After a lot of rumination on the subject, I’ve decided not to abolish The Bluter Blog.

As I’m no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer (If you weren’t aware, pick your jaw up off the floor, I’ll explain), I thought perhaps nothing in my life would ever be exciting again. Then, naturally, I came to my senses and realized that while I may not be using a hole-in-the-ground toilet or eating rice with a side of rat feces or having a live crab crawl up my pants on an 18-hour bus ride, I’m still a “Bluter”. And, since my trademark odd luck and wacky antics continue to follow me through this world, I figure I may as well share.

Plus, Sasha Lewis said I had to.

Sweeeet!

So, a few months ago, I complained of some medical issues that had been plaguing me throughout my service. After more than a year of flu-like symptoms, tiredness, and (the worst!) nearly constant nausea, I told the Peace Corps docs I’d had enough. Of course, with my stubborn ways, this occurred only after the, like, 90th trip to the capitol to poop in cups and take completely unnecessary pregnancy tests. A girl can hope for some good old-fashioned giardia, cant’ she?

Here’s a typical (slightly exaggerated) exchange with the medical folks prior to my intestinal meltdown:

Them: It’s just standard procedure, m’am.

Me: Sweet Jesus! For the 90th time: I’m NOT pregnant. Do I really have to take another one of those tests? For the record, I’m not ‘lactose intolerant’ either! I mean, I’m no doctor, but last time I checked, milk was not known to cause people to BLEED FROM THE RECTUM. I think I have some kind of parasite.

Them: My. You sound upset. Are you having any emotional problems that might be manifesting themselves as stomach symptoms?

Me: Um, well, I am pretty bummed out that feces and garbage seep into my water supply because my well was dug 10 feet from the town dump.

Them: So what you’re saying is that there’s a possibility you’re depressed?

Anyway, once they figured out I wasn’t nuts-o, homesick, knocked up or suffering from “yogurt-poisoning”, they decided it was best if I went to South Africa for a colonoscopy. They got around to testing my drinking water. Low and behold, they found about ten types of fecal bacteria that remained after it had been filtered and chlorinated. I had been drinking poo-water for a year and a half.

See? Told you.

But, since all my tests kept coming back negative, the doctors decided on a Medical Evacuation.

The day I left Madagascar for South Africa, I finished teaching and whizzed through the house spreading rat poison for my latest house guest. I also checked that there were no bananas or tomatoes waiting to rot while I was gone. I imagined I could probably be away for a few weeks -- just long enough for some rogue vegetable to start an entire eco-system in my cabinet. I told my neighbors I’d be going abroad for some medical treatment and there was a very slim chance I wouldn’t return. Still, I emphasized there was every indication I’d be back.

So, on that particular day, when my house was readied for my departure and I stepped outside, there was no one around. It was noontime, with everyone inside eating rice or having a nap, and I didn’t see the point in bothering anyone with a goodbye. I double-locked my classroom – didn’t want anyone stealing the mouse while I was gone -- and headed off to the bus station.

About a hundred yards from the school, I heard my name being called and my neighbor, Madame Suzanne, hurrying after me. The principal’s wife was a well-fed and jolly woman who was always admonishing me for not spending more time with her family or not speaking enough Malagasy, and worrying about my lack of friends. She was the proverbial mother -- a younger, Malagasy Mrs. Claus. So when she seemed convinced I wouldn’t be back, asking exactly when I thought I would return, wondering how I could be sure I would teach at her school again, I did my darndest to be chipper and explain my absence would only be for a few weeks. One time in college when I got strep-pneumonia and tried to convince my own Mom I wasn’t sick, I used the same act.

Madame Suzanne just knew. I was wrong.

And so eventually, with a smile and a turn of the heel, I was off down the road to catch my taxi-brousse to the capitol. I remember her standing there, wishing me well, unable to look truly happy.

I should have known.

But, so it goes in life that hindsight is 20/20. Still, I’m sort of thankful for my temporary blindness – unable to see that I was leaving Manja forever. It was nice to be at the market that morning, going about my business, being regular-old-Alex and then …

It was just over.

