a little chilly. After training, I will be assigned a site. And then I move to my new home where I'll serve for two years! I will be teaching English and training teachers to teach English as the main part of my job. Other than that, I get to be a bit creative, determining my community's needs (with their help), and creating projects that will address those needs.
Okay. That's about all I can tell you for sure for the moment. At some point in the near future, I'll post websites where you can learn about Madagascar (very exciting, I know). I'll also post my address and anything else I can think of that you might want. I'm not sure how often I'll have access to . . . anything, really, while I'm there, so who knows how frequently I'll be able to post once I'm gone, but I'll do what I can--and will also try to post pictures for your viewing pleasure.
For those of you who got my so-called updates from Paris, I'm guessing this will be similar--me rambling about things I find amusing. You may not learn the details of what's going on in my life, but you'll be way more entertained. I hope? Hmm.
If you are in Minnesota, let's try to see each other before I leave, okay? If you can make it to DC on June 13th, I'm free between 10.30am and 2pm, so maybe you can join a few of us for lunch (a few of us being Choi, Robin, and Whitney).
I promise future entries (meaning once I'm in Madagascar--addresses and websites don't count) will not be nearly this boring or business-like. I promise.
I've been thinking about the Peace Corps for a few years now (I suppose after having coffee with one Adam Hartstone-Rose the summer we were in South Africa), but in August I finally decided that it was something I for sure wanted to do after graduation. There are many reasons why I made this decision, but I'll try to give you a quick summary: 1. I want to spend more time abroad, learning how I fit into the world--focusing on other people instead of focusing on myself (though I know that the experience will certainly help me personally as well). 2. I have a tendency to throw myself into whatever I do. I cannot do anything halfway--if I do it, I do it completely. I need to be passionate about whatever I get myself into. The Peace Corps not only encourages but requires this of me. I decided that this is something I need to do, because it will give me the opportunity to spend every waking moment doing what I can to make the lives of others a little better--all while learning from them and growing myself. And what a better time to do it? I don't have anything tying me down. More importantly, it will allow me to get my priorities straight--to figure out what exactly my values are and how I see my role in the world--before I do anything else. I anticipate the Peace Corps giving me a good foundation for the rest of my life.
So what's why I'm doing the Peace Corps. Now I'll try to explain what I'll be doing. I only know so much at this point, but I'll tell you what I can. On June 13th I fly to DC where I will go through staging--a type of orientation before we all leave the country. A couple days later, I will be flying to Madagascar (via South Africa, which makes me very happy) with the rest of the volunteers (PCVs, for future reference) who are starting in Madagascar at the same time as me. We will spend a few months in training: we'll live with host families and will spend our time in intensive language courses (I'll be learning Malagasy and working on my French) and generally getting used to the Malagasy culture. Oh, yeah, and also we'll be getting training on what exactly we'll be doing during our service. Training will take place on the plateau during the winter (that whole opposite seasons thing), so it will be a little chilly. After training, I will be assigned a site. And then I move to my new home where I'll serve for two years! I will be teaching English and training teachers to teach English as the main part of my job. Other than that, I get to be a bit creative, determining my community's needs (with their help), and creating projects that will address those needs.
Okay. That's about all I can tell you for sure for the moment. At some point in the near future, I'll post websites where you can learn about Madagascar (very exciting, I know). I'll also post my address and anything else I can think of that you might want. I'm not sure how often I'll have access to . . . anything, really, while I'm there, so who knows how frequently I'll be able to post once I'm gone, but I'll do what I can--and will also try to post pictures for your viewing pleasure.
For those of you who got my so-called updates from Paris, I'm guessing this will be similar--me rambling about things I find amusing. You may not learn the details of what's going on in my life, but you'll be way more entertained. I hope? Hmm.
If you are in Minnesota, let's try to see each other before I leave, okay? If you can make it to DC on June 13th, I'm free between 10.30am and 2pm, so maybe you can join a few of us for lunch (a few of us being Choi, Robin, and Whitney).
I promise future entries (meaning once I'm in Madagascar--addresses and websites don't count) will not be nearly this boring or business-like. I promise.
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