being forced to be present.

I was never a big fan of TV. The last time I had a television in my home was when I still lived with my parents back in 1997. Sure, there have been pockets of television-watching in my life, when I would go home for visits or during a brief stint in Australia when I lived with a houseful of Norwegians and an English guy who couldn’t sleep, eat or function in general unless the television was on.

So I was quite surprised when I came down with a curious case of the lack-of-television-blues after moving to Madagascar.

How could I possibly feel this way? I’ve never enjoyed sitting like a lump on a log in front of a glowing screen, being spoon-fed what I should buy and how I should look. But now that I’m in the middle of a fishing village in Madagascar, I suddenly wish I were watching the latest episode of Glee?

Other strange feelings began to emerge, particularly during my second month at site, by far the hardest month I’ve had here. I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was, which as it turns out, is quite a lovely place. I was struggling just to live and failing miserably trying to enjoy myself. I felt irritable with everyone, discouraged by my Peace Corps experience and overall, just plain homesick.

I longed for something to distract me from my self-induced despair, but I couldn’t escape my reality; I was just going to have to deal with living in the moment. In other words, I was being forced to be present, and I kinda didn’t like it.

There was no internet to distract me in its myriad ways. There was no computer at all, in fact, where I could do even the most menial distracting activity, such as finally learn how to use Excel. I couldn’t go out for a beer with friends to take my mind off things, couldn’t go to the movie theater to zone out for the night, couldn’t call up a friend for a quick chat. And, of course, there was no television.

As time has passed, I have begun to really enjoy the simple pleasures of living in the moment. It’s a rare opportunity to step back in time; in a sense I am living as people did centuries ago. For example, a while back I was talking to my dad on the phone, which requires I walk some distance from my village and stand in the middle of a cow field. While we were talking, an ox cart rolled by carrying a large family and sacks of rice. On the other end of the line, 11,000 miles around the planet, my dad was driving down the highway using Skype on his ipad.

Our lives in the westernized world are connected to everything, adding an urgent immediacy to all we do. When I am in my village, I’m not updating my Facebook status, checking email, watching commercials, texting friends or zoning out on YouTube. What I am doing is getting to know my community’s needs, building strong relationships, working on protecting the precious environment of Madagascar… in short, enjoying the life that is actually happening all around me. And being forced to be present, with less and less resistance from me.

post-vacation.

(one from my journal.)

Ahhh… my first true night alone in so very long, I think since I lived in the US. I didn’t realize just how badly I needed it. Even at site, in my own home, I never really feel alone because the walls are just sticks. Wall concepts.

I shopped for basil, garlic, tomatoes and onions at the market this evening and was greeted by several kind folks I’ve met along the way. It almost felt like I was home. A very foreign and makeshift home away from home.

The bread seller I’ve come to joke around with on market days sold me her largest loaf for 100 Ariary less than usual. Maybe I am no longer just another vazaha to her.

I carried everything home in a woven basket made for me by neighbor.

I took a bucket bath using hand-milled lavender soap and shampoo made from a Malagasy tree.

After wrapping a yellow print lamba around me and sipping a glass of wine, I cooked polenta with marinara sauce, and listened to various albums friends have made for me. The homesick melancholy comes in waves.

Watched “The Truth About Cats & Dogs,” totally engrossed in the lavishness of a DVD player, a couch to lie upon and a bowl of popcorn. Aware of how luxurious it feels.

Room and bed: Warm and inviting with scented oils, fan blowing, clean sheets.

Listen to “Let Me In Your Life,” by Bill Withers. It fits where I’m at completely.

Now these journal scribbles, then decadent, alone sleep, after two weeks of non-stop bunk beds and crowded, ceaseless travel.

six months.

September 3rd marked six months living in Madagascar. There is an expression here amongst Peace Corps Volunteers, "the days go slow but time flies." It perfectly describes these last six months. Sometimes the hours crawl at my site, only to realize that by staying focused on small tasks and accomplishments, the months move along quite quickly.

So, Peace Corps flew me down to the capital city of Antananarivo (Tana, for short) last weekend for our six-month training. It's been wonderful to reconnect with the other volunteers from my training group, see everyone's presentations of their sites, and to understand that my joys and frustrations are not just my own. Four people from our original group of 25 have now returned back to the United States. It is hard to live here, but gets easier with every passing day.

I have been in the capital for about a week now, and will be leaving today for a smaller city south of here called Antsirabe, where there are beautiful volcanic lakes, hiking, and even a brewery. I fly back north to Diego next Saturday and return to my village shortly thereafter. It will be strange after almost two weeks of speaking English, gorging myself on non-Malagasy foods and traveling with a large group of friends to living alone in my hut again. Happily though, I have found myself pining for my village, missing the little life I've created for myself there.

My time in Tana has been intense in many ways. For one thing, it is a big, dirty, sprawling city (about 10 million people live here). Raw sewage and trash fill the canals. Some of the lakes bubble with green, toxic sludge. I experienced my first true attempt at pickpocketing in all my years of traveling abroad. Children beg incessantly and it requires a sense of hardness. Getting around on taxi buses is a test in patience and your ability to withstand discomfort on many levels. But also, there is a beauty here, a rawness and exposure to life that I find so endearing. It is so difficult to describe...

For now I just want to say that I am enjoying my time here and hope that you all will continue to read my stories, share with your loved ones, comment on my blog and ask me questions. Goal Three of Peace Corps speaks to educating Americans about life in foreign countries, and I endeavor to do so with all my entries over the next couple years.

More to come...