One More Year! One More Year!

Yes, much like a college basketball star pondering the pros, I stood before an adoring crowd as it chanted defeaningly, “ONE MORE YEAR! ONE MORE YEAR!” OK, it was nothing remotely like that. A few people said, hey, you’re pretty tamana (well-settled) here in Madagascar; you should stay. Peace Corps said, sure, make it happen. An NGO said, you speak Malagasy? Prove it.

In government speak a third year of Peace Corps is referred to as an extension of service, a term which, somewhat disappointingly, lacks an acronym. I do my best to make up for the deficiency though, dropping the phrase “go go gadget Peace Corps” on any and all relevant occasions. Again disappointingly, these occasions are sadly few.

My new position will take me to a different part of Madagascar. Maroantsetra, a city of some size but considerable isolation (accessible half the year only by plane, boat, or four-days on foot), is on a similar latitude to my current residence but opposite coast. It is the primary access point to a number of protected areas, including Masoala National Park, the largest swath of virgin rainforest in the country.

I will be working with Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), an NGO highly active throughout Madagascar and particularly so in the Maroantsetra area. My position will (theoretically) be two fold: first, helping WCS to implement its pre-existing Environmental Education program at schools in and around the protected areas, and second, performing data analysis on a series of community diagnostic surveys. The notion behind this latter task is that a better understanding of community goals and needs allows for greater cooperation and more effective conservation efforts.

No small number of people (fellow PCVs included) have stated their belief that I must be a little crackbrained for signing on for an extra year, but I find there to be no small number of compelling reasons for doing just that. From a logical perspective, I have invested a great deal of myself here in Madagascar. I spent most of my first year struggling to persuade my town that I was not on a long and exceedingly strange vacation; at last they believe me. I speak a ridiculously obscure and (off this island) all but useless language; I want to use it. I worked hard to adapt to Malagasy culture, to the way and pace of life, and developed a skill set that is not as relevant elsewhere. From a purely logical point of view, these are all investments I am not yet ready to walk away from.

There are practical reasons as well. I have not completed my hundred classics booklist (my pace slowed markedly as I rediscovered what it was like to have a life). Likewise, I am nowhere near completion of my Madagascar bucket list. And, of course, I have by no means run out of things to blog about (though, I warn in advance that the blog address could well be renamed “Adventures in Ego-tripping”). OK, maybe these reasons are not “practical” in the truest sense of the word, but they are their own brand of persuasion.

The most compelling reasons for my stay, however, are of a decidedly emotional nature. I love Madagascar and though I may occasionally lapse and even dwell in cynicism and pessimism, I believe that it is a country of astounding beauty and resilience, home to a remarkable people at a certain crossroads of their future. It is also a place where incredible things happen. For now, for a little while longer, I want to be a part of that.

I have to believe this in order to spend another year balancing life on this antipode. For it is rarely the physical challenges that force me to question my time here. It is not the monotonous diet, the heat or illness, not even the hole in the backyard. It is instead the distance and the disconnect, the lives unfolding far away from me.

Anyone who received a call from me during the decision-making weeks know that I agonized. I was looking to be told that ONE MORE YEAR would not permanently relegate me to the realm of lost marbles or things forgotten on the roof of the car. One can never receive complete assurance on this front, but I feel that in the realms that really matter I will assuredly be welcomed back whenever I wander home.

**My extension of service is still officially pending medical approval, so cross your fingers that I have not developed a severe case of Wriggling Worms or Tropical Spinal Implosion Disorder. No, really, cross your fingers.