Peace Corps Journals

The Necessity of Taking a Holiday

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-02-09 18:12:00

"You don't decide. Diego decides for you, because Diego's got you by the balls," says a fellow PCV who lives in this spectacular northern Malagasy city of glitz, beach, and debauchery. It's no wonder one of the most popular bars in Diego is named L'Etincelle or Glitter, as it epitomizes what I feel about this city that is part Vegas part Miami.

My program director forced me to take a vacation after the whole fiasco at my previous site, plus no one was going to be in the office during the holidays so moving to my current location needed to wait. I decided that I would lay on the beach where I could let the ocean waves wash away my pent up stress. I couldn't think of a better place than Diego-Suarez to do this.

I especially needed the vacation after the fourteen hour taxi-brousse ride (see next blog). My first meal was at a classy French restaurant and consisted of canard with a thick creamy sauce with sauteed veggies and fresh baguettes. The rest of this vacation was spent consuming ice cream, buttery patisseries, hamburgers, pizzas, French cuisine, paella, and mojitos by the pool at Le Grand Hotel. Inundated with French influence its no wonder why Diego offers such a tasty palete. I never felt the need to be a hedonist before but Diego had forced it out of me. I came to the realization how much of a vacation I needed from having spent nine months in the desert.

However its important to keep in mind the fact that volunteers also serve in large touristic cities, so it's important to respect them by keeping face and keeping it under control. And vacations during service should be taken to reenergize you for site versus as just an escape from life at site.

But with all of that said Diego ranks number one with me as far as favorite cities in Madagascar are concerned. With the crystal clear ocean of Emerald Bay to the upbeat night life, to the air-conditioned chocolate shop you can't go wrong (unless you would like to) in Diego-Suarez.

Soooooooo…I had two new ukulele videos for all of you....

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-02-09 11:47:07

Soooooooo…I had two new ukulele videos for all of you. Then I saw this video and was blown away and now I’m too embarrassed to post my videos for you guys. So you get this awesome one instead!

So Long, Dear Friend

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-02-09 11:56:56

February 8, 2011

You and I have had some great times together. I mean, we basically went everywhere and did everything together!

There’s not a memory I have that you are not a part of.

Remember all those tennis matches? Tournament after tournament, you hung in there through them all.

Tubing down the Salt River? Remember getting all scraped up going through that one part with the rapids? You were so tough, even when I was not.

Even better - remember all those times we just needed to relax and went to get a pedicure, just sitting there soaking the day away? You always liked a nice shade of red, if I recall.

But now…now our memories must come to an end. Because our time together is, sadly, finito.

You will go your way, and I will go mine.

I really do think that it’s all for the best. The last few weeks have been, well, painful, to say the least. At least now I’ll finally be able to get some peace.

I didn’t want to mention this, but you would probably find out eventually…there will be another to take your place. Newer…longer-lasting…shinier. Please don’t be jealous, I don’t think I could take it if you got upset about this. It was inevitable that once you and I were through, there would be another to take your spot.

So with this, I bid you adieu. It was a nice run - almost 24 years together! I will miss you dearly. Forever and always.

RIP Tara’s big toenail on her left foot…(cause of death: lingering infection left behind from a parasy invasion.)

Until next time,

Condoms

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-02-09 10:18:08

Back home in the US, if I saw a condom on the ground, I would get grossed out, say something out loud about how “gross” it was, and just generally be annoyed I had to see that nasty thing lying in the middle of my walking path.

Here?

Here, I see a used condom on the ground and am immediately proud of it’s former owner for having safe, protected sex.

(I’m still pretty grossed out though.)

The end.

Quick Update

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Adventures of LP

2012-02-09 08:30:00

Once again I'm in town trying to do a million errands before it is to late to catch a brousse back to my site. Here's a quick update...

Just got back from a trip to Marojejy with a researcher from Duke Lemur Center (a pretty cool place, google it). Saw lots of cool things (pictures later) and discussed possible opportunities for collaboration in the future.

Rice on the hillside isn't looking so good. We replanted with "vary madiniky" (small rice) which is supposed to grow quick so everything will be ready to harvest at once. My neighbor thinks chickens ate the rice seeds before, so we closed up the holes. I am skeptical due to lack of weeds growing there, and the fact that the hillside is not easy to climb. Will be checking on the new rice in the next few days to see if its growing.

River is super full so I've been banned from crossing. Long story. I may have found a fence builder so I can construct a garden at home but jury is still out on that.

Going on vacation to Diego next month! Should be a fun time.

Well that's it for now. I'll try to prepare a better post next time. Love; Leslie

18 days and counting

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Modern Nomad

2012-02-08 06:31:00

Where has the time gone? That's really all I can say as I look at my blog posts from summer, reminders that I pitifully haven't updated this at all since August. After a summer of agonized waiting, finally getting my Peace Corps invitation brought about such a wave of relief and satisfaction that I sort of felt it necessary to take a break from this. And then there just became too much to say, and the idea of updating became daunting. So now that I am finally doing this, be forewarned: this is long.

When I got my invitation I was in the midst of trying to figure out what to do with my life during the waiting time pre-departure, because I already knew I wouldn't be leaving until 2012. I already had an agreement with my job that I would leave in September (because that's when I thought I'd be departing for Peace Corps), but with my revised departure date of 2/28/12, I suddenly had 6 months to kill. I got a great part-time opportunity (thanks to Tanya and Angela!) to do some freelance work updating FoodNetwork.com while they worked on filling a job vacancy, and I could do that remotely from Vermont. I was also able to go back to my very favorite place on earth, Shelburne Farms, for some cooking work during September and early October, and that was fantastically fun and exhilarating to be able to get away from a computer and get in the kitchen again. But the restaurant is seasonal, and the FN job was filled by October, so I had to find something for October onwards. By some stroke of luck or kismet, my former Food Network colleague Allison happened to be reading this very blog via one of my Facebook links, and she saw my earlier plea for ideas on how to fill my time. And so because of that, I got another offer to come back to Food Network once again (thanks Allison and Deb!), this time back in the New York office, my old stomping grounds, to cover for Allison's job while she went on maternity leave from October until February. The timing could not have been more perfect given my situation, but I was hesitant at first about going back to New York. I felt like I had already said my goodbyes to the city and had some closure. I also was worried about where I'd live and if I could save any money while there. And frankly, I had left New York and spent the summer/fall in Vermont for a reason, because I thought it would help me transition into the Peace Corps lifestyle a little better. (Going from Manhattan to rural Africa would be a pretty huge shock, but rural Vermont to rural Africa? Not as huge.) Ultimately I decided to take the job, because I decided that it was going to be best opportunity that would come my way. And I wouldn't need a car if I went back to New York, which would have been an issue if I'd tried to stay in Vermont and work. Additionally, because I'd be working for a company where I'd previously worked for 4 years, I knew it wouldn't be as daunting as going into a brand-new environment where I would have to learn the business and the culture from scratch, and then have to turn around and leave.

I figured it would be a snap to go back to New York, a city where I had lived for 7 years and already had a strong support network of friends. But I won't lie, being back in NYC was much harder than I expected. I thought it would be all lighthearted fun and spending more quality time with friends. I thought it would be easy and chill since I had already packed up my apartment and left my stressful job-- I had done all the difficult stuff already. But I was very wrong. The biggest stressor was housing: I hadn't expected it to be so tough to find a 3-month sublet for someone like me, but there I found myself, bouncing from housesit to sublet to housesit, until I realized I had moved 5 times in 3 months. I also became deathly ill for nearly the entire month of December, was spending way too much money on going out and buying things for Peace Corps, and then stressing out about how I was going to pay off my credit card before leaving. The final blow came was when I was kicked out of apartment #4 for inadvertently breaking co-op rules by subletting my friend's apartment. I once again started to look for a new place, but was just so defeated by the whole ordeal that I said to myself, "I just can't." I found a friend's place that I could sublet until mid-January, and then made an arrangement with my boss that I could finish up the job remotely from Vermont. Ultimately, I think it worked out for the best in the end. My fears about transitioning to Peace Corps from NYC became even more acute, and the longer I spent there, the more detached I felt from my upcoming giant reality change. How can you prepare yourself for a slow-paced life in rural Madagascar, in a town that probably doesn't have electricity or running water, when you have 24 hour Duane Reade on the corner and your reality embodies the very idea of the New York minute? I found myself in a weird headspace-- I was trying to not have too much fun in New York, but also trying not to look forward to Peace Corps too much lest it (god forbid) not happen for some reason. Towards the end of my time I loosened up a bit and just went balls-out with restaurants, bar, socializing, the works. I'm paying for it now (hello, Amex), but I think it helped me go out with a bang and really feel like I could say my goodbye to New York.

Now I'm ensconced in the quiet Vermont countryside, where my big outing involves a trip to the grocery store, and I am generally practicing what it will be like to not have my friends quite so available. That was another concern I had about being in New York, that I was relying on my friends too much when I'd soon not be able to talk to them more than once a month. So this time in Vermont is allowing me a gradual draw-down of my connectivity, and a ramping up of my level of independence and self sufficiency. I'm able to spend time packing thoroughly and thoughtfully, take care of loose ends like a 401k rollover and obtaining property insurance, and also spend time with my parents. I'm also carefully packing up the last bits of my current life, paring down my belongings and saying goodbye to things I won't see for 2+ years, until all I'm left with are two packed bags and a drawer full of old clothes that I can wear until I throw them out before I hop on the plane.

So here we are, 2012, which seemed so foreboding and far away just 6 months ago. I was so adamant about not wanting to depart for Peace Corps in 2012, because it seemed light years away and I was worried the delay would derail me from my path. But six months later, I'm still here and on track, and parts of me are even wishing for a bit more time before I go. We finally got our travel information, and on Sunday 2/26 I leave for Washington, DC where we have 2 days of staging with our whole group, and then on 2/28 we all board a plane for Johannesburg. After an overnight there, we take another flight to Madagascar on March 1st. And then the adventure begins.

who won the super bowl?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar aiza ny kabone?

2012-02-08 04:35:52

Hey so first of all my camera was stolen so pictures will be few and far in between until I figure something out. To be clear DO NOT MAIL a camera. I am 117% sure it would be stolen. In the meantime you can enjoy some chicken murder photos. I received the chicken pictured above [...]

A Tropical Christmas

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar I like to Move It, Move It!

