Fianakaviana - Family

My village is like a big spider, with village center as the belly, and a million little surrounding towns (all within the village) dispersed on roads that spread outwards towards the mountains like each of the spider’s legs. To get to my part of town from the village center is a hilly, tiring, and often hot, 10 minute walk. Doesn’t sound like much – 10 minutes-  but it gets to you when you do it everyday and you’ve lost the interest to regularly work out. Funny, I used to be healthy… Oh well, I’ll sacrifice a little physical health for some expedited mental growth for two short years.

Anyhow, I’m really close to my neighbor’s family here. I sit for a couple hours while I charge my stuff and shoot the shit with them on a regular basis. They’re good people.

I’ve had the pleasure of celebrating baptisms, famadihanas, and partake in intimate family dinners with them. Sometimes I forget I’m American Peace Corps because sometimes I forget that these people are not in any way related to me. They remind me so much of my own Vietnamese family.

It’s strange to think that I’d have never met any of these people if it weren’t for the Peace Corps. I probably wouldn’t have ever known that such a uniquely Asian-ish African country even existed.  In that regard, my service has been incredible. I expected to come in and work but I never expected to see reflections of my parents, my grandparents, my cousins in a completely foreign place like Africa.

A little about my house: it used to be my downstairs neighbor, Rivah’s, grandparents’ house. They passed away a few years ago, and until I moved in, no one had occupied this place for years. In preparation for my arrival, Rivah and his friends cleaned it up, built me a balcony, a latrine, and a shower- all on their own dime. He also moved in downstairs with his wife and newborn, just so that I’d be safe and have a friend – I, a complete stranger. It’s worth mentioning that their old house had electricity and a television.

One night he asked to talk so I invited him into my home where we began discussing our latest project. After we were finished he said, “We’ve had a lot of aid come to Anjiro in the past and nothing happened, nothing changed. But you’re hardworking. We are so happy you are here living in my grandparents old house. They always wanted to welcome a foreigner and we appreciate you so much. I pray to god everyday that you are healthy because we love that you are trying to work hard.” He choked up a bit when he mentioned his grandparents.

It was the nicest thing anyone’s said to me. I do give myself credit for busting my ass as much as I can while I’m in village, and I’m glad it shows, but the slow progressing nature of development work itself and the fact that I haven’t done anything really made me feel like I didn’t deserve that kind of compliment.

I didn’t know what to say except “I know how hard you guys worked to get me here and I know your grandparents used to live here. This house is blessed. It’s my duty to your family. You guys sacrificed so much to get a volunteer here. But please, I haven’t done anything yet or helped in anyway, but thank you.”

Side story: Yesterday Rivah’s mom stopped by my house after attending a funeral for someone who just passed away on Saturday in the area of the village that I live in. She’s never been inside my home since I’ve arrived due to the fact that she’s older (about 60 years old) and she lives relatively far. 

So shes walking around my house, and I’m watching her face as observes my set up. She used to probably visit all the time to see her parents when they were alive... I was thinking to myself, damn she must be thinking it must be weird to have some random young dude living here now.

Anyhow, she had this look of familial pride and happiness as she glanced at my kitchen and my windows- like she was happy with what I’ve done with it, like she was happy with me.

She didn’t go into my room, so I asked her to. I wanted to show her pictures of my family on the wall.

Her eyes went from pic to pic, from my sister, to my cousins.... 

Finally she asked to see a picture of my mom so I showed her and she smiled. Right after excusing hersef, she said quietly,

“Your family is wonderful.”

Famadihana - Turning of the Bones

In most regions of Madagascar, around September, the whole country participates in traditional ceremonies called "Famadihana". This literally means, "Turning of the Bones". The concept of the afterlife and respect for one's family after death is extremely sacred. I was fortunate enough to see a few of these ceremonies this month.

If you watch any documentary on Madagascar, the traditional ceremony of "famadihana" is world renowned. Every family invests a significant portion of their salary to construct a tomb for their loved ones after they've passed. In the highlands, where I live, the bodies are wrapped in a cloth after being cleaned, and tied up in a straw mat called a "tsiy". I'm probably butchering the spelling of the word for the mats, but that's how they're pronounced. "Tsee".

