1 week Ago
Aro holds a platter of burgers outside of SEMAFI’s kitchen in March. A friend and I decided to cook hamburgers and macaroni and cheese for all of the students, staff and their families who live at SEMAFI, and so we had something of an impromptu party. It was a fantastic night.
Vanessa Paolella photo A few days ago, I had the wonderful experience of listening to a 10-year-old girl read. It wasn’t fluent, not by any means. Her voice was halting with inexperience, and many of the words weren’t pronounced quite right.
But her mother and I sat riveted. “The baby is crying,” the girl read in Malagasy, the most prominent language in Madagascar. “Eight cows are dead.
The dog is sick.” It’s a simple thing, really. And yet, it wasn’t.
Not to us. It was only months ago that her parents and I feared she might never learn to read. Many of you will remember Aro, the young deaf girl in my community I wrote about in a Sun Journal column last November .
It’s only been three months since she transferred to The Fianarantsoa School for the Deaf , better known as SEMAFI (seh-mah-fee), but already we’re seeing tremendous progress in her education. Not only can Aro read and write simple sentences, but she can also solve double-digit addition and subtraction problems. Before heading home for Easter vacation, her parents and I had the joy of looking over her first exam at the school; Aro aced nearly every section.
In just three months, the teachers at SEMAFI were able to teach Aro more than her previous school did in three years. I don’t say that to be critical. But with unassisted moderate-to-severe hearing loss, Aro needed more support than they could provide.
When I decided to join the Peace Corps, I wasn’t shy about telling friends and family how much I hoped to gain from this experience. I wanted to learn a new language, a new culture, and see just how well I could manage without the comforts of American life. If I could help others in the process, all the better.
A group photo shows students, staff, family members and several community members following a one-day sign language training before the two-week Easter break earlier this month. Vanessa Paolella photo Yet, I was far less vocal about a different, more personal motive of mine. Here in Madagascar, without the noise and bustle of my American life, I hoped to find more clarity on what I could dedicate my life to.
I’ve been blessed to have many passions in my life: local journalism, reading, running, protecting the environment, and the Bates College community, to name a few. My superpower has always been my fervent, obsessive devotion to these things. And yet, nothing has felt as fulfilling as helping kids here in Madagascar get a decent education.
Whether it be starting (and hopefully expanding) the scholarship program in my community , helping Aro find a school she can succeed in, or teaching my host sister’s 7-year-old son to read, all of it makes me feel like I’m making a real difference in kids’ lives. It’s addicting, really. And to be honest with you, I have no plan to stop when my Peace Corps service is scheduled to end in November.
The news these days has been hard for many people to stomach, myself included. As I write this column, the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) is deciding the future of the Peace Corps, and I know there’s little I can do to change the outcome, whatever it may be. But if the last 18 months of my life have taught me anything, it’s that I do have power, far more than I ever realized.
I have the power to help people change their lives for the better, and I hope you’ll believe me when I say you do, too. Working with Aro and her family has been more than just an eye-opening experience for me. Because of her, I found my way to SEMAFI and discovered a way to help other deaf children like her.
Zarasoa’s masons have been hard at work building six new water storage containers, replacing aging gutters, and improving SEMAFI’s existing rainwater catchment system. When the project is complete, the school will have an additional 12,000 liters of water storage. Vanessa Paolella photo As Aro’s parents were considering whether to send her to study at SEMAFI last year, I started visiting the school more often, even attending their Christmas celebration and parent sign language training in December.
It didn’t take me long to fall in love with the school’s vivacious kids and dedicated staff. When I go to Fianarantsoa these days, I stay with the school director and his family at SEMAFI. The kids and staff teach me new signs in Malagasy Sign Language every time I visit and I, in return, make an effort to keep them stocked with coloring supplies and fresh produce from my village.
In a short time, the school has become one of the few places in Madagascar where I feel totally at ease. Now that Aro is where she needs to be, I’ve shifted my focus to helping SEMAFI and other deaf children. The school is one of the precious few places in Madagascar where they can learn to communicate in a language that is fully accessible, a place where they can build community with people just like them.
More than 99% of deaf children in Madagascar don’t have access to sign language or teachers trained to meet their needs. As a result, they never learn to read, write or communicate with people in any meaningful way. Language deprivation doesn’t just stunt these kids’ academic progress, but their social and cognitive development, too.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of the thousands of deaf children within a day’s drive of SEMAFI whose lives would be transformed by the chance to study there. It kills me to know that the school has the capacity to educate more kids, but it just doesn’t have the funds to do so. Right now, they’re just barely hanging on.
At times, it all feels overwhelming. But I remind myself that the best and only thing we can do is to take it one step at a time. One kid at a time.
In February, I taught a couple of the older SEMAFI students how to use my camera, and then we spent the next hour taking silly photos with the kids at SEMAFI. This one is my favorites. Submitted photo After a group of people in the Lewiston-Auburn area pooled their money to pay Aro’s tuition, I began talking with the director about creating a sponsorship program to support other deaf children in need.
Most of these kids come from poor families who can’t afford to send their child to study at SEMAFI, even at a highly reduced rate. Equally important, we want to make sure our current students stay in school and don’t drop out because of the cost. Another example: Thanks to another donation from a few wonderful people in the U.
S., SEMAFI will welcome a new day student on Monday, a slight 5-year-old girl named Samia who has been profoundly deaf since birth. Without the donation, her mother didn’t feel she had the income to pay the tuition.
It’s these kinds of small rewarding steps that keep everyone going, despite the daily challenges, the limited resources and the badly needed upgrades to the school building itself — which we’re working on addressing, too. A couple of weeks ago, our nonprofit partner, Zarasoa, began expanding the school’s rainwater catchment system, and we’ve got other projects in the works. I don’t know if helping deaf children in Madagascar is “it” for me.
Only time will tell, I think. What I do know is that I’ve found an incredible opportunity to transform children’s’ lives, and I fully intend to see where it takes me. I know I would regret doing anything less.
A reader asked: What happened to the column about Madagascar written by a young Peace Corps volunteer? It seems to have ended abruptly with no explanation to readers. – Paula If I could, I’d give you a hug, Paula. Your email gave me the spark I needed to write this column.
When “Letters from Madagascar” started back in 2023, my aim was to write and publish a new column every month. With a few exceptions, I’ve finished one every four to five weeks. But a combination of logistical challenges here in Madagascar and some complex emotions I’ve felt about U.
S. politics and about changes at the Sun Journal have made it difficult for me to focus on writing. I’m so grateful for all of you who’ve followed my journey and supported my work here in Madagascar through the Sun Journal.
I promise you, as long as the paper is willing to publish this column, I’ll keep writing. Have a question? Send it to van.paolella@gmail.
com or by snail mail to the Sun Journal at 64 Lisbon St., Suite 201, Lewiston, ME 04240. On a personal note: I expect I’ll have more information to share about DOGE’s plans in my next column.
But no matter what happens, my plan is to continue my work here in Madagascar. They can pull my government-backed living allowance and medical care, but I refuse to leave my work here unfinished. And a request to my readers: If you would like to join me in helping deaf children in Madagascar or if you have experience working with deaf children and would be willing to chat, please send me an email.
Vanessa Paolella is a Peace Corps volunteer in Madagascar, as well as a former award-winning staff writer for the Sun Journal and a Bates College graduate. The views expressed in this column are hers alone and do not reflect the views of the U.S.
government, the Peace Corps, or the Madagascar government. Two nearly completed water storage tanks sit in between the student dorms and the director’s house at SEMAFI. Zarasoa’s masons are constructing six to increase access to clean water.
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