One come he to justify. One man to overthrow

August 18, 2007
(American Cultural Center)
From the Journal of Derek Rury

We have entrenched ourselves so far into this idea of integration, that it is sometimes hard to regrasp the notion that we are Americans who have volunteered to serve here in Madagascar. We have been taught over and over again what to do to become a member of the Malagasy culture, very similar to the programming of a computer. But we know why this type of integration is necessary. We are from an entirely different part of the world, with a very unique culture of its own. To simply drop us off here and say “ok….teach” would be a dissaster. We all understand all of the hard work our trainers have put into helping us and teaching us how to survive living in a foreign land for two years. It is especially important because there are certain things we wont have access to living in this culture. Certain things that we had become accustomed to, even took for granted. But we are done with training now, and I am proud to say that all of us are ready to serve here. We have aquired the necessary skills.
But through that reprogramming, you start to lose touch with your own culture. You start to lose the perspective you had before you left. Ten weeks of intensive language, culture and life training will do that to you. But when we entered the American Cultural Center in Tana yesterday, some of that perspective started to come back. The Center is like an English speaking oasis for travelers and press. There are also classes that are held there, with a full library, with books ranging from a documentation of the 1982 Chicago Mayoral election to Green Eggs and Ham, and a media center., filled with computers, listening stations and a TV with English cable channels. Walking in there was like a breath of fresh air, for two reasons. One was because we now had access to a resource we didn’t before. One that would help us get information about graduate school in the states, and also provide us with American publications that are all but impossible to get here. One such publication was a month old Sports Illustrated magazine that pulled me in like a tractor beem once I saw it. All of the information was outdated at that point, by American standards. But for someone living here in Madagascar, the magazine seemed like it was hot off the presses. As we walked through the halls, posters of random American cities decorated the walls. I never thought I would see a framed picture of Kansas City in Madagascar. But there it was. This seemed like the one place where we could be a part of our culture. We had been taught to eat, speak and live like the Malagasy people. But here felt like home.
The other reason the Center was refreshing was because here we were treated, not like trainees who’s hands needed to be held throughout the day. We were volunteers. We were Americans who had traversed the globe, put our lives on hold to serve. In a time of war, we were soldiers of hope. We were heralds of peace. As we walked around the center, peaking into classrooms, observing our culture through the lens of the Malagasy people, a unique sense of pride ran through my body. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t try to analyze how expensive it is for the Peace Corps to provide all it does for the 7,000 volunteers around the world. Is it really worth it? What is the Peace Corps really for? Does it ultimately make a difference? Or are we all just going through the motions? These questions run through my mind with great regularity, and I would be lying if I said I was completely convinced that our work here does make a difference. I am going to a small town called Beloha in one of the most underdeveloped regions of the world. How can my two years of service make any type of effect on the community. But being in the Cultural Center changed all of that, at least to some extent. Students there studied diligently, and the staff provided a long term plan for the use of English in the country. There was scope. There was a goal. Whether or not my work will lead to that goal, I’m not sure, but I know that I have to try. I know that after two years, both the Peace Corps and the Malagasy people will have given me so much. From financial and proffesional benefits to this entire unique life changing experience. I just hope that I will be able to repay them. And even though there is currently a sickness that is romping through my immune system as I type, after it was awoken after lying dormant by a neausea inducing bus ride, I must fight back. It is a strange feeling to know that if I were back home in Chicago, this sickness wouldn’t be anything more than a quick call to the nurse. But here, there is protocal for this situation much more extensive than the casual call to the local health facility. There is much more at stake. Since my site is a two and a half day brousse ride from the closest Peace Corps approved hospital, things might get a little dicey when my stool gets as loose as one of Jose Cantreras' curveballs. But we all have to put that aside. It's time to get to work.

Pride (In the Name of Love) - U2