6 Months 2 Go

Has it only been a week since school has started again? It feels much longer. An eventful first week, I guess—though for no particular reason. And I must point out that I have less than 6 months left here in Mahabo. . . . Over the past week I was filled with varying emotions—trying to re-adjust to life here (it’s such a contrast from my trip to the States and to the time I spent with other vazahas while waiting for school to start again—I came home both relieved to be home and panicking because I was suddenly very isolated and alone and had forgotten what that was like) and trying not to freak out over how little time I have left. I think the isolation panicking is finishing itself off (I needed to get a weekend in at this slow pace to make the transition) and I can honestly say that I think I will be very satisfied when I leave with what I have done here and with my relationship with Mahabo. Our goodbye will come soon, but I can see already that it will be a happy one.

So. Inona no vaovao? Inona no maresaka? There’s a lot of news from this week.

Electricity. I spent a decent amount of time without it, and let me just say—if you are feeling alone and isolated, having a deadly silent, musicless house is about the worst possible thing for you. You are infinitely more aware of how along you are. The lack of light too. Somehow, reading a novel by candlelight—I mean, it sounds slightly romantic—but it can make you feel a little claustrophobic. I finally got the electricity back. I stay up later, listen to music, study—I can actually keep living post-sunset. This is good for an active little girl like me. Without electricity, you tend to go to bed earlier, and I can only sleep SO much. Plus I now have candle wax spilled on my pillow, sheet, and (no joke) mosquito net. Whatever. Point is, my life is both literally and figuratively brighter. Thank goodness.

An amusing note. . . . The last time I dealt with the electric company (Jirama): I was slightly paranoid on malaria pills at the time (remember that? Seems like so long ago . . . ), and an electrician did a small task and then tried to rip me off—so much that I was so shocked I just handed him the money (10 times as much as I’d been thinking). Once he left, I was so upset that someone from my own town—someone I have to deal somewhat frequently—would take advantage of me like that. I went to my proviseur in tears (I tried to hold them back, but on those pills it was impossible). I’m not sure if she understood WHY I was upset (it was the idea of what he did more than the money itself), but she acted on my tears. She ended up meeting with the director—who gave her all of my money back, saying it is NOT okay that the electrician made me cry. Switching to the present times, we had this electricity glitch (I can’t really explain the details), and my neighbors and proviseur didn’t deal with it while I was gone—they said they wanted to wait until I was back so I could visit Jirama with them. I didn’t get this then, but I do now. So I visited the director with my proviseur. And they discussed for about 20 minutes the need for electricity again and its possibility. My proviseur then told me it wasn’t possible, and that I needed to explain to the guy myself that I needed electricity. I didn’t understand why—they’d been discussing that need themselves for 20 minutes already. The thought of no music—the quietness of my house and the darkness of every evening—was so depressing that I held back tears (I didn’t want him to think me a baby, based on his few interactions with me) and told him my house was too quiet (ha—I was so eloquent). He paused and then asked if I’d be sad if I had no electricity. Sad? Well duh. Isn’t that clear? I said yes, and suddenly—BAM—problem solved, I could have my electricity back. 20 minutes, and it turns out, all he cares about if I’d be sad. Had I known, I’d have let the tears flow right when we entered the room. It seems that my electric company is seriously concerned with my happiness. I’m perfectly okay with that.

Other news. I have guests. The first is a mouse. It’s official. He is not going anywhere. And with the neighbors’ cat getting stolen, I think I might have to legit get used to him. In fact, I think he’s been around for a while. I think that all the droppings I’ve attributed to various animals might actually have belonged to this little punk. I don’t know. I’ve never seen the creatures actually taking a dump. I don’t mind his presence so much as the fact that he literally eats my belongings. Not food or things I can replace. He puts holes in actual objects. He tries to eat my toothpaste. I fear my clothes will all be gone one morning. And the worst is that I can now hear him eating at night. Nibbling away, that little bugger. And I’ll go over, shake things around (I never know EXACTLY where he is). He’ll scurry a little, wait patiently. And then he’ll start all over again once I’m back in bed. It’s exhausting. I prefer listening to the rats in the ceiling. They can run around and have a good time all they want. As long as they don’t eat my money.

My other guests are ants. Luckily, I seem to have eliminated that little problem of the giant electrically biting ants in the shower (we have a truce at the very least). But there are other little tiny ants in my house. At first I thought they were just silly—wandering all over my desk instead of attacking the kitchen area where there’s actually—you know—food. Kind of like the cockroach who tried to eat my soap. I don’t get it but whatever. To each his own. And then I discovered. . . . See, I had some little fun size packets of peanut butter M&Ms. Saving them for special occasions I guess—for certain friends or for certain bad days. But I have discovered that ants like peanut butter. You think I’m kidding? They went into the big plastic bag, ate through the fun size wrappers, somehow cracked holes into the candy shells, and mined peanut butter out of my M&Ms. I mean, I understand why they did it, but that doesn’t change the fact that it made me angry. I dealt with the situation by eating the M&Ms this week instead of saving them for those special occasions. And I was more than once disappointed when I bit into a hollow M&M. Who cares about that candy shell in any case? Let’s just hope they don’t find the tub of Skippy waiting to be made into peanut butter blossoms. . . .

