Dear family,
I know there is an 8 hour time difference between here and the states but why haven’t you called?
I’ve already been done a month…
Whatever
Anyway
Listen
You know how we imagined African winter to be warm
Skirt, shorts and t-shirt weather?
Yeah, Disney fucking lied!
They lied about the whole dry thing too
Life is completely different here
Let me tell you about the kabone
It’s a big hole in the ground
Built around it you’ve got walls, a roof
And a door that doesn’t quite shut all the way
Stand on the floor, squat and aim for a hole about the size of your foot
An outhouse essentially
But you know how if you drop your phone down the toilet…
You can bite the bullet; reach in there and save it?
Here it would be more like biting a grenade to go back for a fallen comrade…
Fuck no, that shit is lost forever!
I can’t remember how to eat with a fork
I maybe shower twice a week
In half a bucket of river water
I haven’t told you about the rice-patties yet
Imagine field after field of stagnant water
Swimming with feces from cows, pigs, chickens, dogs and humans
There are narrow pathways to get through them
But you feel like you’re playing that lava game as a kid
You Will Die if you fall in!
Do you remember how you felt the first time you aced a test?
Or drove a car alone without crashing?
Or the Rocky movie – when he gets to the top of the stairs?
That’s how I feel every time I manage to come home not covered in mud
I remember sitting in an air-conditioned burger joint
Stuffing my face with the most delicious combination of
Meat, cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, lettuce, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise
Ever smashed between two pieces of bread
And now I eat rice
Rice and cold laoka
What I wouldn’t give for a grand slam breakfast right now…
2 eggs, 2 strips of bacon, 2 sausage links, ham, 2 pieces of toast and a short stack with butter and syrup
Could you put that in a box,
Send it over for a small fortune,
So I can get it in a month?
I don’t care if the postman jacks the butter
Or the rats get at the bacon
I just want some fluffy pancakes dripping in maple goodness!
I remember walking from my car to my house in blissful silence
There were not brat kids
For 3 miles!
Yelling vazaha at me every 5 minutes!
Or singing that damn chicken song!
And you know what else I remember??
I remember when I was that little shit kid too
Annoying the hell out of everyone just because I could
I remember being a teenager
Thinking I was invincible
Too cool to listen to authority
And you know what – they are the same here
I may not understand when they ask
Tia mananihany olona ve ianao?
But I know how much weight that word carries
It’s how many kilos of comfort is created from a grandmother’s hug
It’s the pounds of ice cream it takes to heal a friend’s broken heart
It’s the amount of poetry she wrote about him before that day
Yeah, that translates
This may all sound cheesy
But Laughing Cow is equal in cost
To a phone call home
Whether it’s dolls or rocks
Kids still play out how they understand the world
Imagine who they will become
They still pluck the wings of dragonflies
Before they realize what it means
For beauty to be free
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Untitled
I’ve been speaking with my heart lately
She’s not happy with me
We spoke about her last lover
How she taught my fingers to play his spine the way a musician touch their guitar
How she used my chest plate as a dance floor
Dropping beats to the rhythm of his breathe
Left bruises on my neck from practicing the steps
I can still taste the sweat
Two left feet when he was gone
She took up hoe-baggin, lying and stealing instead
Just to pay the rent
No use talking to her when she’s like that
So I packed gun power down my throat
Iron gated my rib cage
Brick walled back
Collar bone booby trap
I forgot what her voice sounded like
Let the answering machine get it for so long
But there is actually a message for once
She can’t breathe
So I’ve been speaking with my heart lately
Speaking like I know where I come from
Like I know where I’m going
Like I know how to close the gap between who I am and who I want to become
Speaking honesty like it is the last thing that can save me
She’s not happy with me
We spoke about her last lover
How she taught my fingers to play his spine the way a musician touch their guitar
How she used my chest plate as a dance floor
Dropping beats to the rhythm of his breathe
Left bruises on my neck from practicing the steps
I can still taste the sweat
Two left feet when he was gone
She took up hoe-baggin, lying and stealing instead
Just to pay the rent
No use talking to her when she’s like that
So I packed gun power down my throat
Iron gated my rib cage
Brick walled back
Collar bone booby trap
I forgot what her voice sounded like
Let the answering machine get it for so long
But there is actually a message for once
She can’t breathe
So I’ve been speaking with my heart lately
Speaking like I know where I come from
Like I know where I’m going
Like I know how to close the gap between who I am and who I want to become
Speaking honesty like it is the last thing that can save me
One item on my life list is to someday perform in a Slam
I Love slam poetry. Andrea Gibson, Ken Arkind, Panama Soweto, Buddy Wakefield. The Denver slam team, I was born with two tongues and all the poets on podslam.org to all the ones performing in places like the bean cycle. I have major respect for them and have fantasized about one day becoming a spoken word artist. Envisioning myself on a stage in front of people rattles my nerves but thrills me at the same time. I haven’t written much poetry since the awful stuff I used to write when my world would cave in over romantic affairs or the woes of, well puberty. I have been writing here in Madagascar though and am actually finding some confidence in my poetry.
