Morondava and the land of the baobabs

It was when the taxi-brousse headed south from Antsirabe and then made a right turn on the RN35 that I realized I’d never ever gone west in Madagascar. Sure, I’d gone west from Tana, but my occidental travels had only ever put me as far as Miarinarivo—which is basically still right smack dab in the middle of the country. This journey, I suddenly realized, would be taking me to a new frontier. 

This new frontier was the town of Morondava, a beach city located on the Mozambique Channel, and the famous baobab trees that live in its surrounding countryside, including the famous “Avenue des Baobabs”. My friend Amy and I had been talking about doing this trip for ages, and after many failed attempts and reschedules,  we at last made it happen this past November. I settled into the taxi-brousse and soon drifted off as we made our way towards the west coast through my uncharted territory, illuminated by one of the brightest full moons I’ve ever seen.

What I awoke to the next morning was a landscape unlike anything I’d ever encountered  in Madagascar. As the sun rose over the reddened countryside still 50km from the coast, my first thought was that it looked much like South Africa, with its dried-up riverbeds and expanses of barren shrubland. Generally it looked more African than anything else I’d seen in Madagascar, which, of course, would make sense being that it’s closer to the actual continent of Africa; perhaps this part of the island was holding on to a souvenir from when the plates shifted and Madagascar was torn from the mainland all those millions of years ago. And then suddenly, the baobabs appeared, dotting all over the landscape. Admittedly I didn’t know what to really expect when it came to viewing these famous trees, and I suppose I didn’t expect to see them outside the famous avenue. But here they were, everywhere, and I couldn’t stop looking at them. To my just-awoken eyes, they looked like massive, earthly anchors, their branches like roots fixing them to the sky.

We arrived in the actual city of Morondava around 8AM, when the oppressive morning heat had already settled in, and then took a pousse-pousse towards the beach, where we found a hotel right on the ocean for $12 a night. Not too shabby. After a changing into cooler clothes we ventured back into town, which was right in the midst of its annual explosion of mangoes. Although we have mangoes in the southeast, the ones from Morondava are different—they are massive, globular fruits that absolutely burst with juice. And when they are in season, they are everywhere, and because they are everywhere, they are cheap.  We bought a small paring knife and stocked up on an armload of mangoes (for 200 AR each, about 10 cents), then proceeded to messily eat them over our hotel sink during the course of our vacation. We also encountered the curiously fuzzy baobab fruit, which I didn’t even know existed, and were able to sample a refreshing glass of baobab jus naturel—definitely a first. Afterwards we returned to our hotel  and went for a swim, my first in the Mozambique Channel. The water was warm like a bath, and reminded me of swimming in the balmy Mediterranean Sea in Ashkelon, Israel on a hot August evening in 2009.

Beautiful sunset on the beach outside our hotel.

 

Not bad for about $12 a night.

And the beachside restaurant gives a fashionable windswept look.

And not only was the water warm, but town itself felt like the hottest place I’d ever been in Madagascar.  Here more than anywhere, the afternoon siesta seems to be a necessity. But despite that, Amy and I decided that we really, unequivocally liked the town of Morondava. Everyone was friendly, we never heard shouts of vazaha!, and a lot of people knew and appreciated Peace Corps. Amy bought a silver bracelet from a local jeweler, and when he heard us speaking Malagasy he surmised that we were Peace Corps volunteers, and then regaled us with how much he loved PCVs and insisted that we stay in his large house next time we were in town. But one of the most fun things we did was a favor for Shayla, a Peace Corps volunteer who used to serve in Morondava. After receiving a digital request from her, we stopped by her old house to talk to the local kids and see if they remembered her. They did, and so we took photos with them to send to Shayla as a little ‘hello’ from her old home. She told me that it completely made her day to get those photos, and I can only hope that someone does that for me after I finish my service, when I'll have moments of feeling like I left half of my heart in Vangaindrano. 

