Why It's More Courageous To Return Than It Is To Leave

When I first started telling people I was going to be spending a year in Madagascar, a common response went something along these lines: 

"Wow! That's so brave of you- I couldn't live in a foreign country...too scary! Good on you for having the courage to travel that far for so long!" 

But in truth, I don't think leaving is all that hard. When you leave home, you're preparing to explore new things, discover new truths about yourself, the world, and your place in it. It's exciting, and sure, it's a little scary. But you've got all this support from friends and family, helping fuel the excitement and anticipation.

Leaving only takes one moment of insane courage- the split second when you hand the gate attendants your boarding pass and then take the next step through the gate. 

Once you get to your new home, things take less courage, in that you no longer have a choice. Your survival in this new place is contingent on learning the language, finding safe routes to travel, navigating the markets, making friends...it's still scary at times, but you have to do it. There isn't much courage in doing what is necessary, in my thinking. Bravery, to me, must involve a choice. And there isn't much choice in survival. Deciding to survive, yes. But once you're committed to doing what it takes to survive...then it's just doing what needs to be done. Not much choice. 

But choosing to go back? To return? I think that takes the most courage of all. 

When you return, you're choosing what you know will be a constant challenge. When you return, there's no new and exciting things to discover. You know when you return that life will be much the same as you left it. Peoples' lives will have gone on without you, much in the same way they would have if you had stayed. 

No, the only thing that will be new will be you. 

You'll have changed, grown accustomed to a new culture and way of life, developed new attitudes and opinions on matters both frivolous and of the utmost importance, and have a more globally informed view of the world and your place in it. But for the most part, your home --family and friends-- will be the same. Your safe spot, where you know you'll always be welcome and can always turn to, no longer....isn't quite right. You just don't fit right anymore.

By choosing to return, you're choosing to be constantly straddling two very different worlds- ad you know that you won't really fit in either anymore. 

It can be so tempting to ignore "home", to live instead in constant newness and excitement. To keep traveling. We blame it on the travel bug, romantically sigh over our newfound wanderlust. But it isn't the desire to go somewhere as much as it is the desire to fit somewhere. To belong. To have other people around who understand you. When you travel, you know you will find new sisters and brothers: who speak the same language as your soul. Who have scattered pieces of their hearts across the world. Who don't fit in any one place. Who know that this is the only place that they really belong now. 

By choosing to return to where you started, you're choosing to constantly remain a little bit the outsider, in hopes of maybe influencing a few people. Maybe changing a few minds, challenging a few prejudices. 

That is far more courageous than stepping onto an airplane. 

A Guilty Conscience

I expected to deal with guilt when I first arrived to Madagascar. After orientation, I felt somewhat prepared for the seemingly inevitable feelings of guilt that I was sure would accomplish the privilege I have that is so glaringly obvious as a vazaha in Mada. And I did feel the weight of my privilege in Madagascar. But it was just that- weight. It was heavy, but bearable. 

Right now? After 'my YAGM year', I decided to travel to the Holy Land. Back in March, it seemed like a great idea. But now that I'm actually here, I am being slowly crushed by guilt. It's hard to breathe, it's hard to move, to get out of bed, to function. I am crushed, crushed, crushed. 

It's pervasive. 

I feel guilty that... 

-I don't speak any Arabic or Hebrew. 

-I don't want to be identified as a tourist. I realize that while I was a YAGM, I somehow viewed myself as being superior to tourists (especially because a lot of the tourists in Mada were older French men who came for sex tourism); that preconception has carried over here. 

-I'm so, so tired (mentally, physically, emotionally) that all I want to do is hide in my room with the lights off, but I feel like I shouldn't waste such an opportunity to see the holy land that most of my Gasy friends can only dream of- same goes for the Palestinians I've met. 

-I'm so ignorant of the conflict here. 

-I can't bring myself to spend money very easily...even on things that are necessary, like food or transportation. 

-I'm so homesick for Madagascar that I can't find it in me to be excited about the new things here- new sights, new smells, new tastes; all I do is compare to Madagascar. "Drivers actually stop for people to cross the road here. Why aren't there any beggars? I want to yell out 'there's a stop' instead of pushing this dumb button to stop the bus. Where is all the street food? I miss the smell of oil and fried food. The pervasive spice aroma here is nice, but wrong. Its supposed to be winter now, not summer. I hate the heat. I blend in here." 

