While I was in Madagascar, I had big plans for the final, retrospective series of posts that would end this blog. It was going to be an unabridged evaluation of my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer from every imaginable angle. Since returning to America (note: I have returned to America), however, I've definitely lost the drive to write. In fact, I've lost the drive to read too. So here's a summary of our end-days on the island.
Three weeks ago today, as I was washing dishes and listening to the radio, my friend came to my town with instructions to find my house, throw my essential items into a bag, put me in the car, and head back to Fianar. The evacuation juggernaut was unavoidable and unstoppable, and we had orders to leave from the US Embassy. Interestingly, I had just told a student earlier that day that "I'm probably not going home, but if you show up one day and I'm gone, I'll get in touch with you somehow. Ha Ha Ha." Two hours later I saw him on the street as we were driving away, stuck my arm out the window and waved goodbye.
In Fianar I called some people to say goodbye, the PCVs had a final dinner together, and we took one last look through our communal house the next morning. I will legitimately miss that town and that house, if only for the incredible elation I felt every time I left my village and headed to the "big city." The next few days at the PC Training Center were even more boozy than the last time, rumors more pervasive and generally incorrect regarding choices we'd be making in the next week.
The night before my group left was, in fact, the night that the military stormed one of the government palaces (a 20 minute drive from where we were staying) and as we were boarding the plane, President Ravalomanana resigned (March 17th). I made sure to mark my final steps on Madagascar's 'red earth' before walking up the stairs to the plane, and made similarly melodramatic mental notes when the plane left the ground and the last bit of land on the west coast that we flew over. Needless to say, when we landed in South Africa and told that the hotel we were staying at sported an Irish pub... well that makes for a fairly memorable St. Patrick's Day.
The next four days all PCVs had to go through a medical check-up, write a "description of service" cataloging everything they had accomplished as a volunteer, and figure out their life plans. Some of us left immediately (myself included), some went on vacation before going home, some transferred directly to a new country, and some people opted to go through the entire application process and find a new host country that way. "Reenlisting" to the Madagascar program was also an option but it's not 100% certain the program will ever re-open.
I flew out on the 21st to Paris and then Boston, bussed myself down to Providence, and so began readjustment. It isn't as weird as people have said. Mostly I just laugh to myself every so often when something triggers a memory, or I occasionally can only think of a Malagasy word/phrase and not the English expression. It's good to be back in the States, and I'm really excited to get back to school in the Fall. I'll either end up in D.C. or New York City, either option amazing.
So that's all for this blog. Thanks to all who encouraged me to write or said nice things about it. OK, that's all he wrote. Veloma!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
3/12 - Pilots, Mechanics, Take Me Home
I'll have a larger update later today or tomorrow, but for those of you interested in what's happening with your favorite PCV in Madagascar (whether or not it is myself) here's the latest:
Peace Corps Madagascar is being evacuated.
What I know (or have heard, to be more precise) is that people are starting to leave the country starting on Saturday, and the rest will follow soon after. We're going to South Africa first to do paperwork and such (medical, legal, etc.) and then home. Expect us back in the States in 5-10 days.
That's all for now. I have a few updates from site to type up but not until a bit later. (Also, we're all safe blah blah. Don't worry about us).
Peace Corps Madagascar is being evacuated.
What I know (or have heard, to be more precise) is that people are starting to leave the country starting on Saturday, and the rest will follow soon after. We're going to South Africa first to do paperwork and such (medical, legal, etc.) and then home. Expect us back in the States in 5-10 days.
That's all for now. I have a few updates from site to type up but not until a bit later. (Also, we're all safe blah blah. Don't worry about us).
Friday, March 6, 2009
2/25 – Dear Sir, I Have a Complaint
Movie nights now finish off my official work week (Wednesday, that is) and tonight I showed “Elf” with Will Farrell. It’s a Christmas movie, yes, but I’m only 2 months late and there aren’t tons of appropriate movies laying around the Peace Corps house in Fianarantsoa for me to borrow. It’s not clear if the majority of the audience (which has definitely dwindled since High School Musical) shows up intentionally to see my movies, or if they just happened to be in the area and had 100 Ariary to spare, but either way I still get about 30-40 people at each showing. They like seeing people fall down, and I like watching movies for a few hours (and watching people fall down) so everyone wins.
As for the “work” part of the week, I suppose I’m starting to let go of my dreams of helicopters coming to take me away from here, and I’m falling back into routine. I’ve stopped constantly debating in my head whether or not to quit and decided to just barrel through it. Besides, I haven’t heard back from graduate schools yet so I might have to extend my service to keep avoiding joining the real world (just kidding).
So this week I picked up where we left off—present perfect tense in 2nde and body parts and corresponding verbs in 4eme. My goal, which once was for my students to be able to just put together two coherent sentences in a row, is now to simply not seriously injure any of them before I leave. They claim to have forgotten everything we’ve ever gone over -- and I believe them -- so it’s back to the beginning.
Meanwhile, my fence that topped over (or was intentionally pulled down, depending on who you talk to) is not only not rebuilt, but is now about 1/3rd missing—stolen by my neighbors for firewood. The electricity situation, though, has regained momentum from when progress stopped cold back in November. Now, the street lights come on around 6:30 at night while people get their last buckets of water and buy their last bottle of vodka. I’ve heard talk of them finally connecting houses, but I don’t realistically see that happening in my time here. Either way, I’m in a better mood than this entry would lead anyone to believe, so worry not. It might just be an after-effect, however, of watching Christmas movies in late February.