Our hotel, Les Bouganvilliers, had an alfresco restaurant where you could sit and have breakfast a few meters from the waves, so the next morning I splurged on a pot of their strong coffee (only about $1, but that’s 10 times the price that I usually pay for coffee on the street) and snuck in a bag of street mofo (fried bread) to make it an affordable breakfast. As I sat sipping my coffee I watched giant-sailed schooners off in the distance, foregrounded by Malagasy fishermen in homemade ‘sailboats’- which are really just dugout canoes with plastic sheeting for sails. It was a reminder that the Western world’s luxuries and comfortable realities are still far off, even though I sometimes catch of glimpse of them-- like when a gleaming 4x4 filled with tourists passes my taxi-brousse that’s broken down on the side of the road.

Shortly after I sat down, a waitress from the hotel stopped by to ask if I wanted to order any food. “Oh no thanks”, I said as I hid the bag of mofo balls under the table, “mbola tsy mosare iaho” (I’m not hungry yet). But forgetting that I was hundreds of kilometers away from my town, I’d automatically used the Antesaka word for “hungry” when I should have used the officiel word since I was no longer in the Sud Est. I apologized and repeated myself in officiel, saying that I actually lived in Vangaindrano and spoke Antesaka. The waitress whizzed back to my table and exclaimed “I’m from there! I was born in Vangaindrano!”, before sitting down and chatting with me for the next 10 minutes. So there I was, practically as far away as I could be from my town, yet experiencing that warm connection that can only come from a shared idea of home. 

Amy and I arranged a trip to visit the famous Avenue des Baobabs on our last day in Morondava, hiring a driver with an ancient cherry-red Renault to take us there and back. We had another comical language moment when a gendarme stopped the car along the main road and kept saying the word “apelasoa” to us. Neither of us knew what it meant and were beginning to get concerned that he was making some kind of demand, when finally he said it in English (“beautiful woman”) and we realized that he was just another gendarme being creepy. Sigh. Some things don’t change no matter where you go on the island.  

 

We had left the town of Morondava in the late afternoon and arrived soon after at the majestic Avenue des Baobabs, which at that point of the day was simply just another dusty dirt road being traveled by farmers herding cows and kids driving oxen carts. Stopping to take a few photos, we then kept driving and stopping to see the masses of baobab trees all around, including the famous “Lover’s Baobab”, so-called because it is actually two trees intertwined together.

 

At last, I got the obligatory Peace Corps Madagascar photo at the Avenue des Baobabs.

This kid and his sister were wrangling (abusing) chameleons and trying to get tourists to give them money. Later, some Madagascar National Parks guides told them to stop abusing the animals-- they got a very stern talking to!

Our driver and our chariot for the baobab trip: an old cherry-red Renault.

After making the rounds and seeing probably hundreds of different baobabs, each of them magnificent and reminding me of reading Le Petit Prince in 8^th grade French class, we drove back towards the Avenue and joined the quickly-growing throng of tourists waiting for legendary sunset to begin. I’m not one for touristy things, but I do have to say that this is a spectacle whose fame is well-warranted. The sun sets at just the right spot behind the trees, and the light suddenly changes to transform the Avenue into one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen in my life, a truly otherworldly congregation of sun and sky and land. There is simply nothing else like it. I took photo after photo after photo, each one better than the next, because the scene just kept getting more and more beautiful. Standing in a field adjacent to the baobabs amongst tourists from all over the globe, all of us reverent and awestruck by these mighty trees, it hit me how amazing it was that these trees are powerful enough to draw people from all over the world to visit them. They stand there, unique and mysterious, and truly are, as I once heard them described, mother trees.

I've seen a lot of beautiful sights in my life, but this truly blew me away.

One final sunset picture to remember Morondava by.

Chameleon in my backyard

This is my friendly backyard chameleon, who decided that my fence was a great place to climb around for an afternoon.

House tour!

Over the past year I've been recording videos of my house and the land surrounding it so folks back home can get an idea of what my living situation is like. I was just finally able to shoot and upload the final video, so at last I am posting these 4 videos! (And thanks, YouTube, for picking the best possible shots for the thumbnails. You're really highlighting my best angles.)

Part 1: my actual house.

Part 2: my kabone (latrine) and ladosy (outdoor shower room for taking bucket baths).

Part 3: my beautiful backyard grove of trees.

Part 4: my yard and garden.

