Sisters

I could never love this too much...

She's Here Which Means I'm No Longer Pregnant.

Elodie Chandler

November 4, 2013 at 2:04 pm

6 lbs 14 oz

20 2/3 in

The truth is, by the time I arrived in Johannesburg at 34 weeks, I was over being pregnant. 3 1/2 weeks later I was really over it. Uncomfortable, not sleeping, heartburn, aching in the lower half, hot, and awkward. When Elodie's time came, I was over the moon, not just because I was meeting my second, beautiful daughter, but because my pregnancy was o.v.e.r. 

I was absolutely convinced that Elodie would weight well over 8 pounds, especially since my doctor measured her at over 7 pounds at my 37 week appointment. Then, little Elodie was born; about a whole pound less than Waverly and a fraction of an inch longer.

Last photo as a family of three

The story's not that profound. I was told by my OB in the States, after Waverly was born, that I would not be able to vaginally deliver a baby over 6 pounds. I don't have those "birthin' hips" as my friend put it. So, when I arrived in South Africa, during my first appointment with my OB here, we scheduled a cesearan for November 4. I was scheduled for a 3 o' clock surgery, but ended up going in around 1:30 and Elodie was born at 2:04.

Admitted and waiting...

Except for a few minutes of high anxiety as they raised the sheet between my head and the rest of my body - the close proximity of the sheet, the smell of the sheet, and the lack of feeling in my lower half had my blood pressure on the rise - I actually enjoyed the whole experience. The anesthesiologist was of the joking sort, giving us a hard time about being from the States, except when he found out we are from Kentucky, at which time he expressed his love of bourbon to which I made sure he hadn't yet enjoyed his bourbon that day. Smoothest epidural set-up ever. During the surgery, we entertained conversations about family and the high cost of living in a particular South African province. We laughed when Chandler exclaimed, She has teeth! Which she doesn't and we were given the likelihood of children being born with teeth. It was nice to actually be present for the whole ordeal instead of hopped up on drugs and exhausted beyond all reason. I literally sobbed when I heard and saw my sweet girl when, with Waverly, I think I let out a weak, Yay. and fell straight asleep. 

I also had the glorious opportunity to hold my baby before she was wisked off to the nursery; an opportunity I was not granted with Waverly. Unfortunately, Chandler was not able to hold her at any time that day for Elodie was, as I said, wisked off to the nursery with respiratory issues. 

And the admitting nurse asked if I wanted to remove my finger nail polish... please, lady.

The whole evening kind of slid by after that. I remember being rolled down the hallway to my room, passing my big girl and crying a little more. 

Seeing Elodie for the first time

I remember a nurse bringing Elodie to my room and the doctor entering quickly on her heels telling me that Elodie couldn't stay because she desperately needed to be on oxygen. Then she was taken from me, by the confused nurse, and that was the last I saw of her for the rest of the day. I remember being told that Elodie would, more than likely, end up in the NICU, once a space opened up. I remember receiving updates from three different nurses at three different times and being so confused, texting Chandler to return quickly as he had taken Waverly, Donna, and Caroline back to the house. I needed him to be with Elodie and I needed him to be the clear head as the medicine was taking over and sending me into a deep sleep.

As it so happens, Elodie's condition was not uncommon in babies who are born via c-section without experiencing the contractions of labor first which help squeeze the fluid out of the baby. In these situations, the baby can be born with wet lungs which inhibit their ability to breathe well. So, Elodie was provided oxygen to help dry out her lungs and keep her breathing. She was admitted to the NICU at about 8:00 that night, when a spot opened up. I felt helpless and sad not being able to spend time with her. The next morning, I was able to visit with her and nurse her for the first time. Chandler was also able to hold her for the first time.

One happy daddy 

Wearing my "W" necklace for my bigger girl and cuddling my little girl.
Waverly asked every day, while touching my necklace, if I thought about her all day.

Elodie was released from the NICU at 10:00 am, after 14 hours on tubes having her breathing closely monitored. From that moment on, she stayed in my room until we were released on Thursday. But what made that day extra special was seeing my two girls together; my oldest oohing, aahing, and loving all over her baby sister.