As for the “work” part of the week, I suppose I’m starting to let go of my dreams of helicopters coming to take me away from here, and I’m falling back into routine. I’ve stopped constantly debating in my head whether or not to quit and decided to just barrel through it. Besides, I haven’t heard back from graduate schools yet so I might have to extend my service to keep avoiding joining the real world (just kidding).
So this week I picked up where we left off—present perfect tense in 2nde and body parts and corresponding verbs in 4eme. My goal, which once was for my students to be able to just put together two coherent sentences in a row, is now to simply not seriously injure any of them before I leave. They claim to have forgotten everything we’ve ever gone over -- and I believe them -- so it’s back to the beginning.
Meanwhile, my fence that topped over (or was intentionally pulled down, depending on who you talk to) is not only not rebuilt, but is now about 1/3rd missing—stolen by my neighbors for firewood. The electricity situation, though, has regained momentum from when progress stopped cold back in November. Now, the street lights come on around 6:30 at night while people get their last buckets of water and buy their last bottle of vodka. I’ve heard talk of them finally connecting houses, but I don’t realistically see that happening in my time here. Either way, I’m in a better mood than this entry would lead anyone to believe, so worry not. It might just be an after-effect, however, of watching Christmas movies in late February.
2/21 - First Few Desperate Hours
After a 3-week time-warp through February, often led to believe that we'd take be escaping on a chartered plane swerving out of the wreckage that was once Antananarivo, I've been sent back to site a little shaken up and with a little less confidence in my organization. Now that I'm back home I'm amazed at how many things that, had I not returned, I would never have thought of again. Places in town, views, feelings, objects in my house. People I like, people I loathe, people that scare me. The small yellow dog that hangs out in my front yard all day (it has recently taken to standing up on its hind-legs at my window and peering into my room). How crushing it is every night when I realize how uncomfortable the cheap piece of foam is that I call a mattress. The kids who run to my back yard every morning when they see the door open and stare at me as I brush my teeth and wash my face (while providing running commentary on it: "Look! Adam's washing his face! Look!")
I had a similar experience when I went home last summer, thinking after only a few days how it seemed unreal that a week ago I was sitting in a rural village in the middle of Madagascar. It makes me glad that I've kept this blog, and also that it seems realistic for me to move on, immediately, with my life once home and not think about this place for a while. Throughout the consolidation period, and especially when Peace Corps first offered us all a “Get Out of Peace Corps Free” card, people often as, me why I didn’t just go home if I hated it so much. They had a point, no doubt. I get no satisfaction from being here, I hate teaching English as much as the students hate learning it, and I fundamentally disagree that Peace Corps should even have an English as a Foreign Language program in Madagascar. So why do I stay?
- Pretenses aside, pride is a huge factor. Quitting just doesn’t seem to be an option when everyone else is staying. I also have a difficult time changing my mind once I’ve decided on something (also known as being stubborn).
- Besides, if I were going to resign myself to the idea of quitting, I’d feel even worse knowing that I didn’t just quit a year and a half ago, or even a month ago when it was made acceptable. Somehow, in my head, seeing this through until the end will validate my decision to have stayed this whole time.
- Plus, I don’t have the heart to call the principal of my school and tell him that, though everyone else is staying, I hate your town so much that I can’t possibly stick around for the last 4 months.
- And it is only 4 more months. And only 15 weeks of school. I’m sure it’ll fly by.
- Not to mention I’d still give it a 50% chance we’ll be evacuated. Peace Corps tells us it’s 0%, but this thing has only gotten worse, not better.
Maybe it’s true that there’s no chance of being evacuated, but it’s hard not to live and work like it might be true. In fact, we’ve been told to scale back our way to the things we can accomplish in the short term. Long-term projects and such aren’t feasible right now, especially anything that requires funding. (That said, I think I’ll be returning money that anyone donated to our field trip soon. Fianar isn’t stable enough to bring 21 high school students here for 3 days.) All of this makes our work, in my opinion, even less valuable. We’re already supposed to be working and thinking small. I truly pity newer volunteers who signed up to teach people about health and the environment (and even teach English) that have to accept such low standards and wondering how much they should invest themselves in their community if they’ll only be pulled out and sent elsewhere at the drop of a hat/hand grenade. (Not everyone feels this way, though, so take my views with a grain of salt)
As for me, still without any form of communication at site after 1.5 years, I can just teach lesson by lesson and look out the window every time I hear a car passing, wondering if it will be Peace Corps this time, coming to tell me to pack me stuff and say goodbye. Forget long term goals, I don’t even want to start a new book I’m so mentally prepared not to still be here after a few days.
I had a similar experience when I went home last summer, thinking after only a few days how it seemed unreal that a week ago I was sitting in a rural village in the middle of Madagascar. It makes me glad that I've kept this blog, and also that it seems realistic for me to move on, immediately, with my life once home and not think about this place for a while. Throughout the consolidation period, and especially when Peace Corps first offered us all a “Get Out of Peace Corps Free” card, people often as, me why I didn’t just go home if I hated it so much. They had a point, no doubt. I get no satisfaction from being here, I hate teaching English as much as the students hate learning it, and I fundamentally disagree that Peace Corps should even have an English as a Foreign Language program in Madagascar. So why do I stay?