From my talks with other YAGMs, it seems that this is not an isolated problem limited to just myself. Other people have expressed their own various feelings of guilt as well. 

So what do I do with this? I'm searching for some kind of resolution here, but I don't know what exactly. Will I ever feel okay again? Do I want to feel okay again? Feeling guilty sucks, but I don't know that feeling complacent is any better. Right now, I suppose I'll just keep muddling along and hoping for the best. I'll update you all if I have any sudden revelations over the next weeks. 

View from the roof of Tantur Ecumenical Insitute, where I was hosted by my lovely YAGM alum friend Karis for a week.

I liked hanging out on the roof...

Damascus Gate, into the Old City of Jerusalem. This area is known for being a 'flashpoint' where protests and conflicts break out between IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldiers and Palestinians...a friend told me that the bowl-like area in front of the gate used to be a hang out place for friends to meet and play cards and such. 

The Arab bus station and surrounding market that I frequented while staying in the Jerusalem area. 

In East Jerusalem area, I went to a wonderful bookshop called 'Educational Bookshop'. It featured books by Palestinian authors, and books about the conflict, traditional Palestinian cuisine, music, etc. I bought myself a book of poetry by modern Palestinian poets. 

View of the Old City of Jerusalem.

Alley inside the Christian quarter of the Old City.

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the most holy site in Christianity. The church is owned by 5 different sects of Christianity...the keys are held by a Muslim family, in order to ensure that no one sect can lock the others out. A new friend, a professor here, told me an interesting story about the ladder leaning against the window towards the top of the picture. Apparently, when the different sects divided up the church, they went stone by stone, object by object, claiming domain on everything. But-- they forgot the ladder. So now, no one can move it, lest they upset the status quo. Instead, when the ladder disintegrates, they just replace it with a new one. Christianity at its finest, folks. 

The Western Wall plaza, the most holy site in Judaism; the Dome of the Rock is in the background (the golden mosque dome), which is the most holy site in Isam. 

Stairs leading into Manger Square, Old City of Bethlehem. (I liked this spot a lot because it reminded me of the stairs I'd take to Analakely in Tana occasionally) 

Art on the separation wall in Bethlehem... The wall and the checkpoint were very, very difficult to confront for me. It's...beyond words. Beyond description. 

Obligatory solo-traveler-selfie in the Old City of Bethlehem. 

Pictures, pictures, pictures

My office mates and English club members at TPFLM, the printing press. These people always made my Mondays and Wednesdays a bright spot in my week- I didn't mind braving the legendary Tana traffic if it meant getting to see them! This was on my last day; I made a cross stitch with a bible verse for the office, so we naturally had to take a picture with it ;) 

Giggling with Tsoa, one of my two best friends at TPFLM. 

The English teachers at FLM Tanjombato, enjoying our ice cream after our "goodbye" picnic Saturday. 

These smiley goofballs! Gotta love selfies :) 

A few past students also showed up to say goodbye... And to get ice cream! ;) 

My family in church last Sunday... Amanda, Francine, and Francio. Sometimes announcements go too long, and what else are you going to do to pass the time than take pictures? 

Pictures... And selfies! My host cousin Francesca loves taking pictures, and puts me to shame every time with how darn photogenic she is! Look at that smile- beautiful :)

My family also helped me open the presents I got from the church...

In between eavesdropping on my host parents' meeting with an aunt, of course...

...and more selfies...

...gorgeous selfies...

Modeling my gifts- a new purse from my English students, and a cross from the church council. The cross is engraved on one side with "FLM Tanjombato, Madagascar". 

Mahafinaritra!! 

Concerning Young Men

As a female, I have been raised in a way that is different than my male counterparts. In the U.S., I have been implicitly told certain things. 

You can be whatever you want, but also know that there is a glass ceiling. Know that (white) women make 88¢ to a man's dollar. Know that women in certain careers (including but not limited to: science, law, policing, and math) will have to fight their way tooth and nail to be respected and considered equal to men.

I have been taught how to defend myself- carry your keys in your fist when you walk to your car, go with friends to the restroom, don't walk alone at night, memorize this fake number to give out to creepy guys, always keep your drink in sight, don't dress "like you're asking for it", and be careful who and how you rebuff men that ask you out. 

