work. (or, the blog I never thought I'd write.)

Work here as a Peace Corps Volunteer is feast or famine: I either feel so busy and fulfilled by an ongoing project that I don't know where the week's gone or I feel I've done literally every possible thing I can think of to do in a day... and it's only 8:30 in the morning.

Though I do spend an exorbitant amount of time in my village in the latter state, the past month has been filled with interesting projects and activities. Here's a brief synopsis.

At the end of July, a team of researchers from a UK-based marine conservation organization visited Ambolobozokely for five days to conduct surveys and map the outlying coastal areas. Many small islands just outside of my village are home to several different species of sea turtle. I went with a team of these researchers to map the islands and act as translator. After only a half hour's boat ride across the bay, we landed on the first island, which lies on the northeastern edge of Madagascar.







Cerulean blue waves crash endlessly against its eastern shore carrying massive turtles munching on sea grasses and riding the waves. The beaches are important nesting habitats; the turtles return to the same beaches every year to nest. Juveniles have a very low survival rate, thus very few hatchlings will make it to adulthood. Those that do have to run the gauntlet of various threats; many sea turtles are caught in numerous fishing nets which are plied around the coastline of Madagascar.

We saw several Hawksbill turtles in just the short time we were there, including, unfortunately, dozens of Green sea turtle carcasses strewn along the white sands. Though the turtles are supposedly protected by Malagasy law, these precious creatures still wind up being slaughtered and eaten or sold at nearby markets. It is extremely difficult to manage environmental issues on any scale in this country, due to a lack of funding, infrastructure and manpower to actually monitor activity. In any case, it was interesting to work with this particular conservation group and see my village through new eyes.

The second, much larger project I took on recently was a collaborative effort with another PCV, Kelly Wilson, who lives only 27 kilometres away from me. Since she is my closest (white) neighbor, we decided it would be a good idea to host an AIDS awareness bike tour in our two villages. And because it is Peace Corps 50th anniversary this year, we thought we'd also take the opportunity to educate people about the great work that's been done by PCVs all over the world since 1961.

The short tour began on August 4th with two days in Kelly's village. A group of eleven volunteers and three Malagasy work counterparts from around Madagascar converged upon the village, performing educational skits, dancing (in dust), singing songs, giving speeches, providing condom demonstrations and watching a film on the dangers of promiscuity- all in Malagasy, of course.

Somewhat unluckily for all of us PCVs, the village was also hosting a massive party that weekend as part of an exhumation ceremony (long story- will explain some other time). What this meant for us is that a band was booming until 6AM literally right outside of Kelly's doorstep and none of us slept a wink. For two nights.

No mind- we persevered through, got our bikes packed up with all our gear and made our way to my village on August 6th. Traveling to Ambolobozokely is always an adventure- the road is pretty long and mostly sand- but at least it was downhill the whole way to the sea. Believe me, it's no fun going the other way. After a few bike breakdowns and a flash rainstorm, we arrived and ate a delicious lunch of fresh fried fish, coconut beans and of course, rice. We repeated the same spectacular events that we'd done the previous day, with a great turn out and lots of villager participation- even in the condom demonstrations! (Don't worry, wooden dildos were used, not live models.) And it wouldn't be a Malagasy event if there wasn't a dance party at the end that went til dawn, and that is one thing Ambolobozokely is very, very good at.

Just a week later, I hosted a brief visit to my village by none other than Peace Corps Country Director, John Reddy. He and his lovely wife Portia took a tour of town and enjoyed an ice cold Coke from the refrigerator powered by local windmills. The next night I joined them in Diego for a wonderful pizza dinner with all the Diego region PCVs. It was fascinating to talk about all the changes they've seen in Peace Corps since"way back in the day," when they served in Lesotho in the 1960's. John is a great Country Director and a strong advocate for PCVs throughout our experience. Too bad we couldn't convince him to join us on the dance floor later that night.

All in all, it's been an action-packed month or so. Now I'm sick with a case of dysentery, and that is keeping me running as well, but in a whole different way.

breastfeeding.

Dedicated to two of my dear girlfriends, Jenna and Evelyn, who are embarking upon motherhood for the first time.

Being a woman, I was quite surprised to discover how uncomfortable I've sometimes felt watching other women breastfeed in this country. Not a day, nor practically an hour, has gone by in my village or travels around Madagascar where I haven't seen a baby hanging off their mother's breast. Never mind being squirted by breast milk (twice) on taxi brousse rides. With all this exposure, I've had plenty of opportunities to consider my own reactions and wonder upon why in the Western world we have such an aversion to this most natural act. For a culture that so shuns breastfeeding we surely covet the breast.

Since I've never been a mother, I was initially quite shocked at how often babies need to be fed! Here the women do not hesitate to pop out a boob every time their babies cry, no matter where they are, who they're with, what they're doing or who's watching. No one averts their eyes, covers themselves in shame or embarrassment, no one has to go to a private room as if to perform some sacred act. I've never once seen a bottle or a pacifier (or for that matter, a child sucking its thumb). If you hear a baby cry, you better believe in just a minute you're about to see a boob.