Elodie gifted Waverly with the crochet embodiment of her imaginary friends: Eliza and Apple, the dragons.

Pleased as punch.

Ready to hold the baby

I'll admit, I expected a boy this time around. I just had that feeling. At my 37 week appointment, the ultrasound revealed without a doubt the presence of what makes a girl. I still wouldn't believe it until I held her in my arms. And the first time I held her, kissed her, told her I loved her, I was smitten and overjoyed to have another baby girl in our family. Chandler is severely outnumbered at this point, but I don't think he minds too much...

Best life ever.

First photo as a family of four

I've drafted multiple posts reflecting on this past year and now, here we are, the end of October and I've got nothin'.

Our one year anniversary of landing on the island was September 29 and, as we all know, so many things happen in a year, so many things change, and you close out the year realizing you've grown more than you ever thought possible, which has definitely been my personal experience. 

I think my greatest difficulty in recounting this year, besides having too much to say, is trying to say everything in a way that will make sense to those who haven't experienced it. But I realize that it is impossible despite my best efforts and deepest desire for our friends and family to understand the joys, sorrows, and growing pains of everything that we've been through.

If you've never left your friends and family in your whole life, for a new life thousands of miles away, no words I offer can do justice to the ache in my heart for everything I once took for granted: a place I knew like the back of my hand, a language and culture I didn't have to learn and study to understand, the convenience of family just down the road, the convenience of everything!, friends for Waverly, and a "normal" life for her. In one of our interviews during this process, the interviewer asked me, Why would you want to raise your child in a third world country? And I plainly answered him, Why not? Why wouldn't I want her to have these experiences to enrich her life and perspective on the world? 

I seemed, and felt, so confident and looked forward to the experience of raising our children in a third world country where they would be offered perspective unlike any they would receive in middle-class America. I had big ideals that Waverly would fit seamlessly into our new culture. Well, I wasn't wrong about Waverly fitting in, just not seamlessly. And I grossly over-estimated my confidence and excitement about the whole thing. Simply because I was absolutely clueless. I didn't realize how important is to me that Waverly have friends who understand her. And what I mean by that is: I didn't realize how much I want Waverly to have American friends. Just as much as I didn't realize the necessity of ME having American friends, people who just get me. I've missed that more than I thought of the year.

On the other hand, as much as I cannot do justice to the hard parts, I cannot even begin to make you understand my spiritual growth and relationship with the Lord. When I haven't had those friends who just "get me", I've relied heavily on the Lord. Obviously, that's how life should always be; however, fewer things grow a dependence on Him than having all the comforts completely stripped away. I have had times of such severe homesickness that I fully expected to shatter in a million pieces and I couldn't share my struggle with anyone. Chandler had already heard it a thousand times and felt completely helpless and I couldn't put that burden on anyone else, especially not my family. So I cried and I cried out to Him and I scoured His Word to hear His voice. And He always answered, yet it was never by taking me out of the situation. Sometimes He just gave me peace in my spirit; He took away my despair and gave me a new outlook. Sometimes He sent someone along my path with words of encouragement. Sometimes, at the very end of my rope with a situation, He would completely remove the frustration; for example, not having water on any consistent basis. It's a slow spiral of frustration until one day I've just absolutely had it with all things. Then, one glorious day, we will have water almost the entire day. At that point, at my breaking point, He has provided relief and all I can do is praise and thank Him for providing what I need, when I need it. Seriously, I've experienced Him in this way multiple times through various circumstances. I don't know if I would have experienced Him like this if we weren't here right now. So is the pain and difficulty worth it? Absolutely. 

No one, not one person, not one missionary, ever told us this would be an easy road and I believed them. I set my expectations at zero from the very beginning and I haven't been disappointed. This has helped me see situations for what they really are: "the testing of [our] faith" (James 1) or the opportunity to praise the Lord for his faithfulness and love for us.