The first day of the Famadihana, family from all over the country gathers to the family's village to take out the bodies of their ancestors. Family members will carry the bodies on their shoulders with a procession of traditional malagasy drumming and singing while dancing for the whole village to see. In my area of the village, on the day of the first Famadihana, my neighbors forced me to get out of my house since I was about to take a long, long nap after working a few hours on some projects. I'm glad I did.

We all sat on a hill, and watched the road as the procession of the bodies were taken to the family's homes. Coming from America, one would actually think that taking out the bodies is strange or creepy even, but I found it to be extremely moving. My neighbors told me the family would "Mampandiha" the body..."Make dance" (again forgive my spelling if its wrong". Young, old, boys, girls, men, women hoist the body up and down and sing to fast paced drumming and singing. So after the procession passed I retired to my house and passed the hell out. I found myself strangely saddened in a bittersweet kind of way.

I've heard of traditional ceremonies in New Orleans where funeral processions pass through the town and people purposely play some happy jazz and make a lot of happy noise because the focus is on the deceased's life. Made me think of this when I watched the Malagasy procession. It's a celebration of a person's life, not the fact that their life is over. Life...We're all here looking for life. We're all moving closer to our death. Every day, every second. Life must be celebrated. Celebrating only death is taking the whole of life for granted.

Forgive the cheesiness, but seeing the family's dancing with the body really touched my heart as I quietly celebrated the life of everyone I've lost. I don't know if I'd ever be able to take out the bodies of my own family members and hold it up and dance like that, but the act of making it dance just struck me as extremely symbolic and profound.

So the next day of the Famadihana is less emotional. The whole family invites the whole community to a party that lasts outdoors with dancing, food, drink, a dj, speakers where children and parents come and dance literally to 8 in the morning. I didn't quite make it to the morning...pathetically I retired at 11 at night. Another reason why they stay out all night is many of them believe there are evil witches that come out during famadihanas that try to poison or paralyze you. I've yet to meet one so I just decided to enjoy my night hike home after getting extremely lost in the rice fields and falling on my face off a cliff. Probably the most hardcore thing i've done in peace corps this whole seven months- face plant off a hill in complete darkness. Hell yeah, I am badass.

Back to the Famadihana, the last day, the third day, is when the family rewraps the bones of the deceased in new cloth and "Tsiy" and has one last dance with the bodies before saying goodbye all over again. I could tell from many of the family members that were dancing with the bodies that they were feeling the grief of saying goodbye all over again. Some of the elders reminded them that crying is forbidden. You must Be happy. Dance.You must not cry.

So they danced, and i smiled. But I saw some tears. and my throat kinda choked up. They were forcing smiles for their loved one.

I was watching this with my neighbors and the ad joint chef fokontany, who had just lost his mom two weeks before. There were tears in his eyes too. The thing is people die often here. Access to healthcare, income, education, is just not the same. It is unfair and difficult to watch. Blah blah blah you've heard me type this a million times I'll spare you the pity party.

Back to the famadihana, one of the elders asked me how I felt seeing the dead body dance and I told him it was wonderful, but a little sad to me. Im not used to seeing bodies after theyve been buried or cremated or whatever. And I don't think I'd honestly have any courage to be smiling and dancing and being happy and shit.

In any case, I couldnt help but think of Sophie, Christophe, Duong Du, Co Nam, my grandpa, my grandma, my other grandparents, my ong/ba bacs,...My moms greatest act of love to her parents was taking care of them everyday for ten years as they slowly died of alzheimers and lost all memory of ever having her. all this  shit was running through my mind and it just made me think about how right this celebration is. family is sacred. you need to remember and you need to appreciate.

The Famadihana - It's a beautiful tradition whose fundamental purpose is based on love. Shit we forget about in the states everyday. It's a much more difficult life here in Madagascar and family is sometimes all the Malagasy have. Arguably so, I truly believe it's all we really have in the states as well. Fuck the nice car or the new iphone. You think you're powerful if you have this material bullshit, but that will never replace your grandaughters warm hands holding onto yours as you close your eyes and take your last breath.

