Mission in Madagascar

I’ve always been a firm believer that joy is best found in the little things in life: petting a dog, hearing a baby giggle, listening to my favorite songs. There’s happiness found in big, joyous occasions as well, but there is a special place in my heart for the small things I stumble upon each day that bring the most unexpected of smiles. Transitioning to life in Madagascar has brought out the entire spectrum of emotions in me, and no matter how exciting this is and how much I know I belong here, it isn’t always easy. Between the culture shock and homesickness, I’ve already had to confront my own stereotypes, weaknesses, and discomfort with vulnerability. Through all of this, I have found it’s truly the little things that have affected not only my positive feelings through this transition, but my feelings across the spectrum of emotions.

Thursday, I took a long, much needed nap between intensive language classes. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I heard what sounded like a marching band playing outside my window and memories of Appalachian State game days flooded my mind, first bringing joy and then longing. When I decided to live in Mada for a year, I logically understood I would be missing an entire season of college football, but this emotional realization was crushing. Today marks the beginning of our season, with a long awaited game against Penn State. If I choose to scroll through social media, it will no doubt be flooded with throwback game day pictures at Duck Pond and The Rock, and I’m not sure that’s something I’m ready for yet. I mentally prepared myself to miss Christmas. I mentally prepared myself to miss my brother’s first day at Virginia Tech.

I didn’t think to mentally prepare myself to miss lazy Saturday afternoons with my family spent making lunch, watching too much HGTV, and going to the pool until my dad sent me a picture of my mom and dog standing in the kitchen, with sandwich ingredients spread out across the counter.

I didn’t think to mentally prepare myself to miss standing out on Duck Pond (field) recruiting new members with my best friend until I opened Instagram and each and every picture was of my sisters and friends in the Panhellenic community in the cutest outfits and biggest smiles.

I didn’t think to mentally prepare myself to miss decking out in black and yellow head to toe, cheering on the ‘neers in Boone, North Carolina, and trash talking Penn State to my PA friends until I heard that marching band music through my bedroom window in Antsirabe, Madagascar.

I struggled the next morning, wondering if I would be able handle seeing even the score of the game that will come in the middle of the night Saturday, if not early morning Sunday my time. Missing the little things suddenly became a huge deal.

As I sat alone at a picnic table on Friday silently studying my teny Malagasy notes, I began to hear happy cheers, marching band-style music, and whistles. My head whipped up, quickly connecting these sounds to a sporting event. Inside the compound at Lovasoa, the Lutheran center we are staying at for orientation, I do my morning run up and down stadium-style concrete steps that lead to a soccer field. That had to be where the sounds were coming from. I quickly stuffed my notes inside my bag and jumped up, heading toward the music, when it started to move. I realized that I was wrong, and it must be coming from outside of the compound. Defeated, I sat down for a moment, deciding what I wanted to do next, when my friend Bryn came outside and asked if I was down to go exploring to figure out what exactly we were hearing. We quickly left the gates of Lovasoa, looked to the left, and saw what looked like a parade crossing the street at the end of the block. We decided to follow.

It turns out, we had stumbled upon Famadihana, a funerary tradition of the Malagasy people that involves celebrating the life of lost loved ones in a beautiful parade of live music and dancing. It was one of the most pure expressions of love and happiness that I have ever seen, and it brought me fond memories of my grandma and the Mariachi band at her funeral.

I’ve experienced a lot of joy in the little things throughout my time here. When my suitcase arrived a week after I did, the Madagasgals shared in my celebration by taking mock engagement pictures of my luggage and I. We’ve spent so much time laughing over ongoing jokes that Pastor Kirsten has a secret book of predictions for us throughout the year, and that we are going to make pizza the first time we cook on our own. Our free afternoons are spent snacking and playing cards. I start every day with a run, making sure to stop each morning at the top of those giant staircases to take in the absolute beauty of the valley that spreads out in front of me and the mountains just beyond it.