I can't say I've had a moment (yet) where I've hooped and hollered and exclaimed that I will never leave the field because it's the greatest job in the entire world. In fact, there have been many days when I've crumbled in a heap and told God, "Forget it. I'm going home. This is too hard and too uncomfortable." It's in those times that He has picked me up, dusted me off, and told me to get moving because I'm not going home. There is too much work to be done in Madagascar among the Antandroy people.

I love these verses in Psalms and John Piper's comments on them:

May those who sow in tears

reap with shouts of joy!

He that goes forth weeping,

bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy,

bringing his sheaves with him

Psalms 126:5-6

"This psalm teaches the tough truth that there is work to be done whether I am emotionally up for it or not; and it is good for me to do it." - John Piper "Talking to Your Tears" desiringgod.org

I don't need more than a year's experience as a missionary to know that this work is hard. And being human is enough to know that when work gets hard, life gets hard. As with any life situation, there is the good, the bad, and the ugly. I can't sum up this year as just good or just bad or just ugly. It's been an incredible, revolving, ever-changing kaleidoscope. 

I used to think my life was boring, now I know it is anything but. Surrendering to HIS plan and purpose for our life set us on the greatest adventure.

Iza ny anaranao "chips"?

"Iza ny anaranao?" in official Malagasy is, loosely,"What is your name?" Literally, it is "Who the your name?" But that's neither here or there. What's funny about this particular phrase is how Waverly chooses to use it.

She doesn't know much Malagasy except some basics that Chandler and I have taught her: greetings, please (and thank you and excuse me - all one word in official), and how to ask for someone's name. Oh, and "Avia!" and "Mivoaka!" Commands we use with the dog and Waverly, in turn, uses with the kids she plays with...  Otherwise, we recognize our first language within the family and hope that she will pick up Malagasy in her interactions with the nationals. 

Unfortunately, this is more difficult than we hoped and she hasn't learned anymore than what we've taught her; hence her incorrect, but hilarious, usage of the question, "Iza ny anaranao?" For example, when she wants our day guard to make her a jump rope out of palm leaves, she asks him, "Azafady, Jean Claude, Iza ny anaranao jump rope?" Or when she wants to help our housekeeper mop the floor, "Azafady, Iza ny anaranao help?" 

But it will come. The longer we are here, the better she'll learn to communicate with those around her. For now, the communication barrier doesn't seem to bother her too much, especially since kids have the uncanny ability to communicate without words and still have a great time. 

For me, though, it's tough. My heart hurts for her and makes me miss her friends back home. And it makes me more anxious for the baby to come, for her to have a little one to grow up with who will understand her and our culture and language. At the same time, I think back on the last year and a half and all that we have been through together as a team of three. Chandler and I both agree that we've had a great three and a half years with just our girl. I blame it on the hormones that my emotions and feelings are so conflicting.

So, as a last "hurrah" as the Snyder family of three, we are doing at least one big family thing each week leading up to the baby's birth.

Last week we spent the afternoon at the beach.

We relaxed...

Played a little football...

Built various things...

And acted like goofballs...

It goes without saying that we had a wonderful day together and made great memories. My hope is, when days get hard for Waverly, be it because of her baby brother or sister getting all of the attention or her want for friends, that she will look back on these days and know that there were special times just for her.

On the pregnancy front: I am now almost 32 weeks along. And, although well into the third trimester, I'd like to have something recorded about the second trimester. 

Much like my pregnancy with Waverly, the second trimester wasn't much of a honeymoon as it is considered to be on all of the pregnancy websites. Only this time around, the three months of this trimester were caught up in the flurry of moving and stress of settling in to a new town, new routine, and new problems to overcome. I first felt baby kicks at the end of the first trimester; however, baby really got going in the second. No illness, no major physical complaints, and no problems sleeping! By the second trimester with Waverly, I was sleeping with a pillow between my knees and one under my belly and had constant issues with my hip falling asleep. Now, thanks to our fabulous Tempurpedic, I've only just recently run into problems sleeping and that's mostly because I have to go to the bathroom every few hours. :/ 

It's been interesting being pregnant in Madagascar. I fully expected to be assaulted at every turn with the women and children touching my belly; however, that's not been the case and for that, I am so so thankful. It would be a detriment to my Christian witness having to manhandle nationals for invading my personal space. 