Simplicity and luxury

When you live simply, it’s amazing how much more you appreciate the small things in life. For example, when you have to hand-wash and line-dry your laundry, you are eminently grateful for a hot, dry day that leaves your sheets crisp by lunchtime. When you have to fetch your water from a pump, you’re thrilled when it finally rains and makes the pump run at full strength. When it’s 105 degrees out and you’ve been walking around all day, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as finding an epicerie with a fridge and being able to indulge in a small, cold bottle of Coke. When you’ve spent a hot day biking on dusty back roads, a cold bucket bath can feel every bit as luxurious as a fancy hotel shower. And when you can only buy fruit and vegetables that are in season, it’s an unexpected delight to find a verdant head of lettuce at the market, and take it home to make a cool and refreshing salad.

That’s the way I’ve been living for the past 20 months, and I can already tell that it’s changed the way I’ll live forever after, even when I get home to America. Specifically, it’s made me realize that to live comfortably and happily, you don’t need a lot. It dawned on me recently that despite living in a “hardship” situation, I don’t feel deprived. I have a small two-room house with electricity, a garden and a lovely backyard, a bicycle, an old but usable laptop, and enough money to feed myself, buy phone and internet credit, and travel around the country a bit. Yes, there are difficulties and things that are uncomfortable, but  as a whole, I don’t feel as if I am suffering every time I wake up in the morning and go about my day.

Perhaps this has something to do with a shift in expectations. I’ve come to realize that in the non-Western world, not everything in life is easy. Maybe the person you need to talk to doesn’t have cell phone reception in his town—so you ride your bike there to go talk to him. Or maybe you have to wait 2 hours for your taxi-brousse to finally leave the station—so you read a book and talk to people while you wait. I’m used to it now. In Western countries, however, everything is hard-wired for comfort and easiness—where all you need to do laundry is press a button, and a single grocery store holds every possible food item you could ever want to buy, at all times. So after 2+ years of living in Madagascar, I’m expecting to be in for a serious reverse culture shock when I return home in May.

What I’ve realized since being here is that real luxuries are the things we take for granted in America: things like ice cream (I marvel at its very existence now—the fact that ice cream can be shipped and sold all over the country!); bacon and pancakes on a Sunday morning; owning a car, no matter how old and beat-up; all the way to microwaves, fridges, computers, iPods, iPhones, running hot and cold water, and reliable electricity. Reading this you may find yourself asking, but at point what does it become a necessity? Isn’t electricity a necessity? The simple answer is, no, it’s not. Although I’m a fortunate volunteer in that I have electricity in my house, few of my neighbors do, and almost none of the other volunteers in my region do, either. And they all survive. It’s entirely possible to cook and eat healthfully without a fridge. And fetching water from a pump is not as dreadful as it sounds. This is not to say that I won’t enjoy these amenities when I return to America, but I think I’ll appreciate them more now that I understand how fortunate I’ll be to have them.

One thing that’s helped me appreciate my existence here is realizing that the same simple things I found pleasurable home in the US are achievable (and just as pleasurable) here—things such as climbing into a bed with clean sheets after a nighttime shower, eating perfectly ripe, in-season, fresh fruit, sitting outside and enjoying the afternoon breeze, breaking open the creamy yellow yolk of a perfectly-poached egg, indulging in a long talk with a friend, relaxing with a book (and maybe nodding off) in a hammock, enjoying an unhurried cup of morning coffee, the smell of tomatoes on my fingers after working in the garden, and the comforting and cocooned feeling one gets from being warm and dry at home while a rainstorm pounds down outside.

Being here has clarified to me that little things like these bring me great happiness, yet there is nothing particularly extravagant about them. It doesn’t take a fancy car, expensive house, or top-of-the-line hotel to make me happy. In fact, I’m finding myself more and more uncomfortable with actual Western-style luxuries. In March I met a friend for a vacation in India, and for our stay in Delhi, I cashed in some of my hotel points (accumulated in my previous life) so we could treat ourselves to a stay in a fancy hotel. But I found myself overwhelmed by the niceness of it, and unnerved by being called “Ms. Silman” and having my luggage carried for me. What is going on? I asked myself, this is not me! I’m a Peace Corps volunteer! And things got even more bizarre for me when we booked a car and a driver to take us sightseeing after a disastrous attempt at using local taxis: when the car pulled up that morning to pick us up, it was (much to my surprise) a Mercedes, which I guiltily sat in all day, enjoying it but feeling quite out of place.