2012-02-07 19:43:00

For the first time in my life I was away from my loved ones for Christmas, without the need of a down jacket and where glistening snow was nowhere in sight. Rather I spent the holiday on a tropical island with a fellow volunteer. Because of the events explained in the previous blog I was forced out of my sight around Christmas, which I had expected to spend the holiday with my community. It was still a great Christmas despite the lack of candy cane and wrapping paper. Cecilia’s village is similar to my old one in infrastructure (palm roofs and mud walls) and population (Tsimihety). Therefore I feel overall it emanated a similar Christmasy ambiance that own village would have. We went “grocery” shopping a couple days before in the neighboring district capital to find the perfect holiday bird. We spotted our chicken, which was a bit small for slaughter, which we over paid for (a total of 2.5 dollars!)! We named it Noel for festivities sake. We spent the holidays listening to Hindi music on cassettes that Cecilia bought on discount from a local Karani shop (Indian minority in Madagascar) and drinking precious hot cocoa sent from the states. At night we would be drenched by the tropical storms (rainy season!) from her leaky palm thatched roof while simultaneously being eaten alive by potentially malarial laden mosquitoes since rats chewed through her bed net. In the morning we’d be covered in rat shit with an overzealous roaster crowing outside her mud hut. But this didn’t dampen our holiday mood. Cecilia held the knife by the chicken’s throat and screamed, “No! You have to do this…it’s character building!” I held the butcher knife in my right hand while stepping down on its wing with it’s beady eyes looking up at me. Nope, this wasn’t going to happen either. This is when we grabbed the small children already staring in at us through the window. The nine year old boy takes the knife nonchalantly and slits its jugular. The other children immediately start gutting its innards-how convenient. We spend 3 hours roasting the chicken on Cecilia’s homemade cook stove made out of mud and clay while making paella with the use of dried shrimp reminiscing about our past Christmases. I’m looking forward to my next tropical Christmas!

Flexibility

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar I like to Move It, Move It!

2012-02-07 18:20:00

Before entering Peace Corps volunteers all understand that we are required to be flexible. Now, this is a loaded term that I don’t think any of us really understood before we landed in country. During my initial interview I remember all the questions would funnel back to this very point. My recruiter was interested to know how far this girl was willing to go, and if she was willing to be flexible maybe she had a chance.
“Can you walk five kilometers in the heat on bumpy terrain?”
“Not a problem.”
But perhaps if he had asked, “Would you be able to escape from a dangerous situation from a remote African village in the evening to the hut of the closest other volunteer who is five hours away on a severely crowded taxi-brousse sitting by a lady who may have consumption?”

I think that question would have provoked a bit more self-reflection on my part.

A friend who is a volunteer south of me doesn’t know whether she would have joined if she knew all of the consequences her environment would have on her health. Even though my PCMO’s (Peace Corps Medical Officers) are dependable and very serious about volunteers health concerns we are still forced for the most part to be self-reliant based on our living situations.
I say this not to deter anyone from applying to Peace Corps but I do want to emphasize the point that you do not know what your living conditions will be like, so it’s really important to understand whether you have the personality to be open to a completely new climate and way of life. I suppose we never really know until we try right? I’ve been pushed to extremes I never knew I was capable of dealing with.
This leads to the explanation as to why I have not posted a blog the last couple months. I am currently typing this entry from my brand new site. A month ago I didn’t even know I would have to move. The events that led up to this move occurred in a bit of daze. Because of security issues I had with some of the local authorities I was forced to move. There were a series of meetings with district big shots, my counterparts, and Peace Corps program director that revealed my fate. You will find this story uncensored in my personal journal but because its really difficult to describe this tale without revealing too many details that may put me at threat I will resort to telling just the basic outline of my story. I was never touched or hurt in any way but the things that happened were enough to prompt me to move.
It was painful to leave this community, where I had spent a good part of my service. I will never forget the individuals that impacted my life in a irrevocable way. I completely did not foresee these events from happening nor did I know that I would have to start my service over in a new home. As a Peace Corps Volunteer you have no choice but to be flexible, because it is a matter of survival. I wish I was just being melodramatic when I state this. To explicate: I dropped all of my undergoing projects, changed counterparts, changed homes after one year of service, completely changed my daily schedule, and said goodbye to close friends and people who I considered nearly family all within a month… I never thought I would end up in Sub-Saharan Africa, I never thought I would live without electricity or running water, live in the desert without much food or access to internet, or be fluent in a relatively obscure African language. But in Peace Corps this happens.

GTL

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Peace Corps - Madagascar

2012-02-05 12:58:28

I’ve been living in a rice field. I thought that I’ve been working pretty hard and it is nice to get the positive feedback from all of my friends and people who know me. I’m constantly being asked, “Where have you been?”A lot of people thought that I left or went on vacation because [...]

Some Tales and Observations from the Past Month

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Our Missing Peace

2012-02-05 00:07:40

Okay, so here’s the deal. The bulleted part of this blog entry I wrote about two weeks ago and it is decidedly more lighthearted and amusing than the lone paragraph which follows. That last paragraph was written just a few days ago and it tells a rather somber tale with absolutely no witty remarks or [...]

Dear Mom

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-02-04 11:36:50

February 9, 2011

(…well, a little before the 9th…)

My mother has grown through the years into one of my closest friends, the person who will tell me the searing truth, who laughs with me & cries with me, and who shows me a bright future for myself when I’m too rundown and broken to recognize it.

She is the woman who gave me applesauce and toast when I was sick, who drove me to endless tennis lessons, and who took a video of me when I was drugged up after my wisdom teeth were pulled.

My mom is the person I share a Mrs. Fields cookie with whenever we go to the mall. She is the one who humored me when I said I wanted to join the Peace Corps…and she is one of two people who sobbed at the airport when I left.

(I was the other one.)

She taught me how to treat people with respect. She’s the person who showed me the importance of being a strong, self-assured young woman. Hell, she taught me how to tweeze my eyebrows!

So.

On this birthday, the first one in 20 years I won’t be able to say “Happy Birthday” in person - those first few years of my life don’t count, I couldn’t even talk! - this will have to do.

I’m not sure I’ve ever fully articulated just how thankful I am to have the mom that I do. To have a mom that I love, and trust, and miss terribly when we aren’t in the same place. But I am - so very thankful - and I just wanted to say:

Happy Birthday Mom.

I love you so much.

I’ve been super bad about doing regular blogs lately,...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-02-04 10:21:19

I’ve been super bad about doing regular blogs lately, I’m sorry. The next time I have some internet, I promise you at least 3 blog entries, 2 ukulele videos, and some super important information on a new tree nursery you all can help sponsor. :)

In the meantime, these talking animal videos are my freaking favorite! Too bad they don’t have any clips with lemurs…still hella funny though.

Enjoy!

(My favorite parts? ”Night time…day time! Night time…day time! Night time…” ”John, I don’t think we’re allowed to wee here.” hahahahaha!!!)

In Need of a Reminder

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You...

2012-02-03 04:33:00

My studies in international development are progressing nicely, and I like all of my courses this semester. In addition, I am involved in some excellent student groups and research projects. But beyond the heavy workload, I have been feeling very... distant. I think it is because I have been in school long enough now to feel very disconnected from the very issues I am studying. This feeling has reminded me how important it is to stay in touch in development. Extreme poverty, inequitable trade policies, famine, deforestation, oppressive governments... these are more than just words in academic papers. They all have real effects on people in real places. As do words like: innovation, activism, self-sufficiency, protest, and participation. The longer we stay away from the faces behind these issues, the more detached we become. I am in need of a reminder of why I am here and studying to become a development practitioner. I am working on that, trying to get back "into the field" soon. In the meantime, I can already tell that this will be a continuing concern throughout my career. And a concern for any practitioner or academic. Let us all endeavor to stay connected in a real way.

On a lighter development studies note, I totally agree with BlattBlog on this one.

my fat ass (part 3)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar sojourn.

2012-02-03 03:43:00

(For those of you who missed it, click here for my fat ass part one; here for my fat ass part two.)

Over the last few months, I’ve lost some weight. Not a lotof weight, maybe ten pounds or so, but enough that people in my village havebegun to take notice. Well, they notice everything anyway, especially mynot-so-fat-anymore ass. They’re worried.

To most Americans, losing weight is seen as good thing,which is understandable in a culture where the skinny are coveted and thechunky are seen as lesser beings. What’s fascinating is actually how hard it can be to havea healthy weight in America. We are inundated day in and day out with absurdfood choices, oversized portions, easy lifestyles (admit it, not many of us areout there slaving away in the fields) and very little time in our hectic livesfor moving our bodies.

We all know it’s become a problem: an epidemic of obesity.More than 30% of Americans are now obese and 50% are overweight. Childhoodobesity and diabetes rates are at an all-time high.

Life is just not the same in Madagascar. People here workvery, very hard their entire lives, with often little more to go on than ameasly bowl of rice and nothing else until they catch or gather it. Childrenhere have some of the highest stunted growth rates of any developing nation.Think your six-pack abs are hot in America? Well, they’re a dime a dozen inMadagascar.

So it should come as no surprise that having some heft toyou is seen as a good thing here. The bigger you are, the wealthier you mustbe; the bigger your booty, the more you must be sitting around raking in thecash. The biggest people I’ve seen in Madagascar are the ones with likely themost desirable job: taxi-brousse drivers. These guys sit on their buttsall day driving around, collecting money and eating roadside foods. Thinklong-haul truck drivers, beer bellies and all.

In any case, I wouldn’t have considered myself in the broussedriver category, but I definitely put on some pounds my first year inMadagascar. I was used to living a very active and healthy lifestyle in theU.S. and suddenly, there was all that sitting around wondering what to do in myvillage, coupled with the heat-induced laziness… and all those endless bowls ofwhite rice… and deep-fried bananas… and deep-fried cassava… and deep-friedbread… and deep-fried dough… and deep-fried fish… well, it all started to addup. To my fat ass.

And boy was my village happy! Everyone was always talkingabout my weight amongst themselves, because there’s no shame in it here. WhileI silently suffered every comment, they rejoiced in my ever-growing ass.

Except now those days are over. I stopped eating fried foods(no easy task in a place where there is often literally no other food optionavailable), exercise daily (the heat is my friend!) and feel almost like mynormal self (and weight) with the exception of a daily dose of sorely missedfresh vegetables and salad. Plus, I think I’ve just plain gotten used to beinghungry. All the time.