It also never hurt a girl to have maternity clothes. With my first pregnancy, I was wearing dark colors and winter appropriate clothing. This time around, even though it's been winter here in Madagascar, I've had no need of the cold weather clothes, but I've made due and haven't raised a complaint because, by golly, nothing feels better to a pregnant momma than maternity pants. 

Only 2 1/2 weeks until Waverly and I fly to Johannesburg and after the day I've had today, the day couldn't come quick enough!

In Our Backyard

The following story will, more than likely, evolve into a saga which could be a really good thing in regards to the advancement of the Gospel. The story begins like this...

A couple of weeks ago, I was awakened by yelling, screaming, and, what I assumed to be, running on the other side of our wall. It was just after 7 in the morning. I didn't think much of it, except that it made me a bit uneasy and to mention it to Chandler who said the people were just herding cattle. My instinct, which sharpens when you have children, told me that was an incorrect assessment; however, we went about our morning as usual. 

We eventually found out, from our day guard, that there had been a fire in the compound behind ours which had destroyed at least five huts. So Chandler headed over to check on the situation and later that afternoon, we took them our condolences, prayers, and a small gift.

Over the course of the next couple of days, through our language tutor, we learned that the at least 20 people living on the compound are 1) Tandroy and 2) one big family - the patriarch has four wives and between all that there are at least 15 kids and possibly other relatives. They sell charcoal and their early morning cooking fire was blown by the wind, catching the charcoal and the buildings. Thankfully, the fire was contained and nobody was hurt, but, of course, they lost a lot of their few possessions and would have to rebuild. 

Between those of us who understand, this fire was really a blessing for our cause, at least. We learned that there are Tandroy people all around us and this situation allows for more not-awkward opportunities for us to visit with them and build a relationship.

Speaking of not-awkward opportunities to visit... This past Monday, while I was at Bible study, I received a semi-frantic call from Chandler asking (read: imploring) me to come home at my earliest convenience (read: immediately) because our neighbors had invited us to join them for the circumcision of 6 of the patriarch's sons, which is quite a "to-do" in Madagascar, and he (desperately) needed back up. Of course, I came straight home. 

As we turned down our "street", one if the other girls with me said, "Is that Waverly?" pointing to a field where a herd of children were running in a close pack. This usually signifies that there is a white-skinned, red (ish)-headed, little girl smack in the middle. And this little girl would, obviously, be our daughter.

For the entire hour and a half of our visit, we sat with the family and friends, using what little Tandroy we have thus far retained. That's it. Nothing special. In fact, neither the patriarch, nor his four wives really acknowledged us much after the initial invitation. It wasn't rudeness, there was just a lot going on. Like, the two-year-old, newly-circumcised boys (yes, they were two years old...) were passed out in their mothers' laps, legs splayed open, sporadically crying out. It was pitiful and clearly the mothers were too busy caring for the little ones to pay any special attention to me.

I had so many questions to ask! This is a huge tradition in the Malagasy culture and each tribe conducts the ceremony differently, but how do you appropriately ask about the details of an event such as this? My bench-mates weren't much help...

Neither were Chandler's buddies, as they were drinking and smoking. Fortunately, we were offered an unopened bottle of Coke to share.

From what we could glean from observation, the boys are not circumcised until they are two years old or older. The ceremony is performed in the home by a doctor (we don't know what letters are behind the doctor's name, if any) and the foreskin is disposed of in a... ceremonial way. We were told one thing and experienced another, so the details are still unclear. Maybe one day when we find out the truth we will divulge; however, if you happened to watch the last minute of this episode of Bizarre Foods on the Travel Channel, well, you'll have a good idea of what could have happened this day.

As per Tandroy custom, we were given a gift. In this case, the two largest goose eggs I've ever seen. One of which Waverly broke... that was embarrassing. So we fried it up when we get home.

After about an hour and a half of sitting, chatting, and keeping a keen eye on Waverly and the other children, Chandler asked for the way: it is respectful to ask permission to leave when invited to visit. We took our leave and headed home very exhausted and a little traumatized.

