The day I lost my watch

The best thing that could have happened to me!

Sept 3^rd, 2013

I didn’t even notice, as I walked under hanging branches, over fallen logs, and dodged vines along the rainforest trail, that I had lost it. The watch I had bought, only hours before leaving the US, from the DC drugstore, had found a new home amongst the dried leaf forest floor.

I spent the morning afterwards searching around my house but when I realized it was gone…my entire concept of times evaporated….and I almost felt free.

I spent the rest of the day creating a vertical garden out of 1.5 L empty plastic bottles. I become totally immersed and the children helped me throughout most of the day. Even when I got hungry, I made a quick snack and then was back at my construction. Even as the rain became a steady drizzle I continued my work; no longer pre-occupied with it being “time to start making lunch” or “only 2 hours until it’s dark, I better go on my daily stroll through the town so they know I’m interested in Malagasy life”.

It was so refreshing to not be concerned with what others may think or expect of me…which had been a discussion going on in my head for the past 3 months as I adjusted to life in Madagascar on my own. I think I am finally able to embrace my own life here, and that it does not revolve around others. Balancing work and rest but in the Malagasy lifestyle, is more and more natural with each passing day of my new life here. 

Circumcision Celebration - September 2013

Differences exist region to region – 4 hours north (in Manakara) there is a large celebration once every 7 yrs. But in my area, a family or group of families, will get together in order to pay for the Doctor to come to the town.

The first circumcision party I went to was in early September, but this was just kicking off the season! I went to the neighboring town with my Malagasy supervisor and his coworkers. We had missed the actual procedure, but the party was in full swing, lasting for 2 full days, ending on Sunday.

We greeted the president and important people of the town, and gave an envelope of money to them. This was called “atody ny akoho” or egg of a chicken. The amount dictates how much alcohol and food the hosts will provide for you. For example, today our donation of over 10,000 Ar dictated a 1.5 L bottle of rhum, bottle of beer, and bottle of Limonade (Bon Bon Anglais) with some plates of fried fish. The women beckoned me outside to dance to the blaring loud music, while the men sat in the small huts and talked and drank. The women’s excitement was let loose by the whoops and hollers that I received, and of course many wide-eyed stares.

Later this month, I attended a circumcision ceremony in my own town, 5 children were circumcised and all between the ages of 3 and 8 yrs old. Did I mention there is no anesthesia involved in the procedure?! The celebration began on a Thursday evening. A generator was brought and 3 light bulbs were strung up over the wooden frames built between a cluster of houses. I only danced a bit in the lit area, then was beckoned to join a group of women dancing in a house (when I say house I mean open floor with woven mat -no furniture- and cooking corner where ashes and a grill reside). We danced in a circle, and I greeted the leader of my town. Everyone was very faly “happy” and many extended family members where there and interested in who I was and what I did. The party raged all night.

The next morning the procedure was underway. I heard yells of “don’t be scared” chanted in unison by the women, which carried across town to me in my bed, at the early hour of 5am.

I visited around 7am, congratulating (shaking hands with the boys) and sharing coffee with the many people visiting. I danced a little and talked with people about the absence of this type of celebration in America until a fellow volunteer arrived. He had never seen this cultural celebration so he joined me in giving the traditional “atody ny akoho” and we danced with my neighbors and kids until the generator was turned off, as twilight approached.  

We retired to my house across town but the townspeople drank into the night, each small hut housing numerous guests.

The following weekend I was invited to a circumcision in the neighboring town south of my town. It was a large celebration, more money involved than what had occurred in my town. The surgery was done in Farafangana, the closest large town, and the celebration was carried out the next day.

Small paper invitations were distributed; I think I was invited as a courtesy, being the only white person for several kilometers. Four other people from my town were also invited to the home and hotely/epicerie owned by the wealthy family. I suggested we walk, leaving around 9am, taking us 1 1/2hrs to get there on foot.

We entered the house, gave the atody ny akoho” and then were led outside to a shaded table, next to the open dirt courtyard where many women were dancing within clouds of dust they were kicking up with each step. We were given soda, beer, and homemade moonshine (toka gasy). My table scanned the crowds and told me about the apparently well-known pastors and educators in attendance.

