“The Indefatigable Human Spirit Against Adversity”

a poem by Dr. Chundak Tenzing, Seva Foundation

the pain and suffering of

a community looms large

on the canvas of our minds

when we go to help a 

community we imagine

the stark ugliness of

poverty hunger

and disease

but do not

imagine the 

inner joy

and peace

the people carry

the readiness of the

smiles they flash

the authenticity of the lives

they live

the sweat they pour

in mountains plains

and animals

and own them

for generations 

as their own

we realize these people have

the richness of souls and

something right

about their god fearing

way of life

we learn a lot 

about life

and feel

our impoverished thinking

gets richer in the process

they have much to give

too precious to count

for the little help

modern science brings 

at their doorsteps

the point here is not

glorification of poverty

but of the indefatigable

human spirit

against adversity

“The life for Malagasy people is very hard.” This phrase has been repeated to me so many times by so many different people that it will forever be engrained in my brain. The first few times I heard it, it made me cringe. I didn’t know what the right response was to a sentence like that. I’d nod my head and say I understand, but I always tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. It was hard to hear about how people were suffering because the price of rice rose from 300 ariary/cup to 600 ariary/cup (about $0.10). It was hard to listen to my students’ “lows” of the week being frequent power outages and having to wait three hours for the bus just to get home. And it was really hard to hear about how my host family welcomed a 13-year-old girl into their home because she was essentially living as a slave before they took her in. Day in and day out, I am exposed to poverty in a way I never could’ve imagined until I was here. And in the beginning, it was really hard to sit there and nod my head as I tried to understand hardship that I simply couldn’t relate to. I’ve heard countless stories about political turmoil, disease, financial instability, and other challenges that the people of Madagascar face from my students, host families, and friends. And it has weighed heavy on me as a vazaha (Malagasy word for white foreigner). In the words of Rev. Heidi Torgerson, sometimes it just lays me flat. 

But more days than not, I get up, walk out the door, and absorb as much about this place as I can. I’ve learned that it’s okay to not have all the answers or perfect responses to the tough questions. Sometimes, the best thing I can do is let go of the guilt and awkwardness and just earnestly listen. I’m realizing that people don’t want me to solve their problems — they just want to be heard. And from these stories, I’m learning a lot about strength and resilience and faith. 

My supervisor, Edson, at the hospital where I teach invited me over for lunch with his entire family in the countryside one Saturday afternoon. After a fun lunch exchanging English and Malagasy words for the different types of food, everyone sat around the table drinking fresh coffee.  Edson told me that “now we sing!” and began writing down the lyrics on a sheet of paper so that I could follow along. He explained to me that it was a very old Malagasy song passed down for generations. He translated the word for “sink” (hitentika) and made hand motions until I figured out he was referencing “big waves” (alon-drano). Next he explained, “This song is about how hard the Malagasy life is.” I inquired further and he said something along the lines of “Malagasy life is like trying to paddle a boat through huge waves that are trying to make us sink but we keep going anyways.” Then, they all sang the most beautiful song from heart, tapping their feet and closing their eyes. It gave me goosebumps — and still does when I think about it. I like to think I’m learning a lot this year about getting back up again when life knocks you down. And I’m lucky to be learning it from such strong, unsinkable spirits.