some little stories

I know, I'm a reluctant writer. But, enough people have mentioned to me that they're checking my blog that I feel like a return to regular blogging is the right thing to do.

Here are two recent moments in Volunteer Life; Madagascar.

Do you like it?

Yesterday, I accepted an invitation to a teacher's house for lunch. I didn't think too much of it. She's an English teacher at a private school, wants to practice speaking, etc. Her kids came to my temporary room at a Teacher's dorm in Majunga (where I'm staying for summer break) and walked me to the house.
The house was typical Malagasy style. Packed to the brim with oversized furniture so that one side of the dining table is inaccessable. A TV was buried between bureaus and beds and was blaring Whitney Houston music. All the normal stuff.
"Okay, let us have lunch," said my hostess. "I made spaghetti with tomatoes and anchovies. Do you like it?" Sure, I said. Not thinking.
We sat down, everyone watching me to see when they could start eating. Once I helped myself, they dove in. The pasta looked pretty clumpy, but I took a small lump. Then I tasted it. It was incredibly disgusting. Like vomit with noodles. I swallowed and looked up to see everyone waiting for my reaction. I offered a smile.
"Do you like it? It's easy to make," my hostess assured me. "You just take some tomatoe paste and a can of anchovies. You put them together and you mash it, you know? Do you like it? You can make it at home. Here! I saved an anchovy for you!"

Ha Ha!

My marital status, or lack of one, has been a major concern for the people of Maevatanana. "Lindsay," my neighbors say, one hand on their hip, "we've got to get you married." I always say that it would be wrong for me to get married without my parents' blessing, and this seems sufficient as an excuse. For the women at least.
The men are another story. Each one seems positive it will only take a glance, an accidental brushing of the hand across a desk, and I'll be helplessly in love. Two guys in my town, Jacque and our Director of Education, are by far the most determined to win my heart.
Jacque is a young, handsome guy who works in our market selling fruits and vegetables. He's too sweet, he just isn't for me. He's a very high-maintenance, forward guy. Two things I absolutely cannot handle.
As soon as I'm in his section at the an-tsena I hear, "Lindsay! Heh, heh." I always say hello and look over what he's offering for the day.
"Good morning! I am nice to see," he says. What do you need? When I ask for carrots or potatoes he grabs 10 or 11 and throws them into my basket. No, no, you don't pay. Then I get what I like to call THE LOOK. This is an expression Jacque is hoping will communicate his love for me. I just give him a casual nod and continue on my way, listening to the women tease him in my wake.
My other suitor is the Director. Even by Malagasy standards, he's very short. Everyone in town calls him "Kely-kely" which translates to "little guy." He's very educated, very involved in the schools, but his hieght puts him at level with my breasts. And he's not shy about acknowledging them.
The Director asked for some help filling out a form, in English, on a day I had off, so I went to see him. His office was plush. A tall, deluxe office chair was behind a big, shiny desk. His bald, tiny head was lost in all the reflective surfaces.
We worked through the form. He asked me how my work was going and I straightened up to answer him. Suddenly, it registered with him just how much more height I had on my side of the desk and he immediately tried to make amends. He struggled with the bottom of his chair and then, in bouncy intervals, (squeak-a-squeak-a-squeak!) raised himself up by about five inches.
"Ah, okay, hah hah! Now, you tell me, uh, how things are, yes?" We chatted, then he gave me a ride back up the hill to my house, laughing the whole way.
"I saw your friend, hah hah! She was brushing her teeth! I was just coming in from a small trip hah hah! I caught some fish!" If only he knew how funny he really is.