Being the only white person here, I was called out to the courtyard/dance floor by the local women, and danced with them briefly, as I didn’t know any of them. We watched processions of women enter the gated yard, holding a stick high for everyone to see the paper money that was attached to it. The women sang (or rather chanted, yipped and yelped) showing off the money they would give to the family. This I found out is called “maromanga” which translates to “a lot of blue”, and did not happen in my town. One group of women presented about 30.000 Ar and the other, 50.000 Ar (about). After entering the home of the family they exited with bottles of beer and bon bon Anglais (sweet soda) again singing and dancing in a circle throughout the courtyard.

The final circumcision party of the “season” that I attended was in my town, which translates to: a small affair. Three brothers underwent the procedure and the party lasted only one day.  I awoke at 4am to the calls of women running up and down the street for cold water…for the procedure I assumed. I congratulated and danced for only the morning, and other people visited but only briefly. People told me this family did not have enough money to throw a large party so that’s why it was so short and not many people hung around. The boys lay in a corner of the house with a crisp white sheet (showing it was purchased just for this occasion) draped over their spread legs. This was a shield against the flies and kept the naked boys covered but cool as the day warmed up. They were given biscuit crackers and women sat cooing over them, trying to make them as comfortable as possible.

From what I could gather from asking people in my town, this tradition is carried out to prevent disease, but I’m suspicious it may be a practice the French instilled in the Malagasy.

In other areas the uncle of the boy actually eats the foreskin once cut free. How glad I am that this is not a practice in my area!!

Independence Day June 26th Celebration

Vingt Six Juin *aka June 26^th*

Preparation is similar in some ways: putting the country’s flag outside your home, showing your patriotism. Vendors supply children with obnoxious noise-makers and kazoos, even the lit up multicolored wands.  Music is played throughout the day and well into the night. Alcohol, especially the moonshine, is widely available and on many people’s breath.

Some differences I’ve experienced leading up to this event: school and work cease for the entire week. Some kids went to school the day prior but most did not, for example, my neighbor kid-about 14, took me to a village (only about an hour’s walk away on a muddy clay path through tall grasses and crossing 2 steams) where I was surprised to come upon the sight of a butchered zebu (cow)!! The body parts had been separated and scattered across freshly cut palm leaves on the ground. The black skin was part of the meat as well, and I watched as they divided the ribs, legs, hooves and head. Had I known what I was in for, I would have stayed with the older man down the hill & continued watching him get a haircut with a pair of dull scissors.

About 5 men had a synchronized, yet unorganized method to divide the meat, using an axe and small knives. They quickly divided each small cut of meat (with bones and all-a lot of which had been hacked and shattered) into 20 piles. These went to 20 separate families and I thought to myself….this one cow was going to feed at least 90 people (My neighbor has a modest family of 9, including him and his wife). A few women cleaned and separated the stomach and intestines, which were also added to the piles.

Before I knew it, I was being handed some cooked meat on a leaf. I didn’t want to be rude, so I chose the largest chunk in my helping and popped it into my mouth…it was salty with a chewy texture but I held it down and finished my serving. I found out later that this was the brain of the cow…possibly eaten to celebrate the completion of the task at hand, or maybe it was too small to be divided reasonably. Either way, this was another first in this country that I can’t say I was prepared for or could have even imagined 4 months ago. But in hindsight, that’s probably the best way a cow brain lunch could have come!

The day’s festivities: slightly anticlimactic due to the fact I’ve been to bigger and more organized celebrations in the brief but eventful 1^st month living at my site. However the schedule of events is basically the same for each celebration. Speeches, songs drinking and dancing followed by a soccer match or athletic event with the teenage or young adults, then more dancing into the night.

After breakfast-my usual of instant oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar with powdered milk-I sat with my neighbor’s daughters, watching them braid each others’ hair with a mixture of water, wax and hair oil. They had told me they would braid my hair, and I decided to go ahead with it (really show some integration) however after an hour I was getting bored. My other neighbor that was going to walk with me to the school where the festivities were happening left without me and so after walking and asking around, I discovered that most people were already at the school yard enjoying the festivities! I threw on my wrap skirt (traditional dress) and took off up the hill.

This is the prime example of the ever-changing and blatant lack of information I am still getting accustomed to. For example: a few people that said they were going out of town that morning, low and behold were at the “fety” (party); also my neighbor was present and apologized to me saying he thought I would be coming with the other girls, even though earlier he had made sure I understood we would walk up together. I was maybe an hour late, not too sure when it actually started, but several people made sure to tell me I was late, which only fueled my frustration.