I have learned from the media that to be 'beautiful' means being white, thin but not too thin, curvy but not too curvy, with straight (preferably blonde) hair, no glasses or braces, able bodied, clear skinned, with sharp cheekbones and symmetrical features. 

I have been told that women should be softer and gentler than men, that women are natural caregivers and nurturers, that women are domesticated. 

I have figured out that a woman is defined by the men in her life- my father will give me away at my wedding as if I'm a possession; I am expected to smile, dress, and act a certain way in order to attract a boyfriend; our bloodlines are traced through our fathers; when -not if- I get married, I will have to consider my husband's self worth and masculinity in determining if I should continue in my career and whether or not to have children; and if I am approached by a stranger on the street, the best way of turning down his romantic advances is not to say "no" but rather "I already have a boyfriend". 

After 23 years, I have internalized these lessons. It's not all bad; I have also learned new, stronger lessons, lessons of self-image and feminist theory and confidence and self-sufficiency. But all of the other lessons? The ones I listed first? Those are the oldest, most ingrained, and deepest. I will carry those with me for life, wherever I go. I carried them to Madagascar. 

In the United States, I have dealt with these issues. With being considered less able than boys to study science, with self-image and beauty standards, with the fear that comes from walking alone at night, with catcalling and harassment, with rape culture. 

But in Madagascar? These issues have been amplified. 

I have learned that I don't trust men. That's misleading- it's not that I don't trust any men, it's that I am wary with whom I trust among the opposite gender.

I avoid giving men my phone number. Letting a man walk me home. Buying me food or drink. I make sure to tell new men I meet that I live with a family, that my father was in the army. When guys approach me in the street with leers and "mon amie" and "cherie", I walk away and don't make eye contact. I have memorized the phrases in Malagasy to turn someone down for a date or marriage. 

Here, I attract a level of attention that I was never afforded in the U.S. I walk down the street here and get catcalled daily. I despise crowds because I know that it's likely a man will brush up against me deliberately. When it's dark out, the hissing (equivalent to wolf-whistling) comes from all directions. The handshakes that are so culturally important in Madagascar often turn into a man refusing to let go and caressing, petting the back of my hand. 

Here, white women stand out. And globalization has spread our "Western beauty standards" worldwide. Pale is beautiful. White is beautiful. Blonde hair, thin noses, blue eyes, are desirable. Combined with colonization and racism, the fact that vazaha are rich...white people, especially white women, are almost a commodity. Movies and media and porn have painted an image of white women- beautiful, rich, flirtatious, sexy, exotic and famous. It's a mark of honor, of manhood, for men to have "bagged" a vazaha. 

It's not because I'm absurdly beautiful, it's because I'm white and have blonde hair and am American that I get so much attention from men. 

Don't get me wrong- not all guys here are like that. But assumptions and habits are hard to break. I've been taught for so long how to protect myself from men, and when confronted with a level of attention I've never faced before, my self defense mechanisms were higher than ever. 

Though I've learned that I am instinctively wary around men, I've also learned that these assumptions are not always true. I've met multiple guys here who have challenged my internalized ideas of what "men are like".   

One day when I was walking home from church, I passed by a hotely/bar where a bunch of guys hang out and drink THB (the beer of Madagascar); head down, eyes lowered, fast paced, as usual. As I was about to round the corner, a guy called out to me in French. Being that I don't know French, I wasn't exactly sure what he said...but my experience has told me that most catcalls that include the words mon amie and ça va aren't usually good to encourage. So I gave him a polite, but dismissive, semi-nod and continued to walk by. He reached out and grabbed my hand for a handshake as I passed. I admit, at that point I began to get nervous...it was still light out, but we were by a bar full of men in various stages of intoxication. He struck up a conversation while holding my hand captive; I answered his questions quickly while trying to make excuses. A women walked up, heading towards us. Having been protected by women before (walking home at night almost always garners me an escort of neighborhood women), I hoped she was coming to say something to him to let me go. And he did let me go- only to pull the other women into a hug and quick kiss, and then to introduce us. "This is my new friend, mom. Anna, this is my mother-in-law." He then sent her to bring his wife and baby to meet his new friend, and invited me to drink juice with his family. 