So perhaps there is something singularly attractive about coming to a largely unspoiled and un-Westernized country, like Madagascar, in order to gain perspective on what is truly important and valuable in life. I encountered a poignant description of another such journey in a book I just finished about the British writer and MI6 spy Graham Greene. (Thanks to Eric for passing it my way). The book depicts the author’s attempt to recreate Greene’s famous journey through Sierra Leone and Liberia nearly 100 years ago, and spends a significant amount of time going over Greene’s motivations for undertaking the adventurous trip. Greene went to Africa, in part, because he was becoming disgusted with the British “civilization” that was supposedly so wonderful and worth exporting to other countries, but within which he found, as the author remarks, a disheartening amount of “seediness”.  Greene wrote about his disillusionment in his book Journey Without Maps, which is the work that came out of his trek through Liberia and Sierra Leone. Greene’s writings in Journey Without Maps:

“... reveal his distrust of the ‘civilisation’ represented by contemporary Britain and the developed world, and to justify the desire to go somewhere more base, pure, and unspoiled.... he found among the native tribes of the Liberian interior the existence of characteristics he saw as more admirable and honest—a sense of innocence, simplicity, even virginity that accentuated natural feelings, both good or bad.”

-          Tim Butcher, “Chasing the Devil: A Journey Through West Africa in the Footsteps of Graham Greene”

Perhaps I have a similar disillusionment with many aspects of the ‘progress’ that modern American culture symbolizes. We are supposed to be so advanced, so forward, the most successful nation in the world—yet we spend hours upon hours toiling behind desks at the expense of time with friends and family, simply to finance a lifestyle which American culture tells us we must have. There are many cultures that would question whether a lifestyle like that really is a definition of success. Here in Madagascar, people work extremely hard, but family comes first. It is not uncommon for people to miss a business meeting or important event because a family member has fallen ill or needs assistance. Of course there are some Western developments that I would like to see more widely adopted in Madagascar—such as greater economic development, improved education and equality for girls and women, more appreciation and protection for the environment, and an increase in family planning—but I would never want Madagascar to emulate every aspect of American culture.  This country may be poor, but it’s rich in a lot of things that we’re not.

My college thesis (which this blog gets its URL from) dealt with the ideal of Arcadia, as propagated by Virgil and then many subsequent artists and writers. Without getting into too much detail, the Arcadian ideal is one of an untouched natural paradise that is free from the formal constraints of man-made law and societal structures. And because of this, it becomes a haven for artistic thought and creativity. Virgil and his followers talked of a mythical land—whether real or imagined—where shepherds wrote poetry and sang love songs in the unspoiled natural beauty of their surroundings. This verdant, uncivilized utopia was so prized precisely because of its roughness and ruggedness; man’s constructs and the ‘advancements’ of modern society were seen as the enemy. When I read that passage in “Chasing the Devil”, I finally created a link between this famous Arcadian ideal, which I devoted years to studying, and the timeless yearning, as exemplified by Greene and many others, to come to non-Westernized countries in Africa and elsewhere to discover another, more authentic way of life.

Should I be including myself among those “many others”? When I left America to come to Madagascar, it wasn’t exactly motivated by a similar desire to flee Western civilization. But maybe my time here has uncovered that as a small, subconscious inspiration for my decision to join Peace Corps. With 4 months left in my service, I am eagerly awaiting returning home, but I’m also a bit scared, and unsure if I will be able to live the way I used to. I might find myself one of those people who needs to be living abroad, or someone who always has to be moving from place to place. Or perhaps I’ll easily settle back into the familiar contours of American life. If one thing is for certain right now, it’s that I have no idea how it will play out. But no matter where my life takes me after this, I know I’ll be able to look at my experience in Madagascar with reverence and appreciation for all the gifts it has given me, not least of which is an ability to live simply and appreciate life’s small and precious joys.

The One-Packet Economy

It’s hard to think of an institution more American than Costco. In the United States, we love to buy giant boxes of things, and relish the idea of “stocking up”. Generally, most of us have big houses in which there is plenty of room to store the things we buy—be it a year’s worth of soda or cat litter or diapers—and in some cases, people often have special storage rooms in their house dedicated to their Costco or extreme couponing haul.