This has got my villagers very worried indeed. It’s the highseason in Ambolobozokely: winds are calm and the seas are fruitful. Everyone’seating their fish fill and raking in the Ariary with every kilo of fish sold. Iate at my girlfriend Sophia’s house last week; she couldn’t even zip up theskirt that six months ago was too big for her. She laughed merrily about hergut spilling out of her shirt, while I took note of my negative thoughts aboutit.

Suffice to say, every time I walk past a group of womenthese days, I hear them quietly whisper under their breaths, “Mahia eeee!”(Skinny!) They usually say it when I’m far enough away that they think I can’thear them. Sometimes they cluck their tongues, as if I’m been struck with someterrible disease. Some have a more direct approach, like the local shopkeeper(an exceptionally large woman): she just asked, “What is wrong with you?”

Some conjecture I must be sick (I did lose some weight whenI had Dysentery) while others exclaim “Ngoma!” (Missing someone!) Manyof them insist I don’t eat enough rice while neighbors have started bringingover food, such as coconut-stewed bananas or crab sauce. I just keep pointingout that my big ol’ booty is right there behind me just as it always has been.They laugh.

Recently a friend came to my village that I hadn’t seen fora long time. The first thing she said when she saw me was “Mahia eeeee!”When I told her I wasn’t skinny, just enjoying getting exercise, she had aninteresting reply. She told me that she knew it was a compliment for whitepeople to be told their skinny, but she couldn’t understand why. I shrugged. Somethings are better lost in translation.

What a funny world we live in. Americans are tryingdesperately to get skinny (and failing at that) while the rest of thedeveloping world struggles for just a tiny piece of the pie.

Explaining Global Warming in Malagasy (or, “Making the Earth Hot”)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Katie Browne

2012-02-02 08:34:00

In Antsohihy, people sat on their stoops and peered at the sky, wondering why the rains had not come. It was late November and the clouds should have rolled in weeks ago, heavy with rain to settle the dust and quench the soil desperate for moisture. But there were few clouds, and the days persisted, achingly hot and dry. All the population of Antsohihy could do was sit, and wait, and watch the sky with a quiet, nervous tension: for rice does not grow in dry ground.

Walking the streets of this ramshackle city, it is not difficult to understand how the rains here are invested with a certain anthropomorphic quality; they are exasperating but intransigent; like anyone else in this country, they arrive when they feel like it.

On the second floor of the Antsohihy commune building, in a meeting room with broken shutters and rusty file cabinets, I stood before a group of local guides and environmentalists, asking: “What do you think global warming is?” There was a long pause and many blank looks, until at last someone stood: “Well,” he began hesitantly, “we all see there are many big fires here. The big fires are making the earth hot. And then where there were fires, the earth is bare, so it soaks up all the heat from the sun, and that makes the earth hot too.” There was a long pause, then another man rose: “It is like when there are a lot of people crowded in one room and that room gets really hot. The earth is just too crowded and we are heating it up.”

There is something to be said for the latter of these two theories: it could be either right on or wildly off. And the participants of this seminar were not be blamed for such localized world-views. Madagascar is a country where the immediately surrounding elements can be, and often are, thought to comprise the world entire, where the forest is not born of the rain, but is rather the very thing that draws it in from the sea. It is a peculiar relationship of cause and effect, but it generally prevails.

Thus, climate change is a challenging topic to approach, not only for its complexity, but also for its demanding acceptance of the interconnectedness of this world. Malagasy people- many of whom have never traveled further than the rim of their horizon- can have a difficult time accepting that what happens on the other, incomprehensible side of this globe can powerfully affect what they have always known right here. I do my best to explain that in developed countries we are driving too many cars, burning too many fossil fuels, using too much electricity, filling the sky with planes; that the world over we are cutting down the forests that could trap all this extra carbon and methane; that this means the heat from sunlight is not escaping the atmosphere (in my Malagasy, global warming is translated as “mampafana tany” or, “making the earth hot”); that the ramifications of this are profound, from changing global weather patterns to rising sea levels. And as we add each link in the chain, I think, really think, that they are getting it.

It is difficult to move with great speed though, as we are routinely hung up on smaller, but no less bewildering concepts. Lands of only ice and snow; ice cores; glaciers. We are stuck on a picture of a polar bear for nearly twenty minutes. Countries where everyone drives their own car, and people keep the lights on all night. Satellites. Deserts, where there is only sand, sand like waves, but no ocean. I, inadvertently, oh so carelessly, use a diagram of Sugar Maple growth in North America. What is a Sugar Maple? What is special about your Sugar Maple? Wait, wait, are you telling us that you Americans eat tree blood? (Think about it, then tell me how you would explain maple syrup in Malagasy).

By the end of the second day though, after pages and pages of hastily drawn diagrams, after countless tangential explanations, we were there. One man threw up his hands, “there are no solutions.” He then mimed picking up the phone, “I am calling God.” Another participant rose to leave: “I am going to pray now; I am going to talk to God about our planet.” The training organizer glanced at me: “We took a little bit of their innocence today.”

There is validity to that statement. For these local guides and environmentalists, acknowledging the interconnection of incomprehensible worlds- of ice and snow, of six-lane highways and city grids- with their own fragile life on the coast, a life of rice-agriculture, mangrove-fishing and cow-herding, is a difficult task. And do not for a second be mistaken about the resentment they feel for this discovery. As one woman said in a long, impassioned speech: “In the wealthy world, they created most of these problems. And here, in the developing world, we could suffer for them. And yet they want to tell us that we cannot develop like them, and worse, they want to tell us to stop doing what we have always done.”

Just before we left our ramshackle classroom, a guide raised his hand. Looking out the window at yet another dry, dusty day in Antsohihy, he asked: “You have spoken about global warming and changing weather patterns. Do you think that could be why the rains still have not come?”

Taxi Brousse

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar The Eighth Continent

2012-01-31 09:39:00

The pics from here on out (including the last post) are from other volunteers because my

camera is dead dead dead. But this is the inside of a taxi brousse as it's filling up, complete with fabulous and goofy PCVs in the foreground!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Life in the Land of Lemurs

2012-01-30 10:24:00

Well, it's been brought to my attention again that I've been a horrible blogger. And seeing as my last entry was...almost half a year ago (!?) I can't really argue. But I will anyways, because as anyone who knows me is aware, I'm always up for a good argument.

Somewhere around being in country for a year, the feeling of “living in Africa” sort of ceased. The weird things became less weird, the scary things less scary, and the novel things downright tedious. The feeling of waking up everyday slightly nervous about what strange, madcap things might happen lessened, and eventually I settled into what could more or less be called a routine. I know that when I wake up now I'll immediately go outside to fetch water, come in and make coffee (and oatmeal if I have it), eat breakfast, and chat online for a little bit. Then I'll get ready for work and go to the CSB to do prenatal consultations, vaccines, or malaria tests depending on the day. At lunch I head over to the middle school to run while the kids are at home for lunch, and afterwards, I'll follow suit. I can usually set my lunch to cooking while I heat a little water to take a shower, and then I come back and eat. Afternoons are a little less structured, but typically involve some combination of reading, studying for the MCAT, watching a movie, or hanging out with my site mate, Travis. After that it's dinner time, so another round of cooking, or maybe going to the hotely for soup, then cleaning, and then it's practically time to go to bed, most often to the sounds of mice and lizards scurrying around my house.

To summarize, “living in Africa” became simply “living,” and most of it seemed too mundane to really even mention to people back home. At least, that's what I thought until I went home last month.

As Peace Corps volunteers, we build up what America is like in our heads, because for many of us, it's been several months (or even years) since we've been there. Obviously I hadn't forgotten America in the year and a half since I had left home, but I was overconfident in my thinking that reverse culture shock wouldn't be a problem. On the one hand, when my plane landed in Paris I was ready to get on the next return flight to Madagascar because holy crap, there are a million cars, and buildings, and roads, and it's FREEZING. On the other, by the time my tired and delirious feet hit Chicago and had my first bite of deep-dish pizza, I was ready to stow my suitcases for good and never look back.

America was all kinds of wonderful- spending time with family and friends, eating food I'd been craving for so long, going places and not having everyone pointing at me, and actually, having places to go in general was simply amazing. But there were constant reminders to me of how I've changed since leaving, and how different my life in Madagascar really is. Though I can't honestly say I missed Madagascar while I was home, there was a part of me that was happy to be back to my simple life for a while more.

Being in America was a reality check, and I don't think I would have been ready to stay there for good when I was home for the holidays. People have jobs and bills and schedules, and while I do miss a faster pace of life, it's kind of nice to only worry about buying rice (or usually ramen in my case) and rat hunting in a day. But, it was a wake up call. My stage of PCVs has less than 7 months left here, and then it's back to “real life”. It's created kind of a weird dichotomy of feeling like I need to be planning for when I'm home but at the same time, trying to really make the most of my time here. The usual challenge of “being present” I suppose.

In any case, my trip home was a reminder that the weird things ARE still weird here, or cool, or different, or whatever your interpretation of them is if you live in America. And I remember reading blogs before I left and thinking how interesting everything about Peace Corps seemed, and being excited about having that life. So, I'll try to keep that in mind over the next several months and do a better job of blogging. Because hey, rat hunting might seem normal to me, but there is really nothing normal about 3 grown-ass adults chasing rats around a room with broom sticks and wiffle-ball bats (combined, we have a .5 “batting” average).

What's next for me and the blog? My photography project with girls from the Girls Club is scheduled to start next week, so I'll be updating about that as much as I can, hopefully with pictures! And also, if you've seen the news (CNN, Al Jazeera), you know that Madagascar is in a bit of a tenuous state, politically speaking. One of the exiled presidents has been trying to come back to country, which is being met with opposition from the current regime. So, everyone here has been closely monitoring that situation and waiting to see how it plays out, myself included.

Other than that, not much big news on the island! Till next update, take care.