- Pretenses aside, pride is a huge factor. Quitting just doesn’t seem to be an option when everyone else is staying. I also have a difficult time changing my mind once I’ve decided on something (also known as being stubborn).
- Besides, if I were going to resign myself to the idea of quitting, I’d feel even worse knowing that I didn’t just quit a year and a half ago, or even a month ago when it was made acceptable. Somehow, in my head, seeing this through until the end will validate my decision to have stayed this whole time.
- Plus, I don’t have the heart to call the principal of my school and tell him that, though everyone else is staying, I hate your town so much that I can’t possibly stick around for the last 4 months.
- And it is only 4 more months. And only 15 weeks of school. I’m sure it’ll fly by.
- Not to mention I’d still give it a 50% chance we’ll be evacuated. Peace Corps tells us it’s 0%, but this thing has only gotten worse, not better.
Maybe it’s true that there’s no chance of being evacuated, but it’s hard not to live and work like it might be true. In fact, we’ve been told to scale back our way to the things we can accomplish in the short term. Long-term projects and such aren’t feasible right now, especially anything that requires funding. (That said, I think I’ll be returning money that anyone donated to our field trip soon. Fianar isn’t stable enough to bring 21 high school students here for 3 days.) All of this makes our work, in my opinion, even less valuable. We’re already supposed to be working and thinking small. I truly pity newer volunteers who signed up to teach people about health and the environment (and even teach English) that have to accept such low standards and wondering how much they should invest themselves in their community if they’ll only be pulled out and sent elsewhere at the drop of a hat/hand grenade. (Not everyone feels this way, though, so take my views with a grain of salt)
As for me, still without any form of communication at site after 1.5 years, I can just teach lesson by lesson and look out the window every time I hear a car passing, wondering if it will be Peace Corps this time, coming to tell me to pack me stuff and say goodbye. Forget long term goals, I don’t even want to start a new book I’m so mentally prepared not to still be here after a few days.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
2/19 - Looking Kind of Anxious in Your Cross-Armed Stance
I apologize for the cliff-hanger last post, but on Sunday we shipped off to the Peace Corps training site, a place with almost no means of communication, 40 kilometers or so outside of the capital. Roughly 80 volunteers were kept there for the week (many had already been there for a long time) in "consolidation," supplied with information, food, and activities from Peace Corps. We spent most of our days eating, napping, watching movies, playing volleyball/basketball, and partying, which doesn't, after all, sound too bad.
The problem is that in the meantime Madagascar still hasn't been able to get itself together. All week, rallies for both the President and the opposition group held the capital at a standstill, while some violence erupted in two new cities--Tulear (southwest coast) and Diego (northern tip). In Tulear, 4 people were killed by grenades as they were storming a food warehouse, and 50 were injured.
Despite this, and acknowledging that things like this are likely to happen for some time to come, Peace Corps staff decided it was safe to go back to our sites, and we left the training center on Tuesday. The entire 10 hour ride down was peaceful (the driver even left the radio off) until we pulled into the city, where we were greeted by a wall of angry protesters holding political signs and chanting with their fists in the air. We pulled a 180 instantly, and went the long way around town back to the Peace Corps house, where we were, again, locked in for the day. Over the course of the next two hours, we heard 38 gunshots fired, though they were all into the air trying to scare off opportunistic looters around the city. (Official word after this was: "It's still safe for you to go back to your sites")
These are the facts. How I feel goes back and forth by the minute, both wanting to be home but not wanting to quit; feeling safe at site but still, after 18 months, having no means of communication with the outside world when I'm there. Peace Corps has given us all the option of taking an "interruption of service," meaning I'd get almost all the important benefits of being an "RPCV" (returned PCV), though the connotation is still that of "quitting." I don't want to quit after being here for so long, and especially if everyone eventually returns to site and finishes out the school year. Personally, I cannot fathom finding the energy to return to site and teach about past participles and 5 different ways to ask for a glass of water at a restaurant. I never found my job here very meaningful, and it's now to the point of absurdity.
We are safe at our sites, and we're mostly safer than here in Fianarantsoa. However, things are not only not clearing up, but they seem to be getting worse. Many of us here are at our wits end trying to stay emotionally stable and figuring out how to work in this environment. Others don't really mind, and a few have already up and left. I've already missed 2 weeks of school and this week they're on vacation anyway. Is it worth it to return to site for the rest of the year? I think the answer is "no," but I don't know if that's enough to make me hit the big red quit button just yet.
The problem is that in the meantime Madagascar still hasn't been able to get itself together. All week, rallies for both the President and the opposition group held the capital at a standstill, while some violence erupted in two new cities--Tulear (southwest coast) and Diego (northern tip). In Tulear, 4 people were killed by grenades as they were storming a food warehouse, and 50 were injured.
