I carried my TLM brief case up the stairs of a small plane that would take us from the sunshine and blue skies of South Africa to the mammoth island of Madagascar. People on the the runway were friendly and talkative; even though they were all strangers to each other, they chatted as if they were old friends. I sat down by the window in 16F next to a passenger who had brought only an elaborate hat as his carry-on. Ironically, when the stewardess came to check that all luggage was stowed and seats were in their upright positions, it was my friend who had only carried a hat onto the plane who had trouble stowing his luggage. I smiled as he nervously pushed and shoved the stubborn hat under the seat.
The passenger on the other side of the hat guy said,” Bonjour” and I didn’t know it then, but she would become the most important person I met in my first experience of Madagascar. Her name is Eva. Halfway through the flight she switched with the hat guy so that we could talk next to each other. Eva told me about Madagascar, how before 2009 it was a safe and prosperous country. The people where happy and could find work for the most part. However, in 2009 the political crisis unfolded with strikes and a transitional president who greedily and tenaciously took office. The president’s efforts to prolong his seat and his refusal to arrange for elections has led international support groups to revoke funding. Now unemployment is high, schools and hospitals are underfunded, roads are crumbling (later walking through the streets of Antananarivo I would discover gaping holes in the road that I imagined with horror might claim some of the throngs of children roaming through the streets). Nights in Antananarivo are dangerous and dark because the government’s refusal to keep street lights working has encouraged crime in the cover of darkness. Those are things I would discover later, but in the plane Eva spoke about some of the recent changes in Madagascar as well as the climate, terrain, about her family and work. I told her about my time in India and my sketchy plan to take a bus to Antalaha. She suggested I drive home with her because she lives near the Peace Corps base and they might be able to give me suggestions as an American traveler.
Customs was a breeze in Madagascar. I handed my passport to the smiling customs staff and he said, ” Bien venue.” Eva and I gathered our luggage from the carousal. Rija, her husband was waiting for her by the exit. We drove around the city for some sight-seeing from the car. The city of Antananarivo is built on a huge hill with the Queen’s palace at the very top. Juicy red, yellow, big and small mangoes and pink lychees, papayas, guavas, carrots, vanilla, aloe were spilling out of baskets on the sides of the streets.
A big storm was gathering in the thick clouds above our heads. We drove to Eva’s house and later I knocked on the well-protected Peace Corps gates. The guard didn’t want to let me in without a Peace Corps identification card but I gave him my passport and told him I didn’t speak French. He obliged and led me to the club house. I peered inside. Five Americans lounged on puffy couches with apple computers on their laps. They barely looked up from their computers when I entered. I introduced myself, expecting fellow Americans to be excited about meeting each other on the other side of the world, but they seemed completely bored. I asked if they knew where I could stay, what kinds of transportation they usually take, about safety and interesting places to visit, but their responses were lazy and rather unhelpful. I stood there in the doorway shocked by their indifference. Is this what the Peace Corps is like? A crowd of indifferent Americans who flock to some exotic part of the world and lounge around in a luxury club house on the computer? I left.
It was pouring rain outside and in the minutes it took me to reach the gate of Eva’s house I was soaked from head to toe. They hurried me inside and Eva suggested that I just stay with them. They had to go to a family event that evening so I stayed in and fell asleep by 8pm.
Monday morning I drove with Eva and her daughter to work (the bank). I got my Simm card and continued into town. We bought Christmas decorations and wandered around the town. After shopping in the crowded market (and having my camera case successfully pick-pocketed) I went to Hotel De France for a coffee. I sat on the terrace in the shade watching the busy street, reading my book, and sipping on delicious coffee. I felt so free. After coffee I set off on a walking tour of Antananarivo. I took the yellow circuit which passes many historic churches and structures. I met a wonderful older woman in the first church I saw. She wanted to teach me Malagasy lessons everyday for some fee. It sounded very nice at the time and I don’t know why I didn’t take her up on it. I regret this.
She walked with me up to the top of the hill to the Queen’s Palace. I was worried about the long walk because she was old and had an issue with her pancreas as well as edema in her feet. She told me about her family and the difficulties they face. How she does not have enough money to send her son to school, a sentiment many Malagasy people are suffering since the strikes in 2009. Maybe I could have helped her out giving her some work for two weeks but somehow the weeks in Antananarivo unfolded differently and I never contacted her. I regret this very much.
I met Eva’s husband in the market and bought mangoes for the whole family. We went on a long walk up the hill of Antananarivo. I ate my first Sulu Vulu (corn role wrapped in corn leaves). We drove home and ate fish dinner all together.
Tracing Leprosy 