Loss has been the biggest lesson about pain and gratitude i've learned in my whole life so far.

Though I'll never have the balls to turn their bones and take their bodies out and dance with em, in my heart I'm remembering Sophie, Christophe, Ong Noi, Ba Noi, Ong Ngoai, Duong Du, Ba Co Nam, Thang, Ba Bac, Ong Bac tata Nam Long, Ong Bac Chu Tuan. Wherever you guys are, if I could, I'd be dancing and singing songs for you all.

Outtie.

Work and a Small Tangent

Almost half a year in Africa. Where does the time go. Some days seem to drag on and on then you blink a couple times and another month has come and gone. Soon I'll be having a sitemate. It's a dude and he's going to live about a fifteen minute walk away from where my house is. I got to meet him and a few of the new July trainees this last weekend. Will be great to have another American here. I've been pretty good at doing some prep work for him before his arrival. He's an education volunteer so I met and established relations with all the English teachers in the village. I also sat and taught in some of their classes so I'd have a solid network of work contacts to introduce to him. One of my neighboring volunteers, who's almost finished with his service, did this for me too before I moved to site. Before my arrival, he checked out my house, put in a good word for me throughout the village, identified possible work, etc. It was a kind gesture so I thought I'd pass the karma on.

Work
What exactly do I do here besides scratching my butt and watching TV shows every night on the computer? I have two really big projects that I'm working on that may potentially do a lot of good if I succeed or may inevitably cause a lot of disappointment if I fail. The stakes are pretty high, but I'm gangsta like that. I only have two years so I might as well go big or go home. I'll go into those projects more if they actually get anywhere...

Small projects: In my opinion, small projects include working and building capacity for individuals and families by teaching relevant skills. Every Sunday at 2:15 pm, I teach two computer classes to some of my Malagasy friends here at site. The first class is with older students, aged 19 to 35. The second class is with younger teens, about 12-14. They're basic computer literacy classes with, at most, three students per computer (which happens to be my laptop). I teach them how to turn it on, how to open a program, how to close a window, etc. except I also kick it up a notch and make them type text from books on Microsoft Word and execute formulas and sort data on Excel. I try to make the material applicable to their real life financial situations to engage them more. i.e. I made a grocery list with prices and quantity for items and made them average and sum both. My proud moment was when I got the thirteen and the twelve year olds to successfully execute a vlookup...That was awesome! High fives all around. I 'm actually adding a class with M. Parfait (the father of the two disabled children) his wife, and their friend on Thursdays at 3pm (starting tomorrow).

More small projects: I'm also acting as a financial advisor to my downstairs neighbor's parents. They farm and own an epicerie (a small grocery shop) and expressed interest a couple months ago in expanding. So I've been taking down their life and business expenses by day, week, month, etc. and showing them how to save money everyday after taking out their salaries from their shop's profit to invest in new inventory. It's cool because they trust me with really personal information (salary, bills, etc.) so I know they like me. But more importantly, I know they are potentially good people to work with and are genuinely interested in learning new skills. They stop their own grown ass children from begging me for shit and money so they are definitely trustworthy. I told them I'd be working with them for the whole two years gathering sales data and helping them reduce debt. I also plan on doing a small inventory analysis at some point to identify which products are worthwhile continuous investments and which should be tossed into the fako (sp? trash).

Potential Small Project: While I was closing up shop and gathering my things to go home today after working at the epicerie, I was approached by the director of the EPP (elementary school), a Malagasy woman about 40-50 years old. She requested I teach her more computer skills since the school has a small computer lab with one or maybe two computers. She currently teaches the young kids basic information and technology by herself and says she needs help learning more. Which is cool for me- one of the main things I wanted to do most joining the Peace Corps was teach young kids computer literacy. Looks like there is a good chance that my wish will come true on a larger scale which makes me happy. I'll have multiple computers to use and I can expand my weekly classes, or maybe tag my classes onto the normal school year. Anyhow, young kids are so much easier to work with than adults. They're quick, they're like sponges, and they're egoless. Sorry old people, but you know its true.

But: Kids come with their own set of problems. They get really attached and need attention all the frickin time. Sometimes if they don't get to hang out with me they start fighting each other, no joke. Happened today.