Another day, I was shopping in the market for a satroka ba (knit hat); instead of walking back to the other side of town to get my usual bus, I decided to take a new line that said 'Tanjombato'. After 40 minutes, I realized I must've gone the wrong direction when the bus suddenly stopped in an abandoned lot and everyone got off--the end of the line. Very, very lost, I started walking towards the palace that I could see in the distance. A man came up and started walking next to me, and we began chatting in Malagasy. He offered to walk me back to Analakely, where I first got lost, and then invited me into his home which was on the way. His mother in law served me tea and we made small talk for a few minutes before heading back to Analakely, where he made sure I got on the right bus and gave me 1000 Ariary for the fare. 

I may be wary about men and their intentions, but I have been proved wrong in these assumptions multiple times and I am very thankful for these opportunities to be challenged and grow. Implicit assumptions are not helpful. Trusting is not an inherently bad trait. Slowly, I have learned these things. I am still learning. 

But every time I learn, I get to see new pockets of beauty in the world, new snapshots of the divine in places I previously would have avoided. 

May I never become so jaded and wary as to be blinded to the wonderful possibilities of being wrong. 

Simplicity and Small Joys

"Simple living". That is a phrase that we YAGM volunteers have been kicking around for a while now. It is one of the two buzz words for YAGM- the other being "accompaniment". When we had interviews for our countries, we were asked 'what does simple living mean to you?' I don't remember exactly what I answered, but I'm sure it was something along the lines of "not living above your means". A very textbook, economics-based technical definition of the phrase. 

Now my time in Madagascar is coming to a close- so soon, too soon- and I have realized that I am not any closer to answering that question than I was 11 months ago. 

Now, I'm not so sure it's about the economics, after all. I don't have a definition still. But if I was forced to try to describe simple living, I'd say something along these lines:

Simple living is rediscovery. 

Simple living is finding all of the small things in life and remembering how to be thankful and joyous over them. 

Simple living is slower, more appreciative, more soaking things up. 

Simple living is savoring a good meal and recognizing everything that went into that meal, not rushing through a buffet line to scarf down as much food as possible in an hour. 

Simple living is quality over quantity. 

It is all of these things, and more. It is something I don't quite have words for yet. 

It's the way we celebrate birthdays here. We all eat lunch together, we drink juice, and we cut cake together. There are no gifts; at least, not how we think of gifts. There are no material gifts. Instead, we give the gift of presence. We give the gift of time. We give the gift of love. 

It's the way we celebrate Christmas. No extravagant light shows, no huge tree, no mountains of prettily wrapped boxes. We had lunch together, a special lunch with juice and pasta salad and vegetables as an appetizer before our rice. We had ice cream together. We sat around the table talking and laughing. We ate candy during church. 

It's the way that we move here. Time is slower. In the US, we're always in such a hurry. Run here, run there, go to work, go to the gym, eat dinner in front of the TV, rinse and repeat. Life is fast in the US. We worry about our jobs- rush to work, get as many hours as possible, go through the drive thru at Starbucks for lunch or eat at our desks because we are simply too busy. We worry about money- how will we get food on the table, how will we save up enough money to pay off the mortgage, how will we send our children to college. We worry about quantity. 

It's the way I've been able to view the world here. Very small things make my day in a way that they never did in the States. When I catch a taxibe right away and the front seat is open. When I can hold a conversation with someone. When the neighborhood kids recognize me and greet me by name. When we eat candy at church or cake at lunch. When I see someone being kind to beggars on the street. When there is a cool breeze in the warm sunshine. When we go on retreat and see beautiful forests and mountains and beaches. When I get surprised by ravitoto at lunch. When my momma brings me a hot water bottle after dinner if I've been coughing. When my students text me good morning and tell me they're praying for me. 

It is all of this. It is more than this. I'm still discovering what exactly 'simple living' means, but I know that my idea has changed. It has transformed from a textbook copy-and-paste definition, mere words on a page, into something living and breathing. Into experiences and memories. When I hear "simple living", I don't think 'living within your means, without extravagance'. When I hear "simple living", I see my host parents. I see little children playing. I see beggars on the street and people in church and I see Madagascar. I see the simple truth that when you live with less, you appreciate the little things more. That is not to say that it is good to be living in poverty-- I vehemently disagree. But there is something to be said for rotating life's priorities away from money and possessions and things. 

When you have less, you appreciate more. 

Maybe that's my new, boiled down definition of 'simple living'. 