The women who were performing several songs & dance called me over, and I stood in the first of 2 lines of women and sang a Malagasy song that the 15 of us had practiced the week prior. I fumbled through the hand gestures but the town was impressed.  We danced (by taking shuffling steps which is the go-to dance in Madagascar) around the flagpole and then the teachers gathered the elementary aged school children to sing a few songs (during which I had flashbacks of my own school programs, singing Christmas carols and such). I was handed a microphone and gave a small speech to the crowd gathered between the two 2 school buildings. This was a very short and basic speech, but participating in the tradition was the goal; which several officials and elders in the community do before a gathering.

The kids were divided up and then given small candies, while the adults moved inside the concrete school house and clear rum, sweet soda (Bon Bon Anglais) and beer (THB) was passed out to each desk that was placed around the walls. A small toast/cheers was first, and holding up our glasses of soda, spilled some of the soda on the floor “for the ancestors”. Some women drank beer, I drank soda, and the men drank the rum straight, followed by some women as well. In other areas of the country, women don’t drink at all but in the east coast it’s more laid back. Dancing soon started as music blared over the sound system and I danced and talked to people, all the while people would take the chance to get behind the microphone and give a small speech.

Next, as in any celebration here, there are games. There was a soccer match, adults in the town vs younger (probably 17-20yrs old) boys. I was invited to play, so I joined them in the dirt field. It was getting close to lunch so the town returned to their homes to have lunch and prepare for the bally (dance party) that evening. One of the schoolteachers invited me to his house for lunch, which I accepted (with my entourage of kids) and learned more about who was in his family and about the celebration.

Afterwards the kids planned on going to a film that was being shown on a 10” screen television (to an audience of close to 20 people). This karate action film ended early so I took the opportunity to walk around and chat with people about the “fety” (party) and differences between Madagascar’s Independence Day and July 4^th in the U.S. As the sun went down the town gathered once more, but this time in the town “square” however it is a group of wooden stands along the one road that the town is clustered around. Here a few more speeches were given and then more of the same bass-heavy music blasted out over the loud hum of the generator.  Groups formed and we danced-walking in a circle-until the stars filled the sky.

I discovered that the traditional food is beef, pork or chicken for holiday meals. Families save up for the holidays in order to splurge on meat-as the special meal- and alcohol. When I told a man in my town that we would eat hamburgers for our independence day he laughed and remarked that they are very big in the United States too.

My neighbors, always looking out for me and watching over me, signaled that it was time to return home. As much as the independent person in me objected, I conceded, satisfied that I had shown my cultural participation and welcomed the excuse to distance myself from the townspeople who were only getting more and more drunk off of the local moonshine.

My earplugs came in handy to block out the music that went on until 8am the next morning. The Malagasy sure do know how to party! I wasn’t surprised as the next few days were relatively quiet but they drug on, as I became inpatient with people’s lack of drive to get back to work. This is a difference I’m noticing in the Western pace of life and life in the Malagasy countryside, but I’d like to think I’m adjusting to it.

Special Reserve

First day in the Special Reserve forest!

June 9th

The coolness of the damp forest air and shade was a welcome to my hot and sweating body. No shade on the 45 minute trek in, crossing a narrow river on a single plank log serving as a bridge and through shoulder high dry grasses. We entered the forest where 10 years prior it had been slashed and burned, but now had regrown. I learned that this soil, although plentiful in nutrients, is too rich in iron, and so when farmers do actually cut it down to use the soil, it only lasts for 2 years or so and then no longer good for farming.

I was on the lookout for animals right away, and recalled from my travel book that this reserve was renowned for a diverse snail population. Indeed, I found myself stepping over many empty shells. My companions were no strangers to the forest, chatting amongst themselves as we walked along the path. They were not overly concerned with scaring away animals, as I was, still in awe at the biodiversity surrounding me. My 2 neighbors, who make up half of the guide team for the NGO presence working to preserve this rainforest, led our 6 person group. Their boss, who has recently finished research in the forest, accompanied us as well as his boss, who was in town from Tana for the Environment Day festivities.

The tree and vines grew more and more dense and you could only see 10 feet or so in any direction before the foliage layered on itself blocking the view. We passed (an easily 100 meter tall) indigenous tree to the Manombo Special Reserve: Fatsinakoho-which means “white like a chicken spur. I had to explain a “spur” to my Malagasy friends.

