The Unshared Tears

First coming to Madagascar, the Peace Corps kept us on a tight leash, we didn’t speak the language or know the ropes in anyway, shape or form. But the first time they loosened their grip, we all went out to eat. It was a fine restaurant, as western as it could be, but only now do I realize the irony of it all: the name of the restaurant was Coup d’Etat.

And now, after 6 days of a perverse house arrest at the Garden Court hotel in South Africa, I’m wishing more than ever that the coup d’etat of Madagascar had never happened.

The violence started on January 26th, 30 some dead in Antananarivo (Tana); and I didn’t hear about it until February 4th, the last day I spent in Belitsaka. From there I consolidated with Austin for two weeks before flying to Tana. We stayed at the Peace Corps training center (a semi-glorified summer camp) for a few days until things had calmed down and most people returned to their villages. Belitsaka was unfortunately too far away, I didn’t have time to return before the training for new volunteers was to begin. I was left in limbo, wanting only to return to the friends and family that had taken me in for the last year… but it was too far. We planned the training, creating lesson plans, technical books, CDs, moving beds, buying food for hundreds of meals. It was the day before the new trainees were supposed to come that the training was cancelled. But we held strong, worked hard to make the training replicable for the possible chance that they would still arrive, just later in the year. None of us could have anticipated the text message that would change our lives. “…Decision made to suspend PC Madagascar. Very sad. Process of leaving will be lengthy. Prepare tonight for consolidation and onward as flights are confirmed…” We’d be leaving Madagascar. Sure, during consolidation we all imagined the possibilities of an evacuation, dreaming of seeing family and friends, returning to a culture familiar to us; it wasn’t an awful prospect. Until it happened. We were devastated. And now there was no way to say goodbye to my family and friends of Madagascar, no cell phone service, no postal service, and it was just too far away.

We left Tana within the week. I was on the second plane to South Africa, and now I’ve been in this hotel compound for a week; Johannesburg is too dangerous to go anywhere other than the airport and the mall.

I’ve since been exploring my options, and I’ve made the first few cuts for a direct transfer of service to another country. It looks as though Zambia may be in the cards. If that doesn’t work out, I’ll be following some leads in Tanzania.

A few months ago, I closed saying “…I will always be on the outside, peering in; looking for some sort of recognition in the eyes of an ancestral way of life that will never be mine.” Looking back, this wasn’t true at all. I had been accepted with open arms into a way of life that I made mine. And now, occupied by memories of a simpler existence, complex ancestral beliefs and the beauty of everyone that crossed my path, I move on. The beginning has come to an end and despite the unfinished goodbyes and the unshed tears, I’ll always look back to My Madagascar with a smile on my face and an unshared tear in my eye.