No one was snapping mental images of me, or getting weepy, or asking me if they could have my stuff. I didn’t tear-up making rounds to neighbors’ houses, or wonder how I could fairly divide my possessions amongst an entire impoverished community, or have to watch a cow be slaughtered for my goodbye party. It just ended. And, I have to say I’m grateful for it – if only because that’s what happened and there’s nothing that could be changed.

I never liked goodbyes anyway.

Of course, in South Africa, I was just trying to get well so I could go back to teaching. I met with the gastroenterologist in Pretoria (a lovely-looking European-style suburb just north of apartheid-ravaged Johannesburg). The doctor was to perform my colonoscopy Friday. Very matter-of-fact, he checked over my symptoms, asked a few questions, and told me I was sick with one of three things. Two possibilities required a lifetime of what he called “toxic drugs”. I went into the procedure hoping for Door Number 3: a parasite called Tropical Sprue.

Note: The day before the colonoscopy, I discovered it’s bad to eat cherry-flavored jell-o while on cleansing liquid to flush out one’s intestines. Let’s just say I spent several frantic minutes on the phone with the doctor discussing the possibility of an internal hemorrhage.

No worries. It was just the red jell-o. (End Note.)

The doctor’s examination Friday found no evidence of a parasite but did find some chronic inflammation. The biopsy would be back on Wednesday, but all signs pointed to one of the auto-immune diseases he had warned me about. Wow. I was really sick.

I spent the weekend wondering how I was going to tell my parents.

Eventually though, the biopsy came back negative -- for everything. Turns out Dr. Matter-of-Fact was stumped. In the mean time, however, I’d managed to have an allergic reaction to some fairly run-of-the mill medicine I’d been given for my stomach symptoms. I spent about a week in the hospital, looped on pain meds, waddling to the toilet periodically and railing on drowsily to anyone who’d listen how “The doctor told me I had a disease and now he can’t find it! I want my disease, damnit! How am I ever going to feel better if I don’t have a disease to treat! Preposterous! Preposterous, I tell you!”

The nurses loved me. They would always narrow their eyes in my direction and speak to each other in their cute little Afrikaans language. I think they were talking about how nice my hair was -- with its gently tousled hospital-bed-chic locks. And, how did I manage to look so good in that tushy-free gown?

Jealousy is never becoming, ladies.

One night, I spiked a fever so they took some blood to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. The next day, the labs came back and my inflammation levels were off the charts. On a scale of 0-8, my “C-Reactive Protein” was 132! Whoa. Was I going to, like, DIE? This would be a highly unexpected turn of events.

Then the lovely little gal from nuclear medicine came down and said I got to have this cool isotope test to figure out where the inflammation was in my body. They basically take some blood, separate the white from the red blood cells in the lab, radiate the white cells, and then re-inject the radioactive cells. Those cells pool in areas of high inflammation and then they scan your body to see where you’re “glowing”. It was cool.

My thyroid (of all things) was glowing like crazy. Apparently, it freaked out with all the drama going on in my body.

But long story short, I kept developing more and more problems and the doctors had no idea what to do. They decided it would be best if I went back to the States where I could get more effective treatment. Plus, Peace Corps couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t get sick again once I was back at site. After I realized that, I was done. My poor body just couldn’t take anymore. I called Mitch back in Madagascar and he had his bags packed and was ready to go within hours. He was also able to change his layover in Johannesburg so he could come to the hospital while I stabilized and we could fly home together. That was nice. I would not have been excited about being sick and alone on a 24-hour flight.

Once I got back to the states, Mitch and I stayed with my parents in New York where my Dad runs a hospital. I was able to get great treatment there and, shockingly (or not), after a few weeks of drinking good water, my symptoms slowly disappeared. My thyroid was fine and I didn't die.

It felt like a miracle.

My new doctors think that all the e. coli combined with the numerous courses of antibiotics I took (many of them treating illnesses I didn’t actually have) destroyed the lining of my intestines. Since it takes about 6 months for it to re-grow fully, I’m supposed to take it easy ‘til then. I’ve had only a few set-backs and otherwise feel healthy as ever. Yay!