Well

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar the cong show

2012-01-29 16:32:00

It's been quite a while since we updated the blog mostly because it's a bit of a challenge to think of what to write. Our lives here, though generally pleasant and comfortable, aren't particularly interesting. I do not really feel like I have much insight into life in Kinshasa beyond what I read in the news online or the general observations that just about any outsider would make about this place. So I have been holding back from writing. I cannot think of anything I feel like is worth sharing. My brother Thom says I should write about teaching, and another teacher expressed similar sentiments to me recently when I explained my trepidation about writing about my life here. He said that writing about the elite students that we work with could be a fascinating blog in and of itself. Yet, I shy away from writing anything too personal on the internet about people whose permission I don't have, and I don't really want my students searching out this blog so I'd never ask for permission. Plus, I seem incapable of focusing my attention on the uniqueness of my students' experiences as I am always getting wrapped up in their inability to use commas appropriately.

So should we just put this blog to rest? I don't think I'm quite ready for that just yet, but I'm still not sure what my goal should be in writing. I have been thinking about this issue lately as I have been reading quite a lot and questioning my own lack of inspiration for writing. I know that I can write, but why is it that I have nothing that I want to write about? And why is it that I seem to have an almost moral opposition to the romanticization and fictionalization of reality. My nitpickiness which probably comes from my grandfather makes me wary beyond belief of writing anything that is not 100% accurate. I also take this out on James as I have quite a proclivity for correcting and clarifying. So, I am still trying to figure out how it is possible to write about my experiences in a captivating way while preserving accuracy.

As I continue to try to sort these issues out, I will attempt to update more, but who knows how it will all work out. For now, I will look out my window and ponder the jungle in my backyard, one part of Kinshasa that I know rather well.

Bargaining

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar The Eighth Continent

2012-01-29 11:13:00

Ever not bought something because it cost a dollar too much? We have:

"How much for those sunglasses?"

"$5."

"What! $5? That's too expensive. $1.50."

"$2.50."

"No, my friend bought the same pair for $1.50 in Tana."

"Maybe, but this is Ambanja. $2.50."

"No way, how about $2?"

"OK, fine."

It seems pretty stupid when you put it in American dollars, right? But, since meat costs $1/pound and an orange is 5 cents, it is a big deal for the people who live here. Not us really, the Peace Corps gives us enough money; we just don't like to be ripped off because we're white.

Updates: rains have started to come down really hard here in Madagascar, we are partnering with new health workers in Ambanja to advocate family planning, and I am looking into teaching my community about food crop diversity with assistance from local NGOs.

The Power of a 4-Year-Old

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar The Eighth Continent

2012-01-29 11:13:00

Up until now, I seriously questioned whether my town would ever stop defecating in the woods and start using latrines. I had spoken with tons of adults about the dangers of unsafe drinking water caused by open defecation. People understood the message, but they never saw the point to change their behavior. They rarely get sick and after working in the field all day, building a latrine isn't the most appealing afternoon or weekend activity.

The problem is that even though THEY don't get sick from drinking the water here after years of built up immunity, THEIR CHILDREN do get sick. It is heartbreaking living here sometimes. Countless children under 5 years old have died in our area from preventable dehydration due to diarrhea most likely caused by drinking non-potable water.

These deaths will be much less frequent in the years to come, thanks, in part, to a very bright and inquisitive 4-year-old. My neighbor, Harina, likes to hang around and ask me "What's this?" or "What are you doing?". So, when I finished building my latrine, she was very interested.

"What is that?"

"It's a latrine. That's where I go to the bathroom."

"You don't go to the bathroom in the woods over there."

"No. It's so far. I'm lazy. Plus, I don't want people walking in my poop. Also, pooping on the ground makes the water around it dirty."

"Oh."

"You should use a latrine too. You're a big kid now."

Over the next month, she became more interested, asking me questions about how to use a latrine. I even caught her peeping in on me while I was in the latrine once. The ensuing conversation about privacy and nudity fell on deaf ears. In this culture, kids run around naked and being asked the contents of your bag is a daily occurrence. Anyways, one day, I was eating a hard candy and Harina asked me for one. I told her that I'd only give her one if she started using the latrine. She then went over later in the day, used the latrine, and asked for the candy again. After I made her wash her hands, I paid up.

A few more successful days of the latrine-usage incentive program (read: shamelessly bribing a child with candy), using the latrine became habit for her. Then, she got to work making fun of her friends for being like animals pooping on the ground. Of course, peer pressure is an extremely powerful motivator and her friends started using the latrine too. Ashamed of being called cows by their own children, some parents have begun to trickle in too. It's a snowball effect, led by the smallest catalyst. In related news, my friend, Jao, and I are putting the final touches on his latrine this week. After it is complete, my hope is that his family will use it regularly and that their friends will want to build latrines as well. With Jao's family and Harina as examples to the town, I think, given time, Siranana will be "open defecation free."

watchin' the tide roll away...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Oh the Places We Will Go

2012-01-27 15:57:00

As the days wind down on my time here in Mada, I find myself reflecting more and more on my life here. Walking out to have dinner with Jonathan and Mandy, two fellow Alaskans living here in Mahajanga, I took the long route that follows the coastline (and gives me a view across the bay to my old stomping grounds). I have tried to explain many a time to Gasy friends that in America you need to have money to live on the ocean. Not just a little money, but a lot of money. Here, you just need to get your hands on a bit of land. Luckily, there are still plenty of spots available, and it’s warm enough that you can build a house of minimal materials and stay comfortable. In most of the places in the bay area you are going to be surrounded by mango, guava or konikoni fruits. You can sit in your yard and wait for sellers of fish, shrimp or crab to wander by. In the non-rainy season you can catch free concerts put on by big name artists down on the ocean front. If you’re going to pick a place to make a little money go a long way, this place works.

Food for thought today:

“There is no act of faith more beautiful than the generosity of the very poor.”

From Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts

A fabulous read if you’re in the market for a book.

Rat Fight Club

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Madagascar: I like to move it, move it

2012-01-27 13:33:00

The first rule of fight club is that you do not talk about fight club. Apparently the rats didn’t get that message cause they threw a rat fight club in my ceiling my 2nd week back at site from Christmas vacation (more on that later). It was loud, annoying and there might have been a casualty, though I have no way of knowing. In the run-up to the WWE main event, there were rats scurrying all over my ceiling (this all happened in my attic space), causing me a few days of little shut-eye just from the noise of their nails click, click, clicking on the wood above my head. Not to mention I think entrance to my attic is right above my head. On the night of the fight, my friend Katie happened to be at my site for a site exchange (again, more on that later) and she and I both listened in mild terror (at least it was mild terror for me, since I thought they were going to come to come crashing through my ceiling) at the fight over our heads. At one point it even woke us up, since during their intermission we had fallen asleep. I was really glad she was there. It helped keep me more sane then I would have has I been by myself. I knew the rats couldn’t get into my house, since there are no holes in my ceiling, but you know what the night can do to you. Makes you think about all the what ifs. Thankfully, I think they are gone. I marched over to my guards house the next day and asked him very politely if he wouldn’t mind plugging the hole that lead into my house. He did, they got in again, though I think only one, he fixed it again (I think. At least I asked him too again) and now I hope they are really gone. I keep thinking I hear a rat, walking along, but I think I am just having flashbacks.
So let’s back up to December and 2011. The big news was I WENT HOME FOR CHRISTMAS! It was so exciting. My dad planned it as a surprise for my mom and we managed to keep it from her, which I think is pretty impressive considering we booked the ticket in late August. Since we wanted to surprise my mom, I didn’t tell any of my friends that I was coming home either. The only people who knew were Eric, his girlfriend (at least I’m assuming Becca knew), Brian and my dad. Any more people and someone would have cracked. I got into Seattle, via Atlanta and Paris, at 12:30am on December 22nd. Eric came and got me at the airport and then we had to be really quiet when we got home. My dad work us up at 6:45am to surprise my mom. And boy was she surprised! Especially since I had lied (sorry Mom!) about my Christmas plans and she thought I was on the east coast of MADA. I hung out at home all day, since I didn’t want anyone to see me (though I did crack and take my dog for a walk around Greenlake, a inner city lake that’s real close to my house. I didn’t think I would see anyone since it was super cold and early in the morning). We then surprised my godfather at dinner that night and then a few of my friends that night at their apartment. It was a great first day back.
The whole trip home was a success. Brian came out for like 6 days over New Year’s, which was amazing. We did a lot of wedding planning stuff, which still isn’t finalized yet, but will be soon, and watched a lot of football (it was college bowl week and I love college bowl week). I also hung out with my family a lot, did some damage at Banana Republic (I felt like I was one of the Bakers, especially since I ended up buy the same trench coat as Katie), had lots of wine and one AMAZING steak (thanks baby!), and overall eat my way through the 2 week trip. I had to stock up on cheese, since there is only one brand of cheese here and it leaves something to be desired. I had a lot of time to just sit and chill, which was nice. I mean I do that a lot at site, but it was nice to do it in front of a TV with dozens of channels. and to be able to get up, grab a diet coke (which they don't have here and it always makes me sad) and sit or lay right back down. I headed back to MADA on Jan 5th and went back to site on Jan 8th.
I came back to MADA at the beginning of a cyclone so my first Tuesday back I didn’t have to teach since school was closed. Monday I managed to make it to school, maybe the eye of the storm was over us or something, cause Sunday and Tuesday were awful. Then Katie showed up! Katie is my friend in Peace Corps who lives in the north of MADA, by a town called Ambanja, which I think you can find on a map. She came to my site to help me paint a giant work map at my CEG. We worked real hard too. We spent all day Saturday and Sunday at my CEG, gridding, painting, drawing, painting again, drawing again. We did have some assistants, in the form of my site mate's next door neighbors, who are 8, 6 and 4, but the two youngest did get bored after awhile with all the blue painting being done and went off and did something. We were exhausted on Sunday night. Katie also taught in my high school classes and work at the health center one day with my site mate. It was a very successful site exchange. We got a lot done and my school loves the map. I see kids looking at it all the time. We also had a lot of fun too. We watched a lot of movies and cooked a lot of food. We can work and play hard. What what!
Katie left last week, so I’ve just been teaching. Nothing too exciting going on. I weird to think that I leave MADA this year. Less than a year left. Less than 8 months left. It’s weird to think about. I will come back to America and have to find a real job and be a real grown-up. My after Peace Corps plans involve coming back to the US as soon as I finished, but I am not sure where I will be for a while. Ultimately I will end up in DC with Brian, but my friend Rachel is engaged and may be getting married in the fall, so if she does, I will have to be in Seattle for the wedding, which I wouldn’t miss for anything since she’s the first HS friend getting married and the first of my friends weddings I can go to since my friend Jenn got married Labor Day weekend after I left for PC (Sorry Jenn! I Hope you got my really, really late wedding present! And I hope you liked it! It reminded me so much of you). I also want to be in DC for Brians bday, which is Sept 16th. Well actually I just want to be with him, so if Rachels wedding is that weekend we will be in Seattle together. I also want to go to the UW-CU game in November that’s at CU and I am going to move mountains to be able to go. I hope Brian can come with me, but we won’t know that until closer to November. I also want to spend a good chunk of time in Seattle, since I have to pack up my life for the move out east. See, I have so many plans, but no real idea what is really happening! I just know that if I want all this to happen I can’t really get a job until January 2013, but I will temp or do something during the fall. I can’t not make money in the fall. I have a wedding to save for!
I don’t have much else to say. I won’t have a book list this time, because I left my journal in the States and my mom is mailing it to me, so the next one will be really long. I mean I could write down most of the books, but I don’t want to get confused. Oh request for all my blog fans: Please feel free to send me CDs with new, current music. Even older music from the last few months would be appreciated. Especially Pitbulls “give me everything tonight”. I love that song and I don’t have it. Thanks everyone!