Despite this, and acknowledging that things like this are likely to happen for some time to come, Peace Corps staff decided it was safe to go back to our sites, and we left the training center on Tuesday. The entire 10 hour ride down was peaceful (the driver even left the radio off) until we pulled into the city, where we were greeted by a wall of angry protesters holding political signs and chanting with their fists in the air. We pulled a 180 instantly, and went the long way around town back to the Peace Corps house, where we were, again, locked in for the day. Over the course of the next two hours, we heard 38 gunshots fired, though they were all into the air trying to scare off opportunistic looters around the city. (Official word after this was: "It's still safe for you to go back to your sites")
These are the facts. How I feel goes back and forth by the minute, both wanting to be home but not wanting to quit; feeling safe at site but still, after 18 months, having no means of communication with the outside world when I'm there. Peace Corps has given us all the option of taking an "interruption of service," meaning I'd get almost all the important benefits of being an "RPCV" (returned PCV), though the connotation is still that of "quitting." I don't want to quit after being here for so long, and especially if everyone eventually returns to site and finishes out the school year. Personally, I cannot fathom finding the energy to return to site and teach about past participles and 5 different ways to ask for a glass of water at a restaurant. I never found my job here very meaningful, and it's now to the point of absurdity.
We are safe at our sites, and we're mostly safer than here in Fianarantsoa. However, things are not only not clearing up, but they seem to be getting worse. Many of us here are at our wits end trying to stay emotionally stable and figuring out how to work in this environment. Others don't really mind, and a few have already up and left. I've already missed 2 weeks of school and this week they're on vacation anyway. Is it worth it to return to site for the rest of the year? I think the answer is "no," but I don't know if that's enough to make me hit the big red quit button just yet.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
2/8 - WOOP WOOP WOOP
After a week of mostly calm demonstrations around the country, things went a little sour on Friday. For about a week, four volunteers had been "consolidated" in a coastal town called Manakara. For reasons unknown, this place effectively exploded and these PCVs were holed up in their hotel room while gunshots, molotov cocktails, and other assorted weaponry filled the streets. (They're all safe and the day after came to Fianar, where I've been since last Friday).
However, the President-wanna-be Mayor called for a demonstration in the capial on Saturday morning, where he would announce his cabinet. Afterwards, the crowd of 10-20,000 people stormed the presidents office where some sort of battle ensued and around 30 people were killed by police forces. Up to 300 were injured.
Where I am, though, is safe and peaceful. There are rallies every day but nothing violent, just some people talking and loud music. The 15 of us here are going a little stir-crazy from sitting around, sometimes under house arrest, and trying to pass the days. Tomorrow, however, we're all headed to the Peace Corps Training Site near the capital (not too close though) and from there, we don't know. The staff says that it's more likely than not that we'll be evacuated, this week. Because I'm almost done, I would likely just go straight home and not wait around to see if things calm down, or head to a different country. I think everyone who's been here for under a year gets that option.
For now, no more internet til something major happens--either going home or waiting out the crisis until we can go back to our sites. I'm personally hoping to just leave. After 2 weeks away from site, being told we might go home, I've sort of lost the mindset of being a teacher in a rural community. Also, of the remaining 4 and 1/2 months, at least 6 weeks of it the school will be on vacation. It just doesn't seem worth it at this point.
Anyway, it's been a surreal week, and it was definitely out of the blue. Next you all hear from me, it could be in Rhode Island! Surprise!
However, the President-wanna-be Mayor called for a demonstration in the capial on Saturday morning, where he would announce his cabinet. Afterwards, the crowd of 10-20,000 people stormed the presidents office where some sort of battle ensued and around 30 people were killed by police forces. Up to 300 were injured.
Where I am, though, is safe and peaceful. There are rallies every day but nothing violent, just some people talking and loud music. The 15 of us here are going a little stir-crazy from sitting around, sometimes under house arrest, and trying to pass the days. Tomorrow, however, we're all headed to the Peace Corps Training Site near the capital (not too close though) and from there, we don't know. The staff says that it's more likely than not that we'll be evacuated, this week. Because I'm almost done, I would likely just go straight home and not wait around to see if things calm down, or head to a different country. I think everyone who's been here for under a year gets that option.
For now, no more internet til something major happens--either going home or waiting out the crisis until we can go back to our sites. I'm personally hoping to just leave. After 2 weeks away from site, being told we might go home, I've sort of lost the mindset of being a teacher in a rural community. Also, of the remaining 4 and 1/2 months, at least 6 weeks of it the school will be on vacation. It just doesn't seem worth it at this point.
Anyway, it's been a surreal week, and it was definitely out of the blue. Next you all hear from me, it could be in Rhode Island! Surprise!
Friday, February 6, 2009
2/3 - WOOP WOOP!
Last week, starting around Monday, I began to hear reports on the BBC World Service that some funny business was going on in the capital. A teacher confirmed that even in Fianarantsoa there were strikes. However, it only ever made the nightly African news, and never the general world news, so I assumed it wasn't much to think about (though it was cool to finally hear Madagascar on BBC--we're routinely ignored).
On Friday, however, as I was walking down to my school I saw a Peace Corps car fly down my road, apparently having already been to my house and now checking the rest of the town to find me. I ran/jogged (flip-flops, and also people laughing) down there and our regional representative was already in a meeting with my Vice Principal. "Hey Adam. Have you heard the news about the strikes? We're all consolidating in Fianar and possibly evacuating." Let's just say I smiled.