So one of the most striking things I’ve noticed about life in Madagascar is just how dissimilar shopping is here. There is no such thing as “stocking up”, for many reasons: one, because people’s income varies and is often based on what they sold in the market that day; and two, because most people have no room to store anything anyway, even if they did have the money to buy a large quantity of something. Simply put, most people just can’t buy any more than exactly what they need right now. So if it’s time to wash your hair, you buy an individual packet of shampoo. And if it’s time to do laundry, you buy a single-serving packet of laundry soap.

This type of small-scale consumer behavior is actually big business. I’ve just finished reading the excellent book “Stealth of Nations:The Global Rise of the Informal Economy” by Robert Neuwirth, and in one of the chapters he talks about how Procter & Gamble realized that if they wanted to market items like shampoo or laundry soap to lower-income consumers in Latin America, who typically buy items in single-use packets from small local stores, they’d have to shift away from their traditional model of producing items in rather large quantities, for consumers who’d buy them at traditional retailers like Wal-Mart or Target. P&G realized the value of selling their products to this different type of consumer, and started producing their items in smaller-quantity packaging. They then get distributed, indirectly through a multi-layered supply chain, to tiny neighborhood stores all over the world. The result has been a massive increase in their revenues and reach across the globe, but especially in Latin America.

Unfortunately, even if this single-serving packaging is a profit generator for companies like P&G, all this plastic packaging is incredibly wasteful and detrimental to the environment. In Madagascar, the brand of laundry soap that most people use is Klin (pronounced “clean”), and these discarded rainbow-striped packets are ubiquitous all over the country—but I’ve noticed them especially in my town. Litter is a problem as is, because there’s no municipal garbage pickup and people generally just throw trash everywhere, which is incredibly depressing in a country as beautiful as Madagascar. But Klin packets just seem to be everywhere, especially around water sources where people manasa lamba (wash clothes.) There’s a pretty little beach in Farafangana, my banking town, which is actually separated from the ocean by a freshwater river, where many people wash their clothes. And on this nice little beach are dozens upon dozens of discarded plastic Klin packets, littered throughout the sand, remnants of numerous laundry days. It would be a fool’s errand to try and pick them all up. From an environmental standpoint, it’s incredibly disheartening.

Detergent packets for sale in my neighbor's epicerie...

... and then scattered all over the ground. Not exactly 'clean'.

Recently I wondered to myself if there is a way that people could be encouraged to not buy the single packets of soap that lead to such extensive littering. Because most people probably won’t see an increase in income that will allow them to buy detergent in bulk, there would have to be another way to achieve this. What if the little shops selling packets of Klin could instead buy a large sack of it, and people could buy their laundry soap by the scoopful? They’d have to bring their washtub or a reusable container to the mpivarotra (shopkeeper). But if it was cheaper to buy a scoop of detergent than to buy the same amount of detergent in a plastic packet, the economic incentive would be there to alter their choice. And shoppers here are already used to buying items such as rice, beans, pasta, and other dry goods out of large bulk bags, so the behavior change wouldn’t be too drastic. Looking at the detergent itself, which is no doubt extremely chemical derived and petroleum-based (as are most commercial laundry detergents), I wonder if a company in Madagascar could produce an alternative, more ecologically-friendly detergent based on coconut oil (coconuts are everywhere here) that would also be cheaper than Klin, which is imported from Indonesia. If a soap was produced locally, valuable jobs would be created, and if it was biodegradable, there would be fewer chemicals getting dumped into the rivers in which people do laundry, and if this soap was sold in bulk, there would be less plastic trash littering this beautiful country. It doesn’t get much more “triple bottom line” than this.

As an economic development volunteer, I love looking at market-based solutions to public health and environmental problems, and this type of consumer-targeted development is something that I would love to see happen in Madagascar. And the benefits it would offer ring very clear as I’m currently studying microeconomics via an online course, with the central question of whether consumers’ self-interest can be meshed with social interest. In this case, I think it can: lower prices are a factor of self-interest, and less trash in the environment is an example of social interest.