But: Some adults are like grown kids. I've had to be careful with who I work with because the adults are getting jealous too that I'm working with certain people and not as much with them. I notice some rivalries going on and my language skills are not developed enough to help them work it out. I've been pondering potential solutions to this and realized maybe its a good thing I can't talk to them about it. I don't need to get involved with petty personal politics. I can act like I don't notice and just be Professional Cliffdog. It's awkward though and I really don't enjoy the attention.

Back to kids: Most days, the second I wake up and open my windows, they literally stampede into my house, beg me to open the door, storm inside like little ADD popcorn kernels on crack. I have to kick them out when I want to be alone and I used to feel guilty about it, but not anymore. I was getting really burnt out trying to be 'nice' to them and the more I was 'nice' the more they pushed to get more and more and more. It got out of control and I was exhausted with all this stuff that wasn't work related at all. Had to draw the line, so now I have set times when they know I'll be able to hang out. Like when I walk my dog in the morning. They tag along and literally hang on to my arms and make me hold their hands while punching each other. Quite adorable actually, but affection is still so weird to me. Side note: This is a very affectionate culture...which sometimes makes me cringe. But I'm slowly getting used to it. Anyone who's sat in a taxi brousse will tell you that the concept of personal space in Madagascar is the opposite of the US and A's aka there is no personal space. Side note #2:  Case in point - While taking a walk yesterday, one kid literally stopped, laughed, and said, "I'm gonna poop!" and commenced to do his business. I realized how far I've come since I didn't even flinch or care. 

Well, that's it for now.

Outtie.

Aza Adino - Don't Forget

Being in the Peace Corps allows you to meet the cream of the crop in the country. Just because you are American, you get to work with government officials, extremely educated persons, and everyone who has all the decision making power in your community. Paradoxically, your neighbors are people who are extremely, or the most, marginalized in the country. My house is in a beautiful area of the village, but it is the poorest. Some days I'll look outside and see the children playing soccer and laughing and punching each other. I know them all by name now. I wonder if I will ever see them again after I leave after two years and where they will be. Will they still be here? Sitting on the dirt staring at the road, everyday, like their parents, for hours.

I was talking to the mayor this week about a project I'm working on and he just told me he was tired. He hasn't received two months salary and I just watched him rub his face in his palm for two minutes. He has the equivalent of a phD. He then looked up and asked me, "Why did you want to do this?" My answer was the stereotypical answer that I give to everyone that asks, but I really wondered what could justify my wanting to be here to him when I come from a place where most in this country only dream of. How do you answer that question? Are we truly a bunch of rich kids who want to take a two year vacation in poverty.

Ever since I graduated college until the present, I always had this strange assertion that I could never live with myself if I didn't know what living in complete poverty was like. I was such a lazy bum in college. I didn't appreciate the value of money. My tuition was paid for, I didn't have to work, and I managed to be a complete mess. I never attended class. One day I showed up and realized I had a midterm to take. I failed that class twice because I thought it sucked, frankly. The first quarter in college I never saw daylight. I slept in all day because I loved sleep and no one could tell me to go to school.

Somehow I graduated and through the generous protection of the bubble I lived in, I managed to get a job and kind of succeed. Meanwhile, I had friends who didn't have half of what I had and were so much more responsible. I always envied some of them, without them knowing, because they had so many skills that I lacked, when maybe they envied me for things I was unconsciously taking for granted.

Needless to say, this experience has showed me that if I had been the way I was in this country, I would probably not survive. Here, in Madagascar, the chances are stacked against the youth. Those who refuse to strive probably have no chance of escaping. Most of the kids use half of their parent's monthly salary for them to attend elementary school to high school every year. Tuition increases exponentially if they want to go to college and if they graduate, job outlooks are bleak.

It's been difficult for me to accept the reality of the situation. You go in wanting to do "things", but the reality is, one person cannot fix a systematic issue. At the same time, you go in with eagerness and you are faced with the reality that perhaps your help is not necessary and perhaps you are not even well liked as a foreigner.