At first this used to kinda freak me out (and sometimes still does). Where should I look? Should I leave? Does she mind if I watch? But like countless other times throughout my Peace Corps experience, I've learned to simply follow by example and observe my own thoughts and feelings about it as I go.

For example, I recently attended a meeting in my village which was being conducted at the home of the president of a fishing association. In attendance were two researchers from a marine conservation organization, as well as the president and his wife, who were listening on with great interest. At one point during the meeting, their baby started to cry and the mother pulled out her breast to quiet and soothe her. I could tell one of the researchers felt uncomfortable and later on we spoke about it. Sure, it's a natural act, but does it really need to be done in the middle of a meeting?

Well, why not? I try to imagine what it would be like to hide myself every single time my baby needed to be fed. I remember some time ago my girlfriend Eleanor joining a Facebook group that was called, "If you're so against breastfeeding, you put a blanket over YOUR head!"

In a lot of ways, I think mothering is easier here than it is in the Western world. Every one is taking care of each other's kids here. My neighbor's toddler precariously teeters around the paths near our houses; other kids and mothers and fathers all keep an eye out, playing with him, teaching him to walk, giving him bits of rice or fruit and sharing their toys. If his mother needs to get up and move about- to collect firewood, sift rice, fetch water- the child does not need to be confined to a pen or placed in a daycare for the afternoon. The village is there to offer support.

I think of all the special gear it takes for my girlfriends with babies back home to cart around just to leave the house: bags stuffed with diapers, toys, bottles, formula, pacifiers, blankets, breast pumps, carriages, baby backpacks... I probably don't even know the half of it. Here a woman has a few things for her baby when they set out together: a colorful lamba (cloth) for securing her baby on her back, a small extra cloth that serves as a diaper and of course, her breasts, all a little one needs in the world... besides a village to watch over her.

excerpts from my journal.

I have been so bad at blogging lately. The excitement of living in a foreign culture has given way to a blur of days filled with endless bowls of rice and occasional feelings of ennui. Even in my village, I hardly write anymore, which is quite an anomaly for me. However, as I flip through the pages of my journal, I have found a few excerpts that I think can serve as brief snapshots into some of my recent experiences.

July 12th- [with the onslaught of windy season has come 24/7 electricity]
Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about all this: the waking to noise (aka Malagasy music) at 5:30AM, the kids out of school and hanging around my house (and looking in my windows) for something to do, feeling trapped in my house because there's nothing to do & nothing to do & nothing to do- wishing for quiety to study or read or sleep but the constant cacophony goes on & on; the wind forever blowing.

July 17th- about 6AM
Woke around 3:45 fully rested and wide awake, waiting for the light of day and the roosters to commence their morning alarm. Last night upon returning from Clare's house [a dear friend with whom I share most meals] I ground my teeth in frustration as the same chorus of some discordant Merina church ballad blasted from the house next door. I thought I'd try a new approach to my usual exasperated shouts of "shut up!" from my bed... so I simply went over and said "Azafady fa mety ataova musique moramora? Zaho matorobe fa tsy zatra mandry lera misy musique tabataba." [Sorry but can you play the music softly? I'm really sleepy and still not used to sleeping when the music is loud.] Done. Music off (wasn't expecting off completely)! The new woman that lives in the house next door now is nice- that sweet, ignorant nice that is born out of little education and too many babies at a young age- not sure where the usual cackling crew of women have gone off to.

July 20th
I helped Clare move out of her house this weekend- but this looks very different than the moving I am so well-accustomed to... forget the image of moving trucks, squeezing belongings into every nook and cranny of a station wagon or borrowing a friend's pickup, piles of cardboard boxes, endless hours spent sorting & labeling junk, ordering in Chinese or pizza and packing until the wee hours of morning.
No, I did most of the moving by carrying dozens of bundles of her wordly possessions wrapped in cloth on my head; she is 8 months pregnant and her daughter is 10. Her husband was out at sea fishing during the couple days it took for them to move. You better believe my neck is sore; they spend their whole lives hauling water & heavy guny sacks of rice and laundry and everything imaginable on their heads (sometimes for miles) while I, on the other hand, can hardly walk ten steps without having to readjust even an easy load up there.
Clare moving out has so many implications... I will sorely miss having such a kind friend living right next door, washing dishes and gutting fish and sorting rice right in my front yard every day. Even though she's just moving on the outskirts of the village, it feels so lonely reverting back to the days of eating by myself at my house. I've become so accustomed to eating rice three meals a day on a mat together with her in our yard. Even though it's a beautiful walk through mango groves to her new home on the edge of grassy field lined with coconut trees, the peace I feel there is tinged with a newfound sadness- so much seems to stay the same day after day, year after year, but soon I too will be moving. But this time, I won't be able to carry my things in a small bundle on my head and walk along a sandy path; soon I will be flying across many oceans. Is it soon or not soon enough? Nine months remaining...