Sweet Ayess Tea

Mango sellers in Manambaro

The largest bridge on the way to Fort Dauphin

Woman selling cakes to passing taxi brousses

Manambaro's town square on market day

Lohomby, looking the same as it ever was

Flatbread pizza at the meva

Driver's assistant collecting fares on a taxi brousse

Mariana, after the first round of water balloons

Tana in the rain

Written December 21, 2011
Manambaro

    They offered two kinds of sandwiches on the flight into Tana: cheese or fish.  I reached for a cheese one, but snagged a fish sandwich instead.  I’d only had a couple bananas to eat all morning, so I wolfed it down.
    Bad mistake.
    As we began to descend I started feeling queasy, but I dismissed it as airsickness.  I don’t usually get airsick, but maybe this was brought on by a lack of sleep, or reading A Clash of Kings too intently.  Breathing in the fresh, rain-washed air as I stepped out of the plane made me feel better instantly.
    But only for the time it took to cross the runway.  By the time I collected my luggage and hailed a taxi, I knew something was amiss with my digestive system.  The cab driver was chatting away cheerfully, asking me questions about America, when I had to interrupt,
    “Azafady, marary ny kibo avy ny rôplan.  Mety mandoha zaho.”  I’m sorry, my stomach is unwell from the plane.  I might throw up.
    With a panicked look, the driver rolled down my window.  I hung my head out like a dog, a disoriented, probably very pale dog, for a few miles until I loosed yellow goo from my mouth.  When I got to the Peace Corps meva I went straight to the Health Unit, where Doctor Alain handed me three different medicines and counseled me never to eat fish on Air Madagascar again.
    That night was pretty rough.  I vomited at least eight times, at roughly half-hour intervals.  I couldn’t keep water down, much less the medicine.  Vickie, Jackie, and Daniel, three Volunteers from the stage that transferred here from Niger two years back, watched over me, but there was nothing to be done.  I talked with Vickie for a while as a distraction; we commiserated about how Georgians and Alabamans and suchlike are always saying Virginia and Texas aren’t really part of the South.  But that didn’t last long.  I ended up asking Vickie for a blanket, then locking myself in the bathroom propped up against the wall a few feet from the toilet, slipping in and out of consciousness as I waited for the next attack.  At about 9:30 I felt spent enough that I wouldn’t throw up again, and I stumbled to bed.
    In the morning I felt much better, though a long way from full strength.  I went downstairs to the common room, where I spent the morning writing my CDS report, sipping water gingerly, and nibbling on some crackers Jackie had gotten me.  In the afternoon I chanced going downtown with Mariana, Jessie, and Meghan to withdraw some money from the bank.
    On Saturday I was well enough to go to the Analakely market with Sam, John, Carolyn, and Amel.  Analakely is notorious for its thieves.  John got pickpocketed as we wiggled through a crowd; later we’d learn that within the same hour, a few blocks away, a robber had dashed off with Kim’s purse.  Nevertheless, it turned out to be a pretty good day.  John, Sam, and I bought omby shirts, which are pretty much the only garment for men that is considered “traditional” in Madagascar.
    After walking around the hot streets for hours, I resolved to take it easier on Sunday.  Monday came, and with it the official start of IST, our In-Service Training.  We had a couple of sessions at Peace Corps headquarters in the morning.  The docs praised us on following their directions and staying healthy, and gave us a brief review of all the Health stuff we covered during PST.  Lydia Hall, an embassy representative, also spoke about events the embassy would be hosting and opportunities to take the GRE and Foreign Service exam.
    She warned that the Foreign Service is not for those who consider themselves “specialists,” good at doing one or a few things very well.  Foreign Service members are expected to be good at everything, and this need is reflected in the exam.  And that’s when I made my decision: I’m not going to take the Foreign Service exam.
    Because I’m not an economics guy, nor a political science guy.   I have no head for numbers and even less of one for political gamesmanship.  Foreign Service sounds perfect for my friend Iqra, but she’s already sprinting down the path to being a Supreme Court Justice, or at least a nationally renowned lawyer.
    Theirs is not my world, nor would I ever want it to be.  From what I’ve seen of it, both here and in Niger, the embassy world is one of high walls and gleaming floors, of manicured lawns and overstuffed couches and flat-screen TVs tuned to ESPN. 
    Not for me.  It’s not that I’m turning up my nose at that kind of luxury, it’s just that I’ll take a little less comfort for a little more freedom to travel and shoot.
    But luxury has its place.  For lunch Leif treated us to a sandwich buffet of crusty French bread, crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, tangy cornichons and succulent ham.  And cheese!  Cheese is one of the things we all miss most about America.