They say Peace Corps is like living in a fishbowl. The first month I arrived I would walk down the street with stares and "oh look its the vazaha!" "Vazaha! Buy me ____!" Just yesterday I was walking home and a group of hecklers stopped me, one of them after taking a piss, yelled out "It's the Vazaha! He doesn't understand this language!"

But, on the other hand, you have completely priceless moments where you are teaching an English class and a kid gets you by surprise at how extremely, extremely intelligent he is

So I write a sentence on the chalk board "How much does an airplane ticket to America cost?" and the Malagasy English teacher asks the class to identify the subject and the verb.

This one kid raises his hand, stands up, and says that the subject is the "airplane ticket" and "cost" is the verb after about 10 other students get it wrong.

So curiously, I ask him, why is "the airplane ticket" the subject and not "America"?

He answers: Because the interrogative form, "How much" is acting on "the airplane ticket", not "America."

Honestly, I didn't even know the answer to my own question. I just asked to see what his answer was

Moments like this make this whole thing so worthwhile. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Outtie.

(Happy Birthday Pi)

Perfect

Up until the last time I wrote, I don't really remember how long ago it was, I hadn't really seen any real glimpses of poverty. Everything was still new and I still felt really disconnected from the kids in tattered clothes, the old people sitting on the side of the street barefoot selling beans, the drunk doing his usual rounds talking gibberish from the chuch to the lycee and back.

I decided to sit and watch the workers at the CSB II work one morning. A CSB II is a mini-hospital clinic that houses a doctor and a few nurses and a basic pharmacy. With that said, rural villages that actually have one are extremely fortunate. The site I live in is nestled between rolling valleys and lush mountains. Beautiful to look at, but a nightmare of a trek if you actually had to hike through while having the shits and vomiting your body weight, which is already quite unimpressive considering you don't have enough money to buy food everyday. But the people who live around my village have to do just that- climb over a mountain to talk to a doctor and buy medicine they can't afford. And that isn't mentioning your 5 month old sick infant. About 5-10 babies die each year because of the treacherous hike, which takes about an hour and a half, according to The Chief of the CSB II. But this is absolutely normal for them.

There is this dude that gives shots and vaccines at the CSB II that apologized to me in advance when I walked into his office to watch him work. Why? I said in my crappy French, because a man just died from cancer and you're going to go watch me Manao Forma at 2pm. Basically I was going to watch him embalm a man who died in the morning from cancer that spread all over his legs. He had two small operations in Moramanga and couldn't afford the ticket to Tana to get real surgical help. So I walk an hour with him to the man's home where his family is sitting looking all defeated and I stand aside and watch him inject formaldehyde in various parts of his body. When it came to the face, some of the man's brothers couldn't watch him jam the needle in both of his cheeks. He was dead, after all, so he felt nothing, assured the man.

When that was over I asked him whether he has to walk this much everyday. 2 hours hiking mountains to various sick people everyday because they are too sick or old to walk themselves. I was literally about to pass out. He said yes, everyday.

I walk back to my home after a day of seeing crying people and a dead body and realize I have another meeting with my neighbor, M. Parfait. I missed the meeting with him the day before so I didn't want to be a bastard and miss another one, even though I felt pretty tired at that point. I sit down in his house with him and his wife and he explains his situation. We had already spoke once previously because he wanted to start a business, but he explained to me his family situation this time. Suddenly, a crippled little kid that crawls around on the ground like a frog doing the breast stroke pulled himself up to me and put out his involuntarily shaking hand to shake mine hello. Apparently, his child had to have hernia surgery when he was two and some sort of accident happened where he's been paralyzed ever since (7 years). Can you imagine watching your child crawl around the ground for 7 years after being perfectly healthy until 2 years old because you are too poor to let alone feed yourself but too poor to take him to proper care. So I said hello to the kid and his eyes twinkled and smiled. His name is Ismael. His younger brother, Diary, however,  is mentally retarded and cannot sit upright. Parfait and his wife, Hanta, spend every day taking care of the kids, can't work. On his free time, Parfait works during the morning building their new house closer to the center of the village in hopes of one day getting electricity so he can work repairing DVD, VCR, and other electronics. Hanta stays at home with the kids.

