Newbie

Sunday, July 21st 2013 – 8:10pm
Bedroom of Homestay – Mantasoa

Homestay is quite an experience. It’s kind of like playing charades seven days a week with every aspect of your daily life at stake. It’s been an up-and-down experience so far—with good days and off-days—all slowly building towards proficiency and self-sufficiency. And that’s really true of the whole training experience—not just homestay. Actually, I’ve probably just described the entire 27 months. I’m imagining an RPCV reading this and laughing quietly, while muttering the word “newbie” under their breath. And they’d be right.

We had a chicken for Sunday dinner today—a whole chicken. Neny (Malagasy for mother) brought it into the kitchen squawking and trying to flap its wings, then put it sideways on the floor, stepping on its legs with one foot and its wings with the other. Then she handed me a knife. I’d been wanting to do this, but I wanted to see the process first. I handed the knife back and gestured that I’d watch this time and do the throat-slitting the next. She pulled its neck taut with one hand and made a quick kill with the other. The death was quiet—unlike with mammals—and soon we were plucking feathers and gutting the carcass. Dinner was delicious, with meat and broth served over rice. Coincidentally, we’re taking a field trip to a nearby market for tomorrow’s language class, and I’ll have to haggle over the price of a live chicken.

It is cold here. We’d been warned, and not for nothing. Mantasoa is in Madagascar’s central highlands, sitting at around 4,000 feet. And it’s winter here in the southern hemisphere. As soon as the sun goes down I start shivering and adding layers. It may or may not go without saying, but nobody has heating here. The night we first got here, the cold hit us immediately. When we got to our rooms, I opened my bag, excited at the thought of the warm puffy jacket I’d brought. I’d left it near the top of my bag where it would be easy to find. But it wasn’t there. I paused and frowned, pushing the obvious out of my mind. I dug deeper into my bag, looking for the bright orange stuff sack. I checked all the side pockets, then I let reality sink in. Whatever had happened to it, my coat was gone.

Several days into training, after we’d been installed with our host families, a few of us went to peruse the local market during class break. This was the first busy market day we’d seen. I shivered as I walked the aisles, and dreamt of fleece and down. There were some clothes on sale, but mostly kids clothes and a few t-shirts. But then I came around a corner and found the only two heavy garments in the whole place. One was a fancy but old-looking trench coat—not very warm looking. The other was a button up shirt made of thick wool. It fit pretty well—I couldn’t have cared less if the sleeves were a little too long. The vendor offered it for 5,000 ariary—the equivalent of $2.50. I didn’t even bother to haggle.

It’s about bedtime now. I’ve been trying to regulate my sleep, but the last few days haven’t been too successful. My off-days seem to coincide with getting either too much sleep or not enough. Today I left my alarm off, but I slept in ’til 6:45 and felt groggy the whole day. Most days I’m in bed by nine and awake by five thirty—roughly the same schedule as my host family. Better luck tomorrow…