Farewell Mr. BALD

Well my friends, by the time you are reading this, I will be somewhere over Africa in a plane headed for Paris where I’ll transfer to another flight to Boston. Today marks the end of my year-and-a-half spent in Madagascar as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant and then Mentor. As you well know, my journey here has been nothing short of wild, bizarre, and, at times, downright outlandish. It is safe to say that nothing phases me anymore. Yet despite all the challenges, difficulties, and setbacks, both personal and professional of which we are to expect in our lives, my time spent on this enormous and fascinating island has been, without a doubt, the most formative of my life thus far and now presents an incredibly high standard for periods of my life henceforth.

I confess that I haven’t really thought about what I would say in this inevitable final blog. The last few weeks of travel inside the country, final lessons, and last-minute events and ceremonies have hindered me from process the gravity of my departure and what it means for not only my future, but that of the people whom I love so dearly and whom I now leave behind. The fact of the matter is, as it is so often when one leaves to do work in another place, the people of this island have changed me in many subtle ways that I don’t think they will ever truly understand. I’m still me. Rest assured that I am still the wild, crazy, straight to the point, absolute goof you remember. Nonetheless, my life here on the Red Island has sobered me greatly to the reality of life outside our little American hermitage that is so detached from the rest of the world. We often think we understand the lives of those outside our immediate circle. But we could not be more wrong. And as I leave this beautiful island, I’m left asking myself whether I am satisfied with all that I have done. That is, whether I have left anything unfinished.

The answer is yes. I leave this position and part of my life completely satisfied with what we have been able to accomplish in my time here, and there is, I believe, nothing more I can do for this island in my current state of life. One of the main reasons I decided to remain in Madagascar an additional 10 months was to contribute to the foundation of the program in the country. I’ve been across the continent and know how all the other Fulbright ETA programs work (or don’t work), and there is something truly unique about the program here. The way it’s run and how the ETAs engage with the community not only distinguish it from all other Fulbright ETA programs on the continent, but also make it extremely effective in improving the long-term educational benefits of teachers and students alike. I’m a long-term project kind of guy. So when the opportunity arose for me to stay longer, it felt natural to remain, solidify the program in the way we have done it, and hand it off to the next group knowing that it rests in strong, capable, and competent hands of local Malagasy. For me, it means that future generations of ETAs to Madagascar will continue to experience the same parts of the program that have worked in the past and will, with all hope, continue to evolve as they try new things while keeping some of the old. Regardless of what Americans come and go at the embassy or the program itself, it now remains in good hands.

With all that being said, I am very sad to be leaving. I have found here a community that watched after me and wanted me. Life is difficult on the island, but it’s always easier when you are surrounded by good people who do great things. I am just so humbled that I was able to contribute what little I could to their greater plans. But that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? To be a helping hand. To come as an open notebook and be ready to be used as necessary. It’s all part of the mission. The mission is the sole objective. All the difficulties and challenges, that is, all the crosses to bear, they’re nothing more than the means of fulfilling the mission. And the mission was clear from the beginning; to inspire and connect, to the best of my ability, educators of English to resources, new ideas, and, most importantly, each other.

From the day our orientation was completed almost two years ago, that has been the sole and only intention and mission in my heart and mind. Nothing else really mattered. The constant power cuts, random Wi-Fi outages, the persistent air pollution, bi-monthly food poisoning, harassment on the streets and on social media, not being able to go out after dark, the terrible traveling conditions, always having to be on guard while out and about, dealing with the trash on the street, avoiding getting hit by cars while walking to work, random days off because of cyclones or just because, moving slower than a snail while meandering through market day, arguing with taxi drivers as they price discriminate against me, never knowing where to go for certain products, dealing with everyone’s indirectness, classrooms of broken desks packed with 60 students, shattered and non-functioning blackboards, lack of teaching resources, no clear curriculum, language barriers in communicating needs, and other things more than I can describe. But all of these mean nothing when I put it into the perspective of the blessings and graces I have received on this island.

