Dilemmas...

On my very first boat ride to Nosy Komba I met Jessi, the woman who runs the teaching program on Nosy Komba. We clicked right away because we had a number of things in common but most intriguing was that last year Jessi had done the same teaching program I will be volunteering for in Tanzania. Her experience was so impactful that she decided to move to Tanzania, which is what ultimately led to her current role leading the teaching program in Madagascar. Jessi had so many amazing things to share about Tanzania which I was excited to hear but I had also just arrived in Madagascar and was more focused on the present volunteer project. She had vaguely alluded to some things about the program she didn’t like that had more to do with her specific school but was adamant about not coloring my perspective so we didn’t discuss them - but the thought remained in the back of my mind.

This week I found out the details of my placement in Tanzania. I am very excited to be living in a home stay versus a volunteer house. There will be four other volunteers living in the same home stay with me and I have the impression that the younger volunteers tend to stay in the group volunteer house while the older volunteers often elect home stays so that is a dynamic will be a nice change. But more importantly, I’m excited to get to know a family. I also found out the details of my school placement and lo and behold, I will be at the same school that Jessi taught at. I was quite conflicted when I first learned this; the email providing placement details also covered the process for changing from one school to another which implies that volunteers have requested to do so in the past, often enough that they felt the need to cover the details up front. I thought perhaps the best course of action might be to switch schools right away before I begin the program. I even contemplated staying on at Nosy Komba for a longer time. But in the end I am going to continue on the path before me. 

I told Jessi about my placement and she was amazed - apparently there are almost thirty schools in Arusha that I could have been placed in so the fact that I will be at the Nice school is certainly a coincidence. Jessi filled me in on the issues she had with the school, which long story short, involve a corrupt woman running the program who has little concern for the welfare of the children and is suspected to be skimming the funds provided by the volunteers to pay for personal items unrelated to the school. This is something that took some time to discover and many of the previous volunteers felt frustrated that they had believed her stories and requests for money early on. I am glad to know the situation up front so I can be attentive in observing what happens and documenting it. In the end, none of this is the fault of the children. I believe it’s still important for me to go to help them and play a bit of super sleuth to figure out what the story is with the school. It’s a little disappointing to go into this experience knowing that there is this significant underlying issue but my goal is to be as positive about doing what I can, no matter how small it may seem to help the children.

It’s easy to understand why people say that ignorance is bliss after visiting a place like Nosy Komba - but like all generalizations, that statement is only true on the surface. The children certainly seemed happier than most. Of course my visit fell during the school’s winter break so the children only attended the English classes three days a week optionally. The rest of the time they played throughout the village: swimming, boating, dancing and just hanging out in little clusters. They were free to wander throughout the village unsupervised, but with only about a thousand people in Ampangorina, word travels fast so it’s fairly safe for children to be on their own, someone is always around even if it isn’t their parents. Certainly there were occasional fights between kids but it was amazing to see how it was often settled on their own. The children didn’t seem as needy because their every whim wasn’t indulged. There was no whining because they didn’t have an iPad to play on, they made their own games. It was hard not to think of their situation as idyllic, they were living in one of the most beautiful places I’ve experienced with tranquil beaches, clean drinking water and an abundance of natural resources from fruits to fish. And their demeanors did little to contradict the notion; they were so friendly and loving towards us, greeting us happily, eager to cuddle up in our laps when we sat on the beach or hold our hands.

But as blissful as life on Nosy Komba appeared, there were definite reminders of their poverty. Many children had only a few shirts or outfits; it was not unusual to see them in the same shirt day after day and it was not because it was their favorite shirt, in many cases it was their only shirt. Their imagination and innocence was because there were not other options; unlike my childhood where my parents restricted TV and video games, these are simply not available. I witnessed one computer in the village during my time and there was often a large cluster of people around it. This explains the children’s fascination with having their photo taken - they always wanted to see the picture on the screen at the end because there really aren’t televisions and computers and screens to watch - it was still magical for them.Then there are the times I saw children with ulcerous wounds that I hoped would heal properly. I was uncomfortable with them myself because they looked exactly like the type of ulcerous wound that we saw in our orientation, when a wound becomes infected and the infection is highly transmittable. I would surreptitiously douse myself with antibacterial cleanser after coming into contact with these kids, but always worried for them and hoped that they would heal rather than becoming worse.

I have often remarked at how wonderful and kind and friendly the locals are in Nosy Komba. And I stand by that, greetings are met with greetings, unlike cities on the east coast where most people would barely respond with a nod, let alone an actual greeting. Many east coasters might look at you as if there was something wrong with you - who would be so bizarrely friendly as to greet a complete stranger? Thankfully my summer in Portland helped to transition my patience to deal with the mora mora of Madagascar. Mora mora literally means slowly and is something evident in the attitudes of people throughout Madagascar, they take life slowly - there is no need to rush, time is on a different spectrum here. I could easily imagine feeling impatient if I had come straight from D.C. or N.Y.C. but I was able to adjust and understand how this helps support the relaxed and friendly vibe here. And yet while people are incredibly kind and helpful, their attitude belies their limited options. Can you imagine trying to advance yourself or your family when you don’t have electricity, let alone internet, or access to good education? Those who are able to move away are incredibly driven - like the student in our adult class who studies English in his free time and worked hard to move first to Nosy Be and will soon be moving to the capitol city of Madagascar with the hope of earning a better income for his family. He is rare, and I can understand that fighting against the lull of mora mora and the lack of opportunities must seem like a Herculean effort. So while there have been moments that I envied the simplicity of the life of the skipper who drove a boat transporting locals and tourists back and forth across the pristine waters of the Mozambique Channel, the reality that there is little chance for more is his reality. I would often fantasize about how inexpensive and simple it would be to start a competing business which could run more efficiently and provide better service, but would also take away from the livelihood of these people who were born and raised on this island and can barely imagine a different life, let alone achieve it.