On a completely unrelated tangent, I got the coolest little puppy. I named him Snoopy. He whimpered when I left it was fucking cute. I've never heard a one month old puppy whimper before. I wait about a half month until he finishes nursing then I have to buy a small chicken (Malagasy custom) and give it to the owner, my downstair's neighbors mom. The chicken so he stays alive. Check him out on the far left. He is badass.

Outtie.

From Rice Paddy to Rice Paddy: Going Full Circle

I'm almost three months in. Since the last post, I finished Pre-Service Training, sworn-in, and moved into my new house where I'll be living for the next two years.

The End of Pre-Service Training

You meet 38 other people in your stage, spend ten weeks learning Malagasy with them, share too much information about yourself and all of your bowel movements, essentially become family with the quickness, and boom it's over and everyone is scattered across this huge island and moving into the next chapter in two short days. I've never been in a similar situation where you get to know people that fast- as if bonding is required if you want to survive. Regardless, I feel I have made a boatload of lifelong friends and thats pretty neat. 

Swearing-In

We left Mantasoa and headed a couple hours north to Tana where we swore-in at the ambassador's residence. We all had to stand and take the same oath as the president and got to meet a bunch of people from various groups like USAID and RPCV's curently living in Madagascar. They also had great finger foods.

Installation

Spent a day buying essentials for the house such as Nutella, Snacks, and oh a bed and frame, a gas stove, and furniture. Not a big fan of shopping but a big fan of the two hour nap I took after.

Melodramatic Goodbyes to our Peers

One by one we saw our peers drive off into the sunset to be installed to their site. For some, this meant not seeing them again until after 5 months when we meet again for In-Service Training. There were hugs and I love you's. One girl, I won't name any names (Tara) even stuck her tear-stricken face out the window like a helpless puppy as the car drove off:

Living at Site for Two Weeks

The first week alone was refreshing and lonely all at once. I did many uncharacteristic things like polishing and waxing my wood floors and  talking to my parents and saying strange things like, "It is so good to hear your voice mom and dad." I felt odd as I mouthed these bizarre foreign words over the phone. However, my neighbors are awesome. I live upstairs in a two-story house and have a balcony which I eat breakfast on every morning. My neighbors downstairs run an epicerie and have an endless supply of tropical fruits and veggies at their fingertips.

 

I've met and talked with many small business owners and have been invited to three community events, one with Croix Rouge (Red Cross). They want to start a seller's association to generate some income. Pretty cool. I'm also going to start teaching my neighbor computer skills. I told him he must know Excel and he agrees.

But the thing I'm most proud of is the day I worked in the rice paddy with my neighbor and his dad. It made me think about my Viet ancestors who have probably done the exact same thing: cutting rice, hitting it against a rock, repeat for 5 hours. 

My philosophy: How else do you really build a relationship with a new friend whom you can barely speak to except by sharing a day of the same hard work with no reservation. It's worth noting that I could barely keep up with them - I tired pretty quickly and they did not.

While working, I had a great conversation with the dad while slapping rice bushels on rocks about grandparents who've since passed on. Though language was limited I could see it in his eyes the same kind of grief weve both shared in losing a loved one. I told him my grandma died in 2009 and my grandpa in 2004 and he just paused and looked at me with a look that was not foreign to me at all. I realized how similar the human experience is. 

Outtie.

Pre-Service Training and Top 11 Peace Corps Moments

I've been here about a month, I'll sum up the highlights so far in a list:

1. Leaving the hotel in Philadelphia at 2am to take a long bus ride in the dark to JFK to catch the plane to Johannesburg. They turned off all the lights in the bus and most of us passed out. I had my iPod on and it was really cool seeing the Manhattan skylight before embarking into the unknown.

2. Stepping off the plane into Johannesburg. We all touched the ground and were ecstatic that we were in Africa. 

3. Seeing my first sunrise over Lake Mantasoa after the first night. I took a picture which I will post when I get a chance. It was incredible, there was mist on the water and the sun rays were peering over the mountain.