So here it goes, putting up my own words for everyone to see, not really caring if you like it or think its good but hoping that you do. Keep in mind that my current poetry was written with intension to be preformed.
Written on my ride back from site visit:
I don’t take medicine
Over the years I have convinced myself that they are a scam
But I am half an hour into an 8, 9, 10 hour taxi-brousse ride
Falling into Dramamine drowsiness
Glad I am not nauseous like the vazaha next to me
We are still in the city of Fianarantsoa
Yet the people are no less intimate in their engagement with the environment
No one wears white in the villages
It is a tainted love affair they have with these rivers
Women trace its outline daily
Secretly to escape away
They know its bumps, its wrinkles
Search for their favorite curves to wash away sweat, red dirt and car exhaust from the past week
Soap
Scrub
Brush
With a parasitic rinse cycle
Let hang dry 3 days
No, the city is wed to its rice-patties
They even span the dips and valleys in the heart of it
Betsileo are the most romantic
They know how mody this land is
Thigh deep in brown skin
Using every tool to give birth to their most sustainable relationship
It’s a rough path to take, this marriage
Worn in with years of practice
Of women bearing the weight
Not only on their backs but atop their heads
Bags of men’s work
Jenga stacked bricks
And buckets, buckets of water
I’m amazed they never drop a tear
They must be steadied from their reality of choosing
Help over knowledge
Work over hunger
Life over choice
They must have to master this balance
As to not slip and fall
To the ground
Dirty palm stretched out like a Baobab tree
Branching fingers to catch as much light and hope as the world can offer
I mistake the smog for dew rising up from the trees in that light
I’d rather see the beauty
I’d rather terrace my heart
Dig
Carve
Create more space to grow and care and bleed
But mostly to understand
Peace Corps by choice
Betsileo by the grace of …
I want to believe their lives can be better
And that we will have something to do with that
But I’m all drugged up
Remember that better is relative
And let these winding roads rock me to sleep
So here it goes, putting up my own words for everyone to see, not really caring if you like it or think its good but hoping that you do. Keep in mind that my current poetry was written with intension to be preformed.
