The Bittersweet Weekend

Israel in teaching action.

The three Community English Classes at the Lycée Pôle.

Relaxing in Israel's house.

Israel and Harry ringa.

We're all gonna miss this guy.

 Written January 12, 2012
Manambaro

    Friday brought a bombshell:
    Israel is leaving.  Going back to the US.  Early Terminating his Peace Corps service due to a family emergency.
    For those of you who don’t know him, or at least haven’t heard of him from multiple Volunteers, Israel is a force of nature.  He is the guy who can walk up to any group of Antanosy, from poor cassava farmers to high-powered school officials, and instantly be welcomed.  He’ll fling slang and witticisms around like a sushi chef sliding dishes to a circle of customers.  He’s certainly in the top ten of the most tamána (well-settled) Volunteers on the island.  His leaving Madagascar is like Kublai Khan packing up his Chinese palaces and moving back to Mongolia.
    And Fort Dauphin will mourn his absence.  He taught three English classes at the Lycée Pôle, plus a fourth on the weekends open to all community members.  He was making plans with Skar and Fabrice, two other teachers, to get a projector and show English-language movies to the community.  And who knows how many people benefited from the messages he inserted in his lessons about proper health practices and equality between men and women.
    Monica and I got to his house on Saturday, and volunteered to help him with the community class in the afternoon.  Before that, though, we all walked to the beach and played in the surf.  I wanted to swim out to the breakers, but Israel said there might be riptide.  Two older French guys on vacation watched our stuff.  Later I would see these same guys at the bank, each with a twenty-something Gasy girl on his arm.
    Leaving the water, Israel began hailing beach-goers left and right.
    "Hey, you want to ringa?  You!  I bet you're pretty good at ringa."
    Ringa is traditional Antanosy/Antandroy wrestling.  All it takes to lose is for your head to touch the sand.  It's a lot more cerebral than American wrestling, with a pretty intricate rock-paper-scissors system of holds, lifts, throws, feints, and lunges.  That being said, the emphasis that Western wrestling places on brute strength means that it's very difficult for a Malagasy to defeat a vazaha with wrestling experience.  Israel, Paul, and Harry all wrestled in college, so I'd say Peace Corps is set to have a ringa reputation.
    We changed quickly and hurried to the English class, where the students had already gathered.  They were divided into three rooms, with Israel teaching Advanced English.  The lesson moved fluidly from the students describing their holidays to more technical stuff, like the difference between expressions of doubt and expressions of uncertainty.
    A boy of about twelve, by far the youngest in the class, piped up,
    “Is it... all right to say... ‘my mind as good as yours?’”
    “‘My guess is as good as yours!’” Israel exclaimed, beaming with pride.  “Come up here.”
    The boy, Charles, moved nervously to the the front of the class.  Israel put his hands in the shape of a crown over his head and declared,
    “You all see this boy up here?  One day this boy will be the President of Madagascar, he’s so smart.  Okay, sit down, kid.  Never stop studying.”
    It was interesting to think that that might actually be the kind of power that Peace Corps Volunteers hold, the power to influence the future of whole nations by setting one kid on the path to success.  I remember how Souleyman, my boss in Niger, always attributed his attending college to a Volunteer’s advice over thirty years ago.
    On Sunday night Harry arrived, getting back from his sprawling Christmas vacation, bearing some new movies he got from Ava.  I introduced him and Monica to Game of Thrones, which they loved.  Ha ha, my obsession is spreading!  I can only image how it’s exploded in the States.  The four of us broached the wine Monica brought from Paris, cooked some brochettes, and watched X-Men First Class and Youth in Revolt.  If you haven’t seen it, the first is incredible.  The second is also pretty good, if you can get past the stilted dialogue.  And really, how could a girl who’s that much of a hipster prefer anyone to Michael Cera’s character?
    Since I hadn’t gotten any packages at the post office on Friday, I decided to stay until Tuesday.  Tuesday morning it rained so hard that gurgling streams of runoff snaked through the streets.  Monica and I hailed a cab, and we each got two packages.  Mine were from my girlfriend Kelsey, one with food and one with posters and books.  Thank you, Kelsey!
    Israel’s house will continue to function as a Peace Corps-sanctioned “flophouse,” a place where Volunteers can stay for free when they come into the city.  His friend Ari’s sister Annika, my third cousin, is arriving soon with the SIT Study Abroad program.  And he’ll be in close contact with Fabrice and the school to see if the film showings can’t take place after all.  Things will go on.
    We said goodbye at the taxi brousse station and I watched him jog off into the gray day.
    Travel well, brother.