Then, splitting into 2 groups, the air changed and we all fell quiet, on the lookout for any of the 7 species of lemur, “gidro”, that call this forest home. I spotted the first animal, a “varaka mena” or brown lemur (which is more reddish than brown) high up in a tree. My companions told me that I was “tsara vintana” or good luck for missing what the guide and veteran researcher hadn’t seen. My eyes were as big as a kid in a candy stores’ excitedly staring at the creature. We soon joined the other group who had come across a family of “varzas” also known as the black & white bearded lemur, who were lounging and feeding on fruits in the mid day sun. I learned that the number of individuals in a family group correlate to the amount of food available. With less food, the groups split up to forage, but with plentiful food the groups have many individuals.

Our luck must have been strong because in this group was a particular individual that the veteran researcher had followed and studied 10 years prior. It still had the red tracking collar on it and was guessed to be 30 years old. The lemurs munched on the fruit and napped while the researchers sat & talked, which even though we were loud, the lemurs didn’t seem to mind. While we sat, I was told that the lemurs could sense poachers/hunters “ mpihazo” and distinguish between them and us (researchers and friendly observers), so that was why they allowed us to stay so close observing them.

We took some photos of the team and then moved on, all together in search of a nocturnal lemur, whose favorite sleeping spot was in the crotch of a tree trunk. Unfortunately, it was not there this day, so we rested then returned back to our original tree log starting point. Along the way we passed many types of trees and I was told about a new project in the forest, cataloging the tree species, size, and density per hectare of forest.  I also learned the name of a large palm, pandanos and thought of my dad, thinking he would enjoy seeing all of the tropical plants here.

We talked about research in general, and I shared my experience doing research with zebrafish in college. It was refreshing being able to explain my higher level of thought in English (to the veteran researcher who is fluent in English).

Once leaving the thick of the forest, we met two “polis ny ala”, the enforcement that patrols the forest, and stopped to chat.

As the shade of the ancient and primitive forest thinned, I was brought back to the 21^st century as a GPS locator was pulled out and the group discussed coordinates and tracking.  Although I am a world away from the 1^st world, I am still reminded of the technology and advancement over the history of the earth. Even in rural Madagascar cell phones are accessible, but I do enjoy being able to separate myself from that world every once in awhile.

Environment Day! June 6th

I awoke to the sound of a car engine slowing as it pulled off the road into my neighbor’s dirt yard….I thought to myself  ”already!?”, after a long night of tossing and turning due to chills, fever, and upset stomach I was not feeling at my best and yet my supervisor, the director of one of the local NGOs (non governmental organization, aka non profit) had just arrived to pick me up.

I luckily had thrown together most of my things the night before, however 7am seemed early to start our journey. Pulling my mosquito bed net up from under my mattress, creating a hole just big enough for me to duck through, I flung open my door and shutters so as not to appear lazy, and to have been awake for longer than the last 5 minutes. Little did I know, but the neighbor’s wife and daughter were catching a lift to the large town we were passing through, so we piled into his car that so closely resembles a life sized Jeep Barbie car. We stopped at the NGO’s office (more like a complex of 3 concrete buildings and yard with small houses clustered down a path) beforehand to eat breakfast of rice and beans followed by sweet fried bread balls with coffee.

The president of this NGO, who had come down from Tana for the weekend’s events, joined us. He has spent several years doing research in the special reserve close to my town and has several projects going on in Madagascar. Besides teaching at the University in Tana, he works closely with an American university to promote environmental education and conservation, and used to live in the US as well. I tried my best to only use Malagasy to express myself, but it was just too easy to find the words in English.  It was also refreshing to see his familiar face, from my swearing in ceremony where we first met, affirming I had indeed survived my first 3 weeks at site.

The drive to the nearest large town- a nice trip in comparison for what was in store-followed a smoothly paved road which helped my stomach stay settled. Here we stopped to buy soccer cleats for a coworker (unfortunately they only had men’s sizes-not shocking in this country-and they were all too big for me) and he joined us on our drive to the event. I had heard that this road was bad, but I had no idea just how bad it really was. The dirt road began with small pot holes, followed by large chunks of earth that had broken away from the side of the road. Rocks and compact clay made up the path, wide enough for barely 2 cars width, for the entire 3 ½ hour drive. With no seatbelt to hold me in my seat, and the afternoon heat reaching it’s peak, my initial excitement and joy melted into stomach pain and headache. Thankfully we stopped for lunch, where I forced myself to eat pork and rice, that was actually quite good but I instantly regretted it once we got back into the car. The breeze at least somewhat helped but the road only got worse! A few steep hills with protruding boulders didn’t prove to be too challenging for our Barbie- car stead, but I maintained my tight grip on the side bar to somewhat steady myself from the bouncing and jostling inside the vehicle.

