First week of a new place is always hard.

Well I have officially moved in and begun the process of exploration and making friends. My bitter thoughts of lost accomplishments in my last community have started to fade as I am slowly making myself known in my community. It’s a daily process of walking to market, meeting new people and slowly dispelling the stories concerning the new white person in the neighborhood. The loneliness is a daily struggle that gets easier and easier as I refuse to allow myself to sink into a morose state of mind which is all to easy in an entirely new place.
These days are full of organizing, reorganizing, laundry and planning. Lots and lots of planning. House planning, furniture planning at the carpenter, food planning ( usually involving me staring at my small food section in my kitchen and then creating something fantastically simple) and program planning. I am to have a radio show twice a week teaching the local area English over a radio program, as well as a mandatory English club for the children at my school, as well as normal classes and an English class for teachers. I am also hoping to work with the other 3 English teachers directly throughout the school year with any grammar questions, methods for teaching new concepts etc. My English club will sing, watch films, hopefully dance, ( wouldn’t it be fun to teach a bunch of kids to salsa or swing???!!!!) and put on theatrics. it’s a very exiting time, although it will mean a lot of work I am excited to see how it goes.
My days consist of a small routine, although it will change soon with the school year beginning on the 11th of October. I wake up in the morning to the darkness of my room and the sound of ox carts on the street below my house. I wait a little, usually mentally committing myself to the day and tackling the feelings of wanting to continue sleeping in order to avoid what I most surely have to do. I roll out of bed and force myself to do a ten minute yoga routine I have on my computer which I pilfered from another volunteer. We love our workout dvd’s here. I don’t like the routine very much but it does its job. It also makes me realize I need to sweep y floor which I mentally commit myself to do later. I slip on my sandals ( called Scooby doo’s here (no joke)) and head into the kitchen, usually warily eyeing the dish from the night before and then staring at my small pantry. Breakfast may consist of oatmeal, peanut butter and bananas (I’m absolutely addicted although I limit myself to one HUGE spoonful of peanut butter a day after I ate a small can in two and cant replenish my stock until I go in to my banking town an hour down the road once a month), tea with sweetened condensed milk ( a big favorite around here) or eggs if I have truly planned ahead. Without Chance to eat in my house cooking has become slightly boring and I am having to retrain myself to cooking for one again. After breakfast I stare at my room for a little bit and put on music to make myself move and do chores. The first four days in this new town was all laundry…after a month I had accumulated quite a lot. These days there is not much left. A small move, a small motion to organize. Doing the dishes, sweeping the floor, reminding myself to buy something here and there. Thinking of plans, thinking of all the other things I should be doing, thinking of the lesson plans I have to write, mentally writing the lesson plans, looking up a Malagasy word I didn’t recognize the day before ( today’s words are Mangarona - to snatch with the hand and Mandromboka- to grab), staring at my bookshelf deciding if I want to read a new book or re-read an old favorite, wondering when friends or parents will call, picking up my phone to check my credit, re-asking myself if I do want a cat or dog, thinking of my next travel plan and the things I will have to buy when in Antsirabe ( my large banking town down the road with all the good stuff) then preparing to go to town. I go to the market around mid-morning… each day it gets easier to go as going to the market is far more than just an outing. It is people staring, asking questions, asking each other questions not truly ready to believe that I can speak their language, asking for prices, trying to say a friendly hello to the same ladies every day and each day being rewarded with a little bit more of a conversation beyond “what do you want to buy?”, and of course having to ward off at least one man with either too much liquor or too much testosterone…which ever comes first. After market I do another little workout while waiting for lunch to finish cooking, or bleaching if its fruits and veggies, or for my water to finish dripping through the purifier because I forgot the night before to fill up a new bottle. I scold myself although not for too long, after all waiting is what Madagascar is about.
A few days ago I had the chance to walk around my community and meet the local officials with my director. A few need no mention but the two that do is the Chief of the District who broke out his English the moment he met me and the Commisaire of Police who made me laugh so hard I almost cried. He had three questions of great importance that he produced with so much flair that Hollywood looked dull.
Question #1: If you fall in love will you stay? “yes”
Question #2: Do you like it here? “yes”
Question #3: Do you like pork and greens? Too which I responded a very enthusiastic yes ( its one of my favorite dishes and dangerously enough, I can cook it quite well.) that caused him in turn to break out in a wonderful raspy laugh as he jumped and slapped his knees. This shocked the hell out of me coming from a community official but the entire office broke out in a great loud peal of laughter and he settled back into his chair, lighting up a cigarette and placing a hand on his knee. His face was wonderfully wrinkled from sun and years, he still had most of his teeth and he sported his blue suit of status wonderfully well with one leg crossed over the other and my blue nationality card in his hand. I looked to my director and turned back to the Commissarie, opened my mouth and then closed it again as he handed me my papers. He gestured for me to continue what I was going to say as I fought to hold back the laughter and tears that just couldn’t stop. After a day of worrying about first impressions he was a wonderful end and I could feel the stress lifting with each wrinkle of expression that crosses his face.
