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 (please 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!