The patriarch has referred to Chandler as "longo" (pronounces loon-goo) which means family member or a friend who is like family. We realize this could be a good relationship.

Growing Pains

In almost 27 years of life (27 in November.. At what point is it "all down hill from there"? 27? That's what it feels like, anyway), I've never physically experienced growing pains. Hard to believe, right? Topped out at 5 feet on a good day. My joints never hurt as my limbs elongated because, quite obviously, they've never really elongated.

At the same time, I have experienced growing pains in other parts of my life: hard lessons learned, everything that comes with sharing your heart (the good, bad, and the ugly), inexpressible joy and overwhelming sadness; gosh, the list could go on forever. But I'm not entirely sure I've ever experienced growing pains so long withstanding and so real. I feel like the things I am learning are almost tangible; I can daily see my progress or regression. I know my character is being honed and molded with every single day, every single interaction, every single action and reaction. 

For example, driving a standard-shift truck. Please laugh, I dare you. This was/is a major hurdle for me to overcome in order for me to feel at home here in Madagascar. When we lived in the States, if I was having a tough day or Chandler was out of town or "just because", the car was my gateway to freedom. I never felt hindered when there was a car in the garage. Then we moved to Madagascar and my working knowledge of a standard and few practice sessions rendered me capable but not confident of my driving abilities. There was a car in the driveway, but no freedom. I felt trapped in the house unless I wanted to walk or take public transportation and even then, I wasn't fully comfortable with that because of language or just being generally uncomfortable being out by myself. 

But always in my mind, not in the back, definitely at the forefront, I knew I had to conquer this disabling fear of driving a standard or I would always feel incapable and trapped. So, I took baby steps: driving with Chandler in the car, then driving with Chandler in the car and taking the road that would provide more obstacles (people, stops and starts, hills, bad roads, stops in hills), then driving by myself to pick Chandler up from somewhere, and finally, I have ventured out twice today completely by myself, like Chandler's in the bush and I have no choice because I need groceries. I even forced myself to drive through the market, packed with people, taxis, slow moving carts, darting children, pretty much my driving nightmare, except for those stops on hills situations...

And at each point along this learning journey, I have experienced embarrassment when I killed the engine, frustration because the taxi made a turn at the last minute, and a split-second of fear because it looked like the police officer was going to pull me over. But I've also experienced a great deal of victory, every time I pull back into the driveway and we've all made it unscathed, and confidence that I can, in fact, function independently in this country.

You see, that's the real heftiness behind learning to drive a standard-shift: independence. Its a big deal for me to be able to function here without Chandler. It's critical to my growth as a person and as a missionary.

As with the driving, I realize that so many seemingly trivial hurdles that I am overcoming/will overcome have a deeper impact on me than what they seem at first glance. And then there are those hurdles that have a deep impact right from the get go, like homesickness and loneliness. I know our purpose here is to glorify God through sharing the Gospel with and making disciples (followers of Christ) of those who have never heard or would never have the opportunity to hear if He had not sent us here, but He is also using our time here to refine us, as a family, as believers, and as individuals. It hurts sometimes. Being stretched and tested (not having water for three straight days, except at night, will test anyone in ways you never thought possible, trust me) is not always victories and confidence, but I've learned, in this past (almost) year more about the Lord and what He can do in and through me than in any year before. 

A New Kind of Culture Shock

I wanted to write this post yesterday, but, in my frustration, it would have been laced with profanity; therefore, the complete opposite of uplifting or sanctifying (although, the experience was, indeed, quite sanctifying). I even had to hole up in my room for an hour yesterday afternoon, reading my Bible, journaling, and praying. I felt completely in my flesh and outside of the Spirit. So, after a day to regroup and refocus, I feel prepared to share my culture shock experience using kind words.