Unfortunately, with only 4 months left in my service, it’s not feasible for me to take on a new project, especially one as large-scale as this one. But as I think about what I want from my career after Peace Corps, I’m realizing that this is exactly the type of business that I want to get involved in. And so who knows, perhaps I’ll be able to work on it as an RPCV! Now that I’ve become so familiar with this country, I definitely see myself being drawn to continue working with this island that I will have called home for 2 years. Whenever I do end up returning to Madagascar, I know for sure that the sight of all those discarded plastic packets will still bother me, and I’m pretty sure that I’ll still want to do something about it.

Random tips for new volunteers

Note: this is third in a series of posts specifically for incoming volunteers.

Back when I first began navigating life as a Peace Corps volunteer in Madagascar, I started thinking about things that I was glad that I had done, or things that I wish I had done differently. I started writing these down with the intention of publishing them as a blog post at some point. So now, with about 4 months left in my service, and about 3 months until the next new stage of volunteers arrive, I figured that it’s time to finally write this up. So herewith follows a list of random tips and suggestions that have popped up into my head during my 20 months in this country. These are ordered chronologically from pre-staging, to staging, the PST, to service. Some of them may not make sense now if you’re still in America awaiting your departure, but just trust me!

• If you wear contacts and hate wearing glasses, I highly recommend getting LASIK surgery before you go, if at all possible. Peace Corps doesn’t want you wearing contacts due to the possibility of getting something nasty in your eye, so you’re supposed to wear glasses all the time. But because I absolutely hate wearing glasses when it’s hot out, I am really glad I got the surgery and so I don’t have to worry about glasses/contacts at all over here. (If you’re already been medically cleared then you would need to get this OKed by Peace Corps, though.)
• When you get your invitation and start preparing for Peace Corps service, start collecting photos, cool pages from magazines, postcards from your favorite bars/restaurants, inspirational sayings, etc. to decorate the walls of your house. Having these will go a long way towards helping you feel at home, especially in the beginning.
• If you’re a girl, you may think it’ll make things really easy to cut your hair really short before coming here. However, 9 times out of 10, girls who do this end up really frustrated by having short hair when they’re here, and they almost always grow it out. My recommendation is to cut your hair before you come, but keep it long enough so that you can still pull it back in a ponytail. Otherwise, it will just drive you crazy!
• If possible, try to arrive in DC (or Philly, or wherever you’ll be flying out of) the night before staging. This will prevent you from having to wake up at dawn to get your flight, and therefore being exhausted during staging—it’s a long day. Peace Corps’s travel agency may not give you the option if you live on the east coast, but see if you can finagle it. I was living in Vermont right before I left, and I was able to get a night-before flight because I was worried about possible weather delays if I left the day that staging started.
• Download some of President Kennedy’s speeches about the Peace Corps—the University of Michigan 2AM speech, the announcement of the executive order that created the Peace Corps, and the “ask not what your country can do…” speech. It will really help remind you why you’re doing what you’re doing when times are tough, and it’s reassuring to hear his words about why he started the Peace Corps.
• During training, save as much of your walk-around money as possible. It will be tempting to buy snacks, beer, chocolate, etc. when you have that cash in your hand—but seriously, when you get to site and are actually fending for yourself, you will wish like crazy that you still had that money. Most people end up spending a lot of money on stuff for their house—often more than we get as our settling-in allowance—so it will really come in handy if you have savings from training. Try to save at least 100,000 Ariary from your PST walk-around money. Honestly, Peace Corps feeds you so well when you’re living at the PCTC and there is really no need to be buying snacks on top of what they give you! (Something I wish I had remembered myself…)
• Take advantage of the homestay experience, and spend time sitting and talking with your host family. Don’t just treat them as a hotel/restaurant -- they’re an invaluable language learning tool. While it’s undoubtedly easier to just go to your room and close the door at night, it’s worth pushing yourself to be a little bit uncomfortable in order to gain language experience. In my stage, I noticed that the people who scored highest in the language exams were the ones who spent the most time talking with, and were the most integrated with, their host families. I wish that I had pushed myself to socialize and talk with my host family more, instead of just going to my room to study after dinner.
• Bring a set of inexpensive colored pencils (and a sharpener!) that you don’t mind letting neighborhood kids use. One of the best things I’ve done is invite the local kids over to draw pictures. They love it, and I like giving them a bit of time for creative expression, which they wouldn’t get otherwise. And I’ve gotten to learn all their names by having them sign their pictures. I put them on my wall and they love to see their artwork hanging up in my house.
