a few more things

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!!!

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!

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.

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 . . .

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?

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.

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.