Boys and Their Toys

Sunday was beautiful, a picture perfect day. My English students were "graduating" levels at the second church service-- so I woke up late and had two full cups of coffee plus bread before leaving to stroll to church around 9:30. The students and I sang together and ate cake to celebrate. Around 2 in the afternoon, I started to walk home. 

There are two ways home- the 'short' way, and the 'long' way. They're the same distance, but the long way includes a very long hill. I was feeling sporty that day, the sun was shining, and the air was...fresh-ish, for Tana standards, so I decided to take the long way home. I was in a good mood- people greeted me in Malagasy, which always puts a smile on my face. My favorite mofo'akondro seller was out, so I treated myself to two fried bananas and "chatted" a little. I decided to take a shortcut; through an alley and down a large array of stairs instead of going down the big hill by my house. As I made the turn down the alley, a young boy, maybe 12 or so, jumped out from behind the corner. He had a toy gun in his hand and pretended to shoot another boy across the alley, who pretended to die very, very dramatically. They dissolved into giggles. I was taken by surprise, naturally. 

Several thoughts ran through my head when the first boy jumped out from behind the corner, in this order:

1. Woah! 

2. Fake gun. 

3. He would have been killed in the U.S. for that.

4. What a world we live in.

All that in a matter of seconds. I went from surprise to recognition that they were playing, and then immediately my mind made a link between "two young black men with a toy gun" and all of the American teenagers who have been killed for having fake guns. 

It amazed me, and sickened me, just how quickly my brain made this connection for me. What a strange, sad example of social conditioning.

The instances of police violence in the US against people who aren't "white" (let's have a talk some other day about how ridiculous that concept is) seem to have only gotten worse and worse over the years. If nothing else, the attention that such cases receive is finally increasing. 

There are so many names, too many names, that I can say to almost any American: Eric Garner. Tamir Rice. Michael Brown. Trayvon Martin. Tanisha Anderson. Freddie Gray. 

Unfortunately, police shooting and/or killing young men for having toy guns is not recent---

12 year old, Arkansas, 6/07 

13 year old, Los Angeles, 10/13 

22 year old, Dayton, 8/14

12 year old, Cleveland, 11/14

15 year old, Los Angeles, 2/15

14 year old, Jacksonville, 12/16

14 year old, Baltimore, 4/16

These examples were all found after five minutes of a Google search. All young men. All shot and wounded- more often than not, fatally. All were not "white". All were shot by "white" police officers for having fake guns on them- BB guns, air soft pistols, pellet guns, toys that had bright orange safety tips on them. 

And this has become so much a part of American society that it is where my mind is taken immediately when I saw those two young Malagsy boys playing with a fake pistol. This is my normal. I can only imagine what the normal is like for people who don't have the same privileges I'm afforded. Did you know that black Americans killed by police are twice as likely as whites killed by police to be unarmed? Twice as likely to be unarmed. 

I'm afraid I cannot empathize. I cannot understand what living in our messed up society does to those who live in a different colored skin than I do. I can say that I am horrified. That I am so, so sorry. And that I know we all, those of us with the privilege, we have failed so many people of color who have been hurt by the systems we continue to support and condone. We have failed you, and I'm so sorry. 

"What is abundantly clear is that young black men and boys are, all too often, viewed as an inherent risk. They wake up as suspects, in the minds of some police officers, by virtue of the very skin that they were born in.

Maybe that’s why [they] ran."

-Goldie Taylor, 'Why Can't My Black Son Have a Toy Gun?' 

http://tinyurl.com/haoayhe

Malagasy Lesson

I am by no means an expert in Malagasy. In all honesty, I can still only talk at the level of a 5-year-old. My sentences are mostly limited to: I'm tired/sick/hungry/late, I don't know/understand, I don't speak French, I'm going to work/church, and I'm still learning. My questions are similarly limited: When will we return home? Where are we going? Are you tired? Can I help? and Is there rice? 

My most complex interaction in Malagasy thus far has been: 

Can you please give me soap, please? 

Oh, you're washing today?

Yes, I need to wash clothes. How much?

Four hundred Ariary. 

Thank you!

Yes, thank you ma'am!