Mananjara caring for my plants and home, friends helping me navigate the knotted mess of government bureaucracy, nuns adopting me and welcoming me to their daily mass during the week, the little church that never said no to me coming every Sunday, my students who laugh and learn the best they can, the little gifts from students who are so grateful, my colleagues always asking me questions about America or how I say things, the genuine search for self-improvement in all the teachers, the laughs and meals I shared with my friends, the jokes that only I and my Malagasy friends will understand, the giggles when I pronounce Malagasy words in a really funny way, all the conversations that make me learn more about America and they learn more about Madagascar, the presentations I gave on my past research, the trainings I conducted and helped organize, the travel I did and the friendships I made along the way, the English clubs who invited me to visit them, the private courses I would guest teach at, my neighbors saying hello, the guy I bought bananas from every Sunday, Florence and Antsa who I sat and chatted with every weekend, the group of taxi drivers who always said hello and gave me fair prices as opposed to the shmucks at other stops, the guy working at the grocery store who stopped me because he had watched a lecture I gave at the American Corner, Tody my loyal and funny taxi driver whom I always called when I needed a ride, Jeanbe my tour guide friend who always set up my trips to the wilder parts of the country, my students with confused looks when I get called Nathaniel or Nate at big events because they only know me as Mr. BALD, the embassy staff who welcomed me and trusted me enough to be their representative at all sorts of events, the embassy running club who run more miles than I’m willing to do in my extended running years, père Marcel who was my regular confessor, Sr. Lina who welcomed me into the community of religious sisters for mass, all the friends who put up with my crazy and sometimes abrasive American humor, sarcasm, and teasing, the guardians of the apartment building who don’t really speaking French, so our conversations are a French-Malagasy blend which is always funny to listen to, Monopoly man who always tried to sell me the monopoly board game outside of my school, all the teachers who were friendly to me, teaching my friends idioms and always having to be aware when I was using one so I could explain it. I could go on. But it’s time I stop there. There are too many names to remember; Mananjara, Lina, Andry, Mina, Zo, Ando, Hando, Malala, Vatosoa, Mialy, Manoina, Ravaka, Volahanta, Fidy, Zoely, Aida, Oliva, Ryan, Seanta, Voni, the guy I buy bananas from every Sunday (Alahadyakondro [literally “Sunday banana”] Julie, Adreinne, Livier, Tody, Florence, Ansta, père Marcel, my avocado lady, Fitia, Lizianne, Eric, Hasina, Tantely, Faniry, Jeanbe, the lady I bought bananas from every other day of the week (Akondroandrohafa [literally “bananas all the other days”]), Jimmy, Hoby, Omega, Peny, Manal, Waterlily, Sarah, Dee, Joan, Robert, Ahoko Gasy, and so many more; these are just the ones from the top of my head.

But I think I will leave it here. It’s clear that I have been touched so profoundly by so many people in what I can only describe as a long yet short time here, as contradictory as that sounds. What is certain is that I will go back to America as a changed man. The next step for me is seminary, a very different atmosphere than what I have become accustomed to. Nonetheless, my experience here will, no doubt, play a major role in the formation I receive over the next few years. Nothing is wasted when it comes to Divine Providence, and it is by the crosses that I have borne here that I was able to receive the graces of those people I call my sisters and brothers. When I first came up with the name of my blog “A Time of Silence with the Ancestors”, I wasn’t aware that my time would actually be quite packed, nor did I realize how deeply embedded I would become in the community here. Looking back on it, I wouldn’t change the name. Although, I realize now that I will have much to process and contemplate as I journey back to my homeland.

Anyways, I think that is where I will leave you. At the moment, I don’t have much else to say. But as they say here in Madagascar, veloma ny namako. Mbola hahita aminao indray aho, ny Madagasikarako.

And as always, know that you are in my prayers each morning. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

May God be praised.

Ny namanao,

Nathaniel F. Bald (Mr. BALD)