God be with you!

I wish I had words to ease the ache in my own heart and what feels like a slow, painful separation from those I have come to love here in Madagascar. On one hand, I want next Tuesday to come as soon as possible in order to move onto the next step and get all of these ‘good-byes’ over with. On the other hand, I want this week to go slowly so then those ‘good-byes’ are not realized.

The last few days I have spent in the office wrapping up final projects, cleaning out my desk, and pretty much just being present. It has allowed time for much reflection and each day I find myself withdrawing more and more. I suppose it is a defense mechanism, bracing myself for the ultimate severing of ties.

If there is one word I hate, it is ‘good-bye.’ It has this harsh finality to it and once uttered there is an automatic emotional detachment. Perhaps I hate good-byes because I have done them so much the past few years. They never get easier, possibly even harder. I wish there was a way to pass through the pain of saying good-bye but then that would be denying something special once existed.

Over the past six months, there have been times when I thought this moment would never arrive. I have gone through my share of highs and lows during this period of time. Nevertheless there has been one constant, amazing people surrounding me brightening my life.
Since January, I have been riding the climax of all the time, energy, and emotions I have put into my experience here. It has been the last eight weeks that the intimacy of the relationships I have had here has come to fruition. I have come to appreciate, know, and love the people more fully and I think they in return also.

Moments like this it is so easy to question God ‘why.’ Why did He call me to a work that requires frequent separation? Why are we still on this earth experiencing broken relationships? Why can’t there be a guarantee that I will see these people again and when I do it will feel just as normal and beautiful as it does right now?

Regardless, I am blessed to know the pain of my heart torn into fragments because it also means I have also known intense joy. It would be even more painful to leave Madagascar and not feel any emotion at all.

Out of curiosity, I looked up the origin of the word good-bye. It originally was ‘God be with you.’ I think I like this version better because it does not represent something broken but rather a wish for the person you are separating from. I have so many wishes for my friends here: I wish them the greatest success and happiness; I wish them to appreciate their lives, culture, and community even though there are many challenges; and ultimately, I wish to meet again someday.

So Madagascar -- God be with you!

Bees

Yesterday I went to the field with a few of my co-workers. We have traveled many kilometer’s together over the past few months as these individuals are my usual field-traveling companions. The depth of our relationships is due to the countless hours we have spent traversing Madagascar’s countryside.

On our journey yesterday, one of my closest friends who calls me his little sister, Faly, shared a Malagasy proverb with me. He told me that I am like a bee. Initially, I thought I am a bee in the sense that I fly from one flower to another never landing anywhere very long. Faly told me that isn’t what the proverbs means. Instead, when someone calls you a bee it means that you leave sweet things behind you.

My final days in Madagascar are slipping through my fingers. It seems like each day is full trying to make the best of the last few moments. I get asked daily when exactly I am leaving Madagascar and it is with bittersweet feelings I respond – “2 weeks.” I am eager to go home and see family and friends but that is at the cost of saying ‘good-bye’ to those that I have come to love here.

One of the hardest things for me living overseas is that I can only share a limited amount of my experiences with those abroad. Unless you have had the emotions connected to walking the dirt paths, the holiday dinner at my friend’s table, or listening to the sweet melodies of worship, it is understandably hard to fully relate. Sometimes it feels like I live two separate lives and due to the distance, it is impossible to merge the two. In both worlds there are people I love and long to spend time with. I wish you could look into the precious face of my friend’s little girl, gaze across the limitless mountains, or watch the cattle herders drive zebu down Main Street and feel the connectedness to this country that I have come to know. More than my own selfish reasons to share this with you so then I could have someone to relate to and the end here wouldn’t feel so raw and final, I sincerely want to share the joy, which also comes with pain but makes life only that much more sweeter.

In many ways I wish I could just transport my life here and the people in it across the ocean and just continue living what I have known for the past six months as if nothing changed. Looking back over the past few years of my life, I have always been the one to leave. Very rarely have I been the one who is left behind. I cannot really understand what my friends here feel faced with my soon departure. Perhaps it is easier for them because expatriates have this reputation of coming and going and never staying. Regardless, I know how I feel. More than sadness or even wishing for this moment to last, I feel love.

This morning I made breakfast for the guys I play basketball with. This motley group of men, and random girls, has become very special to me. Aside from the fact that they are all funny, amazing people, the time I have spent playing ball with them I have felt like a normal person. I wasn’t viewed as the foreigner, the person who can’t speak Malagasy but rather someone with a mutual passion. I belong.

Prior to any formal event, such as this breakfast, a speech is expected. I avoided this tradition this morning. My friends stepped in and gave their own speech to me instead, which I think was harder on my emotions then if I had just sucked it up and done it myself. They told me they loved me and it was hard to see me go. My heart overflowed because there is no question they meant every broken English word. ‘My guys,’ as I like to call them, are definitely bees that have brought something sweet into my life.

Power in a Name

Yesterday morning as I was walking back to the office from playing basketball with my friend Tantely, I was verbally assaulted by a crazy man. I say verbally assaulted because I don’t know everything that he was saying mostly because it was a mixture of French, Italian, Spanish, and Malagasy. But I understood enough for him to say that he loved me. This happens more frequently than I would like, which is probably one of the reasons why I don’t really enjoy venturing out on my own. However, I can’t live my life in a bubble so I suck it up and deal with it. Yesterday morning, though, I was somewhat at the end of my rope. Granted, this man was legitimately mentally handicapped, however, that is not a completely valid excuse because fully sane men are prone to acting equally as stupid. The only thing that was different this time was his impressive knowledge of foreign languages.

This man followed us about a quarter of a mile too long. As I said, we were returning from basketball and I was the one carrying the ball. It took every fiber in my being not to sock him with it. I have never really been tempted to hit someone before until this moment when no one was doing anything about the situation, even Tantely. In addition, we were walking through the center of town with many people taking in this exchange and it would have been a prime opportunity to make an example of this multi-lingual, off-his-rocker Romeo.

After about two minutes of putting up with this nonsense, I looked to Tantely with what I imagine to be a non-verbal plea for help. It was not so much because I couldn’t handle the situation or was in any kind of danger but I needed Tantely to step in in order to save this man from my tempting solution.

What amazes me is the fact that I have lived in this town for over five months now and I still get the same reactions. These people know who I am, who I work for, and what I do. I take any opportunity I get with those I have formed relationships with to educate them on the western perception of their behavior, specifically pointing out the fact that it is rude the way foreigners are initially treated.

Finally Tantely stepped in, shooed the man away, and put himself between the two of us. A moment later I gave Tantely the ball releasing my weapon and putting my trust in him as my protector. No matter how long I was to live in this country, I imagine that such behavior would always grate my nerves and push my buttons.

There have many instances as the one described above where it would have been so easy to just let loose. The one thing that has held me back is my name. In Malagasy, Kristy means Christ. So immediately after someone hears my name they stop, say a shocked “ah!” and it is then explained to them that Kristie doesn’t mean the same thing in English. Therefore, whenever my name is spoken people automatically relate me to Christ. Being directly associated with Christ puts a bit of pressure on me and how I act and behave. I have always been a Christian but unfortunately that label has never transformed me or my actions like my name does here in Madagascar. I have become keenly aware of the power in a person’s name and in my case that power has impacted me equally as much as those around me.