    Then we packed into two Peace Corps vans for the long drive up to the Training Center at Mantasoa.  Once there, we arranged ourselves in the dorms much as we had during PST.  We were all eager for dinner.  Dr. Alain had cautioned us that every IST a few Volunteers fell ill from overeating.  I don’t think anyone overate, but the food was so much richer than the fare we’d all been having at site that about half of us went to bed with stomachaches.
    For the rest of the week they kept us busier than we’d ever been in PST.  We started earlier, had a shorter break for lunch, and sometimes had sessions after dinner.  We hardly had any time to relax and socialize with each other like we’d expected.
    The first day was filled up with our CDS presentations, in which each of us gave a brief lecture on our site.  I’d misunderstood the directions for the whole thing, so where most everyone else had well-organized PowerPoints with which to present their sites, I only had a handful of photos.  It was intriguing to learn about Harry’s site, in the middle of the Androy desert, Steph’s, full of researchers studying lemurs, Sally’s, with the country’s largest cattle market, and Ellen’s, where all anyone does-- all day, every day-- is dig up the surrounding country looking for gold.  After the presentations we had more administration-centered sessions.
    And I’ll say this about the sessions: I don’t wish to be unkind to those who organized them, because I know that everyone involved had the best of intentions.  But they were... not very engaging.  They were boring.  They were tenth-grade-Chemistry-class boring.  I know the information about funding projects and organizing meetings and so on and so forth was relevant, even vital to our future success as Volunteers.  But many of the lectures that could have been done in twenty minutes had been hammered and ironed out thin so as to fill up two hours.  Lova’s and Jemima’s session on gender roles was interesting, as was the session where Sally and Travis, Education Volunteers from our own stage, gave the Health team tips on how to run an English club.  The last lesson of all, where we in Health all joined together to build a cookstove outside, was probably the best.  We all got to work with our hands, and in the end we had a very tangible result for our labors.  The rest of ‘em...
    By Thursday the ennui had reached a point where the bolder among us decided to blow off some steam.  Someone had gotten water balloons in a care package, and after distributing them to make sure the opposing sides-- boys versus girls-- were roughly even, hostilities erupted.    After one balloon ruptured ignominiously in my pocket and I banged my knee trying to dodge another, I decided on another course of action.  So I shot the rest of the fight instead of partaking in it.  What’s war without war correspondents?
    Unfortunately the next session was Johanesa’s Security lecture on sexual assault.  He glared at us as we stumbled in giggling, some of us soaking wet, but we sobered up quickly once the session began.  That one was too deadly serious to be boring.
    Immediately after lunch on Friday we packed and drove back to Tana.  Many of us were taking vacations northward, but I elected to go straight back to Manambaro.  My flight was scheduled at 5:20 in the morning.  After a few short hours at the meva I caught a taxi with Monica and another girl Mallory to the airport.  Monica was flying out to spend Christmas in Paris with her sister, while Mallory was bound for Madrid.
    I slept on the floor of the airport.  This being Madagascar, the flight didn’t leave until 6:30.  I got back to Manambaro without incident and set about unpacking.  Everyone was happy to see me back, happier than I expected.  This place is really starting to feel like home for me.
    This past week I’ve been resting up and washing a lot of laundry.  I’ve also been trying this diet my friend Wes turned me on to where I replace most of the rice I’ve been eating with beans.  Wes swears by it, and he has the physique to back up his claims.  ‘Course I’ve also heard he works out like a madman.
    I’ve also been reading the Song of Ice and Fire series.  I just finished A Storm of Swords.  I tried to pace myself, but as soon as I got to the wedding at the Twins I had to plunge ahead, all the way to the end.  Now I need to track down a copy of A Feast for Crows.
    Now I’m struggling with the fact that IST came and went.  Before IST my assignment was to get to know my community.  Meet people, show ‘em you speak Gasy, show ‘em you’re friendly and honest and willing to help them.
    Do your weekly work at the CSB, but you don’t have to do anything more than that.  Anything.
    Well, I did that.  Mission accomplished.  I accomplished that mission like our beloved president on the deck of that ship.  But now... once I run out of chores to do or letters to write or good books to read I have to face the hard truth:
    I have no idea what to do next.