• Although most members of your community will be good, decent people, they are also all human (and therefore imperfect). And with poverty as acute as it is here in Madagascar, some people will be desperate enough to see stealing from you as a way to alleviate some of their daily struggle. My recommendation regarding this is: don’t give people the opportunity to disappoint you. This is not to say that you shouldn’t trust your friends and neighbors, but it means being cautious enough to remove any temptation. It means locking your doors every time you leave your house, even if it’s just to use the outhouse or fetch water. It means not leaving anything outside your house that could be of interest. I had my Chacos stolen from leaving them outside my door to dry overnight. I’ve had a hammer stolen that I left right outside my ladosy while I took a 15-minute bucket bath. I'm 100% certain that no one would have broken into my house to steal these things, but because they were outside sitting there, it made it easy. Most crimes here are crimes of opportunity, so removing as much of that opportunity as possible will protect your belongings but also protect your relationship with your community. Never having to confront someone about theft will just make your life at site a lot easier. And another note: if there is a guard at your house or hotel, do not rely on them to take the place of secure locks and proper precaution. Frankly speaking, the guards in this country are not paid enough to give a shit, and I’ve heard many a story of volunteers who’ve had break-ins while the guard, oh so conveniently, just happened to be on their dinner break.
• You’ve probably heard about the Peace Corps rollercoaster, where the highs are incredibly high, but the lows are often unbearably low. You will inevitably have these bottom-of-the-rollercoaster days, when you just want to quit and feel like it’s pointless, and all you want to do is be alone and shut the door to the world. However, I’ve found that when I push myself to get outside and talk to people or play with the local kids, even just for a few minutes, it always helps me feel better. And if you’re naturally independent and introverted like me, try to resist the urge to be a shut-in and a recluse, even though it’s easier. I wish I had pushed myself out of my comfort zone more to socialize and interact with my neighbors, even when I just wanted to be in my house and read a book or watch TV. When you look back on your service, it’s those personal interactions that will be your best and most priceless memories.
•  My personal recommendation (and other volunteers may disagree) is that unless you absolutely have to go home to America for a family wedding/bar mitzvah/funeral/other important event, try not to take a vacation in America during your service, as tempting as it may be. Why? Although many people have a great time going home and seeing their friends and family, almost everyone I’ve talked to who has done this has reported having a very difficult time re-adjusting when they returned to their country of service. They all say that the culture shock is harder the second time around, probably because they’ve just come from a week or two of American luxuries and comforts of home, and then they get back to country and realize “ugh, I still have 18 months/1 year/whatever amount of time left…” That said, I DO highly recommend taking a vacation out of country at around your one-year mark, if you can afford it. It’s a good time to take a break from your country of service and reward yourself for a year’s worth of hard work and hardships, and you can plan a trip to meet up in another country with friends or family. I did this and went to India for a friend’s wedding, and was able to spend time traveling around the country with another friend. It was great to be able to see my friends from home without actually going home, and going to a non-westernized country (although one that’s still much richer than Madagascar) made it pretty easy for me to adapt when I was there (squat toilet? no problem!) and then when I got back to Madagascar. In short, there’s something to be said for taking a vacation somewhere that makes your country of service seem like “home”—whereas if you go back to America for vacation, you may find yourself feeling like that is actually your home. After a chaotic and busy 10 days in India, I was excited to get back home to Madagascar, and I arrived back at site recharged and ready to tackle my final year of service. Also, giving my language skills a year to sink in meant that when I came back to Madagascar, I didn't feel like I had lost any of my Malagasy ability.
• This final piece of advice actually comes from my fellow volunteer Amy, who was counseling me on the phone this weekend when I started freaking out about how we only have 4 months left and OMG, what am I going to do with myself after we COS? She reminded me that even though our remaining time is rapidly ticking away, we still need to take it day by day, just as we did in the beginning when everything was new and different and we were still learning how to live here.  At this point, with so many of our months of service behind us, it’s easy for our minds to leap ahead to the future. But we still have to live in the present and remember where we are and what we’re doing. So that’s the piece of advice that I’m personally trying to follow right now.