Ny Fitiavana Tsy Mety Lany

(The following post was originally written on October 19th, 2008)

It was a Friday morning. I’d been in the Tana area for just over a week. The day before my colleagues and I had completed a three day training seminar in Mantasoa at the Peace Corps Training Center. Mantasoa is always nice. It’s very similar to a year-round summer camp in northern Minnesota. Surrounded by a giant, picturesque lake on three sides, the compound sprawls out for about four acres and is gated off on all perimeters. The landscape is lush with pine trees, and nothing is better than drinking in a gorgeous sunset over that lake; it always goes down smooth. We would have a couple sessions throughout the day, with lots of free time for ping pong, volleyball, watching movies, or just taking the canoe out for a relaxing trip on the lake. Of course we dine together in the mess hall three times a day; taco night is my favorite. Needless to say, I always come back to Tana rejuvenated after a three-day stint in Mantasoa. That particular Friday morning I would need my energy. For Terry Selb, my father, was due in at the airport before breakfast.

Now, up to this point, which was only a couple weeks back, I hadn’t had any visitors of any kind. There had been absolutely no physical overlap between my Peace Corps life, over a year in duration by that time, and my old life back in the real world. Of course I was thrilled at the prospect of seeing my dad, but I was still a bit anxious as to what would happen in this first instance of my old life meeting my new life. Would worlds collide? Time would tell.

We met outside our hotel in Tana. Right as I was walking up to it, I saw my dad lumbering out of a taxi with two giant bags and a briefcase. I tapped him on the shoulder, he turned, and we embraced one another. The kind of embrace warranted when one finds a long lost brother, or close friend. Unsurprisingly, the day flew by in a whirlwind. The more we conversed, the more I was beginning to remember. My heart ached as familiar nostalgia began coursing through my veins, triggered by the sight of my father. Something didn’t compute. Reconciling the way I’d been living the past year with the 26 other years back home was difficult; as was negotiating a middle ground for the two in my head. Then combining this overwhelming feeling with the shock of such luxury; the fancy restaurants, the nice hotels, pockets laced with cash; I felt I was approaching a critical point and that the possibility of a mental short circuit had become very real. But it never came. By the time we got to the airport a couple days later I felt right as rain. A bit like my old self, actually; the way it used to be. Our destination was the top beach resort area in the neighborhood, and by neighborhood I mean Indian Ocean. I’m talking about a place called Nosy Be; a paradise playground where Euros and Yen are more abundant than the priceless coral reef spread throughout the crystal clear waters that surround the island.

If the time in Tana was a whirlwind, Nosy Be was a cyclone. My God, I was completely blown away by my experience there. The sheer colors alone were enough to leave you breathless. White sands, blue skies, turquoise water, and bright green jungles. In Tana my dad said this was to be my trip, so I should make it how I wanted. With that in mind, I decided to sort of give the trip a “massage” theme, and tried to arrange for a massage each day after lunch and a nap. I, of course, carried this theme to Nosy Be. But the trick is, don’t use the hotel services for that when you speak their language, literally. With our laundry too, for that matter. I knew for a fact that I could talk to any number of people on the beach right in front of the hotel and get the same thing for a quarter of the hotel price. So that’s what we did. And it worked, too. 5,000 ariary per shirt? Yeah, right. I got my load and my dad’s done on the beach, 30 pieces of clothes, for 8,000 ariary total. Cause what I know now, and what the tourists could never understand, is if you want to be one with the people, you have to actually be with the people. But I digress.

The greatest thing we ever did on that island was going scuba diving of the coast of Sakatia beach. That beach was right out of a fairy tale. I mean the water was warmer than a bath tub and so clear and clean that you could drink it straight. Now I’d never been scuba diving before, and I didn’t know what an amazing experience I was about to have. First of all, when you go scuba diving and you’re underwater, everything moves in slow motion. It’s like watching a silent movie that takes place underwater, and slowing the playback speed down by 75 percent. There was this South African by the name of Jacques who took us down as our guide. He took us each down about six meters, one at a time. He was just getting us accustomed, showing some of the basics. But once I got down there it took some getting used to, let me tell you. It’s a weird feeling to look *up* and see a far-off water surface. But I got into a groove after a bit of time, and the three of us began exploring the ocean floor, slowly floating towards various destinations.