“I think I love you” I said, forcing the words out through my laughter.
“No, I’m already married.” He replied with all the seriousness of a great response. He held the expression for about 5 seconds of silence as I pretended to be ashamed with the same amount of fortitude as he pretended to be serious. In laughter we left his office, and the rest of the day flew by quickly.
Coming home from my afternoon jaunts I grab and fill my two buckets at the tap in the schoolyard enjoying the strain on my arms ( sick pleasures right?) as I find a new method of smoothly and quickly walking, without spilling, back to my house. Then comes dinner time.
The genius design of my house leaves me without a light in both my kitchen and bathroom area but this is no big thing as I am thoroughly joyful to have any lights at all in my humble abode. So, I cook by candle light although some days I am too hungry to wait until dark and so finish my cooking as the last hint of light is taken from the sky. I choose my movie for the evening from my small selection, usually trying to pick the one I haven’t already seen ten times ( most of them by now fit in the 10-20 category) and sit at my table and enjoy my food, soup for the most part. Its freaking freezing (pardon the adjective) and all I want by the end of the day is something hot in my stomach. Also, due to the limited counter space soon to be fixed with the addition of a cooking table, it is far easier to hand chop veggies into a pot and add seasoning than it is to take on any large ordeal. Tonight as I am writing this I am planning eggs over potatoes. The potatoes here are delicious and I can find cheese too! And, since I am no longer in the hottest place my house acts as a refrigerator and things like jellies and cheese don’t go bad right away! Imagine that! As you look into your refrigerator today you can think of my cheering for joy in the cool temperatures of my house that my cheese will last 4 days instead of none and smile at the simple tidbits that truly make life great. Don’t for the first minute think that I envy you and your wonderful controlled environments but I definitely have an entirely new sense of appreciation for so many small things: towels that are clean, water I don’t have to count bleach drops, food I can pop into my mouth without so much as a second of forethought, any dish I want delivered to my door, sushi ( Ok that actually I am incredibly envious for and cant wait for the moment I get into the United States. I am going to eat as much raw fish as I can pack in and then go back for more- no joke) clothes that shrink in the dryer, underwear that last longer than a few months because of the rate that hand scrubbing eats fabric, smooth feet - never had them but I have apparently convinced myself that back in the states there is NO WAY my feet were this bad, and last but not least a flushing toilet. Not that I mind my new hole in the ground as it is much cleaner than my last location but seriously, the cool tile floor beneath your feet and the decorated room with its clean white sink and little soap and towels to match the color scheme. I remember these things with fondness and a wistful tilt of the head. (Just did it again.)
Oh and sauces. I found a small bottle of Worcestershire sauce at the market and splurged on it and I have cooed over that bottle lovingly for at least a week now. Now go look in your pantry. No really. The expression I could give you right now if this was a live conversation would be one of narrowed eyes, a strongly pointed finger in the direction of your nearest food storage and pursed lips threatening to smile. (Those of you who know me know exactly the face I am speaking of!)
After dinner I throw my three dishes into my plastic bin dedicated to tomorrow and heat two pots of water for my shower ( guilty pleasures), run to the hole for the last time that evening ( hopefully) start my water boiler ( another guilty pleasure) for my nightly tea and then make the worlds fastest and most inefficient shower happen. That is to say I literally throw five - ten large cups of water on my self before and after soap, telling myself Ill wash my hair tomorrow( about every three days I brave the cold for combing out the tangles) , and then, before the water cools, jump into a towel and into clothes gasping at the cold as though I am surprised, hurrying into the warmest fleeciest clothing I can find, grabbing my nightly tea and climbing under the blankets to finish the movie from earlier. (Best part of the routine because its fast and intensely satisfying in the end) I may write or read or just watch the film but either way it is the end of a day where some of the hours have actually been counted ( as in now). I tell myself that tomorrow I will begin to write my radio program, or begin/finish a new book, or start to design a border for the rooms of my house, plan the plots of my garden for when my seeds arrive or do something…different. But the things I do differently are never planned, or accounted for in the morning planning sessions, and the constancies are only things that I can create on my own. So I say goodbye for now, telling myself tomorrow I will take some pictures, or play with the ones I already have, I will organize the photos I want to print on my trip to Antsirabe or I will find a new way to hang up something that is one my floor.
Until next time!
Love-Me