Franco-Malagasy Collusion to Undermine SADC

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You...

2012-01-27 13:26:00

Last weekend was a wild one in Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar. Former President Marc Ravalomanana tried to return to his homeland to meet 30,000 supporters at the airport, but his flight was turned back before it could enter Malagasy airspace by current "transitional" President Andry Rajoelina. Here is my favorite recap of that day so far, which includes the line "The ride had been rockier than Def Leppard in their crotch-guitaring prime."

Now allAfrica has a report directly criticizing France for colluding with Rajoelina's government to keep Ravalomanana out of Madagascar, thereby undermining the SADC's roadmap and overall attempts to end the almost-three-year-long political crisis that started with a coup. Here is the biggest claim in the article:

Security services in the region say they are aware of a 6-point strategy devised by Paris and Antananarivo to prevent Ravalomanana from returning. According to these sources, Rajoelina, his heads of security and France decided to:
Deploy security forces loyal to Rajoelina inside the Ivato International Airport in Antananarivo.
Deploy Rajoelina supporters outside the airport to antagonise and destabilise the estimated 100 000 Ravalomanana supported expected at the airport to welcome him home.
Issue statements threatening the Ravalomanana supporters with arrest.
Threaten to arrest Ravalomanana on arrival.
Lobby the international community to persuade SADC not to allow Ravalomanana back.
As a last resort, issue a Notice to All Airmen (NOTAM) to deny landing rights to all airlines. This effectively closed down the country's airspace.

The link between France and Rajoelina has been alluded to for a long time, especially in Madagascar where Ravalomanana supporters (and even some of his opponents but supporters of democracy) claimed France was behind Rajoelina's power grab. The claim at the time was that Ravalomanana had shifted business focus from France to regional neighbors, China, US, etc... While the facts suggested a connection, there was no real evidence of French involvement. Now allAfrica is claiming there is. This is very interesting times for followers of Malagasy politics and sovereignty and conflict resolution...

Fundraising for Local Madagascar NGO Community Center (and other follow-up links)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You...

2012-01-27 02:19:00

The Peace Corps Volunteer who was in Amparafaravola with me, Teena, has launched a Peace Corps Partnership project with the local NGO "ONG Zahatra" to build a community center. Teena describes the project:

ZAHATRA plans to construct a center equipped with proper dining and lavatory facilities which will allow it to expand its services to 30 children and their families. This crucial intervention will not only restore the health of the children and give them the education they need to break the cycle of poverty, it will restore the dignity of their guardians by providing them with the vocational training, skills and materials they need to earn a living and provide for their children.

You can see her full post here. You can also go directly to the Peace Corps site to contribute here.
Longtime readers of this blog may recall my brief work with ONG Zahatra (about half way down, second paragraph under If a Coup happens and no one cares...). As a reminder, I spent some time playing with the kids and talking a bit about nutrition, brought them some educational posters and books, and trained the staff on moringa trees. Here are a few photos:

Henri teaching about nutrition

The kids teaching themselves

ONG Zahatra planting Moringa seeds

The Moringa trees starting to grow

The kids eating their healthy meals

This organization is pretty special, driven by dedicated Malagasy who want to improve their own community. So take a look at the project and help out if you can!

A few other follow-up links from previous posts:
-Here is a link to the video from the Sudan talk I mentioned a few months ago.
-In case you are interested in the rice experiment I mentioned, here is a nice video showing the researcher using an Android tablet to determine fertilizer amounts:

-Nice write-up on Zimbabwe here, a good piece after my conflicted feelings from Mugabe and the White African.

and so be it...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar .thank you for being a friend.

2012-01-26 16:06:00

Well hello there. I have been back in the US now for about 6weeks and haven’t put up a final blog post. So here I go. My last couple months at site were great. It was very difficult saying good bye to all the people that had not only become my new friends but family as well. I made a painting where I had all my kids come into my house, after washing their hands, and trace their handprint on a piece of plywood that I had written the hand-washing song on. They then painted their handprint with one of the many colors I had. I am so happy I got this finished. It will be something that will be in my village and they can remember me by. It was hard saying good bye to my friends in the cities that I would visit to buy all my food and other necessities. Lots of tears were shed and lots of final laughs were had. I am so grateful for my two years spent in my village and all the people whose lives have touched mine and hopefully whose lives were touched by my two year stay. I had two PCVs, Raff and Brian, come stay at my house the last couple nights to help me get all my stuff together and just help keep my sanity. It was very stressful and sad and they did a fabulous job at keeping me as calm as possible and always laffing. I am forever grateful and thankful for everything they did those last few days. On my final day, MBG had their yearly celebration of the coming of the organization to Mahabo and I tied in a farewell for myself as well. There were a bunch of speeches including one by yours truly and dancing and music along with food and beverages all day long. I had 12 of my closest PCVs come down to help support me which was clearly necessary. I would go out and mingle with everyone and have to go back to the hut and cry and repeat all day. The PCVs helped with all the hugs, tears, and laffs that were provided for me all day long. One of my favorite memories from this day was one PCV bought a bunch of cookies and had myself and 2 other PCVs hand them out. The kids go WILD for these and were all grabbing for them and kept asking for more and more and more. But in the middle of handing out a package I looked up to see one of the other PCVs running from all the children that just attacked her for the cookies. I couldn’t stop laffing as she was running from one side of the compound to the other. It was so fun and so sad but exactly what I pictured and needed for closure. I left my village with the kids saying “bye bye” and felt so great about the last two years of my life spent there in that village. I will miss them dearly but no one can ever take away those memories that were formed while there and I will carry them with me in my daily life.

I was lucky enough and able to fly back with 2 other PCVs…Sara Tolliver and Aaron Acosta. We flew to Paris then to Chicago, where we all went our separate ways. Of course, to be expected, all 6 of our checked bags were left in Paris, which for me was no biggie becuz that meant less to carry and nothing to go thru customs with and I got mine the day after and Sara and Aaron ended up getting theirs as well, eventually. I had been doing ok with no crying when I left the Peace Corps house where I said good bye to fellow PCVs and made it all the way to Chicago. Well Aaron’s family came to meet him there and as soon as I saw him hug his dad, the tears were a flowing. It was very emotional to see him see his family for the first time in 2 years. We all hugged and parted for I had a gate to find. I found it and had time to spare so I went to exchange some Euros that I had acquired and stopped to get a good beer. I sat down and this woman asked me where I was coming from. She said people with their hair like mine, it was all braided, were usually coming from some far away place. I smiled and told her Madagascar. She was very kind and we talked about traveling, she herself was well traveled. It was a nice conversation and good company. Well the hour long flight from Chicago to LaCrosse went by so fast. It was some of the first sleep I had gotten out of the 21hr flight. I think I slept the whole way. Getting off the plane, I knew it was going to be emotional to see my family. I walked off the plane and had to step aside before entering the airport to take a few deep breaths. I could see my cousins and aunts holding “Welcome Home” signs and cheering and clapping. Oh man before I was even thru those doors I was crying. My sister came running over and hugged me with tears and then my mom and dad and everyone else. It still brings tears to my eyes thinking of that moment. Even though it went by fast it felt like a lifetime since I had been hugged by my family and it felt great.

Who knew but American Airlines fed me so much I couldn’t go get the nachos that I had wanted becuz I was still so full but we did make a stop and had the best bloodies in LaCrosse at Del’s bar. Don’t worry we picked up my older sister from the train station the next day and had them for lunch. I was pretty jet lagged for the first couple weeks and stressed with the holidays but it was so great to see all my family and I’ve been able to visit with many of my friends already including a great afternoon spent with my bffs Colleen and Dave who were in the area from Oregon and Texas. Mainly life has been uneventful but it’s just what I needed to readjust. I’ve kept in contact with some of the other RPCVs from my group and talked to my close PCVs that are still in Mada over the holidays. We had a conference call last night that I like to call “comfort call” with 5 other RPCVs from my group all on the line at the same time. It was great. But yes I think this may be my last entry. But thank you for being a friend and coming along for the ride. Take care!

Agenda

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar you are here.

2012-01-26 12:56:00

As we approach the “year in country” mark (holy cow), I realized I’ve never told you guys the typical day’s schedule in the “ambanivohitra/countryside”. Well, it goes a little something like this:

5:30am alarm goes off. Open windows.
5:45am stumble my way to light switch to see if this day includes electricity.
5:50am take last night’s trash to burn pit and empty “po”. (TMI, yes)
6:00am get two buckets of water from pump.
6:10am wash yesterday’s dishes.
6:30am make bed, coco brousse floors, and sweep house.
6:45am make breakfast: tea, fruit, sometimes eggs.
7:00am begrudgingly go for a run.
8:00am make self presentable. (usually consists of brushing teeth only)
8:30am off to work! Depending on the day this means keyboarding lessons, silk
federation meetings, or trips to my NGO’s office in the capital city.
12:30pm home to cook lunch: whatever vegetables haven’t gone bad from
Tuesday’s market trip.
1:30pm nap/read.
2:00pm study language, write letters, or figure out exporting in sweet potato field
of choice.
4:00pm play with village children. (usually jumping over a string)
5:00pm make dinner: tea. Watch Top Chef if electricity is cooperating.
6:00pm over think the contents of my planner.
6:30pm prepare for bed/read until calling it quits.
Repeat.