There I was, hovering horizontally three feet above an endless sand bed. There were several different types of very brightly-colored fish swimming nearby. But something curious had caught my eye. I checked for the others and could see Jacques and my father not far-off, fruitlessly trying to communicate something to one another in marked silence; the occasional flutter of bubbles floating from their masks. I shrugged and headed for the curious object. It looked to be some breed of sea log, except it was brightly marked at parts. I slowly drifted towards it, mesmerized. As I approached it I tranquilly extended my arms and grasped it into my wrinkled hands. It felt softer than a log. Then, to my horror, it slowly began shifting its shape, bending and curving. The creature and I shared a mutual moment of terror as its color changed from greenish-purple to yellowish-red and it began silently excreting a powder into the water near me from one of its ends, in what could only have been a natural self-defense mechanism. I’m sure we were both screaming, but nary a soul heard either of us. I dropped it and looked over to Jacques in horror as the object slowly began descending back to the sand from whence it came. He was a good five meters away, but I could clearly see he was slowly and gracefully wagging his index finger at me through the water, which was he had earlier established as the “no-touch” signal. I attempted to float towards his hand, which was now outstretched to me. Thank God I reached his precious, protective hand without problems, and he led me to safety. He would later inform me that the beast I had thought was a log was actually a “sea cucumber”, and that’s it’s better to let them be.

The days in Nosy Be slipped by quicker than I could count them. The constant, gentle crashing of waves had the effect of a brain massage; day-in, day-out. I’d recently had an unfortunate coincidence of illnesses. A strong head cold, cut toe, and a scraped shin. My father insisted I start a course of antibiotics for my shin; it had obviously become infected. He was more worried about it than I was and he could tell. He asked me how I ever expected it to get better if I didn’t do something about it. It was an interesting question. I supposed in certain areas of my mind I’d already convinced myself, some time ago actually, to just let go. I think the ultimate answer to my father’s question was this: I never expected to get better. But this island, this place, took a healing grip of force over my life. It nursed me back to health without either of us even trying. I had never felt so fortunate, so alive, and I doubt many ever do. As I lay floating in the crystal clear water on our last afternoon, I felt something in my chest again pounding harder than before. I still wasn’t sure what it meant. I strolled up the white sand out of the water and turned to face the mighty channel. The physical portion of my environment was so beautiful, but there was something deeper digging in. I was trying to think with my mind and not with my heart. The fact that my father’s visit reminded me how distant home is resonated, but how I felt at home on this Malagasy turf is what really got to me. There are really no words for the content feeling I had gotten from this realization while standing on that beach; Jesus, indescribable. As I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, tears rolled down my cheeks.

The next day my father and I flew back to Tana, both decompressing. My father from the hotel seafood buffet, and me from my introspective journey into the first hints of what the hell my life is here. I don’t think it’s about saving the world, or making a difference, or even doing something crazy before I get stuck in a cubicle for the rest of my life. But as I drove down south from Tana with my dad, towards where the lush, green rice paddies open up and fold out into the desert savannah that is my home, I knew I still hadn’t found whatever it was I had been looking for.

We were going into the deep south. We were Isoanala-bound, and it felt good, too. It took a long time getting down, but after several days and repeating “Sticky Fingers” by the Stones ten times, we eventually did make it in once piece. It was a quick visit for dad, in and out really. Of course, I stayed on behind. Man; that first weekend back was tough. I spent hours on my porch seeing the afternoon safely into the dusk racking my brain on what in the hell had just happened. When we were on that island my life seemed a million miles away; a billion. But which life was I thinking of? The hospital, the spiny desert, the savannah, the stray dog Snuffles who comes each night to eat my leftovers? My colleagues, my friends, my habits… then it hit me. It was Isoanala! Had to be, really… But, okay, then how could it mean so much to me? Nosy Be may well have been a million miles away, but once we got south of Fianar on the drive here, and I started recognizing so many of the customs down here that I knew so well… Well, I suppose I realized that I’ve grown accustomed to them. I now know how present I can feel here. Back when my father first arrived, it’s no wonder I was having trouble straightening everything out. It’s because I was out of my element; I was out of Isoanala. And now I know that this is where I am; 100 percent mind, 100 percent body, 100 percent soul. When the time’s up, the time’s up. But you’ve got to live for the moment.