Just because I’m out of my comfort zone does not mean that I won’t experience the little joys that I found at home. Every morning on the way to class I greet the fluffy white dog of our neighbor at Lovasoa; I watch the children who live here race their bikes across the concrete and jump on the trampoline; Jason Isbell has been playing through my headphones on repeat while I write this blog. Being here doesn’t mean I’ll miss out on experiencing the comfort of some of the little joys I found at home. Now, I have the opportunity to find additional experiences unique to Mada as I explore both during orientation and once I reach my host community, and I couldn’t be more ready to add to my list of little joys.

Consecration of Mpiandry

Sunset at Lovasoa

View from morning run

“The art of being happy lies in the power of extracting happiness from common things.” – Henry Ward Beecher

As anyone who is experiencing a significant life transition like graduating, moving, or retiring can probably tell you, their most frequently asked question is “So, what’s next?” Since answering the call to serve as a Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM), I’ve struggled to answer it. Many times I would tell people, “I’m moving to Madagascar for a year to teach English.” I tended to avoid using the whole name of the program; on the rare occasion I told people I was off to serve as a Young Adult in Global Mission, I felt the need to qualify it by saying, “It’s kind of like the Peace Corps,” and dive into talking about where and what I would be teaching. My hesitation in sharing the name of the program with others came from my fear of accepting the label of ‘missionary’ based on the devastating historical connotation. Besides, I’m not one to push my beliefs on someone else, especially considering the fragile and wavering state of my own faith on a daily basis as an unquestionably imperfect human. I was concerned about the affect of the word ‘mission’ on both my personal image and the implication it would put on my work in Mada.

I’ve spent the past week wrestling with this idea of mission work, and how accompaniment, my privilege as a white woman with a US Passport, and my own faith are all interconnected aspects of the next year of my life that all play into my Mission. Accompaniment is all about relationship. Relationship with the members of my new host family. Relationship with my new church. Relationship with my new community. Relationship with the Madagasgals. Relationship with YAGMs serving in a variety of countries. Relationship with alum of the program and the incredible team of supervisors that may be spread across this big beautiful world but who are no doubt standing with us and praying for us every step of the way. And yes, even my own relationship with faith. Discovering about my own faith and how this program plays into it shouldn’t be something I shy from, it should be a part of this adventure that I am eager to emphasize in my discussions with my friends, family, and even strangers back home. While I’m not going to Madagascar to toss bibles at people, take a few pictures, and leave, I am also not going there for a vacation. This will be my life for the next (roughly) 340 days. While in Madagascar, my job is to be a servant to my community. I will teach English at AFILIFITO Women’s Center and the Lutheran Blind School, I will be an active member of my church, and I will undoubtedly question my own beliefs. I will also celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, my 23rd birthday, and the Fourth of July. This isn’t a job I will spend 40 hours a week at. This will be my life. Each and every day, I will depend on the love, kindness, and generosity of my host community to guide me.

At one point this week, I heard someone say that the mission doesn’t start until the YAGM transitions back to the United States. Throughout orientation, this thought has been an integral part in the shift of my perspective regarding the coming year. In Madagascar, I will be a servant. I’ll be a teacher, a host daughter, and a church member. When I get off the plane in Roanoke, that responsibility will shift. It is then that I make the choice to begin my job as a missionary, telling my story and showing the growth I pray will transform me during this year. For now, I am taking this journey one day at a time, making sure to sit with my emotions as they ebb and flow from moment to moment.

Today I mourn the ending of orientation. The time for spending each day with the community and friends I found this week is over, but our connection and relationship in this process is not. I eagerly anticipate following their journeys in Central Europe, Rwanda, Senegal, Australia, and so many more incredible parts of the earth. I look forward to seeing their growth throughout the year and eventually seeing them again, while still hoping that the time goes slowly so that I can appreciate each and every joyful, lonely, confusing, and fulfilling moment. Even if this means I come back with more questions than answers, I already find comfort in knowing that I will have this community to share in this experience with and lean on in times of need.