In Case You Were Wondering

There is a high percentage, maybe 70-80%, that our day will not go as planned on any given day of any given week of any given year that we live in Madagascar.

I know, I know, no day is fully predictable nor are we even promised another day to live; anything can happen at any time in any place on this earth. But I will say this: In America, when I laid out my day, I had full confidence that I would accomplish all I planned to accomplish with no surprises along the way. Maybe my life was just boring. Actually, I was pretty discontent some days with the mundaneness of life and I think a lot of it had to do with the knowledge that one day I'd be here. In Africa. On the adventure of a lifetime.

Now that we've been out of the States for 3 months, a part of me desires the mundane: a totally predictable, surprise-free day. A few of those in a row would be nice.

I mean, one day we're going to language and talking about what we're going to have for dinner (because we'll have to go to the market right after class to get the necessary ingredients so they can have adequate time to soak in bleach water before I start cooking dinner at 4:30 or 5:00) and the next day, we're standing outside of our gate, talking to our guard who has no idea where our daughter and nanny have gone, when they left at 8:30am and had been gone for 3 1/2 hours. In the slide of the minute hand, life went from "just fine" to "panic mode". But that's a long story, and one I'd rather not relive, except to say that 30 minutes later, both showed up, explanations were given, and the nanny was "let go". Thankfully, the day slowed down and we were able to enjoy a nice meal with our language tutor and her family. We were also able to arrange for a new lady, our day guard's wife, to take the place of our first nanny.

Friday rolls around, surprise-free (except poor Alastor got "fixed"), until the afternoon when our main night guard shows up with a doctor's note that says he can't work for the next few nights. Of course he can have the time off! Now, what to do about a night guard considering our only other option, our weekend guard, would work 5 12-hour shifts in a row. Not acceptable.

Enter: Operation Find Weekend Guard, who doesn't have a phone, and Work Something Out.

Our day guard is amazing. We are so blessed to have him around. He offers to find Weekend Guard and bring him to our house. Mission Accomplished; Weekend Guard will work Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, we won't have a day guard for the weekend.

No surprises... Saturday morning, Chandler goes to play soccer with some locals, no day guard, five people ring our bell at the gate, I don't answer (just leave me alone). Chandler gets home, bell rings again. Former guards of a friend who has recently moved need their salary. Twenty minutes later, problem solved. Shortly thereafter, the bell rings again. It's our day guard.

His brother-in-law died last night and, long story short, they need Chandler to help transport the body and the family to a town 30km away because otherwise they'd have to walk. Carrying the body. Yes, we would be glad to help.

So Chandler is now on the road to another town with a body in the back of the truck and the family of our day guard with him. Didn't see this day coming from a million miles away.

I really didn't expect anything from this past week and, quite frankly, I'm glad it's almost over. To say our life is mundane would be grossly inaccurate. I started a calendar of sorts on September 27, the day we left America, to note special or just noteworthy events of each day; very few days just say "language" or "lazy Saturday". I can't decide how I feel about it yet.

The Girl's Cray.

Waverly's first Sour Patch Kid and wouldn't you know, it didn't faze her a bit. Crazy.

Not Your Mama's New Years Eve.

Not really my ideal NYE either except for finally making it to Tulear... And going to bed at 11:00 while the rest of our team worshipped and celebrated the coming of the new year with local churches. Humph.

Without further adieu...

Last week, Chandler and I made the final decision to go to Tulear for a few days before we started the language semester. Our plan was to leave at 5:00 am Sunday morning, get there about dinner Sunday evening, and head home Thursday. Saturday night around midnight, Waverly started throwing up. After the second time, we decided that we'd stay home Sunday to make sure she wasn't getting sick, then leave early Monday morning. Good plan.

Well, wouldn't you know, about two hours into our trip, Waverly throws up again. In a cup, though! Not a thing on her clothes or anywhere else. Now that's a girl who knows how to throw up! We were pretty confident it was car sickness, so I gave her a quarter of a nausea pill and we continued on with the agreement that we would give it a couple more hours and if she was really sick, we'd turn right back around and go home. No more vomit.

About an hour after that, we were coming around a corner and hit a pothole half a foot deep and as wide as the road. It came, literally, out of nowhere and was unavoidable. Trust me, we were looking for the potholes. They're not difficult to see because they're so massive, but you have to see them in enough time to slow down. Anyway, this trench, the Grand Canyon's first cousin, completely surprised us and the car, knocking out some of the electrical stuff. Nothing big, just the windows... Speedometer... Gas gauge... Nothing big. We were so frazzled and frustrated at this point.

Finally, we reach our first gas stop and hit the road refreshed and making REALLY good time. It looked like we would be in Tulear by 3:00-ish, only there were other plans for us.

About two hours outside of Tulear, the air conditioning stops working well and Chandler comments that something just isn't right. Very shortly there after the car dies as we pull over to the side of the road. And it was hot.

Chandler flagged down a full car of 7 or 8 Malagasy (yes, a CAR) and used his limited language to ask for help, thinking the battery needed a jump. About 30 minutes later, the car was running again and ran well for about 5 minutes, then started crawling. One of the Malagasy men told us the car would make it to Tulear if we didn't turn anything on, like the air conditioning... Remember I said the windows weren't working, either? So, we putt-putted along RN7, 2 hours outside of Tulear and 30 km (almost 20 miles) from the nearest town, with our doors propped open. Keepin' it classy.

No acceleration and this lovely hill to look forward to.

We had to pull over again and didn't bother flagging anyone down knowing they wouldn't be able to do anything we hadn't already tried.

Oh, I failed to mention that for the past couple of weeks, neither of our phones have been able to dial out or send text messages, so our team mates had been calling us every two hours to make sure we were okay. So, when we pulled over the second time, all we could do was wait for the, to call us again. Well, they did and Adam headed our way to tow the car to the nearest town. Of course, he was two hours away in Tulear, so we sat on the side of the road practicing language with 4 little boys who, quite frankly, just wouldn't leave us alone. It was fun though. White people sure know how to draw a crowd in Africa!

Finally, Adam showed up in the white truck, which I lovingly dubbed "The White Knight" and towed us to Sakaraha where we left the truck for the night. We finally arrived in Tulear at 7:00 that night, ate a quick dinner at the restaurant, and came home to sleep while our teammates actually celebrated New Years.

I have also failed to convey just how absolutely hot it is in Tulear. Nothing like Antsirabe. And with no a/c... Well, just go sit outside on a hot, summer day, fully clothed, with no swimming pool and you're pretty right on!

But I must say, New Years Day had some redemptive qualities: Waverly got to play with Americans, time with good company, and a good swim in a pool on the ocean. Winning.

Collecting chicken eggs

It's also worth mentioning that the drive to and from Tulear provides some of the most beautiful landscape in the entire world. These pictures don't do any of it justice.

Nothing for miles.

We brake for zebu.

Mountains for miles.

Here's to 2013!