4. Driving into Mantasoa for the first time about to meet my host family. The first few nights were spent at the training center, which was like a summer camp of sorts. We hadn't seen or interacted with any Malagasy people yet at that point. As they bused us into the village, we finally started seeing chickens and cows and people walking around. "Woah" it was like the pictures on the Peace Corps webpage

5. Listening to my host brothers play guitar. They're freaking geniuses. They taught themselves how to play and made a notebook of a bunch of American song lyrics, which they transcribed by ear.

6. Kids. One day I was walking to my friends house to return something and he was playing his ukulele to a about fifteen curious kids from his window. I quickly realized they copied everything I was doing to the music so then it turned into a awesomely bizarre dance session.

7. Waking up at 4am to take a taxi brousse to a neighboring village. A lot of my moments are spent listening to music inside a car staring out the window. We got to see the sun rise over rice paddies to epic slow jams like aladdin's a whole new world in french.

8. Eating pizza and a hamburger for the first time. I freaking crapped my pants. It was so good.

9. Seeing a kid play with a rock.

10. Going with my host brothers across the dirt road to pick guava, kasava, and bibasy (a tasty yellow fruit) off a tree. There's all these awesome fruits everywhere.

11. Getting on the internet for the first time in a month and realizing that it was overwhelming. Damn it's freaking draining my brain to be typing this blog right now. It was strange to sign onto Facebook, I used to be on all day.

Outtie.

Departure and Staging in Philadelphia

So my cousins helped me pack my stuff yesterday evening after I had unsuccessfully tried packing it myself all day. And by helped I mean completely packed all my stuff. Don't know what I'll do when I have to pack to go home, I'm just gonna toss all my crap and give it to the next person. Then a couple of them stayed over, I gave my mom a good night hug and said the usual, "Try not to miss me". We woke at 5am went to SFO and said our asian goodbyes. Major Hugfest & Tears in front of the security checkpoint. That was pretty tough, I'll miss them a lot. Especially my favorite little midgets. Good thing I'll see them in Spain in 2012. 

I flew into Philadelphia and arrived early around 5pm. It was weird walking around the airport. I felt like I was on vacation, then I realized no one in my family was with me and I had never been here before. Then i thought, "Awesome!" and texted my cousin and told him how that was awesome. Turns out another peace corps girl was on my same flight. She saw my peace corps luggage tag and introduced herself. And it also turns out that she lived in the Haight for a year a block away from me. Small world. So I suggested we shuttle to the hotel. From there we broke off into our own rooms. I've never speed-socialized with so many people in my life. It really puts me out of my own element. But it's really been rewarding to force myself to interact with everyone. Each person is really interesting in their own way. However, it was the best ever in the universe to finally meet people in my Guinea group. Nothing weirder to know that a stranger across the country knows what you're going through. I instantly felt like family and that was pretty cool. 

Now I'm in the hotel room again with my roommate. We're both about to pass out for a bit before officially heading off to the staging meetings that kick off at 1pm. Everyone had to wake up at 7am today to get yellow fever shots. I hear we'll get a boatload more in-country. I'm trying to force myself to blog since staging was one of those things I was really wondering about when I was applying. It caused a lot of apprehension knowing I'd be meeting all these strangers. But the reality has been pretty awesome. Strange is only so strange in your own head. Once you talk a bit to each person you can kind of connect and see what motivated made them do this.

Thanks again to family and friends. Still hasn't really hit me that I'm leaving you guys for a while so all your emotional reactions to me leaving are kind of tripping me out. Maybe I'll snap out of it once I'm in Africa...but perhaps by then it will already be time to go home. 

Next steps: Meetings at 1pm that go to the evening. From then we stay up till 2:30am take a bus to JFK and wait for our flight to the motherland of the human race. On the real though, this definitely ranks as one of the most exciting Monday mornings I've ever had. And I haven't had any coffee.

First Post Office Ever in the Universe

Outtie.