What's happening, in a nutshell, is that the Mayor of Antananarivo (the capital) is leading a sort of coup d'etat against the President. He doesn't want to be the next President, but rather lead the transitional government which will then elect someone new. Over the course of the week there were rallies, protests, rioting, looting, and burning all signs of development that aid workers and entrepreneurs have installed for the past 40 years. All of the ex-pat supermarkets are gone, some tourist shops are gone, and everything the president owned (he sort of has a monopoly on all dairy products) is burned to the ground. In the process of looting, about 100 people died.
Last Saturday, the Mayor declared that he was now in charge of the country's affairs and began naming his cabinet. He is currently touring the country for support. Meanwhile, the actual President keeps asserting his power but not very forcefully and isn't taking it very seriously I guess. The African Union is on his side, but they aren't the most effective of the Unions to put it mildly.
So as I said, we're "consolidated." Part of our training involves a plan for emergencies, meaning what to do and where to go at each stage of the crisis. This means that right now, there are 11 volunteers at the Peace Corps house in Fianar, and then 14 other clusters of volunteers all around the country. (There are about 140 of us total). Peace Corps in Tana are in talks with the US Embassy about what to do--should we all stay here and wait it out, should we be evacuated to another country to wait it out, or should we just go back to the states.
For now, we all just sit around and twiddle our thumbs, read, watch movies, and cook big dinners. We're at day 5 of this today, and it's getting a little boring, though we could potentially be here for another 9 days. The "danger" is up in Tana (10 hours away) though there are also rallies here and the police/military are all over the city. No one feels at danger, though boredom is growing. Luckily, I'm in a town with internet and good food, while others are stuck in places with absolutely nothing to do and are probably drinking themselves into a stupor. All day long we get conflicting updates from Peace Corps and then even more conflicting reports from the internet about what's going on. One hour we all think we're going home, and the next we expect to be back at site within a day or two. And depending on what goes down, both of these seem equally likely.
It's definitely been an interesting experience to have gone through, though we're hardly in the thick of it here. It would be really anticlimactic to just go back to site as if nothing happened, though many of the people here are too new to want to go home (a month at site or so). If nothing else, it got me through what was going to be a long, long weekend.
On Friday, however, as I was walking down to my school I saw a Peace Corps car fly down my road, apparently having already been to my house and now checking the rest of the town to find me. I ran/jogged (flip-flops, and also people laughing) down there and our regional representative was already in a meeting with my Vice Principal. "Hey Adam. Have you heard the news about the strikes? We're all consolidating in Fianar and possibly evacuating." Let's just say I smiled.
What's happening, in a nutshell, is that the Mayor of Antananarivo (the capital) is leading a sort of coup d'etat against the President. He doesn't want to be the next President, but rather lead the transitional government which will then elect someone new. Over the course of the week there were rallies, protests, rioting, looting, and burning all signs of development that aid workers and entrepreneurs have installed for the past 40 years. All of the ex-pat supermarkets are gone, some tourist shops are gone, and everything the president owned (he sort of has a monopoly on all dairy products) is burned to the ground. In the process of looting, about 100 people died.
Last Saturday, the Mayor declared that he was now in charge of the country's affairs and began naming his cabinet. He is currently touring the country for support. Meanwhile, the actual President keeps asserting his power but not very forcefully and isn't taking it very seriously I guess. The African Union is on his side, but they aren't the most effective of the Unions to put it mildly.
So as I said, we're "consolidated." Part of our training involves a plan for emergencies, meaning what to do and where to go at each stage of the crisis. This means that right now, there are 11 volunteers at the Peace Corps house in Fianar, and then 14 other clusters of volunteers all around the country. (There are about 140 of us total). Peace Corps in Tana are in talks with the US Embassy about what to do--should we all stay here and wait it out, should we be evacuated to another country to wait it out, or should we just go back to the states.
For now, we all just sit around and twiddle our thumbs, read, watch movies, and cook big dinners. We're at day 5 of this today, and it's getting a little boring, though we could potentially be here for another 9 days. The "danger" is up in Tana (10 hours away) though there are also rallies here and the police/military are all over the city. No one feels at danger, though boredom is growing. Luckily, I'm in a town with internet and good food, while others are stuck in places with absolutely nothing to do and are probably drinking themselves into a stupor. All day long we get conflicting updates from Peace Corps and then even more conflicting reports from the internet about what's going on. One hour we all think we're going home, and the next we expect to be back at site within a day or two. And depending on what goes down, both of these seem equally likely.
It's definitely been an interesting experience to have gone through, though we're hardly in the thick of it here. It would be really anticlimactic to just go back to site as if nothing happened, though many of the people here are too new to want to go home (a month at site or so). If nothing else, it got me through what was going to be a long, long weekend.
1/28 - Adam At The Movies
As I mentioned last time I was in town, I've started a sort of "English Movie Night" in town on Wednesday evenings. Held at a generator-powered mud shack down the road from my house, the audience has been a mixture of my students and townspeople, though I don't think either one of the two groups understands the spoken English. The usual fare in the theater is French-dubbed American action/horror films, so I think they're used to it.
This week I brought "The Simpsons Movie," which--when it was graciously sent to us by a returned PCV last year--I thought was surprisingly funny. I'm not a huge fan of the Simpsons, but there's enough comedy at both levels so that I could enjoy watching it again and they could sort of follow the plot. Choosing movies follows this formula a bit, and while likely soon end Movie Night because there simply aren't enough shared movies available at the Peace Corps house that a) appeal to children/students, b) have simple plotlines that Malagasy people can sort of relate to, and c) have enough slapstick humor to keep the crowd laughing.