But though I am pretty hopeless at languages, I do enjoy learning (about, if nothing else) them. So here are some fun things I've learned about Malagasy during my time here in Madagascar thus far:

1. One of my favorite things about Malagasy is the way in which people are named, and the names they chose to go by. Since names are so long here- Nakaloina Irma Djujine, for a rather tame example- people tend to go by a shortened version of their name (Kalo), especially when vazaha are involved. Often though, these shortened names are actually words- the equivalent of my sister going by Grace. 

I love this, because it helps me learn these words. After calling someone "Hasina" for three months, and then learning that his name means "holy", it helps me put faces with words. 

Kalo (English teacher): melancholy chant or song

Haja (supervisor at TPFLM): respect, honor

Onja (student): wave

Hasina (employee at NMS Isoraka): holy, virtue

Lovasoa (student): good inheritance

Fitiavana (student): love

Tsiky (student): smile

Herizo (student): civil rights

Hery (wife of the pastor at Anosibe): strength 

Fiadanana (pastor's son): peace

Santatra (student): the beginning

Tanjona (student): the protruding shoulder of a mountain, peninsula 

Toky (musician we played with in Antsirabe): trust, confidence 

Mr. Fidy (driver of the pastor): to be chosen

Anjaka (works at Isoraka NMS): from mpanjaka, king/queen/royalty 

2. Part of culture here that is so apparent it hurts, is how much life revolves around rice. Rice is so important here, a part of everyday life. Even I, in a big city, see this. I sure it's even more apparent in smaller villages. When I ask my students to make dialogues to practice English, they almost always manage to work rice in there somehow. One of my favorites has been: "traffic jams grow like rice here!" (Which, as it happens, is very true) 

These are just a few of the many, many words I've found relating to rice in some way:

Vary: rice 

Vary akotry: unhulled rice

Vary ampangoro: rice cooked dry 

Fotsim-bary: clean white rice ready for cooking 

Varimbazaha: wheat (foreigners rice) 

Vary lena: thieves who stick together 

Mandry fotsy: to go to bed without eating rice 

Mingadona: to make a thumping sound when pounding rice

Mihosy: to trample mud in the rice fields

Ranon'ampango: burnt rice water! Yummmmmy!! :) 

Salohy: a head of rice

Mandoatra loa-bary: the act of serving rice out of the pot 

Ketsa: young rice plants to be transplanted 

Tanin-ketsa: a seedbed where rice is planted 

3. Then there are the fun, impossible words that I call "Malagasy onomatopoeias". I can only say them when I'm looking at it written down, but they're so fun:

Manakitikitika (mah-nah-kee-tee-kee-tee-kah): to tickle

Misasasasa (mee-sah-sah-sah-sah): to sound like rushing water, falling rain, or rustling leaves

Mikofokofoka (mee-koo-foo-koo-foo-kah): to fidget, to be continuously anxious

Dobodobohana (doo-boo-doo-boo-hah-nah): a thumping sound like a drum

Mibitsibitsika (mee-bee-tsee-bee-tsee-kah): to whisper 

Mikakakaka (mee-kah-kah-kah-kah): to laugh loudly 

Mikiakiaka (mee-kee-ah-kee-ah-kah): to cry out piercingly 

Mikikikiky (mee-kee-kee-kee-kee): to giggle

4. One of the best things about languages are the ways in which words are compounded to form new words. A second best thing about language, in my opinion, are the words that are so close together that you run the risk of saying the wrong thing completely (think hungry and angry, or last and list or content and content in English). 

Fiadanana (fee-ah-dah-nah-nah): peace

Fiadiana (fee-ah-dee-ah-nah): the act of fighting 

These two are interesting- one small syllable change and you move from the state of peace to the state of fighting. Not two that we tend to group together in English- peace and war are complete opposites, in meaning as well as in spelling and pronunciation. 

Lalana (lah-lah-nah): road, the way

Lalana (lah-lah-nah): a law

I love this paring- a different emphasis changes the word completely, but yet I can see the relation. The law is the only way in which to act. At least, that's how I rationalize it in my mind. 

Otrika: an ambush

Otri-po: spite, malice 

Malice and spite are defined literally as an ambush in the heart. (Fo, changed here to po, is the heart). 

Raraka: spilled, scattered

Reraka: tired

This pairing has given me so much trouble these past 9 months. My problem has to do with how vowels are pronounced in Malagasy as opposed to English. A says ah, E says a, I says e, and O says oo. Yikes! So, when I want to say tired, I often end up saying "rahrahka" instead, which is to say, I'm scattered. Fitting, in a way. 