Speaking of "yay", during our time in New York we got a chance to go into the city. Double Yay! We did the whole Rockerfeller Plaza-at-wintertime thing, saw the Rockettes, and (the best) went to see Clay "Gay-kin" in Spam-a-lot. Mitch, ever the Clay-mate, was able to get within 15 feet of his majesty. He was, needless to say, overjoyed. We also got to meet Elmo during one of our afternoon strolls (inset). My childhood dream was fulfilled. Then the Puerto Rican guy inside the suit asked us for a dollar for letting us take his picture -- and, well, that sort of ruined it.

So now I’m livin’ that dream working as a Barista at Starbucks, training for a marathon (!), starting an LSAT class next month and getting excited about grad school in the fall. I also signed up for spinning classes at the Y. It's fun, but I spend most of my energy eavesdropping on ladies in spandex capris with bottles of organic Smart Water talk about their Lexus SUV’s and the endless benefits of soy milk. Holy California. Oh, and their kids are ALL named Kylee, Kylie, Kyleigh or Brent.

It gets pretty insane when we’re calling out Zebra Mochas at Starbucks and all the Kylies start scratching each other with their fake nails to get their rightful beverage.

Kylee: “That’s MY drink, whore!”

Kyleigh: “No way! It’s MINE.”

Kylie: “Actually, it’s MINE. But if you fatties are that desperate, go for it. Poor girls. It’s so sad to see how obesity just pushes some people to the brink.

Usually within moments of a potential full-scale brawl, they'll get a text message and the sound of the blackberry keys pattering-away lulls them into temporary complacency. It's true. I heard it on Dateline or something.

As for free time, I have just enough to watch American Idol religiously (Anooooop!) and catch an occasional episode of The View. You know, for sanity's sake. I feel sort of like a housewife some days, but hey, I’ll have plenty of time to have no time at all in a few short months.

xoxo,

Blute-torious

As you may have deduced from other posts (or a quick glance at the almanac’s “Most Unfortunate Countries” page) Madagascar is not the ideal selection for a relaxing holiday. True, it sounds exotic on paper (street urchins and lemurs and baobabs, oh my!), but this country is so ill-equipped to serve tourists that only die-hard adventure seekers really appreciate what Madagascar has to offer. Exactly what Madagascar has to offer is, in fact, quite a lot -- if you're interested in seeing some of the world's most fascinating animals, rainforests, beaches, spiny desert and flora that's 90% indigenous (in "normal person speak" this means nearly all the plants here are found nowhere else in the WORLD). Still, from the outrageous cost of getting here (up to $6,000 for a round-trip flight), the poor roads, the language barrier, and so-on, Madagascar is comparatively inaccessable to foreigners. Unlike developed countries, the economy here is too poor to sustain companies who cater to tourists; in other words, things like tour buses, English-speaking guides, pre-packaged sightseeing deals don't exist. If you do come to Madagascar, you're in for a wild time. (The national transportation system, for example ... well ... there isn't one -- at least in a way that we westerners would recognize. Instead small co-ops of men with decades-old church vans ferry people along the country's treacherous roadways at their leisure. This means that while getting from point a to point b here with only minor snafus is possible, it can often take DAYS of dangerous, unpredictable, uncomfortable travel. Once you get wherever you're going ... well, that's another story entirely.) That said, I was very lucky to have multiple summer visitors brave the …er… “less-than-posh” environs of this small Indian Ocean island.

Best-friend Kirssa arrived in June and we broke her right into life as a PCV. She stayed for 6 weeks so I had lots of time to show her around.

First, she spent a week or so at my house: watching me be a volunteer, going to my classes, fetching water from the well, using the pit latrine. Then we went north (near the town of Ambatondrazaka) and did a 3-day super-intense hike through the rainforest corridor with a group of other PCVs. We hired a guide, porters to carry our food, and a cook. It was a tough hike, rice and beans for EVERY meal, and we were extremely un-showered by the end of day 3. But when all was said and done, it was a very memorable experience ... and there was NO guilt when we indulged in multiple pizzas and chocolate bars the following day.