Written on my ride back from site visit:
I don’t take medicine
Over the years I have convinced myself that they are a scam
But I am half an hour into an 8, 9, 10 hour taxi-brousse ride
Falling into Dramamine drowsiness
Glad I am not nauseous like the vazaha next to me
We are still in the city of Fianarantsoa
Yet the people are no less intimate in their engagement with the environment
No one wears white in the villages
It is a tainted love affair they have with these rivers
Women trace its outline daily
Secretly to escape away
They know its bumps, its wrinkles
Search for their favorite curves to wash away sweat, red dirt and car exhaust from the past week
Soap
Scrub
Brush
With a parasitic rinse cycle
Let hang dry 3 days
No, the city is wed to its rice-patties
They even span the dips and valleys in the heart of it
Betsileo are the most romantic
They know how mody this land is
Thigh deep in brown skin
Using every tool to give birth to their most sustainable relationship
It’s a rough path to take, this marriage
Worn in with years of practice
Of women bearing the weight
Not only on their backs but atop their heads
Bags of men’s work
Jenga stacked bricks
And buckets, buckets of water
I’m amazed they never drop a tear
They must be steadied from their reality of choosing
Help over knowledge
Work over hunger
Life over choice
They must have to master this balance
As to not slip and fall
To the ground
Dirty palm stretched out like a Baobab tree
Branching fingers to catch as much light and hope as the world can offer
I mistake the smog for dew rising up from the trees in that light
I’d rather see the beauty
I’d rather terrace my heart
Dig
Carve
Create more space to grow and care and bleed
But mostly to understand
Peace Corps by choice
Betsileo by the grace of …
I want to believe their lives can be better
And that we will have something to do with that
But I’m all drugged up
Remember that better is relative
And let these winding roads rock me to sleep
Officially a Peace Corps Volunteer!! Blog written on Sept. 20th 2010
Four years ago I remember driving with my family and best friend up to Fort Collins to move into a college dorm room. I was excited but terrified at the same time, wondering who I would meet and what I would learn. I remember hearing that college wasn’t for everyone and not knowing if it was for me or not but still going because - hey I was a good student, the college thing sounds kind of cool and maybe it’ll help me find a good job.
A year and a half later I remember being nervous for an interview to be a peer mentor for the Key Service Community that had gotten me through my first year of college. I was applying for my junior year but was asked in my second follow-up interview if I would be willing to jump in early since they had a spot open. I was slightly in disbelief; I had never really considered myself a leader but took the opportunity hoping that I could meet the expectations.
Four months ago I was sitting in my college graduation ceremony. I couldn’t hear what the people on stage were saying because all the speakers were pointed towards my family and friends. Instead I heard echoes of all the support I had accumulated over the four years - from old friends, new friends, lovers, family, mentors, professors, authors of books, co-workers and sometimes even random people on a bus. I couldn’t help but to rock my cheeseburger smile.
Two months ago I remember Freaking Out the day before leaving to Washington D.C because I didn’t think I had packed any of the right clothes. I cried in the security line after saying good-bye to my father – sad to be leaving, wondering how I had gotten there and having no idea what the next two years of my life were going to look like. My anxieties momentarily fell away when I met other Peace Corps trainees who too had not studied Malagasy that much. A week later I was meeting my Malagasy host family, terrified about the next few hours until I could disappear into my room.
Currently, I am sitting at the Peace Corps training center. It’s my favorite time of day when the shadows start becoming longer and longer. My fingers are remembering how to use a key board on a friend’s laptop and another friend is calling my name. I’m wearing clothes from the U.S. that will not be washed in a machine for the next two years. I am constantly shooing bugs to get out of my face and my stomach is still out of wack from two days ago because there is something wrong with the rum in this country! I feel like I hear poetry in the words I am writing because ever since I’ve gotten here I’ve actually had time to write it, maybe it’s because there are fewer distractions here.
Tomorrow we leave to the capital and soon we will be sworn-in as Peace Corps volunteers. Training “technically” has been 10 weeks, but really it has only been 8 since the first one didn’t really have any training and this last one was full of presentations, language assessments, good-byes and preparing to get to site. I’ve given presentations on diarrhea, nutrition, reproductive health, sanitizing water, respiratory infections and breastfeeding – all in Malagasy (Betsileo dialect) and in front of people from the community. I’ve killed a chicken, I’ve lived with a Malagasy family who I have really come to love, broken several Malagasy fomba (tradition/culture norms) and been awarded the “Most likely to eat the most Malagasy street food” superlative by my fellow trainees.