I spent the week fighting for work. I’m not kidding you. My school has this fear of overworking me, yet I’m happiest when I am overworked. It’s a complicated combination to say the least. I resolved the problem last year by working at the private school as well. This year, I did it by going to the office again and again trying to convince them (without crying—ha—now you think I cry all the time—it was all connected though—imagine suddenly being the only white person when you’re used to being around people who understand you, and add to that being unable to work and do something productive, and then you don’t even get electricity or anything to occupy you at your house—and you can only read so much—it essentially means a lot of time to think about how much you wish you had more friends or something—and a problem you know would be solved if they’d only let you work more). So I spend the week convincing them that if I don’t work more I will feel useless and sit at my house alone too much and that’s not good for anyone. They tried convincing me that it was good to work like 10 hours a week—then I could have ridiculously long weekends in Morondava. I tried convincing them that I’m happier in Mahabo and don’t WANT to go to Morondava. Occasionally, yes—but not enough to justify that kind of schedule. Seriously—10 hoursa week?? I’m a stubborn girl, and I won them over—doubling my hours (so I have the same as the Malagasy teachers) and doing a lesson after school every day for the disciplined kids. So now I have about 10 hours more than Peace Corps says I should have. Much better. I promised them that it was my choice and that I wouldn’t blame them for stressing me out. And they made me promise that if I got tired, I’d just send the kids home—and that if I wanted to leave for the weekend, I’d just cancel a bunch of my classes. Not bad, huh? I think we’re in a good place right now.

I got my old students back! Not all of them, but the older crowd. It’s AMAZING. It’s like old friends, I guess you could say. We used to tease each other and we went through so much—my first year!—together. I love having them again. Plus, it’s neat because they’re so much smarter than my other students! I can speak in English for almost the entire lesson, and they already know lots of vocabulary—and they make sure to ask when they don’t—and they pick up on the lesson so quickly! It reassures me, because it shows that a year of being together really does help them. It helps having an English teacher who actually speaks English—they can ask random questions and have them answered, instead of ONLY learning the lesson. It’s been helpful to see and gives me more hope for my new students and the work I can do with them.

Also, my after school lessons are exciting—so many students are joining in—choosing to do a lesson and exercises every day after school when they’re already tired. And before we start—on Friday they spent 45 minutes asking me vocabulary and pronunciation questions. It was so exciting. I mean, at the end of the week I was EXHAUSTED (I jump around and talk too much and make noises and generally waste tons of energy when I teach)—my day Friday starts at 7am and ends at 7pm (with a break in the middle for lunch and siesta). But that’s a good thing for me. If these students are excited about learning English, I’m equally excited to teach them. Plus, my students are my friends in a way. Ha. My friends are my students, my principal, and a Catholic priest. Basically. It’s slightly ridiculous, but I’m happy, and that’s what matters, right? But you can see why it might have taken some re-adjusting this week.

A couple more things then I’ll let you go. Slash you can stop reading, no one’s forcing you. 1. One of my students is named “Catastrophe.” I think that’s HYSTERICAL. He goes by a different name (they have lots of names—like multiple multiple middle names or something), but I really enjoy that one. 2. My 2nde students (around 9th or 10th grade) are split into two sections. While I taught 2nde I, some of the 2nde II students joined in (I don’t know). It was so funny though, because—whenever someone answered a question wrong, whenever someone didn’t understand—whenever someone needed an example, whenever someone was talking too much—a different voice would mumble loudly, “2nde II . . .” This is what I mean—I have so much fun with my students (okay, it was funnier than it sounds right there—just imagine it spread out during your lesson—it was like a well-timed punch line). I’m really very lucky. In the fall, we had so much to do—the work of a semester in half the time. It was a bit stressful for everyone. But now . . . It’s as if we simply enjoy each others’ company. They pay attention because they are amused. They behave because they know they should and they respect me. And I let them get away with a certain amount of talking because I know we’re all happier that way. Needless to say, spending time with my students was key to easing back into Mahabo life.

Okay. I’ll let you go. A cockroach is flying around and I don’t want him to land in my bed. I’ll just say that it was a rough and rather lonely week, but in the end I’m thrilled to be back in a place where you almost get run down by a herd of goats while walking into your classroom (I knew it! The cockroach just landed on my pillow, that jerk) and where you see students chasing pigs in the streets downtown while you walk to the market. Life is good.