After the rainforest, K and I spent the better part of 3 days on a taxi-brousse traveling all the way across the country. Our destination: The beach. (It deserves to be noted that during this journey, Kirssa got food poisoning and vomited all over herself in the taxi-brousse ... in middle of the night ... with 12 hours left to our destination. It was not fun.) Once in the city of Morondava (home of the world-famous Avenue des Baobabs), we met up with my friend Bethany, another volunteer, and her boyfriend. We let the two of them show us around, lounged on the beach, and then ... lounged on the beach some more. There was also some sipping of coconut rum at the Rastafarian bongo hut (cool!), tooling around in the HOT sun looking for ice cream or some local peanut candy, and digging sand-fleas (and their egg sacs) out of Kirssa's foot. (Kirssa is a champ.)

After our beach getaway, it was time for some work. Another 2-day brousse ride took us, by way of Ranomafana National Park (we had to show K the lemurs), to the small town of Ifanadiana. Maribeth lives there, in a little house in the rainforest. 9 of us jammed ourselves into her tiny concrete hut for two full weeks and put on a fantastic summer camp (see "Storytime" picture at left) for the local elementary school kids. Sure, trekking through the jungle, rasta-dudes and cocopunch had been fun in their time, but it was agreed that this kids' camp was the most rewarding thing any of us had ever done. Watching these little kids (most of whom couldn't write, didn't own shoes, and rarely ate three square meals a day) play with crayons, be fascinated by stickers, and learn to brush their teeth was awe-inspiring. I think that even though we volunteers had already seen a lot of hardship in our time here, getting to interact with these children -- seeing them so impacted by poverty, how their lives are so different from the lives of American kids ... but with dreams the same as the dreams of every child ... well... there's nothing quite like it. It was humbling.

And then it was time to ship Kirssa off ... back to the land of plenty.

The same day she left, Mitch's parents arrived for their own multiple-week stay. My own parents arrived about a week after that. This took the edge off of saying goodbye to Kirssa and marked the beginning of WEEKS of pizza-eating, living in nice hotels and feeling very UN-Peace Corps-like. American money goes a LONG way here. Our families got along quite well and, aside from a few 3rd world-style problems with upset stomachs and travel pains, everything went flawlessly. We had lemurs snatch bananas from our hands at "Lemur Island" in Andasibe Reserve, watched humpback whales migrate north off the coast of Ile Ste. Marie, and taught the parents to squat on the side of the road to relieve themselves (... as we say here in Madagascar: "The world is your restroom."). My mother was especially fun to interact with. She took SO well to riding around in taxi-brousses (her pink sequinned scarf flapping out the window), eating fish eyes, and urinating in bushes that I was kind of sad to see "3rd World Karin" (that's her new nickname) go home. I'm pretty sure she was happy to get back to Starbucks-ville, though. All in all, it was an incredible vacation.

And now, it's back to work on September 22nd.

Until then I'm dealing with some medical issues ... AGAIN. My insides, it seems, have recently come to the attention of a number of parasites, amoebas, or worms who have thusly decided to relocate from the greater-Madagascar area to a new development in my large intestine. It FEELS, at least, like a neighborhood of "somethings" has moved in... and have subsequently begun pushing everything else OUT. (This makes for difficulties when you have no Gatorade and, more importantly, no proper toilet.) Yesterday I was driven into the capital and given IVs of fluids and antibiotics (which, I should mention, were suspended from a clothes hanger on a coat rack as there was no IV pole to be had) and today am feeling back on track. I even ate a sandwich.

I'll keep you all posted on school, the parasite (or whatever it is), and my other Peace Corps work whenever possible.

Another Video: COMING SOON!

--Bluter

Congratulations. A new entry for your enjoyment. Yay.

No more half-hearted stream of consciousness entries or 5-minute clips of me and pineapples. I know you people want details, and now that I've been here long enough to describe my PCV experience with introspection, it's details you shall receive. I'm almost at ONE YEAR!

Iwon't mince wors: the first few months of my time here were spent just figuring out how to live. Now, I know this is an old Peace Corps cliché and everyone's tired of hearing that same overspun tale of how there's no Pizza Hut and the bathroom's a hole in the ground. If I remember correctly, the Peace Corps Manual states in no uncertain terms that being chosen to serve is contingent upon one's ability to poop free-range; and, while the sentence doesn't appear verbatim, they allude heavily to the fact that all the huts here are very much pizza-free.

