Honeymoon = Over

As I’ve stated before, and is a commonly accepted Peace Corps fact, the first three months at post are the hardest. After the first month I didn’t think I’d have any trouble getting through the first three; things went relatively smoothly, my Gasy improved, I made some friends, did my best to teach my classes, 5eme and 2nde (the equivalent of 7th and 10th grade in the U.S., respectively, even though the age ranges in the classes don’t necessarily fall into those age groups), and developed somewhat of a routine. I was mostly happy.

But now that’s vita (finished). Don’t get me wrong, I’m still usually happy; I’m not sure what the turning point was, but somewhere towards the end of my 2nd month, things started seeming less new, exciting, and fun. I’ve fallen back into my old habit of when I’m in a bad mood, cranky, or something happens that makes me cranky, other things that normally wouldn’t bother me REALLY start to bother me and eat at me. And then I get irritated at myself for feeling so angry over something so small. And then I feel angry that I feel angry over something that’s small (that makes sense, right?) It’s a vicious cycle, and it happened a lot in my life in the U.S., not so much in Niger, as my only low point in Niger was being told that we had to leave (the initial struggles with Zarma and the Giardia bit were manageable). Things by themselves may have been manageable, like dealing with developing country bureaucracy at the post office – it’s a long story and I’ll tell it to you over cocoa some time if you’re that interested, the stress of trying to get my med refills sent here instead of my banking town and freaking out b.c they took so long to get here even though they were sent express; I was down to one weeks worth of malaria meds and completely out of ibuprofen, which I need a lot: I spent 14 hours a week teaching 60 poorly behaved students at a time, have neighbors that are never quiet, village dogs that bark up a storm at various points in the night (I’ve seriously considered, and still am, buying about 50 bark collars on amazon.com and having them sent to me and putting one on every dog I see; that’s how bad it is), the noise from the neighbors starts at 5 a.m., they get up, start blasting the radio, talking to each other as though they are all deaf, and chopping firewood. Yeah.

Administering tests to about 200 students and trying to enforce rules and keep them quiet during the test (without success) brought on enormous amounts of stress, and the stress brought back my tmj pain (fantastic – thanks kids!) and I was out of ibuprofen. Grading wasn’t that bad; it took me less time than I thought it would. I made the 5eme test really simple and still, most were clueless, and I gave questions on the 2nde exam that required an iota of critical thinking, thinking outside the box and giving examples different from the ones I gave in class, and well, that didn’t happen. They aren’t really taught critical thinking; all they are taught from the time they start school is to copy exactly what is written on the board. Exercises I’ve given in class where they need to think critically go right over most of their heads, and when I tell them if they don’t understand they can ask questions, they don’t. So, to me, that means they understand, but as I walk around the room, checking on work, nobody is writing anything (except for copying word for word the questions; the ingrained behavior, and then not answering them, thinking they are done because all they are taught to do is copy.) “Why aren’t you doing the exercise?” I ask. Maybe one or two kids in the class will get it, and I say, great, now why aren’t your friends doing it? “They don’t understand,” the student said. Ok, then why aren’t you asking me questions if you don’t understand? I am more than happy to help but I can’t help you if you don’t ask me questions! So, ask questions, what don’t you understand? Silence. I’ve heard that in some cultures, asking a question to a teacher (or any authority figure) implies that that person didn’t do their job right, and that would be disrespectful. So I’ve started asking more specific questions to check if they understand and watering down the material even more.

I digress. So then I get asked questions about what words mean, like when I gave reading comprehension exercises (as if that’s going to help them answer the questions; it doesn’t. Look for the word you don’t understand in the question in the text, look around it, and poof! There’s your answer. That’s how I dealt with reading comprehension when I was studying French, but again, they don’t think critically like that) Once a 2nde student asked me what “he” and “we” meant when I put a sentence on the board – like I said before, even if they are in the class, they aren’t necessarily at that level. It’s possible they didn’t have English classes in previous years; English is required after 6eme, but if there’s no one to teach it, then they don’t have the class that year.