Finally arriving in Vondrozo were the celebration would be held the next day, we met fellow NGO colleagues at the high school’s outdoor basket ball game, women then men teams. This was the largest crowd I had been around yet, being the only white person. I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious but nevertheless tried to make small talk with the leaders of the local NGOs who were present.

We ate dinner, as it was getting dark, at a “hotely” aka restaurant. Afterwards, I went straight to bed but not before stuffing cotton into my ears which only partially blocked out the blaring music from the restaurant directly on the other side of the window above my head.

ENVIRONMENT DAY-some breakfast (soup again) and then set up of our stand. Reminded me of setting up for events when I worked at the chiro’s office in Colorado, except these stands were bright blue plastic for roof and walls, only 10 in total, 5 booths facing each other in front of an official building. All day event: 9am-9pm

A caravan started off the event, which I learned is very common in Madagascar. First motorcycles and cars, then groups on foot carrying banners and wearing special dress followed. Our procession ended at the booths, where at least 150 school kids had crowded around holding signs of their schools.

The officials of the region, district and town gave speeches over a loud speaker system, which I’m also learning is popular for events here. Some of the men gave very long and drawn out speeches and with some political highlights too (paraphrased translations were supplied by the supervisor and president I was with). After this, each booth was introduced to the officials. I walked around to meet people and even given some food by the Red Cross booth promoting better nutrition. I explained some posters of animals to the children, ages ranging from 7-teenager years. Some talked with me, others just stared and laughed, which I thought was odd because this larger town must get at least some foreigner traffic, plus there is a volunteer lives here (unfortunately out on vacation).

HOT HOT HOT The sun beat down and the booth didn’t provide much relief.

We were done by 3pm; I rested then walked down to the soccer match with the president, dancing down the road with a women’s group that happened to be walking by so I decided to join them. I already stand out so, hey, why not add to the spectacle!

As darkness neared we drove into the main area of town again & attended a debate, I snacked on the oven-baked mini pizzas and cream puffs, understanding little about the Q & A session. By 9pm, we were all tired, the president went to bed & my supervisor and some other younger NGO leaders attended the “Bally” aka dance party. Although I was asked to dance several times, and by what I assumed were officials, I danced little. Not wanted to send the wrong signals about why I was there.  My colleagues danced some and I was surprised with their enthusiasm when an Elvis song was played (that people started swing dancing to). I had anticipated on only making an appearance but as more beers joined us at the table (a 1 ½ liter bottle of Coca Cola was designated to me) we watched a cooked and fried chicken be auctioned off and by 1am I was ready for bed.

Up early, and it was a cooler –albeit bumpy and jostling -ride. I joked with my fellow passengers that this was the same as a rollercoaster, and tried to describe an amusement park.

This trip was a much-needed change of scenery, and I was so appreciative of my Malagasy supervisor for taking me with them. Making myself seen and being present at such events I feel is important, but in this larger town that doesn’t know me….it was also frustrating. Most people assumed I am French and would speak French to me. Or, pull out the few broken phrases they knew in English then ask when I could teach them, or better yet a random relative of theirs, English. This was then followed by a request for my phone number (not just males but females too), and a very quick excuse from me with a soon end to the conversation. I will undoubtedly run into these stereotypes again and again during my service. Needless to say, the return to my house was a welcomed sight, and I was ever more appreciative of my village where the kids know my name and I’m greeted with friendly smiles.

Swearing In! May 10th

Swearing in!

May 10^th, 2013

I woke up to the vibration of my phone alarm, 5am. Breakfast was quiet, due to the volunteers still being asleep or solemn as the realization that it was our last day as trainees, enjoying the amenities of the Peace Corps Training Center set in.

We had sent our luggage ahead, and the 37 trainees pilled into a bus to become volunteers. We practiced the Malagasy song we would be performing during the swearing in ceremony, as we drove the 3 hours to Tana, the capital city.

At an US Embassy official’s extravagant house and yard we listened to a few short speeches, one by a fellow volunteer, in Malagasy, and took the oath to become official Peace Corps volunteers. It was quite a short event for the build up of the last year and a half (i.e. lengthy application process and 2 months of training) but I met the president of the NGO I would be working closely with at my site. The realization that my Peace Corps experience was only beginning was starting to set in. After a reception we said goodbye to our ever patient and helpful language instructors, who’s last “lesson” was to help us buy a majority of our supplies (ie. gas stove, blankets, plastic buckets, and food) in the bustling-and overwhelming-city of Tana. We couldn’t help but be in awe of the amenities available at our fingertips, and welcomed a thai food and hookah restaurant outing.