To that end, I faced every one of those initial speedbumbs - chickens in the bedroom, bugs in the rice, rat feces falling from the rafters into my mouth as I hammered up my mosquito net - with the resolve to just deal with it: This was exactly what I'd signed up for. And it's common knowledge among more seasoned volunteers that things which seem so shocking those first few months quickly become the easiest to live with. Now that I've been her almost a year (!), I can say (with at least a little authority) that I agree. For me, it's been the profound sense of isolation that seeps into every aspect of my time here that's been the biggest challenge. Imagine not being able to go to the grocery store or your job or - for that matter- to the bathroom, without people staring at you. If I go to the market to buy carrots, I'm always asked to pay higher prices because I'm white and assumed to have endlessly deep pockets. The Malagasy way to make purchaces is to barter with the seller until you reach a mutually agreeable price; but, as a whitey, I'm rarely charged a fair rate for anything - shoes, tomatoes, you name it. When I go to the latrine (which I mentioned in a previous post is accross the school grounds from my house) I'm told that I go a lot ... or, if I'm carrying toilet paper, asked if they can have money or a banana because I'm so rich and can afford such amenities.

True, in this culture, pointing out the obvious is just the way people communicate; but with my very American mind-your-own-business sensibilities, it's taken some getting used to. If I buy rice, everyone I pass on the street says: "Hi white person, you just bought rice ... cuz I can see it there in your basket. And now you're going home."

I guess the thing that most tries my patience is that they say this as if they've made some grand revelation; but this means,I guess, that I'm just not 'culturally sensitive' enough yet. I'm working on it.

So here's a run-down of the daily life I've come to know at site:

I wake up most mornings around 6ish ... conveniently this is the time that the water starts running at the pump downstairs ... I sleepily drag my two large buckets down the stairs and begin the obnoxiously long process of filling them (each bucket takes a little over 5 minutes to fill ... depending on the day) and while I'm waiting, I take my poo-bucket from the previous night to the latrine for dumping and bleaching.

(Much to the chagrin of other volunteers that visit me, I'm a big fan of the poo-bucket; visiting it at least 3 noisy times per night. I can't help it if this country is filthy and keeps giving me Giardia. So there.)

Yum.

After that, I take the full water bucket upstairs into my house while the other starts to fill.

Shower time: I pour some water into my hot water kettle and boil it ... then I add it to a small bucket of cold water and it's the perfect temperature for a nice bucket bath. In case you're wondering, a bucket bath is where you scoop cupfuls of warm water over your head until you're clean. Then, 5 minutes later, there are unfortunate run-ins with yet uncooked meat, roach eggs or filthy neighbor children and you're stinky again.

No matter, life must go on and I have to work. Monday and Wednesday mornings I trek across town and up the steep, muddy incline to the Middle School. There I teach a rowdy group of 6th graders how to speak English. Other mornings ... and afternoons... I just walk 10 feet and I'm at work - I live at the Professional High School. This month I'm teaching my house-building class how to talk about soldering and wood furniture in English. There are the marketing students to whom I explain the difference between Dollars and Pounds, Cents and Pences, and the 'Cheque' (this is VERY difficult for them) ... this is also very difficult for me as I have to remember that their exams are in British English and can't write 'Check' or say the letter 'Z' ... as far as the Brits are concerned, it's 'Zed'. Ugh. I also spend ridiculous amounts of time breaking down the niceties of the typical Western Business Letter: You try and explain what 'To Whom it May Concern' means! 'I appreciate your prompt consideration of my application' also draws multiple blank stares.

I just gave mid-terms ... I'll soon post some of funnier responses to my exam questions.

OK well, there's still my adult class to discuss... but I want to get this posted ... so we'll finish my day to day next time ...

Please send Ranch Dressing packets!!!!!

(0:

xoxo

Bluter

Other Volunteers' Blogs:

Danielle Borneman

Maribeth Black

Mitch Morey

Sorry it's been a while ...