The biggest problem I've found so far is the ticket price, paid to the people who run the mud hut to pay for their costs (to run the generator and such). While it's 100 ariary (I'd guess this is aboout 8 cents), many of my students complain that "We no mo-nay" and therefore can't go. I don't totally believe them, but for the first movie last week I offered up 2000 ariary (thus 20 seats) out of my own pocket. Unfortunately, the kids that came to claim those seats were some of the most obnoxious, misbehaved students I have and I sort of resented having to do it. These are the kids who sit in the last row and heckle me if I say something wrong in Malagasy or if they can tell I'm getting frustrated with the class. Some of them, I know for a fact, have the money.
Next Wednesday, I'm going to show the classic "The Gods Must Be Crazy," a film about a tribe in southern Africa uncontacted by other civilizations that finds a Coke bottle dropped from the sky which tears apart their peaceful society. Though If I remember it right, there's little dialogue and lots of falling down. There's nothing the Malagasy people like more, moreover, than laughing at "Africans," a group of people they don't consider themselves to be a part of. Whatever the reasons they enjoy it, we gather for the purpose of experiencing English as a real language that people use to communicate, not just a subject they're forced to learn in school. (More importantly, the screenings are a pretense for me to watch good movies and ignore everyone else in the room for a while).
This week I brought "The Simpsons Movie," which--when it was graciously sent to us by a returned PCV last year--I thought was surprisingly funny. I'm not a huge fan of the Simpsons, but there's enough comedy at both levels so that I could enjoy watching it again and they could sort of follow the plot. Choosing movies follows this formula a bit, and while likely soon end Movie Night because there simply aren't enough shared movies available at the Peace Corps house that a) appeal to children/students, b) have simple plotlines that Malagasy people can sort of relate to, and c) have enough slapstick humor to keep the crowd laughing.
The biggest problem I've found so far is the ticket price, paid to the people who run the mud hut to pay for their costs (to run the generator and such). While it's 100 ariary (I'd guess this is aboout 8 cents), many of my students complain that "We no mo-nay" and therefore can't go. I don't totally believe them, but for the first movie last week I offered up 2000 ariary (thus 20 seats) out of my own pocket. Unfortunately, the kids that came to claim those seats were some of the most obnoxious, misbehaved students I have and I sort of resented having to do it. These are the kids who sit in the last row and heckle me if I say something wrong in Malagasy or if they can tell I'm getting frustrated with the class. Some of them, I know for a fact, have the money.
Next Wednesday, I'm going to show the classic "The Gods Must Be Crazy," a film about a tribe in southern Africa uncontacted by other civilizations that finds a Coke bottle dropped from the sky which tears apart their peaceful society. Though If I remember it right, there's little dialogue and lots of falling down. There's nothing the Malagasy people like more, moreover, than laughing at "Africans," a group of people they don't consider themselves to be a part of. Whatever the reasons they enjoy it, we gather for the purpose of experiencing English as a real language that people use to communicate, not just a subject they're forced to learn in school. (More importantly, the screenings are a pretense for me to watch good movies and ignore everyone else in the room for a while).
Saturday, January 24, 2009
1/21 - Disney Moments
Cultural Difference I Suspect My Rural Malagasy Town Didn't Quite Understand At A Screening of the Disney Channel's "High School Musical"
• Karaoke
• Camera phones
• Eccentric theater teachers
• School gymnasiums
• Google stalking
• Stoner/nerd cliques
• Computer hacking
• Detention
• Drama club
• School busses
• Cheerleaders
• Interpretive dance
• References to Ashton Kutcher/"Punk'd"
• Interventions
Things I Didn't Understand in High School Musical:
• Is that McCauley Culkin?
• What's with these pseudo-incestuous siblings?
• Since when is baking uncool?
Things My Rural Malagasy Town Definitely Understood:
• Fat girls dancing is funny
• American high schools are bigger than the biggest buildings in the entire country
• The "tanindrazana" (homeland) of their English teacher is just a liiittle over the top
After the movie was over, I asked one of my students what he thought about the
film. "High school in America is very different!" I agreed and started to walk home. I later wondered if he was referring to the size, number of students, etc. or the fact that Americans seem to break out into song every ten minutes with choreographed dances.
• Karaoke
• Camera phones
• Eccentric theater teachers
• School gymnasiums
• Google stalking
• Stoner/nerd cliques
• Computer hacking
• Detention
• Drama club
• School busses
• Cheerleaders
• Interpretive dance
• References to Ashton Kutcher/"Punk'd"
• Interventions
Things I Didn't Understand in High School Musical:
• Is that McCauley Culkin?
• What's with these pseudo-incestuous siblings?
• Since when is baking uncool?