Up at 6am to voices of other volunteers already awake & realized this would be the last morning their voices would permeate my subconscious in the moments before I awoke. My roommate and I started packing our backpacks with surprising energy for only getting 5 hours of sleep. Peace Corps cars greeted us as we brought bags down to the concrete lobby. I teared up as Briana, my roomate throughout training, left. We hugged and said our goodbyes but knew we would see each other soon because both of our sites are in the south eastern region of the country. It was surreal leaving the capital city, knowing it was the end of a chapter-pre-service training-but the start of a much larger one-my Peace Corps service.

The crowded city began to thin and countryside began to fill in the spaces between the houses. Two volunteers living in my region and I  napped off and on until we unexpectedly met another car of volunteers! We learned that our PC ceremony the day prior made it into 2 local newspapers. As we continued on the road I tried to sleep but I was too excited, nervous or excited for what lay ahead these next few days. I watched the landscape roll by, it gradually changed from terraced rice fields to brown grass and rocky hills that reminded me of Colorado’s landscape. Then rolling hills and bamboo layered on itself intermingled with bananas as we entered the rainforest and Ranomafauna, where we met 2 PCVs and stayed the night.

We took a dip in the natural hot springs the next morning, the rainforest mountain backdrop with low hanging clouds was just beyond the river we crossed to get to the pool area. The smell of sulphur reminded me of hot springs in Idaho: rustic and rural. Continuing on the road we passed through clouds of locust, these insects have crippled many rice crops in throughout Madagascar. At one point, I recall looking into a valley and seeing what I thought were clouds of smoke but were actually the swarm of insects.

Only six more hours to what would be my banking town, we stopped to meet several volunteers living in the region, who welcomed us with cards and signs for each of us. We finally arrived in Farafangana and met our “zokys” meaning “older siblings” but is what more experienced volunteers are referred to as. At the first sight of the ocean, the three of us had our faces pressed against the windows. Palm trees lined the dirt road that took us to the volunteers’ house who lives here. We were treated to drinks, pizza, and some second hand blazers, hand picked for us by the volunteers. Our nighttime bonfire was a great way to start my familiarization with the area.

I wrote a brief speech, filled with thank you’s and expressing my happiness and hopes of becoming family with the village. My excitement built as we stopped at my counterparts “camp” an office with a large grassy field and some cement buildings and then continued onto my town. Pulling off to the side of the road we walked down a small slope and my two bedroom house appeared, the town was expecting us that day, and many people gathered as I greeted the important people of the town and gave my speech with many “ums”. We started moving things into the house, and the items the previous volunteer left for me appeared carried by men, women and children. As most large items made it inside, the men gathered outside and presented us with a traditional drink and soda, with folded banana leaf cups, and toasted with us to my arrival.

This warm welcome left me elated, stressed and comforted all at the same time. I tried to keep the thought that I was only hours from being completely on my own at bay. Me, my 2 fellow stage mates and my installers went to the neighboring town for lunch and in this time the roof and floor of my pit toilet was repaired. A volunteer in this town was kind enough to give me one of her cat’s 2 month old kittens, to address the rat issue I had been warned of earlier. The thought ran through my mind “I’m being dropped off, alone in rural Madagascar with no electricity or running water, and not only am I suppose to somehow take care of myself, but now a kitten!?” I was comforted though at the fact that I had a friend and companion from the start.

Returning to my new site, my installers arranged for me to eat with my neighbors for the next few days, because there had been no gas tanks (and therefore no gas to cook with) in the entire town of Farafangana. After the checklist of safety and security questions and measures was complete, my installation was complete and I hugged my companions and waved goodbye. I stood inside my house as dusk set in, simply exchanging stares with the 10+ kids who stood in my doorway. With all my possessions in boxes or bags on the floor in heaps I didn’t quite know what to do with myself, but Uno, the card game came to my rescue. I explained the game by candlelight, and the kids caught on quickly. I was thrilled with how friendly they were.  After at least an hour of the game I was invited to dinner at my neighbors, and I tried to speak as much as possible, however awkward silences were inevitable. Back at home, I unrolled my sleeping bag on my foam mattress, said goodnight to my cat, whose bed I constructed in a cardboard box cushioned with clothes and went to sleep. The first day of my 2 year service!