Video to come shortly ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcO3b699mow

I'm kind of, sort of, starting to get a real life at site. Whatever that means.

So my house is finished. It has a bunk bed (apparently college-style living hasn't ended yet ... but I finally get the top bunk, which is a luxury I never enjoyed during childhood - damn weak bladder), a stove (to cook a LOT of rice), and some skittles (which are quickly being devoured). So yeah, I guess it feels like home. Of course there are times I wish it wasn't so far away from 'home-home'.

Oh well ... when I feel like hurling my rice-filled body off the house's tiny-ass balcony I remind myself that 'this isn't supposed to be easy' ... then I eat a few skittles and it's usually enough to avert mental breakdown.

I have a friend. Yes ... one.

To be honest, there are LOTS of people who are friendly toward me ... but so far only a 16-year-old girl named Jeannine talks to me like I'm an actual human. I use the word 'friend' pretty loosely though. Generally our time consists of her making fun of my less-than-fabulous 'gasy skills, and laughing at me when I make awkward cultural faux-pas ... Like the time I bought a can of baby formula thinking it was powdered milk.

Ugh.

But hilarity DID ensue.

I teach 16 hours a week ... 10 at the professional school (CFP) where I just found out I won't be teaching from the national high school curriculum. Yeah, instead I have to teach English for whichever 'professional track' the students are on. At the CFP at my site, there are three tracks each focusing on a specific job.

The kids there are studying to be 1) Secretaries, 2) Construction Workers/Auto Mechanics or 3) Small Business Owners.

This is really nice and all ... but unfortunately I know pretty much nothing about any of these jobs ... and according to the syllabus (which is exceptionally vague - and written in nearly unintelligible English) I am supposed to teach the following:

Secretarial Track: Discussing the Agenda, Who's Who in the Company, The Meeting Minutes

Business Track: Talking About Selling Things, Conversion of Tons (short, long, etc.), What is a 'Boss'?

Construction/Auto Mechanic Track: How to Count, Discussing Materials (Wood, Iron, etc.), -and my personal favorite-Vocabulary for Welding

GOD! What does all that MEAN? I really have no idea. 'Who IS who' in the company? I couldn't tell you!

Long story short, I may be teaching the kids a lot of equally vague and marginally useful lessons.

Miss Alex: So then kids, you light the um ... thingy ... sort of ... on fire with the blowtorch. Class, repeat. ... Thingy ...

Class: Tin gee.

Miss Alex: Ookaaaay. Let's move on to something a little easier. How does everyone feel about 'diesel versus unleaded'?

Class: Yes Tea-chair.

Miss Alex: Yes, I find it quite magical myself...

So anyway, I also teach one 1ere (junior level) and one 2nde (sophomore level) of each track. So combined with my 4emes at the Middle School, I'm writing about 7 different lesson plans a week. Most people write 3 - max. Yeah, I'll be coming home with a wicked-beefy 'writing arm' for sure.

So yes ... I love you all and miss everyone ...

... and if anyone sees that poor Britney Spears, give her a hug for me. It looks like things are really going downhill.

Peace.

Blutie

Well now it looks like this thing might actually be legit ...

...Last Monday, we did the hand shaking thing at the ambassador's house, got all dressed up, used their "real toilet" - just because it was there, and swore in - so now, according to the U.S. government, we're real volunteers ... whatever THAT means.

Moved into my new pad last week ... it's a spacious 15 X 9 ft. ... with attached shower-hut slash kitchen and, of course, there's an outhouse ... but it's about 200 yards away ... At least I'll get plenty of exercise with all the walking and squatting and such.

I live on the upper floor of the local professional school (Centre de Formation Professionnel or C.F.P. for short). There's a water spigot just down the stairs but the water flows super slowly (likely because it's harder to pump water that's filled with hay, dirt and all other kinds of excrement that shall not be further described in case you're at this moment, eating) and only between the hours of 6am and 1pm - seriously. Let's just say I get my ass out of bet EARLY - just to be SURE. Not being able to cook or shower is no fun.

