playing

The silly evenings out are also worth remembering.  Sometimes when I come out of town and into the city for a “banking night” I feel a desperate desire for everything that is not ‘gasy.  Processed food, cold drinks, English speakers.  But those felt needs are becoming less and less I have found as I progress in my service. 

Yesterday, for example, I came into town to teach my weekly course at the university in Diego.  When I got back from teaching I was exhausted, having been up since 5 that morning to bike and taxi-brouse in, prepare the odd ends of my lesson, and then hold the class.  I was ready to relax and was therefore couchin’ it with my best girl, Nicki, trying to decide on evening plans.  Apparently, she had enlisted us for a company outing with her co-workers at PSI.  I sighed, wishing to not have to go through the charades of being the white girl, the puppet for excited ‘gasy men to twirl around, but she had promised so I told her I was in.  

We go to the pre-decided location and lounge for awhile, drinking brochettes and eating beers (wait, what?) and waiting for them to come.  It’s a bit late so I’m wondering if they have stood us up.  Around 9:15 we get a call and they ask where we are (to which we respond that we are just where we told them we would be).  Three minutes later a taxi pulls up and we are pulled from our benches into the laps of people already in it.  Confused, we laugh and talk on the way to somewhere.  Finally we arrive back in the middle of town, to a ramdom street corner with the entire staff of PSI is assembled and waiting for us.  Apparently by telling a few of them we might be up for something and meant that everyone must be informed and sent invitations to the whole staff to come play with the Peace Corps volunteers.  (Who can blame them?  We’ve got spunk!).  A bit overwhelmed, we shrug and follow them into a tiny bar with a raging bass system that is throwing out the notes of the live band playing at the center.  Drinking and merriment ensues including Macarena-ing, electic sliding, and we end all slow dancing like an eighth grade semiformal event to “Endless love”. 

It was a goofy and wonderful time by all and it is those moments when you are exchanging dance moves with a 45 year-old Malagasy dude that you realize Peace Corps is maybe not about getting overwhelmed and then needing to take a break from 'gasy culture, but more finding those parts of the culture that feel like home to you.  That bring out the giddiness that sometimes feels hard to find.  

Silly, sweet night.  It also involved a foam party…but perhaps that is a story for another day.