Sokatra: turtle

Sakotra: hat

Sarotra: difficult

I cannot get these three words straight to save my life. Sookahtchra, sahkootchra, and sahrootchra all sound exactly the same to me. For the past four months, I have not been able to use the words turtle, hat, or difficult in my conversations. Whenever anyone uses one of those when talking to me, I have to do my best to guess which one they mean based on context clues. Given my already limited understanding of Malagasy, that's led to some pretty hilarious misunderstandings... 

"You're going to the market to buy turtle?!" (Definitely was a hat) 

"Your head is difficult?" (Nope, they needed a hat) 

"Your son's turtle has a hat?" (Her son had a turtle hat... You can find some strange stuff shopping the markets here)

"You can't eat hats in the south? I mean... Do we eat hats here?" (Actually, you can't eat turtles in the south- apparently hats are still on the menu)

5. Some of my all-time-favorite Malagasy words:

Folaka: broken, but still holding together

This sounds so much prettier to me than our English alternatives- hanging on by a thread, hanging in there... This sounds more positive, somehow. 

Mangirangirana: to have cracks through which the light can shine

Absolute love. I know it's meant to describe objects, but I like thinking about it in terms of people. When we're broken, flawed, it allows our inner light to shine through. #deep

Mampifanosontsosona: to complicate things

How fitting is that?! I'll be honest, I can't even pretend pronounce this at all.

Tsiky (ts-ee-kee): smile

Try saying that without smiling. Try it. It's impossible. 

Miteriteritra (mee-ter-ree-ter-reet-ch-rah): to think 

Mostly I'm just proud of being able to say this word. I worked on it for two weeks with my host mother before finally getting it (or at least, close enough to pass).

Matanjaka: strong, of living things only

Every vazaha who learns Malagasy has that one word, that one phrase, that makes people smile when you say it. You don't choose it; it is chosen for you. It isn't the same as other vazaha. Mine is matanjaka. Whenever someone says "oh it took you 3 hours to do laundry? You must be tired!" Or "my friend lives far away, we should take the bus" or even "it's been a long day"-- if I respond with "yes, but I am strong!" it always garners a laugh. 

Fetsy: deviously clever, cunning, sharp

The most useful word in the history of language; observe:

Child steals a goose? Fetsy. 

Someone goes through the offering line twice in order to get two helpings of candy after? Fetsy. 

One of your students tries to teach you the "Malagasy phrase for telling someone they look pretty", but really is trying to get you to ask everyone to be your girlfriend/boyfriend? Fetsy. 

The cat jumps on the table to steal food from the plate when Dad has his back turned, then jumps down before he turns back? Fetsy. 

Your supervisor "helpfully" tells you "Malagasy customs", which of course turn out to be a bunch of pranks designed to make you look like an idiot? Fetsy... 

Old lady cuts in front of everyone at the bus stop when no one but the vazaha is looking? Fetsy! 

Your dad steals a meatball from the platter every time your mom has her back turned, until he has too many meatballs in his mouth to speak and so he fakes a coughing attack when she accuses him of taking them? Festy, hihihihi. Festy be. 

**all of these are things that actually happened**

6. Finally, the words that are going to be the hardest to not use anymore when I go back to the states:

Tafangy-- an empty Eau Vive water bottle (usually the 1.5L ones) 

Mahay!-- roughly means "understand" or "know", but is often used to say "you are very good at/knowledgable of/good job!" (As in 'mahay mihira' or 'mahay miteny gasy!') 

Azafady-- sorry, please, and excuse me all rolled into one

Manahoana-- how are you/good morning/hello

Sakay-- crushed chili hot "sauce" 

Zay-- all meanings; can be a question, an answer, or just a filler

Misoatra-- thank you 

Maditra-- stubborn, disobedient (used about children, cows, sometimes even inanimate objects if you're being funny) 

Mahafinaritra-- to be pleasant/enjoyable, nice/beautiful 

Voky-- full, satisfied; a compliment to the host of a meal

Tsara-- good

Tsy mety-- not acceptable, not good

Tsy maninona-- no problem/worries, it's ok

Mazotoa!-- enjoy! 

Rakitra-- offering