Anywho, the test: I kicked out a few people for talking during the test or looking at their friends’ papers, and wound up giving half of one of my classes zeros for cheating; a very rampant practice here. I warned them beforehand cheating would result in a zero, and while I was grading, encountered several exams with identical blatantly wrong answers. No joke; same wrong conjugations, same missing or wrong articles, same incorrect word orders, same misspellings, same incorrect punctuation. Obviously from an American standpoint I was irritated that so many people cheated (and surprised at how many, I knew it happened but it happened A LOT) but also insulted that they think I’m stupid enough not to notice, and then again when we went over the test in class and students changed their wrong answers and tried to convince me after class that I made a mistake and their grade was wrong. Seriously? How dumb do you think I am? When I first started teaching, my counterpart told me the students liked me, but now I’m not so sure; I pissed off a few of people giving so many zeros; some stormed out of class and looked like they were going to cry. Others protested: “but madame, this part is ok, I didn’t cheat on this part” and a student told me I needed to separate people during the tests and sit them one to a bench (there are about 20 benches in the rooms for classes of more than 50 so they sit 2 or 3 to a desk). Um… there’s no space for that, unless 70% of the class sits on the floor, and there’s not even space for that (and they’d balk if I even suggested it). I have a better idea: don’t look at the test of the person sitting next to you and keep an eye on your own damn test!

I have 6 classes, 3 each of 5eme and 2nde, and one 2nde class and one 5eme class are awesome! They are mostly well behaved and quiet during class, more serious, attentive, motivated, and very mahay. I leave those classes in a good mood, feeling like I’m good at my job and I just might have an impact here. The others are pretty much the opposite. At the end of the trimester, the teachers had a meeting to discuss the classes, and even other teachers echoed the problems I’ve had with them (they are unmotivated and mitabataba [Gasy for “to be disruptive]), so it’s not just me. It’s also super irritating being watched through the windows; other students who aren’t in class watch me through the windows and sometimes talk to their friends who are in class while I’m trying to teach, or just to see what the vazaha is doing. Ok, yes, there is a vazaha teaching at your school; its not new and exciting anymore, get over it. Neither is me speaking Gasy; still, when I tell them what an English word is in Malagasy, it creates a small commotion in class, giggles and murmurs of “mahay teny gasy” (she knows how to speak gasy) arise. Not as much as it once did, but it still happens; it happens a lot at the market, too, the mpivarotras shouting it to each other, “mahay teny gasy!” Yes, I do speak Malagasy, well enough to know that you’re talking about me. I’ve been here two months, its not new and exciting anymore, get over it. Ok, I guess 2 months is still a pretty short time period, but i sometimes feels like I’ve been here forever. But, at the same time, the weeks fly by. Plus, there’s been a volunteer at my site since 2000 – that’s ten years! And that is a long time; there are vazaha teachers around; get over it. Crowds form around me to watch me buy tomatoes at the market, or when I stop to talk to one of my friends or a random mpivarotra, crowds form to watch me. Everyone from little kids to much older people; the kids, I understand, but the people who are my grandparents’ age also silently, unabashedly staring at me…it’s a little much and awkward. The kids in surrounding houses have taken to watching me through my doors (which I usually keep open during the day so I don’t suffocate and spontaneously combust in my own house), peering at me as I cook, clean, read, or watch DVDs, which is my de-stressing time, so then it REALLY bothers me.

I’ve started putting my foot down on the loud kids around my house. If they’re being loud, crying, etc., I’ll go out there and tell them to be quiet, stop, or go home. Once, a kid (maybe 5 or 6) was bawling his eyes out in my yard, keeling over, rolling around in the sand, so I went outside and tried to get him to stop. He wouldn’t even stand up, so I asked another kid playing nearby where his house was and then I literally dragged him by his armpits back to his house about 30 feet away (with him screaming his head off and refusing to walk himself) and dropped him in the yard of his house with the adults watching and laughing. “Maditra!” they exclaimed (poorly behaved). Yes, he is, and he’s your kid, so do something about it. In Senegal and Niger, disciplining other peoples’ kids was totally ok; I haven’t noticed it here nearly as much, or any kind of harsh discipline being used against kids – mostly they just get yelled at (though some people said they saw their host siblings get hit). Again – integration. I live here too and need some quiet time once in a while. There’s a Malagasy proverb that I REALLY need to learn in Malagasy that says “other people’s children cause your nostrils to flare.” Structurally, it would be “make flare your nostrils the children of other people” – that’s how the language works, but I’m not sure of all the words. And they do make my nostrils flare, my head throb, and my tmj pain come back. Teaching wears me out enough as is; my living space shouldn’t cause me stress either.