Things My Rural Malagasy Town Definitely Understood:
• Fat girls dancing is funny
• American high schools are bigger than the biggest buildings in the entire country
• The "tanindrazana" (homeland) of their English teacher is just a liiittle over the top
After the movie was over, I asked one of my students what he thought about the
film. "High school in America is very different!" I agreed and started to walk home. I later wondered if he was referring to the size, number of students, etc. or the fact that Americans seem to break out into song every ten minutes with choreographed dances.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
1/11 - But Seriously, Folks
Sometimes I'm torn about my existence here: Some days I just want to go home, but then other days all I'll care about is leaving this place. Har Har. Yesterday I went to the rather pricey English course given in town every Saturday morning since mid-October, eager to see a Malagasy person teach English and how it differs from what I do. I've been meaning to go since it started, but have never managed to either be in town when it's happening or get out of bed in order to attend. I left questioning on an even deeper, abysmal level why I am here.
I met the teacher hanging outside the classroom before class started and he immediately said "Ah! Mr. Adam is here!" Which is an odd thing to hear from someone you've never met, but I guess I'm not too difficult to describe or pick out of a crowd. He is a city-bred 20-something who studied English at the University of Antananarivo for two years before dropping out, but he seemed fluent enough to me to have a conversation and seemed to be fond of languages. Someday, he told me, he'd like to also learn Italian and German, on top of Malagasy, French, and English.
Anyway, I was also curious to see who came to this class, particularly since I live in the town for no other reason than to teach English for free. Here, they pay a certain amount per class to be taught be a non-native English speaker. Did they not know me? Did they just prefer a Malagasy person? I was on an investigation, and also needed a distraction for Saturday morning. When I entered the classroom then, I was surprised, and then immediately not surprised, to see that the vast majority of learners were not just any middle/high school students, but my middle/high school students, some of them my best students.
I was quickly reminded of a facet of my experience here that I've tried to suppress, namely that the list of my best students is strongly correlated to that of my (relatively) wealthiest students. Those that can afford private tutoring are the ones the seem to succeed. Needless to say that not present in this course was 16-year old Caliste, a child so malnutritioned that he looks like he's 7, and about whom it was revealed, during the "family tree" lesson, that he's basically an orphan. Caliste falls asleep in every class of mine without exception, though if you manage to wake him up and give him a piece of chalk he can usually come up with a decent answer.
In this class, each student gets a 20-page (double-sided) handout with vocabulary lists, example dialogues and scenarios, and a page full of formulas to create sentences in different tenses (e.g. subject + to have + past participle + object = present perfect). Today's lesson started by talking about the use of "just" in a sentence, in the sense of "I just woke up". The teacher explained it in Malagasy, which I only sort of followed, and gave the example "Mr. Adam has just been from his house." I made a mental note to tell him later that this isn't a construction anyone would ever use. He wrote one other example sentence on the board, equally poorly phrased, and then moved on to a new topic.
"At the restaurant" was the context for the dialogue, though despite having three speaking parts and 15 lines of text, the only thing that is ever ordered from the waiter is "an apple juice with ice." The dialogue was riddled with typos, incorrect grammar, and things that no English speaker would ever say. "I just to accompany my daughter. She would like some drinks." While the class was made to tediously repeat it all, 7 or 8 times, I skipped ahead to check out some of the other grammatical points the page talked about, my favorite of which was an explanation of the use of other/others/another. Here is the entire lesson from start to finish:
USING OF OTHER, OTHERS, AND ANOTHER:
I caught some other fish all the others were caught by the others even I need another.
The point of this isn't to nitpick or criticize (don't get me wrong, I love to nitpick and criticize), rather, I walked away from this lesson halfway thinking how this is exactly what these kids, and all the students in town, need. How will they ever pass the end-of-senior-year, nationwide, standardized English exam if they don't speak this sort of standardized broken English? How can they communicate with other English speakers here if they don't, also, speak in the same mangled dialect? (This teacher pronounced 'movies' as rhyming sort of like 'toffee'). And I'm not being facetious, either.
The thing is, after three months of a once-a-week course, all of these students can communicate better than all of the rest of students in town who have studied for years in school, and at least one year with me. Whether my students understand grammar and vocabulary or not, they don't have a tenth of the confidence in the language that these course-takers do or the ability to initiate a conversation with someone. The course-kids might botch every sentence, pronounce it like they have marbles in the mouth, but the fact remains that they speak English and I understand them well enough to chat with them. This is the case with maybe 1% of the 500 students I teach in class.
Part of this has to do with the teacher being Malagasy. The students have a much higher comfort level speaking in front of him and having the courage to make mistakes. (Not that the Malagasy/French style of education leaves much room for student participation in the lesson; it's primarily lecturing and note-taking). Second, he can speak Malagasy and explain different complicated concepts far better than I ever could. I do my best, and I happen to think that I'm not too shabby at explaining English grammar and vocabulary in Malagasy, but it's still night and day.
Our role here as Peace Corps Volunteers, as admitted by one of the highest administrators in the program, is as a 'temporary stop-gap' for the lack of English teachers while this generation graduates from school and fills up these jobs. But even this dismal rationale for why I've been here for almost 2 years doesn't acknowledge that this is only a valid reason if I'm actually helping these students. And I'm not. Maybe I can help, minimally, some rich kids who have the resources to learn the language with or without me, and who need no inspiration, but the rest, I believe, sincerely need someone that they understand and teaches in a way with which they're familiar. And still, saying that we're only a stop-gap also doesn't recognize the fact that there already are plenty of English speakers who could take over our jobs. However, they're smart enough not to quit their job teaching private courses, or just selling sugar, rope, and grease in the weekly market, for which they're paid four times as much. It's no wonder there are no English teachers; in fact, it's a downright surprise that there are teachers for any subjects at all considering how low their salaries are.