In all reality, the day was quite strange: good experience, culture shock, good experience. It wasn't all bad. We had the opportunity to visit the church of which we will most likely be a part of during our time here. It's a house church, less then 20 people, and we enjoyed the whole experience. There are a few kids around Waverly's age and most of the crowd is around our age. We understood about 95% of the lesson - a major encouragement - and had a great time of fellowship, getting to know everyone a little better. I did step in dog poop which was a little embarrassing, but it afforded an opportunity to talk with the women as they watched me wash my foot and shoe. 

I've failed to mention a crucial part of this day. Stepping into the bathtub, I realized the water had been cut for whatever reason. Bucket bath for me! But I handled it like a champ. That's typical third-world issues, so, really, I've been mentally prepared for "no water days" for a long time now. While this wasn't an issue for me at the time, it became a bigger issue later on...

After church, we had time to run home and get ready for an afternoon at the beach with our teammates. The water was still off so I couldn't throw in a load of laundry to be washed. Having lived in a hotel for a week and lived in our house for a couple of days without a working washing machine, our laundry situation was getting dire. Then the water is cut for most of the day only allowing for a load here and a load there which we've been drying inside the house because its been raining intermittently. 

Do you see how everything is kind of building up? 

We had a great lunch at a local Chinese restaurant, then spent about an hour at a beach not far from our house. And despite the cold of the water, Waverly wasted no time splashing and jumping waves with her daddy and friends. Needless to say, when we returned home, we were all pretty sandy and generally, yucky. What would we want more than baths? Well, by this point we had water but just a trickle. Enough to get us clean-ish and work some more on my nerves. 

Surprisingly, though, the water situation was the least of my frustrations. The true source of my sanctification lie in about 10 kids standing outside of our gate yelling, Onja! (Ooh-n-za). "Onja" is the Malagasy equivalent of "wave" and is what most Malagasy call Waverly. These kids are neighborhood kids who live in small, wooden shacks and most likely don't attend school. They have nothing but time and have enjoyed coming around our place yelling for Waverly. She played with them once last week and they've been infatuated ever since. 

I was taking down our one load of laundry from the line outside and looked over the see two little girls climbing a cement pole outside of our wall to look into our yard. As you can imagine, this about sent me completely over the edge. I sternly told them to get down and leave. 

The kids stood outside our gate for a good part of the afternoon yelling for Waverly and challenging each other to gate climbing contests.. Well, probably not challenging each other, but they were climbing on the gate, nonetheless. It was at this point that I hid myself in my room to just get away from it all.

I wanted to yell at the children for being so rude after Chandler and I had both told them to stop yelling at the gate and go somewhere else. I wanted to yell at their parents for not having more control over the kids, for letting them be so inconsiderate and rude, and of the utmost annoyance. My heart quickened to think that this could very well be our life for the next 3 1/2 years and I would slowly lose my mind until I snapped on everybody in an ugly way and would have to be flown back to America in a straight jacket and dropped on the back porch of a mental institution.

How do I handle this situation with grace and understanding, but put my foot down for our privacy? Malagasy don't really understand the concept of privacy; its a very western mindset. What is acceptable to say to the kids without inciting a parental riot simply because of cultural differences? Would the parents even care? I even told Chandler yesterday, We always have to be conscious to respect and understand this culture. Why can't they at least try to do the same for us? 

I don't mind being around nationals. I don't mind being surrounded by kids. But my house is my peaceful place to escape from all of that, to regroup mentally, physically, and spiritually. Some of that peace is taken away when there are children looking through and hanging on our gate most every afternoon, most of the time yelling and climbing. 

I want Waverly to have national friends. I want to be accessible. But, for me, there is also somewhere that a line is drawn. Not all missionaries will agree with me on that. Many missionary children play with the locals all of the time, attend a local school, and are pretty much like the local children. At this point, just one year in, I'm not there. 

I read this quote on Twitter via a friend of mine: "As Christians I'm afraid we're sometimes more interested in giving people a piece of our mind instead of a part of our heart."

Can you pray for me, and us, as we try to figure this out? As we adapt to this new place and somewhat different culture than the one we left in Antsirabe? We want to be a light for the Gospel in our neighborhood, not just when we go to the bush and to the Antandroy people. We want to have our boundaries, but not neglect the fact that there are easily 10 children outside our gate who may not know Christ. 

