Today was probably the most nervous day, so far, for all of the
volunteers. At noon today we went to our host
home for Community Based Training! Everyone undoubtedly had an array
of different fears to contend with, but what was on everyone’s mind was the
lack of communication capabilities. We
had only three half days of language training and most of it we could not
reliably remember. So we were off with
what we thought we would need for a week and the very little language skills we
had acquired to meet our host family.
Arriving at the Commune we all piled out of the vans and stood around
waiting to be adopted by our new family. The Commune is a small compound which is the
equivalent of a town hall
and major’s office. It consists of three one-story cement buildings making a U shape and faced by a cement wall with yellow iron
gates; all of this is centered with a flag pole in a dirt courtyard. As the families started to arrive and find
their volunteer we were faced with our first real language challenge, to
introduce ourselves. This for me was
partially a failure. When introducing
myself to my Neny (mom) I made it through “Hello. My name is Justin,” but when
it came to “It’s nice to meet you” I was at a loss on how to pronounce
mahafantatra. So half way through
failing I just stopped, smiled, and shrugged.
This would become one of my four go to expressions when at a loss of how
to answer whatever it was that people were trying to say to me. This was followed by “tsara (good),” “eny
(yes),” and “masaotra (thank you).”
We walked towards her house down a
red dirt, pothole filed road, in complete silence. I had already used the majority of my
Malagasy, having mostly only single word vocabulary left, and I had failed at that. Arriving at her house I was amazed at the
size of it. It was faced by red folding
metal gates with a cement courtyard. The
house itself is made up of different parts being added on over time. The house is a reddish/purple color with light blue doors and shutters
and the balcony of the 2nd floor is covered in plants. The first part of the house, on the left of
the courtyard is three stories made up of, from bottom to top, a store, large
living room, and the grandparents housing. Connected to this and facing the street is
the original two story house. On the
first floor facing the street is a “rice shifting” machine. Walking up a flight of stairs you reach a
walkway with three blue doors. The first
I am not sure where it goes, the second is my room, and the third leads into
the living room and the stairwell to the grandparents housing.
Walking into my room I was surprised to see
the size of it. It measures about 12’ X
10’ with three doors and a window, with an awesome view. Inside my room I have a table and chair, two
more chairs, a couch, a big mirror, and a bed.
The Peace Corps also provided in my room a big green metal chest and lock to keep my valuables, a water filter with Sûr’Eau (chlorine), a water
bucket with cup, mosquito net, and a pô bucket (a night time toilet…its just a
bucket with a lid).
Walking through my
room another door leads into the rest of the house. Through the hall there are many doorways and
stairwells that I have no clue where they go.
Once I fell that my language skills are proficient enough and the host
family gets to know me better I will ask for a tour of the house, but at this
time it would be useless, if even doable.
At the end of the hall you reach the kitchen and again I was amazed at
the size of it. There is a long table
that seats ten in the “dining area” as soon as you walk into the kitchen area. Following this is a full kitchen, although
not a full kitchen to western standards.
There are all the cooking utensils and pots you would ever need hanging
on the walls. There is a sink for
washing your hands (no running water); the dishes are washed in basins. The cooking area itself is a huge fireplace
in which there are two small fires on which pots are put on top of.
Walking though the kitchen is a small wooden
door that leads outside to the back “yard.”
Through the door you must walk down a fairly steep stairway to get to
the ground level. From here there is the
kabone (toilet) to the left which is in its own little room and has a western style
toilet (this is not completely true, it has no toilet seat, running water, or a
bottom). In front of the steps is where
all of the animals are kept. From what I
saw there was one pig, a bunch of geese, and a bunch of chickens. Making a U-turn from the stairs is a hallway
under the house. The only doors I know
in this hallway are the ladosy, which is a “indoor” shower room with no running
water, and the water well, which is the traditional bucket and rope down the
hole style. I am very lucky to have a
well in my house, as all of the other trainees have to walk to a well or pump to
get there water. I also have
electricity, but here in Mantasoa all of the trainees but two have
electricity.
After what I will call “the
essentials” tour, my Neny and brother tried to have a conversation with me to
find out more about who I was and where I was from. This was very hard and confusing, I think,
for all of us, but we managed through it.
This was done mostly through sign language and picture drawing. I have come to realize that I can not draw the
U.S. or Texas
very well, but it was well enough to get the idea across. They finally decided to let me settle in and
unpack, which was most likely just a realization that my conversational skills
had been exhausted. Once I had unpacked,
wanting to just hide out in the room but feeling bad for doing so, I went back
into the kitchen where Neny was preparing dinner. She asked me to sit down at the table and
then began pointing and picking up items in the kitchen and telling me their
names in Malagasy. This worked for the
first few items, but realizing that she was starting to overwhelm me she began
to draw them out on a piece of paper and write the name next to the
picture. This was greatly helpful and
appreciated and will serve as a study guide at a later time. Once dinner was ready, the family all came
into the kitchen to eat and we began, again, a failure to communicate.
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