But it has been; worse than the kids has been the family I share the house with playing the same five songs over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again every day. No joke; I used to hear the same 5 songs about 10 times a day, but lately I only hear a few of them once in a while but there’s one song that gets played foana (all the time). I once heard it three times within an hour of waking up and counted 10 times in one day. And its just this one song, they don’t get sick of it and its like the song is new each time they hear it! All the kids (and adults) sing along excitedly each time they hear it (even if its not playing, they’re singing it, or any of the other same songs that they listen to). The song’s on a DVD along with a grainy music video, and other neighbors who I guess don’t have a TV come by frequently to watch and be loud and they gape in fascination; like they haven’t heard the song before and its new and exciting! It sounds silly, but its seriously starting to bug the crap out of me and I wonder, “is it going to be like this for 2 years? Are they going to play that song at least five times a day EVERYDAY for the next 22 months that I’m here?” If so, I may need to be wack evac’ed. I was looking forward to the break and getting to relax; I even made a list of things to do when bored (though none of them are that huge/time consuming) but now I’m wondering if it will be enjoyable if I have to put up with noise all the time and face a different kind of stress from school. I’m now REALLY looking forward to IST, so I can see my friends, share crazy stories, and vent. I don’t really call people; usually we just have text convos because calling is way more expensive.

And Easter was the other day; without fail, holidays abroad make me homesick because celebrating them abroad just isn’t the same, and its those times that make me realize how far away I am from home, my family, and friends; I feel most lonely at those points. I love my church back home at Easter; its so beautiful, I love the hymns, and I love eating lots of good food afterward. I went to a Catholic church here with one of my friends, at her urging; I’d gone once before but kept refusing invitations to go again because 1. I’m not Catholic. Then you should go to the Protestant Church, people tell me. Which brings me to: 2. While my Malagasy has improved, I don’t understand religious lingo and don’t understand 99% of what’s happening so I’m bored, and 3. Church services here are 3 hours long; I can get a lot done on Sunday mornings in 3 hours – my laundry, shaving my legs (if the mood so strikes me), starting my lesson planning for the week, sweeping and scrubbing the floors. Yes, I’m Christian and like going to church back home but its not the same here and its just depresses me that I don’t have my own church to go to, and what’s the point of going if I don’t understand anything that’s going on and I can get a lot done in that time period. Maybe if it was an hour, fine, but its not. Nobody that lives near me ever goes to church on Sundays; its not as big of a deal here as it was in our training villages it seems like.

It was only two hours but we spent an hour sitting outside doing nothing (good thing I brought my book; a PCV I met in Senegal told me to always bring a book with you in Peace Corps because you may be waiting for a while for, well, everything – good advice). My friend told me to meet her at 8; I met her at 8:15, knowing that nothing ever starts on time here, and then we sat in the courtyard of the church. Half hour later I asked her what time the service was starting she said 9. “So what are we doing here so early?” I asked. “You told me 8.” She laughed and said, “I don’t know.” Ugh. While I am getting more patient, I still don’t like waiting; I don’t like it when other people are in control of wasting my time. Again, I’m glad I brought the book. I always take it to the bank or post office to, as there’s always a huge line (or semblance of one), people cutting, one person actually working and two others shuffling papers, who look irritated if you ask them to help you and appalled that you would even dare to ask. Books make the waiting much more bearable, its one of the reasons I’ve done so much reading here – about 10 books since I left the U.S. back in October!