Bowties or Bows?

Still nobody knows. Well, we have no conclusive evidence.

At our 18 week appointment, the doctor hesitantly stated that the baby is a girl. However, without seeing boy parts or anything that would clearly indicate the baby as a girl, I take the stance that we don't know for sure. I mean, the baby's legs were crossed and I've thought since the very beginning that the baby is a boy, just like with my first pregnancy, I had no doubt she was a girl.

So, I figured we'd just have another ultrasound once we arrived here in Ft Dauphin. We met with the doctor on Monday and she informed us of a couple of things: 1. She wouldn't recommend anymore ultrasounds, than the initial and the mid-pregnancy ultrasounds, and 2. The machines here are old and not very clear.

I've come around to having peace with not knowing until the baby is actually born. It's eating Chandler up, though. So, if we have another ultrasound in Johannesburg, maybe we'll check it out again... Maybe not.

The Journey

Here's the skinny: we're exhausted. I could just say that and move on with life, but we've had a few people ask for the down low on our trip from Antsirabe to Ft Dauphin. I'll do my best.

Wednesday night we had to stay in a hotel because the furniture from our house was broken down to be moved with us to Ft Dauphin for another family to use. And very early Thursday morning, I would say, "before the rooster crowed", but that's not true because roosters in Madagascar crow whenever the heck they feel like it, Chandler ran by the house, picked up the dog and a friend of ours and his son and headed south. At this point, everything we brought with us from the States on the airplane was in the back of our truck. By Thursday evening, Chandler had driven halfway to Ft Dauphin on decently paved roads with no major setbacks.

That same day, Waverly and I headed to Tana with another couple who so graciously offered to drive us to Tana so we could catch our flight on Saturday. We had one last opportunity to enjoy our favorite Tana activities: lunch at The Cookie Shop, which so lovingly dubbed itself "The American Centre of Madagascar", playtime at the mall, a delicious burger, which we enjoyed on the 4th in honor of America's independence, a walk through Jumbo, and a couple rides on the carousel. Really, nothing exciting happened for us the two days in Tana before we flew out.

On Friday, Chandler drove another quarter of the trip. Why so slow going, you ask?
Puddles...

Ferries...

There were about 10 ferries; most of them man-powered.

And just generally bad roads dirt paths and rock faces.

But enough of that sob-story. Waverly and I clearly had the more difficult of the two trips... Saturday morning, at about 3:00am, we woke up and I showered, stressed a little more about the weight of our suitcases and about leaving mostly empty bottles of shampoo behind - If only we could have used up those last drops so they wouldn't got to waste! Whhyyyy! - And we headed to the airport to catch our 6:00am flight. We arrived around 4:45am, checked in - our bags were 10 kgs under the limit... I could've packed that shampoo... Whhyyyy! - and walked through security. At which point, the security guy got more enjoyment out of watching Waverly remove her shoes, than actually watching the x-ray screen. Nor did he bother weighing our carry-ons, which was a positive because we were definitely over the limit - shampoo... - Then we waited in the terminal. 6:00am came and went, as did 7:00am and at 7:20am, we finally boarded our plane. Oh Africa. And here's the irony: Our flight was originally scheduled to fly out at 6:45, but was moved up to 6:00, then we left at 7:30, so there you have it. 

Chandler finally arrived in Ft Dauphin at 2:15 on Saturday afternoon with a bumper tied to the top of the truck:

Not our bumper, but the front bumper of our friend's truck, another couple also moving to Ft Dauphin. These roads don't play, y'all.

And 17 hours after we awakened that morning, we finally laid our heads down in our king-size hotel bed. All three of us back together again.

Monday afternoon our first truck of possessions arrived and we unpacked most of our kitchen wares, some clothes, and a couple boxes of toys. The second truck, which busted it's transmission about 300km outside of Ft Dauphin, will load it's goods on another truck and should be here tomorrow. One day, we'll have all of our stuff... one day.

Oh, and did I mention that we're having fresh, grilled lobster for dinner tonight? That's what happens when you live on the coast, folks!