Here’s to another year.

The Rain Apocalypse

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-01-26 02:46:06

January 17, 2012

I just spent ten solid minutes trying to figure out how to spell “apocalypse.” My pride wouldn’t let me google it. I got there eventually.

{Right? That IS how you spell it…right??}

Aaaaaaanyhoo. What was I saying? Oh right…rain.

So. Much. Rain.

Today, ladies & gents, is day FIVE of this constant torrential downpour. DAY FREAKING FIVE!

My phone has been dead for two and a half days because there has not been a hint of sun to solar-charge it on. I’m going crazy. This blog entry is being typed out on my iPod, which has approximately 10% battery left…but the need to talk to myself right now is very, very urgent. Is this what happens before you go crazy??

Is this what Tom Hanks felt like in Castaway when he started talking to Wilson, his volleyball BFF???

It is not only rainy season here in Madagascar, but cyclone season. This is my very first cyclone - it’s being called “Tropical Depression Chanda.” Wait, does this mean it’s not a full-blown cyclone yet? ANYWAY! Still a constant downpour that never lets up. No one wants to do any work, they just sit in their house and watch the rain.

Which is what I do. Which is why I’m going crazy.

{Author’s note on January 26th: second cyclone has hit the Mozambique Channel - Funso, is what they’re calling this one - mmmmmooooorrrrrrreeeeee rain. Joy.}

The one good thing about all this rain is that I have a few rain catch pipes outside my house, so I just stick my water bucket underneath & voila! I don’t have to make my daily trip to the village well!

One bad thing is that my laundry never quite gets dry. It’s all just…kind of damp.

Another good thing is that I can sing to my music at the top of my lungs inside my house, and no one knows, because the rain is pounding down so hard outside!

Another bad thing is that I’m very worried my kabone is going to overflow. I think this is actually my number one worry right now. Maybe, possibly, most definitely too much information for you, but: I know the “waste matter level” in there is rising based off of the fall time of my pee. There. I said it. Get over it. I talk about pee/poop at least once a day over here. The important thing to talk away from this is that MY KABONE MIGHT OVERFLOW.

Okay. That’s it for now I guess.

Hey, guess what? It’s still raining.

Until next time,

Time Warp

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-01-26 01:20:51

January 12, 2012

Being in the Peace Corps is almost like being caught in a time warp. Or a time freeze, I suppose.

I’ve lived the last ten months of 2011 still stuck in 2010.

With many things, but in particular with music. Case in point: I still think “Teach Me How To Dougie” is the hip thing in all the clubs. And yes, I just used the phrase “the hip thing.”

IS K$SHA EVEN COOL ANYMORE???

I just spent the last few hours going through iTunes “Top Charts” list and YouTube’s Music page to find new music to download. To stay current. To stay hip.

At 23 years old I am worried about staying hip.

I won’t even MENTION how 2010 my clothes are. But the point of my clothes at this point in my life is not to look cute, but to cover all necessary parts of my body that need to be covered. Only when I get back to the States, will I add the necessity to be “cute” to the reason for my clothes.

Anyway. Back to the music thing. Now that it’s already 2012, I suppose I most definitely need to keep on top of this current music thing. Or else when I come home, there’s going to be one hell of a rude awakening when I turn on a radio.

I have a Dropbox account. Y’all can send music to my Dropbox. And should!! Just shoot me a message here on Tumblr if you want my Dropbox info!

[My dear, dear friend Katie sent me some Christmas music a little while back. It was a little bit of a Glee Christmas this past year. :)]

Until next time!

Memories

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-01-26 02:09:13

January 14, 2012

Strange, random things can trigger deja vu for me. Well, not deja vu…I never get that feeling, strangely enough. (I know, right?!) But certain things trigger memories for me, at the weirdest times.

And today, for instance, I’m faced with a flood of memories of nights out at ASU:

Walking through the parking garage on Mill Avenue with my girls.

Fawning over clothes at Urban Outfitters, but never buying anything because we were always broke.

Eating pizza at UNOs.

Fro-yo at Mojo at the north end of Mill Ave, right next to the light rail stop and across from the old mill.

Rula Bula.

Reading magazines at the corner Borders for hours and hours.

You see, for me and my friends, Mill Avenue was the place to be. Monday through Sunday. Where we had the most fun. Got into the most trouble. Got, quite possibly, the most inebriated any of us have ever been.

(Just kidding Mom & Dad, I have never imbibed in alcoholic beverages of extraordinary proportions ever…never ever.)

It’s where a lot of my memories happened during those years before Peace Corps.

And today, walking down the center of my village, with different groups of women sitting around gossiping, laughing, yanking kids out of the way of oncoming cars…I was reminded of some of the best years of my life.

So to Madeline, Jackie, Maris, Heather, Kim, Susan, Liz, Katie, Olivia, Rachel, Lindsey, Maxine and ALL my girls back home…head out to Mill Ave and get in to some trouble for me, will you?

{photo credit: Tara Prindiville…this documents the crew after a certain girl got us kicked out of a certain club…and this description can describe many, maaaaany different nights out muahaha!}

Until next time!

Sometimes I run out of books to read. So I play Solitaire. By...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-01-25 23:25:24

Sometimes I run out of books to read. So I play Solitaire. By myself at night by candlelight.

Sometimes Solitaire gets boring. And my iPod also happens to be dead. And I’m not tired yet. So I build card towers. By myself at night by candlelight.

Sometimes card towers fall down. And I realize I don’t have the patience to build card towers. So I lay my chin on the table & stare into space for about an hour, until I get tired. By myself at night by candlelight.

Oh, the nightlife of a Peace Corps volunteer!

I want cream cheese wontons from Panda Express. I want bacon bit...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Out of Africa

2012-01-25 22:25:30

I want cream cheese wontons from Panda Express.

I want bacon bit cheesy fries with ranch from Outback Steakhouse.

I want a cheesy gordita crunch from Taco Bell.

And I want unlimited salad & breadsticks from Olive Garden.

RIGHT NOW. IN MY STOMACH.

(And yes. I DO realize that 3 of those 4 food items have “cheese” or “cheesy” in the title.)

(Second side note: there’s more food I’m craving. Much, much more. But I picked my top four at the moment. Didn’t want to scare you all off with a big long food list.)

Rice

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Peace Corps - Madagascar

2012-01-24 09:00:41

It didn’t rain enough in November; people didn’t plant rice. It didn’t rain enough in December; only a few people could plant rice. So, when the torrential downpours came they were a blessing at first. However, when the river started to rise, then flooded rice fields, surrounded my house with a six inch deep [...]

Like Snickers, Guaranteed to Satisfy

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar boribory ny tany

2012-01-23 13:23:00

One night, after a particularly unsatisfying meal of beans and rice, feeling a little bored and a little hungry, I texted my friend Katie B. and asked, “So, tell me, what is it like to eat a chicken biscuit?”

I should take a moment to point out that Katie is slightly obsessed with Chick-Fil-A’s chicken biscuits. She has talked about them enough that, even though I have never eaten one, I too am now slightly obsessed.* I get intense cravings for them. “How much would you pay for a chicken biscuit right now” is a common game, and I regularly offer up hundreds of dollars. I have a Chick-Fil-A business card hanging on my wall and I have never even entered one of their very fine (I'm sure...) establishments.

And so on that fateful, boring, hunger-filled night, I asked Katie what I thought was an innocuous, albeit silly, question. The response I got was neither innocuous nor silly (um, maybe a little silly):

“Order chicken biscuit (that’ll be $1.99). Even though it is breakfast, you should probably get a coke with it. Ideal combination of flavors. Unwrap biscuit from tin foil. Pause to wallow in the delicious aroma. Observe the golden flakiness of the biscuit. See how the succulent, deep-fried chicken patty peeks around the edges. Take an anticipatory sip of Coke. Praise Gawd. Take your first bite. A big bite. Feel the biscuit crumble, buttery, and the chicken, salty. They combine, perfect notes of flavor playing on your palette. The salt from the tears of joy you are spontaneously weeping add to reach a perfect heart-stopping sodium level. At the center of the biscuit, the ratio of crunchiness, softness, and juiciness becomes overwhelming. You pass out.

After you are revived (someone threw a coke on your face), you complete your chicken biscuit voyage. You say, Katie, you were right, I could never eat just one. You order another. You notice they sell hash browns. You order one of those too. The hash browns change everything. Your second chicken biscuit, hot on the heels of the first, is even better. You understand why Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays. That biscuit made you believe in God.”

Needless to say, I went to bed a little bit hungrier, and even more unsatisfied with eating beans and rice day after day.

*When I first wrote this blog, I had never tried a chicken biscuit. Upon my return to America, I made my way to a Chick-Fil-A and enjoyed my first one. It was even better than Katie had made it out to be.

Keep on Waiting on the World to Change

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar boribory ny tany

2012-01-23 13:27:00

Sitting on the side of the road, waiting for a passing taxi-brousse* to grace me with a seat, or at least a fraction of one, I started to think about...waiting. That morning alone I had already lost two unrecoverable hours of my youth baking in the hot sun waiting for a passing car, and it could be as many more until I even saw a brousse, let alone one heading in the right direction. How many combined hours had I spent this way? How many days of my life had slipped away in a taxi-brousse station, or on the side of the road, watching as cars passed me by, buses filled up with a seemingly impossible number of passengers, and chickens, mattresses, suitcases, and bikes were loaded onto the top? As I started to do the math, I realized that this was not even counting the number of uncomfortable hours I had racked up actually sitting in a taxi-brousse, traveling to and from nearby villages and distant cities. My thoughts drifted…

How much time had I spent waiting in general? Waiting for students to show up to a class I was teaching, waiting for the restaurant to finally bring my food (“What, did they have to kill the cow tonight?”), waiting for a village official to get back to me about approval for a project, or waiting for the postman to tell me that a package I had been expecting for months had finally arrived.

And then I looked around me, and for the first time saw what should have been obvious months earlier—Madagascar is a country in a near constant state of waiting. Next to me on the side of the road were other people squinting, looking up and down the road in anticipation of the long-awaited arrival of a car, to pick them up, drop off relatives, bring the mail, or just provide a few brief moments of distraction in an otherwise fairly dull village. Like these people, who almost seemed to enjoy sitting around doing nothing, I had become so used to waiting that I had stopped noticing it. It no longer seemed like a burden to sit for three hours waiting for a brousse to drive by so I could hand them a letter, addressed “Vazaha, Maromandia” (“White person, Town south of me”…it got there, eventually). Of course it would take months for a package to get to Ambanja from America; why would it be any other way? When will the taxi-brousse finally leave? When it is full, duh.