Back to church; the service didn’t do the Kirk justice; nothing could. It was mostly singing, with an electronic synthesizer as accompaniment, the music sounding almost hoedown-ish and twangy, and I understood nothing that was going on. Even Malagasies were sleeping in the benches, which made me feel not as bad about not really paying attention and daydreaming in my own little world.

On another note, while the first three months being the hardest is a Peace Corps axiom that I’ve now found to be true, there is another generally accepted Peace Corps fact that I’ve disproven: Its usually said that men in the Peace Corps lose weight while women gain. Ha – I’ve lost even more weight here than in Niger; I’m on the last hole of my belt and pretty soon am going to have to start making new holes. My skirts are all much looser too, practically falling off my hips. By the time I’d left Niger, I had lost 13 lbs; I don’t have a scale here but its DEFINITELY way more than that now. I haven’t been super sick lately, but once in a while my digestive system decides it hates me. I do a lot of walking everyday which also may be part of it; I live 1 k away from my school, so I walk at least 2 k a day to get back and forth, but its usually more as I have classes in the morning and afternoon; there’s a 3 hour break in the afternoon where everything closes down and no one does anything because its too hot. Plus, the market and central town are another half km/ 1 km away (respectively) from the school, and I usually make trips to the market almost everyday. I don’t like keeping too much food in my house because of the bugs. So I walk at least a couple miles everyday, and if I have time, take bike rides. Also, my appetite has significantly decreased – I think it’s the heat. I was always hungry during training, but now I’m really not that hungry. I wind up halving the recipes in the cookbook and still don’t even wind up eating it all (I put it in a Tupperware and eat it for dinner after reheating it really well to kill any germs). I look through my photo albums regularly and have pictures on my walls; I look VERY different; much thinner and tanner. And I’m not eating all the crap I used to in the states; chips, Ben and Jerry’s, whatever I could get my hands on to snack on while I watched TV; I could never watch TV without snacking; the two go hand in hand. Now for snacks (if I do eat them) I have a piece of fruit, maybe some street food (there’s LOTS of good street food here) or if I drink some water, that’s good enough and I feel full. As it was in Niger, my Nalgene is still an extension of my arm. Students and other people in town are fascinated by it for some reason; its really strange. Maybe just because its something that the white person has, its western, and therefore it must be better than Malagasy water and is cool because the white person has it. I’m always getting asked for my water; students shout out “rano! Rano madame!” when they see me, asking me for some of my water. Get your own water, I tell them, (though I guess its better than getting asked for money; fortunately that doesn’t happen here, but it happened a couple times in Morondava), or I say nothing, electing not to dignify obnoxious behavior with a response. Plus, I don’t know where their grubby little hands have been (well, actually, having lived here a few months, I have a pretty good idea, which makes me even more inclined to say no to them drinking my water) I NEVER see people here drinking water, even though its hot all the time, but students are always having to pee in the middle of class and asking to go to the W.C and I always see people peeing all over the place, since the bathrooms are locked and students are supposed to ask for the keys. I don’t get it; its just a water bottle but they’re fascinated by it.

Obviously there’s so much more I can write about but that’s about it for now; using the internet here kind of frustrates me, and more frustrations are not what I need. Even though the emotional roller coaster continues, with a drastic drop this past month, this is still where I want to be and can’t imagine doing anything else; I’ve wanted to do the Peace Corps for years now, fought hard to get it, and vowed to make it through any obstacles thrown at me. I didn’t think one of those obstacles would be being moved from Niger to Madagascar and having my sector changed to something I was hardly qualified for, but I am trying. You never know how hard something is going to be until you’re actually facing it. Besides, with what I’m hearing about what’s going on in America right now, I’m really glad I’m here. Death threats against the congressmen who voted for the health care bill? Seriously? Stuff like that mortifies me and makes me embarrassed. Its one of the reasons I wanted to be in the Peace Corps – to show others around the world that there are some good aspects of America.

Continuing to try to keep my chin up and stay focused on the positives… and looking forward to getting a break at IST and seeing my friends – one more month! yay!