Everyday Oddities

On the plane ride from Tana back up to Diego this week I met an American travelling along here in Madagascar. After talking to him I realized how many “oddities” I have gotten used to here. For example, the chicen that leys eggs in my kabone (I am always psyched when I have a fresh egg for breaky!) and the issue of “vazaha”. Yes, it is a loaded word, but somehow seems the easiest way to describe a non-Malagasy person. In fact there are people in my community that call me “madam vazaha”. I personally don’t mind the word, as it is obvious that I am a foreigner here. And I Have grown accustomed to being called vazaha and having people look at me, whipser vazaha then scream in amazemznt when I speak Gasy. However, when a child is screaming vazaha at me and pointing, I draw the line. I also hate the “Sali vazaha” comments. But more than the word “vazaha”, the fact that people stare open mouth in disbelief, follow me around the market, and point out everything I bought that day drives me NUTS!!! Ther is my 2 cents. And I will also add that I now confront people when they follow me or blatently stare and they agree it is not their fomba (culture) to do that to Gasy people; In America it is considered rude and borderline racist. If this country wznt to join the developed world, don’t e have a responsibility to educate them on what is acceptable or unacceptable in the rest of the world?

So after having talked to this American on my flight I realized that friends and family that read this blog are probably interested in everyday activities here that are so different from home. To that end I will touch on taxi-brousses, another inescapable reality of this country after the word “vazaha” and rice (every meal every day).

Taxi-brousses are the main, and sometimes only, form of transportation here in Madagascar. They take many different forms from decent mini-vans with DVD players on the visor, to trucks with planks in the bed and a cover over the top, to small cars loaded with people and livestock that are only inches from scraping the road. All taxi-brousses are characterized by an enormous pile of baggage, live animals, and food piled on top of the vehicle. Recently some routes have had to regulate the number of people they put in a brousse. But most routes do not abide by such regulations and I have had as many as 28 people in a mini-van, and 10 people in a small Honda-like car, always with children or adults on laps. Sometimes I have even had a child on each of my knees. One time I took a small car for a few km to my market town and my friend was stuck in the back with a chicken next to her head and an old woman on her lap. I was in the front seat with 3 other people plus the driver. A woman had to share the driver’s seat while he shifted over her lap. And no one batted an eyelash… I have literally seen the taxi-brousse workers shoving people into the vehicles like an over-stuffed suitcase. So now I will head back to site with the word "vazaha" and the taxi-brousse ride there to look forward to! Jules