All 42 of us have made it through training and all of us will be heading out to our individual sites to be on our own for two years. I am once again terrified. I am scared of leaving all the new friends I have made. I am scared of being the only foreigner in my community. I can only imagine what it is going to feel like to watch the Peace Corps car drive away and I spend my first minutes in what will be my home for the next two years. Yes I will have a community all around me but somehow I will still experience a type of solitude I have Never experienced before… I am nervous about working in the CSB II/commune hospital. I am nervous about my language. I am nervous about what I am going to eat the first week. I have never felt this kind of horrified before.
I recognize there may be some people who are bit worried about me after reading that – maybe even wondering what the hell I’m doing here
. . .
I received a gift from the Women’s Studies department when I graduated. It is a picture of Audre Lorde with a quote:
“When I dare to be powerful – to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”
A year and a half later I remember being nervous for an interview to be a peer mentor for the Key Service Community that had gotten me through my first year of college. I was applying for my junior year but was asked in my second follow-up interview if I would be willing to jump in early since they had a spot open. I was slightly in disbelief; I had never really considered myself a leader but took the opportunity hoping that I could meet the expectations.
Four months ago I was sitting in my college graduation ceremony. I couldn’t hear what the people on stage were saying because all the speakers were pointed towards my family and friends. Instead I heard echoes of all the support I had accumulated over the four years - from old friends, new friends, lovers, family, mentors, professors, authors of books, co-workers and sometimes even random people on a bus. I couldn’t help but to rock my cheeseburger smile.
Two months ago I remember Freaking Out the day before leaving to Washington D.C because I didn’t think I had packed any of the right clothes. I cried in the security line after saying good-bye to my father – sad to be leaving, wondering how I had gotten there and having no idea what the next two years of my life were going to look like. My anxieties momentarily fell away when I met other Peace Corps trainees who too had not studied Malagasy that much. A week later I was meeting my Malagasy host family, terrified about the next few hours until I could disappear into my room.
Currently, I am sitting at the Peace Corps training center. It’s my favorite time of day when the shadows start becoming longer and longer. My fingers are remembering how to use a key board on a friend’s laptop and another friend is calling my name. I’m wearing clothes from the U.S. that will not be washed in a machine for the next two years. I am constantly shooing bugs to get out of my face and my stomach is still out of wack from two days ago because there is something wrong with the rum in this country! I feel like I hear poetry in the words I am writing because ever since I’ve gotten here I’ve actually had time to write it, maybe it’s because there are fewer distractions here.
Tomorrow we leave to the capital and soon we will be sworn-in as Peace Corps volunteers. Training “technically” has been 10 weeks, but really it has only been 8 since the first one didn’t really have any training and this last one was full of presentations, language assessments, good-byes and preparing to get to site. I’ve given presentations on diarrhea, nutrition, reproductive health, sanitizing water, respiratory infections and breastfeeding – all in Malagasy (Betsileo dialect) and in front of people from the community. I’ve killed a chicken, I’ve lived with a Malagasy family who I have really come to love, broken several Malagasy fomba (tradition/culture norms) and been awarded the “Most likely to eat the most Malagasy street food” superlative by my fellow trainees.
All 42 of us have made it through training and all of us will be heading out to our individual sites to be on our own for two years. I am once again terrified. I am scared of leaving all the new friends I have made. I am scared of being the only foreigner in my community. I can only imagine what it is going to feel like to watch the Peace Corps car drive away and I spend my first minutes in what will be my home for the next two years. Yes I will have a community all around me but somehow I will still experience a type of solitude I have Never experienced before… I am nervous about working in the CSB II/commune hospital. I am nervous about my language. I am nervous about what I am going to eat the first week. I have never felt this kind of horrified before.
I recognize there may be some people who are bit worried about me after reading that – maybe even wondering what the hell I’m doing here
. . .
I received a gift from the Women’s Studies department when I graduated. It is a picture of Audre Lorde with a quote:
“When I dare to be powerful – to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”
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