Merry Christmas!
I have had this blog in my head since I started preparing for Christmas a few weeks ago, but it wasn't really solidified until my grandmother asked me "so, what were you doing around this time last year?"
If you followed my journey via newsletter you may have read about my Christmas last year. About the all day church service I spent burning under the Malagasy sun, about my encounter with the intoxicated man, about love, and fellowship, and heartbreak.
Last year around this time I was picking papaya from the trees outside of my house, scouring the Lychee tree for fruit (it is SUCH a short season). I was making plans with Stephanie, the Peace Corps volunteer who lived and loved in the village of Nato which was within walking distance of me. Many of my students were traveling back home for the holiday, some of them had many days of travel ahead of them on rickety brousses to far away villages tucked well beyond what the eye could see. My host siblings were on school vacation and we spent the mornings making breakfast burritos (which they hated but I loved) and painting a fake fireplace I put up in my bedroom and hung a paper stocking from. I was explaining who Santa was to my host mom who just chuckled and shook her head. I was baking sugar cookies (thanks to my Peace Corps cook book) and wondering what my family was doing, I was missing my home halfway around the world.
For Christmas eve I went to church with my host family and the other teachers of Fihaonana and we listened as the children sang, and watched as they danced. Church, at least the FLM, in Madagascar is usually a very serious affair. There is a lot of reverence for every part of the service and it starts from the moment you walk in. But on Christmas eve our small, ravenala thatched roof church was decorated with tinsel and green and purple streamers. The children squealed with excitement as they lined up at the front of the church. Parents clapped and laughed and handed out bits of candy as we left. I didn't understand a word of what was sung, but I felt that there was a lot of love.
On Christmas day, after the LONG service (of which the only seating we could get even though we arrived 45 minutes early was benches we brought ourselves set outside in the direct sunlight) I went back home and changed out of my church clothes and headed over to my co-worker, Yony's, house. He had told me after the service "today, my family would like if you would eat with us." It was my honor. His wife and mother in-law made a beautiful meal. We drank fresh juice and ate Foie gras and a lovely vegetable salad and, for desert, cake!
Last year around this time I was surrounded by love and hospitality and a community that was beginning to feel like home. I was beginning to understand the layout of my local market, I knew who had the best nem, had fully unpacked my suitcase, and had come to love, and trust, my fellow Madagasgals in a way that I can't fully describe (shout out to you all... I love you an unmeasurable amount.)
This year I am also surrounded by love and hospitality. I find myself running around like a chicken with my head cut off, stressed about the number of plans I have... instead maybe I should be reflecting on how blessed I am to have so many people to make holiday plans with.
This year I went to the local grocery store and bought groceries that have an obscene amount of packaging on them. I made plans with family and friends who are dear to my heart and who I am excited to celebrate this holiday season with. I checked the price on tickets to Madagascar. I saw Santa at Bentlyville and smiled as children waited eagerly in line to meet him. And then, I spent a day in my apartment baking sugar cookies and wondering what my family was doing. Missing my home half way around the world.