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...