What's your favorite thing about Madagascar?

Within 24 hours of joining Peace Corps I knew I was having an experience that would be difficult to articulate to people who have not had a similar experience.

It's like becoming strangers with people you know.   Suddenly I have to approach my relationships as intercultural.   Like now I am Malagasy.  And you all are American.  

Sometimes when I am on facebook and I see the status updates I don't understand them anymore.  The dailiness in the United States is so far away.   Sometimes it is a bizarre comparison.  Suzy is shopping for shoes!   Monica is digging eggs out of her foot!

When I was in Niger people writing or calling me expressed this concern--something like, "I feel like I can't complain about anything in my life ever because you are in Niger."   I would reassure them.  "No, no, please just talk normally."  But we both knew that hearing about a broken washing machine when I was living in the poorest country in the world felt odd.  

And then there are the times when outsiders show compassion and I don't.  I have been here long enough to be not jaded but worn in.   An example of this would be the way I react to begging children.  At first, I was like, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Oh, how sad, Oh wow, oh she's holding a baby and she is only six years old, oh, oh..."  Now I am firm with them and sometimes rude (I do my best Mom NO voice).   Because they are pick pockets.  Because if I give to one I will have a crowd in minutes.   Because I have a Peace Corps salary which does not allow for handing out money.   So I seem heartless.   Damn begging children, what a hassle.  

Malagasy culture is really complex.  Race relations between the French (and those of us who look French, like me) and the Malagasy are tense.   I think race relations in the United States are this tense in a lot of places--but being white I didn't EXPERIENCE it I just thought about it.   Here I experience it.   The intensity of someone disliking you at first glance and saying rude things to you is very draining.   It is a stressor that cannot be underestimated.   I get now articles I read about how if people face a lot of discrimination it weakens their immune systems.   But, then for me, being white, I also get a flip side treatment of getting extra attention and courtesy by others.   All I really want is to blend in.   But that will never happen.  In Madagascar, I am flourescent white even in my sleep.   I practically glow with white-ness.  Even at night, you can tell I am white.  It's is just never going away.    It's hard to talk about things like this.  

On the phone awhile ago, my mom asked me what my "favorite" part about Madagascar was so far.   I ran out of credit (story of my life) and didn't get a chance to answer which was good because I didn't have an answer.   I don't have a "favorite" part of Madagascar in the sense my mom was asking.   Like, I love Malagasy cuisine (nope) or I love Malagasy music (so so) or ....

Madagascar is really poor.   The race relations are intense.  The political situation at a stand still and government infastructure is tiny.   I am living in cities.  Perhaps a rural experience would lend itself to that village culture experience we all imagine. 

When I go outside my feet become covered in mud and I have to wash them off with cold water.   That's my favorite part Mom.   When I walk past any group of men they stare at me like they want to have sex with me.   That's my second favorite part Mom.   When I buy anything at a new vendor a crowd gathers and laughs at me because I am speaking Malagasy.   Like I said, flourescent white.

I think cultural adjustment probably takes about 50 years.  They make it sounds like after a couple months you will be used to it all.   A few days ago when I woke up I had no idea where I was.  Not even which continent I was on.   On some really deep level I think my soul is like:  WHERE ARE YOU?

I do have a favorite part.   I will never be the same.   I liked myself before.  What I mean is that I am changed.  I can't explain it.   I'll try.

Before I joined Peace Corps I had something called low level Imaginary PTSD about Poverty.   I imagined poverty and it traumatized me.   I would think about it.   When I was shopping I would wonder where things were made and what lives people led who made the things. 

Now I have real PTSD about Poverty.   For the rest of my life I will be fascinated by freeway systems, trash day, sinks, toilets, stores, new things, cars, bus systems, everything.   And I will know the difference.  Not as an intellectual aside, like okay--I know lots of people in the world are poor but I choose to only think about it when those damn commercials come on--but as a way of being.  I can't go back.

It might sound sadistic but that's my favorite part about Madagascar.   So far.