Three months past closing my service, I find myself shivering on the floor of the Casablanca airport waiting for a flight out of Africa. The cold had certainly been a surprise upon arriving in Morocco two weeks back but I kept promising myself that it was gearing me up for the weather to come. I am moving to Maine after all which is temperature-wise, quite close to the Moroccan winter. (Yes, that statement was meant to be ironic).
Leaving my village was hard. It was hard however, in ways that I did not expect it to be. Coming up to that moment I imagined that I'd be feeling nostalgic and sentimental about the time I devoted to the town and its people. Alas my community left little time for that as they ventured into my hut up to the hour of my departure picking up pieces they hoped were my leave-behinds. Ahead of time, I had mentally prepared for this and decided that the best way to leave a site was without bribes.
It sure is easy to fall into the guilt trips laid down by my friendly coffee mama's, the humbly appreciative English teacher, and of course my nugget when they hear that yes, I am actually leaving and likely not coming back. Many volunteers end up throwing their piled-up positions around like fried bananas (the equivalent of hot cakes in Malagasy I'm pretty sure) which only invites a lot of awkwardness and frustration for the next volunteer. S/he comes in to a community who is not only going to compare her/him to the former volunteer's personality but also to the amount of bling s/he so kindly gave them before leaving. And by bling I mostly mean water buckets.
I did mety-mety with this goal. With the help of a fellow volunteer, we set up at my weekly market with my entire Madagascar wardrobe. This lacked no hilarity to my community members who each of course, have a stand of their own and couldn't believe how 'gasy I truly had become. There may or may not be a rule that we as volunteers are not allowed to do any for-our-own-profit work. But Peace Corps, if you are reading this, the mad ari-ari ($$) made then went to my final classes with my environment and youth women's clubs. I don't think you can revoke my closed-service-status-ness anyways.
It might actually have been because of this Malagasy-style yard sale that my last few days were ambushed with people trying to get something out of me. A clear marker that I was moving. There is no better time to see a direct action-consequence situation than during your PC service.
I did have, of course, some very sweet interactions before leaving. The teachers and mayor brought me over to the local bar and bought me a beer and, in truly 'gasy style, made many speeches. Mama cafe gave me all of my coffee free for an entire week. That's a good 1000 ariari cash-money right there (2 dollars). My students brought me two potato sacks full of ripe mango which they told me I was meant to bring home on the plane. This would've been a brilliant thought if they hadn't gone so terribly bad by the time the taxi-brouse had made it out of my village. But still.
After leaving Madagascar I felt sad. I definitely felt like I was leaving a home. My journey was slightly more drawn out than many of my fellow COS-ers since visiting family for me means zig-zagging the African continent. This has been a good way to deflect any possible processing I might have to do. Coming home has been bittersweet, but I think a blog-post about re-adjusting after two+ years away would entail many paragraphs and far too much angst.
I have also felt excited for what is to come. Peace Corps has certainly given me the time to set my next goals. And hopefully while accomplishing them the next ones will be set as well. If nothing else, I feel that I have momentum. A job that will continue growing the skills I need while taking up way too much of my time to develop some of the worse American traits that couldn't grow while living in a little bush village of Africa. Just kidding, America: I have missed you. I look forward to getting to know you again.
Leaving my village was hard. It was hard however, in ways that I did not expect it to be. Coming up to that moment I imagined that I'd be feeling nostalgic and sentimental about the time I devoted to the town and its people. Alas my community left little time for that as they ventured into my hut up to the hour of my departure picking up pieces they hoped were my leave-behinds. Ahead of time, I had mentally prepared for this and decided that the best way to leave a site was without bribes.
It sure is easy to fall into the guilt trips laid down by my friendly coffee mama's, the humbly appreciative English teacher, and of course my nugget when they hear that yes, I am actually leaving and likely not coming back. Many volunteers end up throwing their piled-up positions around like fried bananas (the equivalent of hot cakes in Malagasy I'm pretty sure) which only invites a lot of awkwardness and frustration for the next volunteer. S/he comes in to a community who is not only going to compare her/him to the former volunteer's personality but also to the amount of bling s/he so kindly gave them before leaving. And by bling I mostly mean water buckets.
I did mety-mety with this goal. With the help of a fellow volunteer, we set up at my weekly market with my entire Madagascar wardrobe. This lacked no hilarity to my community members who each of course, have a stand of their own and couldn't believe how 'gasy I truly had become. There may or may not be a rule that we as volunteers are not allowed to do any for-our-own-profit work. But Peace Corps, if you are reading this, the mad ari-ari ($$) made then went to my final classes with my environment and youth women's clubs. I don't think you can revoke my closed-service-status-ness anyways.
It might actually have been because of this Malagasy-style yard sale that my last few days were ambushed with people trying to get something out of me. A clear marker that I was moving. There is no better time to see a direct action-consequence situation than during your PC service.
I did have, of course, some very sweet interactions before leaving. The teachers and mayor brought me over to the local bar and bought me a beer and, in truly 'gasy style, made many speeches. Mama cafe gave me all of my coffee free for an entire week. That's a good 1000 ariari cash-money right there (2 dollars). My students brought me two potato sacks full of ripe mango which they told me I was meant to bring home on the plane. This would've been a brilliant thought if they hadn't gone so terribly bad by the time the taxi-brouse had made it out of my village. But still.
After leaving Madagascar I felt sad. I definitely felt like I was leaving a home. My journey was slightly more drawn out than many of my fellow COS-ers since visiting family for me means zig-zagging the African continent. This has been a good way to deflect any possible processing I might have to do. Coming home has been bittersweet, but I think a blog-post about re-adjusting after two+ years away would entail many paragraphs and far too much angst.
I have also felt excited for what is to come. Peace Corps has certainly given me the time to set my next goals. And hopefully while accomplishing them the next ones will be set as well. If nothing else, I feel that I have momentum. A job that will continue growing the skills I need while taking up way too much of my time to develop some of the worse American traits that couldn't grow while living in a little bush village of Africa. Just kidding, America: I have missed you. I look forward to getting to know you again.