So yeah, It's basically like a trade school ... much like the local high school (lycee) but for students who want to focus their studies on business. As far as I can tell, I'll be doing about 10 hours of teaching there each week, and another 6 hours teaching at the middle school ( C.E.G.) - Should be a good balance ... I hope. At the C.E.G., I'm teaching 4eme which is about the equivalent of 8th grade in the states. The only hitch is that there are people enrolled in my class who are older than ME! I've kind of resigned to telling everyone that asks "how old are you"/"are you married"/"where are your children" (and they DO ask ... MULTIPLE times a day) that "Well, I'm 36 and WAS married but then my husband was hit by the silent killer-train that runs through town last week so I've been pretty bummed out the last few days ... oh, and see those little brown toddlers playing in the puddle of sewage? Yeah, those are mine ... all six of them."

Of course, I've never actually said any of that - mostly because I don't posess the language skills necessary to communicate even a quarter of that last sentence. But sometimes, it's tempting.

So yeah ... I'm currently waiting for school to start at the C.E.G. on Monday. Should be quite an adventure. Also in the process of trying to make friends at site. This is not too difficult as everyone is really friendly by nature - BUT most everyone who's my age already has a husband, a few kids, and alot bigger problems to worry about than hanging around with the new "Vazaha" English teacher. It does appear though, that a few other teachers at my school are close to my age and don't have 10 children hanging off of them at all times - So yes, this is promising.

More news when I can ... Wish me luck, as I have no real teaching qualifications except 3 weeks of Peace Corps training and the fact that I do, indeed, speak English ... should be good enough... right?

... the party where I actually write on my blog and everyone reads it and squeals with joy, that is.

Manahoana Daholo! (Hello All!)

Okay, so I don't promise any Tucker Max style exploits ... but I do have lots of news of bodily functions etc. etc.

So the 23 of us remaining (3 went home already ::tear::) education trainees in the 2007 stage are closing in on our 2nd month living here in Madagascar. So far, the common theme of our daily adventures seems to be "sensory overload".

Let's begin at the beginning, shall we? ... and then after the end of the beginning, I'll just jump around at random but in true Alex Blute style:

So we arrived at the Airport in Tana on the afternoon of June 17 and were shuttled immediately to Manjakandriana - a town of about 15,000 an hour away from the capital. By the time we got off the vans and started gathering in the tiny one-room meeting house near the center of town, the sun was already beginning to ... um... allow me to use a Malagasy saying - go home.

-I will make more brilliant ruminations on the language later - (0:

So anyway, we all sat huddled together in the poorly lit, chilly, schoolhouse and got a quick lesson on how to say "Hello", "I need shower", and how to poop in a bucket after dark, and then back in the vans we went to be dropped off with our host family.

At this point, many of us hadn't yet asked ourselves the all-imoprtant "What the HELL am I doing here?!" question ... but let me tell you, night one was quite the experience.

After our meeting, they drove us out along a dirt road on the outskirts of town and kicked us out of the Land Rover one by one. Danielle and Guy, then Lisa, Erin, then Maribeth ... and then there was one. (And by "one" I mean me, of course.)

So then the back doors of the SUV swung open and there was my "Neny" (Mommy) - a tiny, older Malagasy woman standing waiting for me on the dirt road. From the first minute I met her - and Tata (Dad) I knew I'd be in good hands during my training.

They are a sweet, older couple - he's retired and obsessed with watching the news, tinkering with the rundown Peugeot truck in the yard, and napping. What a life, eh?

She takes care of the house and me ... reminding me constantly not to get my pants dirty and to wear a hat (not too unlike back home - surely Karin would agree that she reminded me of the same sorts of things 15 times a day til I went to college)... I would surely get my shoes far muddier if not for my Neny. But really, they're both adorable - she showed me how to do the 2 most important things in life: make coffee and wash my underwear... and he keeps me entertained by telling me that he made the dinner we know full-well neny slaved over, and then winking and making over-exaggerated "just joking" expressions. I do my equally over-exaggerated "oh Tata, you're SO funny" laugh and we put on quite the show.

