Though I've returned to Madagascar, it often feels as if I live in a new world. There are obvious differences between now and then, of course. I was 22 when I first stepped onto the island, and it's amazing how the 4 or 5 following years can change a person's perspective. Then there's my job. I was a teacher then but am now working to fight malaria. Those differences can and probably will take up another day and another conversation.
But the new world I refer to is my physical location. It's the same island, sure, and they (sort of) speak the same language. But I spent 2 years in a village on the west coast, and am now in a city in the highlands—and the move from Mahabo to Fianarantsoa is striking.
It seems that everyone—whether American or Malagasy—wants to know: “Which is better, Mahabo or Fianarantsoa?”
The question is harder to answer than one might think. My gut instinct is to shout out Mahabo with pride. It's like my Malagasy hometown. But then I ask myself—if given the choice, would I leave Fianar and move back to Mahabo? The answer is a reluctant but firm no.
Which got me thinking.
There are things I love and miss about all the places I've passed through. So how do you define the best place? The ideal home? I decided to compare those things that I love and miss—the things I appreciate and value from each temporary home.
Through lists, obviously.
America. After being stateside for 2 years and change, I was pretty eager to leave again. Yet there are so many things I miss and swear I'll appreciate more when I move back.
1. Mexican food.
For anyone who knows me, this should come as no surprise. And to be clear, I'm not picky about my Mexican food. I realize we've Americanized it like crazy, but that doesn't make it any less delicious. And I realize I can make a lot of the different things I love here. But it's just not the same as going into a restaurant, ordering a margarita or corona (with lime, obviously), and eating a million chips with salsa. With good friends. And no preparation work before taking a bite. I promise myself that I will eat Mexican food once a week minimally when I return to Americaland.
2. Parks and reserves and things of nature's nature.
Yes I do realize that we have lots of national parks here in Madagascar, and that the things you can find in them are quite unique. Trust me, I appreciate lemurs and fosa and all the rest. But I have to say—I miss parks that don't necessarily contain anything special. Just some green grass and cleanliness. I miss biking down the Mississippi to have a BBQ at a park. Or walking around Lake Calhoun then lying on a blanket in the grass watching a movie projected on a big screen outside. Just enjoying regular nature with others who live in your city. Anonymous but also the same as everyone around you. It's pretty great. You should all go outside and take a walk as soon as you finish reading.
3. Central heating.
Cold is oh so very much colder when you are not in America. You never warm up. It's easy to forget how cold cold is when you can break it up by entering toasty warm buildings. But when there is no such thing as heating (unless you have a fireplace, I suppose), the cold gets into your bones and you feel every degree as it drops. We are months away from Madagascar's winter, but I am already terrified.
4. Snow.
I realize how silly this sounds after what you just read, but it's true. Especially when you are nice and warm inside looking out. Who doesn't love the first snow? Walking around in a giant snow globe—everyone you meet can't help but smile. There is something cozy about a winter with snow. Or maybe I just miss wearing cute boots and hats. Actually, it's highly possible that's the only reason I like the snow: because it's a cute outfit enabler. Which brings me to...
5. Cute shoes. Cute clothes. Shopping. Dressing up. You know--all those things.
It's true that there's something liberating about owning only a handful of clothing items and living simply. But I have to say—I'm over it. I miss the creativity involved in getting ready for the day when your closets are full. It's like playing dress-up. Fake animal print. Sparkles. Little skirts. A different pair of shoes every day. I miss it all. I'd promise myself to shop and appreciate all of this more when I get back, but I have to say—I think I did a pretty job before.
I could probably give you more—and most would probably be related to food—but let's keep things simple. Those are the first things that come to mind for right now. Let's move on to the next.
Mahabo. I spent 2 years living in this village near Morondava. In many ways, it's the standard by which I measure all things Malagasy.
1. Brochettes and beers with my proviseur.
This may sound familiar to those who read my old blog. I have to say, there is nothing better. Walking slowly into town while the sun is setting. Sitting down at a table in the sand, underneath the coconut and banana trees. Watching all the people walk by in the evening, when it's finally somewhat cool out. Drinking giant bottles of beer and munching on brochettes dipped in super hot sauce. Chatting with a good friend under the stars. My weekly routine. My main social outlet. It was always the highlight of my week, and when I miss Mahabo, this is what I miss most. Mahabo will always be precious because of the people.
2. Sunshine.
Why is it that the heat is always easier to handle when it is overpowering? It's like you have no choice but to give in and embrace it. You will be covered in a layer of salt and sweat at all times, and you might as well sink into it. You don't notice the heat, because there's never anything else. I loved Mahabo and the constant sunshine. It becomes a part of you. Of course my skin is probably way healthier being away from it. But it's silly—in Fianar it's either raining and I'm freezing cold, or it's not raining and the sun beats down on you. And no—the non-rainy hot part of the weather could never compete with Mahabo. But if I leave for work freezing and then sweat on my walk home? I am one cranky creature. Weather is more enjoyable when it's consistent. And Mahabo handed it to me on a shiny silver sunshine platter.