So, contemplating all of this as I walked home, I decided that today was one of the days I don't care about going home, specifically, but rather what's important is just not being here anymore.
I met the teacher hanging outside the classroom before class started and he immediately said "Ah! Mr. Adam is here!" Which is an odd thing to hear from someone you've never met, but I guess I'm not too difficult to describe or pick out of a crowd. He is a city-bred 20-something who studied English at the University of Antananarivo for two years before dropping out, but he seemed fluent enough to me to have a conversation and seemed to be fond of languages. Someday, he told me, he'd like to also learn Italian and German, on top of Malagasy, French, and English.
Anyway, I was also curious to see who came to this class, particularly since I live in the town for no other reason than to teach English for free. Here, they pay a certain amount per class to be taught be a non-native English speaker. Did they not know me? Did they just prefer a Malagasy person? I was on an investigation, and also needed a distraction for Saturday morning. When I entered the classroom then, I was surprised, and then immediately not surprised, to see that the vast majority of learners were not just any middle/high school students, but my middle/high school students, some of them my best students.
I was quickly reminded of a facet of my experience here that I've tried to suppress, namely that the list of my best students is strongly correlated to that of my (relatively) wealthiest students. Those that can afford private tutoring are the ones the seem to succeed. Needless to say that not present in this course was 16-year old Caliste, a child so malnutritioned that he looks like he's 7, and about whom it was revealed, during the "family tree" lesson, that he's basically an orphan. Caliste falls asleep in every class of mine without exception, though if you manage to wake him up and give him a piece of chalk he can usually come up with a decent answer.
In this class, each student gets a 20-page (double-sided) handout with vocabulary lists, example dialogues and scenarios, and a page full of formulas to create sentences in different tenses (e.g. subject + to have + past participle + object = present perfect). Today's lesson started by talking about the use of "just" in a sentence, in the sense of "I just woke up". The teacher explained it in Malagasy, which I only sort of followed, and gave the example "Mr. Adam has just been from his house." I made a mental note to tell him later that this isn't a construction anyone would ever use. He wrote one other example sentence on the board, equally poorly phrased, and then moved on to a new topic.
"At the restaurant" was the context for the dialogue, though despite having three speaking parts and 15 lines of text, the only thing that is ever ordered from the waiter is "an apple juice with ice." The dialogue was riddled with typos, incorrect grammar, and things that no English speaker would ever say. "I just to accompany my daughter. She would like some drinks." While the class was made to tediously repeat it all, 7 or 8 times, I skipped ahead to check out some of the other grammatical points the page talked about, my favorite of which was an explanation of the use of other/others/another. Here is the entire lesson from start to finish:
USING OF OTHER, OTHERS, AND ANOTHER:
I caught some other fish all the others were caught by the others even I need another.
The point of this isn't to nitpick or criticize (don't get me wrong, I love to nitpick and criticize), rather, I walked away from this lesson halfway thinking how this is exactly what these kids, and all the students in town, need. How will they ever pass the end-of-senior-year, nationwide, standardized English exam if they don't speak this sort of standardized broken English? How can they communicate with other English speakers here if they don't, also, speak in the same mangled dialect? (This teacher pronounced 'movies' as rhyming sort of like 'toffee'). And I'm not being facetious, either.
The thing is, after three months of a once-a-week course, all of these students can communicate better than all of the rest of students in town who have studied for years in school, and at least one year with me. Whether my students understand grammar and vocabulary or not, they don't have a tenth of the confidence in the language that these course-takers do or the ability to initiate a conversation with someone. The course-kids might botch every sentence, pronounce it like they have marbles in the mouth, but the fact remains that they speak English and I understand them well enough to chat with them. This is the case with maybe 1% of the 500 students I teach in class.
Part of this has to do with the teacher being Malagasy. The students have a much higher comfort level speaking in front of him and having the courage to make mistakes. (Not that the Malagasy/French style of education leaves much room for student participation in the lesson; it's primarily lecturing and note-taking). Second, he can speak Malagasy and explain different complicated concepts far better than I ever could. I do my best, and I happen to think that I'm not too shabby at explaining English grammar and vocabulary in Malagasy, but it's still night and day.
Our role here as Peace Corps Volunteers, as admitted by one of the highest administrators in the program, is as a 'temporary stop-gap' for the lack of English teachers while this generation graduates from school and fills up these jobs. But even this dismal rationale for why I've been here for almost 2 years doesn't acknowledge that this is only a valid reason if I'm actually helping these students. And I'm not. Maybe I can help, minimally, some rich kids who have the resources to learn the language with or without me, and who need no inspiration, but the rest, I believe, sincerely need someone that they understand and teaches in a way with which they're familiar. And still, saying that we're only a stop-gap also doesn't recognize the fact that there already are plenty of English speakers who could take over our jobs. However, they're smart enough not to quit their job teaching private courses, or just selling sugar, rope, and grease in the weekly market, for which they're paid four times as much. It's no wonder there are no English teachers; in fact, it's a downright surprise that there are teachers for any subjects at all considering how low their salaries are.
So, contemplating all of this as I walked home, I decided that today was one of the days I don't care about going home, specifically, but rather what's important is just not being here anymore.
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