In some ways, I think Americans could learn a lot from the Malagasy outlook on waiting. We tend to view idleness with an attitude that borders on compulsion towards business and productivity. Time spent waiting is time wasted. A ten minute wait for the bus is spent getting work done on a smart phone; a flight delayed by an hour is met with an angry outcry by passengers; food can be ordered and delivered in minutes, all without the onerous delay of parking and getting out of a car.

But, as I have learned in Madagascar, not all idleness is necessarily negative, and the ability to wait patiently can be a remarkably advantageous trait. The time spent waiting for my food in a restaurant makes me enjoy my food more (I may not want them to actually need to kill the cow when I order my steak, but do I really want my food pre-made and churned out in seconds?). Time spent waiting for brousses is spent getting to know the people at the brousse station, the vendors on the side of the road, or fellow travelers. Time spent waiting at the pump for buckets to fill with water is time spent bonding with the women in town, fostering a sense of community. Time spent waiting for village officials to help with projects is time spent wrinkling out the flaws in what appeared to be a perfect plan. The lack of the constant, stressful urgency to be accomplishing something or getting somewhere is profoundly refreshing and, ultimately, rewarding. I am proud of my newfound ability to wait patiently like a Malagasy person, to find contentment passing the time doing absolutely nothing. Scratch that: it is not time spent doing nothing. It is time spent waiting, which is an entirely different thing.

However, in other ways, this waiting that often seems to define life in Madagascar is perhaps less of a positive attribute than it is a manifestation of a certain passiveness that permeates the culture; a passiveness that is reflected, arguably, in the country’s rampant underdevelopment. This is not to say that Malagasy people are lazy, or unmotivated. Certainly, there are many Malagasy people, some of whom I have the pleasure of working with in Peace Corps and in my village, who have taken their country’s development into their own hands, who are not passively waiting for development to happen but are working hard to realize it every day. But, most Malagasy people, it often seems, have settled into an apparently indifferent limbo. And they wait.

People don’t just spend hours waiting for a taxi-brousse, they spend years, even decades, waiting for someone else to come along and build a much-needed road. They don’t just wait for food at a restaurant, they wait to get through the trying hungry season during which families must cut back drastically on caloric intake; they wait for government subsidies to kick into effect so that they can afford rice. They don’t just wait a few weeks for village officials to get back to them about projects, they wait for years for the government to follow through on its promises to build schools, power plants, and wells. And, like me on the side of the road waiting for a brousse, they have stopped noticing that perhaps they have been waiting too long.

While to an outsider, watching as Madagascar continues to fail to develop, this passiveness may seem inexcusable, after living here for over a year, it is certainly hard to blame people for this attitude. Most Malagasy people, even decades after decolonization, continue to find themselves in a position of relative powerlessness, without an outlet through which to effect changes they want to see or even express an opinion about what path the country should be following. Foreign run NGOs come into a community, assess what they think the problems are, apply their well-intentioned but often misguided solutions, ask people to thank them, and then abandon the community to fend for itself yet again. The government isn’t much better: it is either some abstract, distant entity that has little or nothing to do with a villager’s daily life (once, when I asked a group of my friends in my village who the president of Madagascar was, they readily admitted that they didn’t know), or a limited, powerless, and often corrupt group of local elites that can, in reality, accomplish very little.

And so Malagasy people keep waiting. Where does this leave them? Well, probably next to me, on the side of the road somewhere, patiently waiting for a brousse to pick them up and take them where they want to go. I guess we’ll all get where we want to be sooner or later, and at least in the meanwhile, we’ll have a good time waiting.

*A taxi-brousse is the main means of transportation in Madagascar. The “buses” are usually old vans that travel from town to town, or take longer, often overnight trips, from city to city. On local brousses, people are sometimes squeezed five or even six to a row, with plenty of extra children, chickens, and random baskets thrown in for good measure.

A little behind--post from Dec

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Nicki in Madagascar

2012-01-23 06:54:00

It’s been a hard couple months in some ways. I had this idea in my head that when I returned from America at the end of Oct., I would have 2 full months to finish up work, see friends, and prepare to transition to, yet another, completely different life. One with normal workday hours, in an actual city, at an office, with (gasp!) no 3 hour siesta in the middle of the day.

And while I’ve had those 2 months (well almost) they were nothing like I expected. I have been on the go essentially since I returned, with VAC, a training at Mantasoa, a conference in Tana, trips out of town to help with projects and a couple last minute necessary trips for my PCVL duties; I’ve hardly spent any time in Diego at all. When I have been in town, the only real time I’ve found to spend at PSI has been when the power cuts out, my computer dies and I literally cannot continue working.

With all the last minute changes, and the very large change looming ahead, I had been feeling a little bit overwhelmed with things. At some point I realized that most of my support network for the last two years, had decided to end their service (like normal volunteers) and would, in fact, be leaving the country (despite my repeated attempts to get them to live in my spare room). And the ones who would remain would not be as accessible to me as they currently are. I got a bit emotional about it. I may have even cried.

And then I found myself in Anketrakabe with Kelly, talking at night while listening to her town practice their Christmas songs (clearly they don’t know the day after Thanksgiving rule). We got to talking about how unimaginable it would be to have a life where practicing Christmas songs is an event significant enough in your life every year that you would start in November, staying up into midnight, in the dark, because of the excitement of it.

And it was at this moment that I made the switch. I realized how grateful I am for change in my life. (and this was my ‘thankful’ comment for thanksgiving dinner) It really is amazing to have had a life where I am constantly being challenged by dramatic change. And not to belittle life in Anketrakabe, but I am so glad that my world is so much larger than that. And perhaps more importantly, even more than being grateful for change, I am grateful for how hard making the change is. I have had amazing people become a part of my life over the course of the last 2 years of Peace Corps and here in Diego I have become especially tamana, and have found very fulfilling relationships. The fact that I am so reluctant and sad to leave them is testament to that.

The northern crew on New years eve. Going to miss this bunch!

ZAHATRA is their Raft - help keep my neighbors afloat

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Teena's Travel to Madagascar

2012-01-22 08:48:00

My Peace Corps Partnership Project has finally been posted.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=684-125

ZAHATRA is a local non-governmental organization operating in Madagascar, a nation that suffers from some of the highest rates of poverty and childhood malnutrition in the world. ZAHATRA means "raft" in Malagasy, and the metaphor is intentional: these families are waiting to cross the river to a better life, they just don't have any way to get there, ZAHATRA is their raft.

ZAHATRA's mission is to ensure that all children have the right to food, education, health and the opportunity for a better life. With support from local government and churches, ZAHATRA's dedicated Malagasy volunteers provide food and school supplies to vulnerable children and offer vocational training and social support to their parents or guardians.

20 children and their families are currently supported by ZAHATRA and are fed in the small home of the director. However there are many more families who are unable to adequately feed their children or send them to school. The organization is unable to assist other families due to a lack of space.

ZAHATRA plans to construct a center equipped with proper dining and lavatory facilities which will allow it to expand its services to 30 children and their families. This crucial intervention will not only restore the health of the children and give them the education they need to break the cycle of poverty, it will restore the dignity of their guardians by providing them with the vocational training, skills and materials they need to earn a living and provide for their children.

Please help this non-profit in my town build this community center.

To make an online tax deductible donation to this project, copy and paste this web address into a new browser

(https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=684-125)

Need a Little Time to Wake Up

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar And A Time To Every Purpose

2012-01-20 18:56:00

Running yesterday my Ipod shuffled "Morning Glory" by Oasis. The opening verse into the chorus was spot on, "Tomorrow never knows what it doesn't know too soon, Need a little time to wake up...Need a little time to rest your mind, You know you should so I guess you might as well...".

Why yes, 27 months please.

One of the most appealing aspects to Peace Corps service for me, among the many, is the way in which it will change me. Every hardship I've incurred to this point in life has shaped me dramatically for the better. I feel like this season will "wake me up" in a lot of ways - to the reality of life I preach to others but have yet to live myself. So often we seek but don't anticipate the way in which actually finding will affect us. The reality is in approximately 38 days, I'll be on my way to living in another country - not vacationing BUT living. I will be supported by people I've never met instead of family and friends. I feel like I'm preparing for a massive camping adventure but don't actually know the campsite with two bags full of random items - from duct tape to a bottle opener to solar flashlights to a hammock to loads of music/movies to vintage owls (my flock brings me joy :).

But the best things in life are always bittersweet. There is no reward to be had in taking the comfortable path so I suppose I'll take the path 9,676 miles away.

two errands.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar sojourn.

2012-01-19 11:59:00

This morning, I had two errands to run in my banking town of Diego. Such small errands that, if I lived in the United States, would not even require me to leave my home, or if so, would be rather painless: pick up a package at the post office (these are usually delivered right to your door in the U.S!), and buy a plane ticket (normally this can be done on-line).

I set out as early as possible to do these two simple errands since the heat and humidity these days steadily climbs and becomes unbearable by 10 o'clock in the morning. Unfortunately the post office and Air Madagascar don't open until 8:30.

First stop, the post office. But please, don't picture a post office. Picture in your mind instead, a dilapidated, abandoned building, complete with broken glass doors, crumbling concrete steps, empty office stalls filled with broken machinery, computer monitors from the early age of computers so covered in dust they look like an artifacts, stacks of phone directories from the 1980's, busted brooms and all manner of boxes, piles of yellowed paper and trash blown into corners. This is where I go to retrieve my packages... where one solitary man sits behind a wooden desk day after day, writing up dozens of package slips by hand in leather-bound books that look straight out of the19th century. Each slip must, of course, be stamped with several official stamps in order for every transaction to be complete.

But I digress. Already pouring with sweat in the stuffy building, I hurriedly give the man my package slip, wondering why it costs an astonishing 10,000 Ariary less than usual. He looks at me sheepishly as he turns the corner to retrieve the package; I sense something is wrong. Normally he will pull out an ancient set of keys that opens a dusty storage room; this time he simply picks up what I think is a large envelope on his desk. As he comes around the corner I see that what looks to be an envelope was once a good-sized cardboard box, now squished (perhaps under the wheels of a truck?) and bundled together with twine. One corner is open, and the whole box is soggy and smelling of decay. This is the package I've been waiting two months for.

