Impressions of Madagascar. Part 2: Guilt

In the morning, we had to see Antananarivo in the light, which was just as unflattering as it was in the dark.

We hopped in the airport shuttle and we were off. I was immediately shocked by the amount of people everywhere. Thousands and thousands of people flooded the streets. As I think about it just now, I realize this must be what every rush hour in the world would look like if you remove cars from the scenario. People in zebu-drawn carts. People in people-drawn carts. People carrying amazing things on their head. Seriously, I can't balance a book on my head, let alone an old tire. (!) Giant buckets of milk. Three boxes of clothes. Long sticks of bamboo. There was no limit to the things people could balance on their heads.

It seemed like our taxi driver was worried about getting us to the airport in time, because he was weaving in between cars like he was fleeing from the cops. There was one lane for going and one lane for coming, and we were in between the two. Apparently, it's ok to drive in the middle of everything if you just constantly beep your horn to let everyone know you're coming through. Almost on cue, a police officer pulls up behind us, sirens blazing and lights flashing. My heart stops, and we get over to the "going" side. Instead of stopping us, the police car just takes our place in the middle and speeds up, bypassing everyone. Our driver seized the opportunity and fell in behind the cop car. And that's how we arrived at the airport in record time by police escort.

When we landed in Morondava, things were instantly a thousand times better. People were smiling! They were helpful! And most importantly, they left us alone. Our hotel, Chez Maggie, was super cute, with a beach on the Mozambique Channel. The hotel uses only their fresh catches from the morning for their menu (there are no refrigerators or freezers of course) and everything was insanely cheap. We started with the jumbo shrimp for lunch...

our bungalow Chez Maggie

anti-malaria beds! woohoo

So...I've never had fresh shrimp before and it kind of changed my life. Also, this meal cost us about 10 dollars each. 

After lunch, we explored Morondava.

I found the beach goats to be a very hilarious welcoming committee. 

These kids invented a game with plastic bags tied to rocks and raced them in the wind.

unusual shuttle service

At night we had crab dinner and massages. That's when the guilt started. 

I couldn't help it. The massage was in our room. We were late because we were thoroughly enjoying our fresh crab dinner that cost 8 dollars. And the whole time, the little Malagasy woman was making so much of an effort on my massage that it left her out of breath at the end. I just felt like such an asshole. I mean, I come here to your poor country, live like a Queen, and pay nothing for it...and you're wearing dirty clothes and rubbing tourist bodies and making less in a year than anyone I know does in a week. I felt so guilty by the end of the massage that I gave her a 100% tip, and the whole thing still only cost 20 euro. 

This guilt did not go away. It only festered...infecting me more and more every day...driving me crazy (and probably annoying Elena more than a little bit)...until the Turning Point. But I'll get to that later. 

The next day we were up bright and early for our loooong drive to Bekopaka. The drive was in a 4x4 and the road was definitely not easy. I imagine it could be likened to riding an angry bull, or a bucking bronco for 8 hours. By the end, we were covered in red dust and sweat. 

I'm assuming that the only cars that go by are mostly tourists. Every time we would pass a small village, everyone would turn and stare and all the children would run out to wave to us. "Vazaha" (sounds like vazzah) is their nickname for white people, and we heard it every five seconds. "Salut (hi!) Vazaha!!" "Vazaha, money?" "Vazaha, bonbons? (candy?)" (BTW French is the second official language in Madagascar so many of them speak it...much less when you get into the country.) 

Here's some pics from the road trip:

as soon as they see cameras, they flock to photo bomb you.

we crossed two rivers like this...
the other cars are all other tourists like us...
except we felt proud to see we were the only girls brave enough to make Madagascar a girl's trip!!!

Every time we stopped the car, we were immediately swarmed by children who wanted something. Money, water, my hat, a pen, soap. They just looked around at our stuff and asked for whatever they saw. The guilt was gnawing at me more and more each time. Elena was getting seriously turned off. The kids loved taking pictures, though, and as soon as they saw a camera, they posed like little fashion models. (How did they learn that?!)

We were so very conflicted. On one hand, they are so cute and such a big part of the feeling and life of this country that you want that picture...but on the other hand (especially after watching all the other tourists) you feel like it's cheap. Exploitative. As if you're just visiting the zoo. Especially in the villages with the adults, who are all staring you down. You don't want to disrespect anyone or cheapen their way of living, but you want to remember how very different it is here...

In the end we decided to restrain ourselves and were very discreet about the pictures we took and what we gave to the children. I was sad. It felt like I was building a defensive wall between myself and the life in Madagascar. Like our safari in South Africa: I will stay in my safe little car...and the wildness will stay out there...I will look but I will not touch, I will not engage...

At dusk, we arrived at our shockingly sweet hotel in Bekopaka called "Olympe de Bemaraha."

...to be continued