Pre-Departure Reflections and Thank You's

I leave on Sunday. A couple weeks ago I was thinking about departure and was pretty stressed out. I was breaking out, not eating, and had major acid in my stomach. I'm surprised this last week in the states all of that has, for the most part, gone away. What changed? Maybe I have resigned to the fact that I am leaving soon or maybe my mind and body is doing that tunnel-vision super Jedi focus thing that happens to people who are on the pinnacle of embarking on a life altering journey and ultimately realizing the true potential of their fantastic, aligned-by-the-stars, divine destiny of total awesomeness. I'll laugh at this sentence when I'm taking a dump in a hole a couple weeks from now. I mean I feel really focused and it just happened out of nowhere. I'm not complaining. Don't get me wrong, this last week has been emotional. I've woken up in tears and have had melodramatic goodbyes with friends and families at airports. I'm not really an expressive or affectionate person (some people say I talk like a robot) so this has been way more feelings than I'm used to. Way more... If I had it my way, I'd just leave and not say goodbye to anyone. But that'd be super rude, especially if I died. This easy-going attitude will most likely change as I leave for the airport for the final goodbye.

Helping others. I joined the Peace Corps because I believe in helping others. In my eyes, there is this glorified image of what a Peace Corps volunteer does to help others. You know the image of the starry-eyed young person walking hand-in-hand with an African child. or holding a ruler up in science class while contemplating a test tube or something. I'm American, I'm awesome, and let me educate you image. I'm approaching my service and my idea of help extremely objectively. If I have a skill you want, I'll transfer it to you. I hope to enter Malagasy communities and approach each individual as my equal or even teacher. Not view them as people who need to be saved. There is no rule that says just because someone has less money than you that they are any less than you and that you know what is good for their personal happiness. Who the hell am I? Just some random dude that's worked a bit and capitalizing on my experience to travel to an awesome place. Fact: I'll be doing all the learning. Fact#2: I'll be doing most of the changing.

Back to my friends and family before I close this entry. None of you will ever know how much I love and thank you all. I have taken these relationships for granted. I'm only human, you don't realize what you have until you are about to lose it all. I've averaged about 2 major goodbyes a day for the last week, and usually mass anythings operate like Costco. mass produced, diluted, diminishing marginal returns. But none of them have been that way for me and I've probably said goodbye to about fifteen people. I thank you so much for your support- coworkers, friends, family. Thank you so much in advance for sending me packages of ramen and beef jerky after I run out as well.

Outtie.

Guinea Progress Featured in Wall Street Journal Article

Worked for the day at my old work and my old supervisor pointed me to this article (Thanks Henry!) Not trying to bite off more than I can chew, but I have a feeling I'm gonna find a way to visit my beloved Guinea. I know Guinea is old news and you all want more Madagascar tomato frog pictures but too bad so sad this is my blog. 

Guinean President Alpha Condé took office last month vowing to review all mining deals.
(Source: Wall Street Journal)

In other news, some previous Peace Corps Guinea colleagues have departed to their new assignments. As in, they have just arrived and are living in Africa or South America now. Major wakeupsauce for me. The imminent reality that I am doing the same has definitely hit me in the last few days. I have my moments of doubt and fear, but then I just remember I'm nuts and am perfect for this kind of thing. Can't wait to go already. Almost been four months since I've been in this in-limbo state. Patience, little Grasshopper am I right.

Outtie.

(Source)

Madagascar Images and iPhones

Madagascar's Flag (Source)

Chinese settlers introduced misao to Madagascar. (Source)

tomato frogs just being tomato frogs (Source)

One of the greatest military and political leaders in Malagasy history, Chief Andrianampoinimerinandriantsimitoviaminandriampanjaka (Source)

Baobab Tree, home of the N'avi Clan. True Story (Source)

a mouse lemur, much more marketable than its lovably fugly cousin, the aye-aye lemur (Source: 1, 2)

One of Madagascar's many precious rainforests (Source)

On an unrelated note, I have purchased my first iPhone/Smartphone. Used and an old model. Word on the streets is most volunteers have some sort of reception and can actually use apps on iPhones in select locations in Madagascar. I never imagined I'd be learning how to use My-First-Smartphone just before Peace Corps service in Africa. This is what I'm using now... it sucks but I'm used to it.

Yes, mine actually says Cingular (Source)

I've been told your first iphone will change your life. This, compounded with the fact that my introverted self is moving all alone to Madagascar with a bunch of new people across an ocean, must definitely mean... more daily facebook updates in real time all the time all day all week all year every five seconds via iPhone baby!

Happy New Year to you, my dear reader.

Outtie.