But yes, that first night I had horrendous no. 2 action in my "Po", tried to use my filtered drinking water to take a shower in my room (God I must have looked like such an idiot as there is actually a shower shed OUTSIDE the house ... lesson one: it may be the 3rd world but they're not morons! ... ME however ... questionable ...), and generally spent my first 12 hours playing chirades with my new family trying to understand what the hell was going on and/or try to look as if I wasn't in a complete and total state of panic. But needless to say, I survived ... equally thrillingly, I now poo, shower, and eat exactly where I'm supposed to at all the right times of day. So here in Madagascar, those around can be sure that I'm at least as capable as an American 5-year-old ... most of the time. (0:

Since that thrilling 1st day, I've milked my first cow, been chased by a frightened zebu and two angry pigs, seen one-too-many people drop-trou any old place along the town's main road and poop in the rice paddies, and loads of other ridiculous things that I wouldn't have believed could be true only a few short months ago ...

Anyway ... looks like my internet time has wrapped for today but I'll be sure to keep updating as they allow me access to civilization ... it'll be intermittant but I'll be sure to keep occupied with lots of interesting things that'll make Lindsay and Paris' exploits seem truly truly TAME.

xoxo

Veloma!

Bluter

So now I'm back on track ... quite lucky for a one Mr. Colin O'grady who times his watch by my blog posts and has been running late for more than 2 months now, so to speak.

Anyway here's a list of some stuff I did recently:

Went to Venezuela for a wedding -- it was nice and only mildly frightening ... the State Department website said they don't recommend going to Venezuela because some scary people there will choke you in broad daylight and take all your things. There were also protests against their president who apparently up and decided he wanted to be a dictator and cut off the free press in Caracas -- Note to self: I should try this one day when I'm bored.Scrambled to move out of our house a day early after our landlady went all Driving Miss Daisy on us and wouldn't let us stay even 5 hours longer than our lease specified. I have since been squatting in Megan and Kirssa's third room and sleeping with no pants on. It's hot (not the sight of me w/o pants, but the room ... has a high temperature ... so i decided on not wearing any ... well you get the picture)...Realized my arms are looking rather portly and decided to start lifting more stuff on a more regular basis. I have since taken the heavy trash out (saturday), moved a box (sunday), and pushed the entertainment center a few feet to the left (monday). I have yet to do any arm excercise of record today. There is still time.And ... done lots to prepare for my trip to Madagascar ... which, f.y.i. commences less than a week from this very moment. I: settled my finances (and took 5 candies out of the 'Please Take One' candy jar at the bank -- gotta stock up ya' know), made up with my parents who have now agreed to be nice and not yell about my hair being its natural color and also to do my taxes (phew), and bought underwear.Welp ... guess that's all for now... if you haven't already, send me your e-mail address @:alexandria.blute@gmail.com xoxo,Alex

I'm going to MADAGASCAR!

So... I just got my giant invitation packet this morning from Peace Corps. Kirssa brought it to me after my first class -- which was decidedly the most exciting thing that has happened all week (the packet-bringing, that is -- not my first class -- which is RARELY exciting).

ANYWAY, after some hurried rippage of FedEx packaging and too much tape, I learned I've been nominated to teach English to Middle School/High School students in Madagascar. I hear the place is pretty intriguing and/or mystical... but one way or the other, I KNOW they have Lemurs and that's all that counts.

To be serious though, I'm really excited to be going. The whole application process started back in August and I've wanted to go overseas with Peace Corps for as long as I can remember. To have everything finally come together is really amazing. I honestly can't think of the last time I saw a long-term project materialize -- so this has been a nice reminder of the benefit of commitment and hard work. (Wow, I sound like Matt Stone.)

Of course I'm a little bit nervous, but challenges like this one will hopefully help me become a better, more well-rounded, and less judgmental person. I can always use an upgrade. (0:

More info to come.

xoxo

Bluter

Hey Guys ... It's me!

Lucky You!

I've created this Blog to keep YOU posted while I'm serving in the Peace Corps.

I should be getting details (my country!) any day now so as soon as I know where I'm going, you will too.

Click below for more info on what The Blutemeister will be up to for the next 2 years (provided she doesn't have chlamydia or lose a limb or something, and they medically clear her).

http://www.peacecorps.gov

xoxo

Bluter