Fame and Fort- No, just fame

A former PCV in Madagascar once said one of the things he would miss most when he returned to the United States was being famous. Going from messiah to pariah. Okay, maybe not a pariah, but I couldn't pass up that awesome rhyme.

Anyway, it seemed weird at the time for someone to consider him- or herself famous, but after three years here, I get it.

As a tall, white, American male who constantly rides around on a beautiful black Trek bike (which is like an American seeing a Maserati roll by in the States) I am one of the most identifiable people in my town.

A few weeks ago I was walking through the market in Manakara. As I passed a stall I heard one of the vendors talking to a co-worker...

Vendor: Mahay teny Gasy be izy! (He is really good at Malagasy)

Coworker: Kaiky! (Really?!)

Vendor: Tena marina! Nampianatra tany Ampasimanjeva taloha izy fa efa nifindra Manakara. Mampianatra ny mpampianatra izy izao (It's true! He taught in Ampasimanjeva before but he moved to Manakara. He teaches teachers now).

Co-worker: Mampianatra ino? (Teaching what?)

Vendor: Ny fomba fampianarana anglisy fa tena mahay teny gasy be izy. Mbola tsy hitanao ny vadiny? Nipetraka tany Analavory taloha izy fa efa aty koa izao. Any andranovato izy mipetraka. Tena mahay be avao koa izy fa fohy be. (The ways to teach English but he is really good at Malagasy. Have you seen his wife? She lived in Analavory but she's here now too. She lives in Andranovato. She's also really good at Malagasy but she's short).

Coworker: Kaiky!

(I'm feeling a bit weird about people talking about me while standing right there now so I decide to speak up...)

Me: Akory Aby! (hi)

Vendor: Zay!!! (See!)

(Everyone laughs)

Things like this happen all the time. People who I am positive I have never met will know my name, what I do, who my girlfriend is (the wife reference is normal. For the record I'm not married), where I live and everything else. Briana had lived in Manakara for maybe a week and a half at that point and they knew where she lived!

Knowing where you live can be problematic. Well, for the obvious reason that Bri and I had all our stuff stolen from her house, but for other reasons, too.

I swear one of my students right now has slipped a GPS tracking device into my backpack or my shoe or something. I can't shake him. And the problem is that he knows where I live. I am completely happy to speak English with students and teach but sometimes you just need your space and naturally you would think a house is a good place to do that. Well, not if you live in Madagascar and not of they know where you live.

Sometimes, when Malagasy people get into your house it's nearly impossible to get them out. Ya know, cause they only want to speak English and you are trying to encourage that but they don't necessarily understand what you're saying so you have to explain, "please, go home," about ten different ways and make sure they're all as polite as possible. But no matter how hard you try something always just gets lost in the translation.

Last week I saw this student on the road and he showed me a bunch of English audio files that he got off of YouTube on his phone. He was really excited so I was trying to be excited for him even though it had been a long day and I just wanted to go home. 

Then, he forever changed our relationship by showing me his photo album on his phone. He only had maybe 6 pictures hut amongst them was a picture of my older brother and I before we went skydiving like ten years ago, a picture of me with some volunteers on a trip in country, and two of my profile pictures from Facebook. Those alone would be plenty to creep me right out...and they did. For starters, my pictures are blocked so I have no idea how he got them. I asked but he just responded, "yes, it's good." Like I said, lost in translation. Then, he shows me another picture where he has cropped two separate pictures (one of me and one of him) and put our faces over a yellow background with our names under them. This was the scariest thing I have seen in Madagascar. He wouldn't answer my question about why he had those or maybe he just didn't understand. 

Didnt matter anymore. I wanted to...scratch that...had to get outta there.

About an hour later, I am sitting at my house and I looked at my phone. He had sent me a text 10 minutes before saying he was going to come to my house "to speaking the english."

Let's pause for a second. In some strange world maybe this could be confused for flattery but I never gave him my phone number nor told him where I live and still had no idea how he got the pictures or why he put them on his phone. So, instead of flattery I experienced something more like panic.

Afraid I would be too late if I sent him a message, I grabbed my bike, hurled it into my house and quickly locked the door behind me. I ran to the back door and the windows and shut those as well. I turned off my small speaker and sat in darkness for the next 15 minutes.

This was one of the sadder, but funnier moments of my last few years:

English teaching volunteer defenseless against the PI-like skills of his 18-year-old Malagasy student.

Anyway, I don't know if he ever came because I never heard anything. In some lesson soon we're going to have to review some new vocabulary. I think "stalking" may find its way into the list of new words. In the meantime, I'm being a little more careful about how often I leave my door open.