3. Weekends at the beach.
Seriously, can you get better than living 2 hours from the beach? In my new home it would take much longer to make it to the shore—and then there are sharks once you're there, and you're apparently not supposed to swim. Apparently I was spoiled in Mahabo. Spoiled by pure white sand.
4. My students.
The cool thing about being an English teacher is that all the children in your village know your name. All of them. And they call you Mademoiselle and they treat you with respect and give you drawings. The students of Mahabo were silly and sweet and mine. When you are a nameless white face, you don't quite have the same relationship with the kids who live around town. They mostly just ask you for money and candy.
5. Relaxing in my home.
For those who don't remember or don't know, I had a pretty great house. It was a giant, one-roomed cement block, sure—but it was great. Four giant windows and two doors ensured constant breeze. Plus painted trees and sky everywhere (inside and out) made the view great. Add a little music, a hammock and a swing—what more could you want? The picture of simplicity. Sitting on the back stoop doing laundry, cooking with my solar oven and limited resources, writing letters to friends while sitting at my desk and staring out the front windows—these things I miss. Though the quiet and solitude would drive me crazy if I did it a second time around, I will always cherish the chapter of my life that revolved around acceptance of Mahabo's brand of slow.
Okay. Now on to the pleasures of my latest move.
Fianarantsoa. It is my new Malagasy home. Technically the second-largest city in Madagascar, it is a manageable city, with one main stretch of road where you can find anything you might need. That usually means ice cream or cheese.
1. Our apartment.
Two stories. Refrigerator. Hot water. Bath tub. Courtyard. Guard. Need I say more? Oh and did I mention there's a toilet? Meaning not a bucket and not a hole in the ground to squat over. This is the life! It may not have murals or excessive sunshine and breeze, but Paul and I did get a dart board. Best investment ever. And we got a set of boules for petanque in the courtyard. Oh and there's a balcony where we can climb up to to hang our laundry. No big deal. All I'm saying is that this place is arguably better than our apartment in St. Paul.
2. Accessibility.
I know you wouldn't believe it considering my current blog activity, but I have internet every day at work and a Peace Corps house nearby with wireless. Even when I'm on trips into rural communes, I have an internet stick I bring with so I can check my email. It's amazing. In many ways, I'm able to keep up to date even more than I did in my last job. And considering the electoral drama we've been experiencing for the last several months, it's a good thing! It also makes life feel faster than it did in Mahabo. And, of course, my mother will appreciate the difference whenever cyclones pass through. So there's that.
3. Edible possibilities.
There are three aspects to my new life in Fianar that have dramatically widened the range of meals I eat compared to Mahabo. One, a fridge. Leftovers? Yes. Cheese that can't survive heat? Yes. Ice cubes? Oh yes. Want to buy that giant pumpkin you'll never be able to finish? Why not—you can freeze it and use it all year. Two, Paul. He makes me things like brunch, a spicy tomato soup, and lentil burgers. It's great. I wouldn't have done it on my own. His culinary creativity is more ambitious than mine. And three, I live in a city. Here are things we've been able to buy that I never bought in Mahabo: fancy cheese, white wine, orange juice, oatmeal, and so much more! Turns out cities with white people have fancier foods in stock than do small villages in the middle of nowhere. Who knew? Needless to say, I don't have to worry about being underweight again in my new home.
4. The hills are alive.
Fianar is FULL of mountains and valleys and hills. This may annoy me at noon when I am starving and it's hot out and I have to walk uphill all the way home, true. But it really is beautiful. I'll post pictures sometime. Mahabo was flat as could be, and full of sand with some palm trees, which was also great. But Fianar has a different kind of beauty, full of colors and layers.
5. My job!
I love it. I work 40 hours a week and am therefore nice and busy. My project is working to strengthen Madagascars health systems so that more people have access to quality care--especially those in rural, hard to reach areas. And what I do on any given day varies from data analysis to visits in the field to community health workers living tucked away behind hills and rice paddies. Plus I get to focus on malaria, which is pretty cool. I love what I do, who I do it for and with, and what our goals are. Pretty great. I couldn't have asked for a better fit.
Anyway, this ended up getting long, but I guess my point is this:
I think sayings like “there's no place like home” and “the grass is always greener on the other side” just don't add up. Everywhere you stay leaves its print on you and is in some way a home to you. And you can always find something green about the grass you happen to be lying on.