I can't help but instantly show my frustration, by swearing (in English) under my breath. He starts rattling off some story about a problem with the truck, and rain, and bad roads, and in response, trying not to be overly confrontational, I don't look him in the eye. I understand most of what he says; his Malagasy is a dialect with which I'm not too familiar. He suggests if I would rather come back in the afternoon, I can file a formal complaint. (This really is just a formality, nothing would come out of it other than losing several more pints of sweat and sitting for several more hours in a stuffy office building.) I say no thank you, I'll take what's left of the package now. He tells me not to be mad at him, he didn't ruin the package. I know this, but still, the sweat, the heat, the two years of dealing with nothing that works in Madagascar... this one moment is just the straw that broke the already-broken-long-ago camel's back.

I pay the money with crumpled, dirty bills and move on to my second errand of the day, which holds much more promise of going smoothly; when I'd gone to the Air Madagascar office earlier in the week, there was actually a waiting area with comfortable chairs, fans that worked (though the electricity was out in half the office), and fairly competent staff who spoke an comprehensible mixture of French, Malagasy and a few English words.

The office is a good distance from the post so by the time I arrive I am once again dripping with sweat. Much to my delight, there is no wait! I make my way to the pleasant woman I'd dealt with on Monday. After securing the reservation (all the while fanning myself with a piece of plastic), we go together to the payment desk, which is where the trouble begins. My credit card won't process through their fairly-modern looking machine. She tries again, and again, and again. Several other workers gather around, trying the card. "Do you have another card?" they ask. No. Of course not.

We sit back down at the desk and she looks at me impassively. "Madame? Can I help you?" she asks, dismissing me and looking around for the next customer. I'm kinda -okay, really- pissed off. She tells me I'll have to go to the bank to get cash, then come back. Alright, fine. It's no one's fault, it's just life in Madagascar. Out in the street, back in the sun, I storm off to the closest ATM. As I approach the door, the guard stops me, calling out in Malagasy, "It's not working! You'll have to go downtown." Of course.

I get the fat stack of Ariary, return to the office and finally make the reservation with a new clerk, who is actually a 60-someodd year old man, who is in training and possibly discovering computers for the first time. He politely asks, "Would you like to pay now or at the airport?" Haha! I almost laugh. This whole time, I discover, I didn't even need to pay at the time of the reservation. I could have paid on the day of the flight, at the airport. Sigh.

I need a beer.

Practice What You Preach: Rice Edition

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You...

2012-01-18 21:48:00

Sure, best management practices sound great in theory, but do they work in reality? Often times, experts preach certain techniques or methods without any first-hand knowledge of their success rates. Well over the next few months, two experts from the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI) want to change that. They have embarked on the IRRI Agronomy Challenge, an attempt by two experts to grow a high-yielding rice crop themselves at the IRRI research center in the Philippines. Specifically, they are aiming for a 7 ton yield. Their approach:

We have chosen a single field of 0.25 ha size (25 x 100 m), which is quite typical for Asian rice farming. The soil is a deep, heavy clay. The location is in the humid tropics. In the dry season rice needs to be grown with irrigation.
We will obtain all information on recommended Best Management Practices (BMPs) from publicly available IRRI sources, particularly the Rice Knowledge Bank. We will do most field operations ourselves, to experience on the ground what works and what doesn’t. We’ll adjust as we go, just as a farmer would do while learning.
We will explain and document what we’re doing and we’ll share our experiences with you.

One of the experts, Achim Dobermann, described his motivation to take on this challenge as follows: "As a scientist and research leader I have been involved in rice research for 25 years, in many countries. My own research background is in soil science and agronomy, areas in which I have published numerous scientific articles and also a few books. But there is something that I keep wondering about: why is it that many of the research findings and technologies developed by scientists don’t seem to be used by rice farmers?"

This sort of practice, and the accompanying transparency in the results (the two are blogging weekly and recording short youtube videos at each stage of the crop's progression), is very refreshing. Granted, they are using some heavy machinery, so it is not identical to the implementation of rural farmers. But it is a step in the right direction, and hopefully other experts will work to implement their techniques before propagating them! You can follow along at the blog here to see if they succeed or fail!

Check Out This Agricultural Mobile Data Collection Project

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Hurry Boy, It's Waiting There For You...

2012-01-18 04:17:00

Here is a post I wrote for Columbia SIPA's New Media Task Force blog, focusing on the work of Eric Couper, the ICT and Agriculture Coordinator for the Africa Soil Information Service, leading an ICT4Ag Pilot Survey. His survey was conducted with Android devices running Open Data Kit. Click here for the full article.

Preparations

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar From Memphis to Madagascar

2012-01-17 21:35:00

I've scheduled my appointment to get the yellow fever vaccine (next Thursday) so that I can have the medical hold taken off of my PC account. That's supposed to be done 4 weeks before departing the US so that'll easily be within that time frame.

For all you other Madagascar folk who will be reporting for staging next month, we're at 41 days (!) till we go to wherever our staging site is. Anyone received that info yet?

It's been interesting letting people know that I'm leaving and where I'm going. The questions people ask are amusing. Is Madagascar like the movie they made for kids with lions and penguins and zebras and stuff? Everyone speaks English there, right? So where exactly on the West Coast of Africa is Madagascar? Why are they MAD AT NASCAR?! (being from North Carolina, that's my personal favorite)

Though I've answered those questions a thousand times, I've gotten good at explaining the answers without sounding like I've answered them a hundred times. One of the questions that I've had a more difficult time answering is the "What EXACTLY will you be doing for 2 years?". A simple "I don't EXACTLY know" doesn't satisfy people's curiosity about my service. But my having to explain to other people that I don't know the specifics has helped me embrace the idea that I MYSELF don't even know. It tends to go something like this: I'm in the environmental program as an "Agriculture and Forestry Extension Advisor" which means I can teach about conservation, help to maybe develop ecotourism, work with farmers in the rice fields (I know nothing about growing rice but I'm willing to learn). I usually end the explanation with some form of "I'll letcha know in 2 years what EXACTLY I did". To me though, as the PC and other volunteers on PC Journals have said, it's useless to have some kind of grandiose idea of what you're going to do in service. It seems that the first 8 months or so are used more as cultural integration and for building relationships and trust with one's community, rather than diving headfirst into a million different projects. One of the things I constantly remind myself of is that this is not the Environment Corps, the Agriculture Corps, the Educations Corps, the Development Corps, or even the Health Corps. Yes, all of those things fall under the Peace Corps, but I think they're more of a means to an end. It's the "Peace" Corps for a reason. Not necessarily the peace we think of when we would like people to stop blowing each other to hell around the world (Peace Corps isn't really in countries prone to daily warfare). But the peace (call it respect, understanding, love) that develops between someone and another person or group of people who are so VERY different. THAT is one thing I can tell people I want to EXACTLY try to experience while in Madagascar.

I don't know who all's flipping through these Madagascar blogs. But if you're currently serving in Madagascar with PC or you're an RPCV from there, feel free to throw me some words of wisdom from your experiences. I'd love to hear from you and to learn as much as I can before I leave.

Madagascar: "Is that some kind of hybrid vehicle?"

Rice is life. Life is rice.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Madagascar Madagascar

2012-01-17 14:50:00

Rice. It’s what’s for dinner. And lunch. And breakfast. Everyday.

If you don’t have enough money, you might not eat rice 3 times a day, and that is not good. It varies from region to region, with some eating other root crops more often, but rice is the Malagasy “white food,” and in my area people like to eat it for all meals. It is not an easy concept to convey that Americans eat a different food for every meal, and there is no single base for all meals, or no “white food”. Sometimes they will alternate with corn or boiled cassava root for lunch; it depends on the kind of work they are doing.

Rice is the main dish, and the side dish is called a loaka. The ratio of rice-to-loaka is the reverse of what you might see in the US. A few spoonfuls of loakais sufficient for a heaping plate of rice. And I mean HEAPING; enough rice for our whole family at home might be enough for two people here, maybe one if they have been working hard. And my neighbors are always working hard.

SRI

SRI (System de RizicultureIntensif in French) is a new technique that I’m trying with my neighbors. It was developed in the 1980s here in Madagascar, and has taken off in a lot of other rice-producing countries, but has yet to be widely adopted here where it started. It does not require different seeds or other inputs. Instead, it changes the way that you plant and maintain the rice. The yields can be exponentially greater for the same amount of land AND less rice is used to plant and therefore more can be eaten!There are a lot of NGOs working with it, and Peace Corps also tries to work with it a lot.

The base idea is this: transplant young seedlings (8-10 days only) one-by-one in a grid pattern and with enough space for them to grow well; weed the rice often (the grid pattern allows for using a push-weeder); keep little-to-no water for the majority of the growing period to allow enough air to get to the roots.

Traditionally it goes like this: transplant seedlings after a month or two (30-60 days!) in clumps of 3 or more; transplant them fairly close and without a pattern; keep water on the field at all times; weed occasionally.

There are a lot of advantages to the SRI method, but it is scary to change things when their ancestors have done it a different way for the last 2000 years, and the initial labor is higher. The labor should exponentially pay off in the long-term, but for planning the here-and-now, it seems like an awful lot of work. To compound that, when learning a new method, things take longer until you get the hang of it so it seems like double the work.

I’m really optimistic about this method because I think it makes sense for the growth of the plant, but it’s hard to put theory to practice. People in my area have expressed interest in it, but it’s also hard to convert that enthusiasm into time, fields, and labor set aside to actually do it.

So far I have worked with one family to plant about 800m² of SRI. It’s going, but there were some hiccups so it’s not as spectacular as I had hoped. Luckily they are very enterprising and not easily discouraged, so they say that they are already pleased with the results and think that next year it will be even better. Hooray for them!

There are two other families that will be transplanting within the next week. Their fields are already muddied (hoed, weeded, and trampled into the right consistency of mud) and the rice has been sowed in the seedbed. I’m hopeful for these next two fields, since we have already learned a few lessons from the first batch.

These are all close neighbors, and I think for this year that will have to be enough, and next year hopefully the results from these fields combined with showing the SRI films a few more times will make it easier for me to work with people in other villages in my area.