We leave Madagascar tomorrow. I'm ready. This will be the first (and hopefully only) time that I will admit to a bout of homesickness on this trip. This was one of the more rewarding countries to visit, but it was down right hard to get used to. I suppose that's what "they" say though. I do find it interesting that in the end I actually did acclimate to some of the bizarre shit that happens here. You want me to pay you to ride in that heap of rusting scrap metal that hasn't passed emissions since 1945 with 30 other people (and their chickens) who are going to stare and laugh at me for the next 12 hours? Sure! The following should summarize some of the things I never thought I'd get used to in this country but somehow it all now feels like par for the course:
Public Transportation - As I've eluded to over the past couple weeks, public transportation is one bearded lady away from a roving circus. When we do get the luxury of taking a cab in the big city, we are flabbergasted when the doors have handles and the car doesn't have to be hot-wired to start (an actual key must be a symbol of prosperity here). Only the big cities, however, have actual taxis. Otherwise the primary mode of intercity travel is by pousse-pousse (oh, it's pronounced just as you imagined) and often abbreviated as poussey (again, just how you imagined). So when you walk down the street and men are yelling "poussey" at every corner it is not a come on, though this was initially confusing since prostitution is not a lost art in Madagascar. The name pousse-pousse is not even the most awkward thing about them. They are a simple wooden carriage that would be reminiscent of a horse-drawn cart of yore, the only difference being that they are pulled by a running human being. A barefoot running human being. As if I wasn't already in awe of the Malagasy standard of fitness, the men (ranging in age from prepubescents to grandfathers) run these pousseys around all day long for kilometers at a time. Nothing, absolutely nothing, makes you feel more slovenly than another human being pulling your fat ass around. Where the hell I'm a going that I couldn't possibly walk there (with proper footwear mind you) and I would need to opt for someone to pull me instead? Ok, I did it but it felt awful, which makes it better, right?
Celebrity - The biggest challenge was getting used to my new profession as a circus freak. The laughing, the pointing, the hollering, the solicitations from the men, women and children was overwhelming at first. It was rarely aggressive, but it was constant and exhausting. Oddly enough it wasn't just our skin color that was causing all the attention (though that is the blaring beacon that draws the initial curiosity). It turns out that the men love my big arms (only a close second to my big ass). Without asking they would stroke and squeeze my biceps (thank god they did not take that approach with my ass). One guy at our bus station pointed to a poster of Avril Lavine (who's posters are plastered all over here along with the equally popular posters of Jesus) then pointed to his flexed arms and then to me as if saying, "Hey, you look like Avril but with big arms!". Then he gave me a thumbs up and an approving nod. They really know how to sweet talk a lady here. What can I say, my arms are a crowd pleaser. I'm thinking of taking them on tour next fall. While I no longer feel acute anxiety about walking down the street, the sense of anonymity is the biggest reason I'm looking forward to Europe (that in addition to the ease of travel, less language barriers and the availability of toilet paper). I have considered, however, that I might have developed a complex after all these months of fame. What will I do in Europe when I am not hit on by every single man, simply blending into the sea of white people? I have already gotten used to a life of people taking unauthorized cell phone pictures of me, people "accidentally" bumping into me just to touch my skin and daily marriage proposals. I'm not sure I can go back to the attention void the life of a commoner.
Zebu - Lacking traditional cows, Zebu is the beef of Madagascar. They are simply delicious, our cattle should start looking to the Zebu for tips on tenderness and flavor. In addition to their tasty parts, they are down right hilarious. They look like a prehistoric cow crossed with a camel. They have huge horns and a hump of fat on their back that comically jiggles about when they walk. This gelatinous back dance is even funnier when they run, which is an awkward gait at best. The Madagascar landscape is plentiful in Zebu which makes it the most popular protein choice, especially because the chicken here all look like they have eating disorders. Unfortunately I don't think you can get Zebu anywhere else, I guess I'll have to redefine my palate to include regular old beef once again.
Mosquito Repellent - The bug spray addiction is actually a continuation from Bali and SE Asia. I've been slathering my body in Deet, Citronella and other disgusting chemicals for over five months now. I think we've far exceeded the recommended continuous usage. Luckily we are finally leaving a malaria region before my skin has started peeling or blistering (one of the actual warnings on the cautionary label). I will admit that the toxic sprays have actually started to smell pretty good these days, especially since being in a country where laundry and showers are at a premium. Dare I say it even acts as a nice, well at least effective, deodorizing spray. It might as well be the Axe Body-spray of Africa since you have to put it on immediately after exiting the shower lest your body be ravaged by the mosquitos. I by no means have gotten used to the actual mosquitos though. No matter how many months of dealing with bite covered flesh, those guys can still go fuck themselves.
Flys - The fly situation can only be described by referring you to the Sally Struthers commercials where they ask you to sponsor a child for only the cost of your daily cup of coffee. You know the ones. Flys relentlessly crawling all over everyones' faces and you wonder how the hell can people sit there without taking even one defensive swat. I now know how. Spend five weeks in Africa where the flys outnumber you by 7 billion to 1 and they will assuredly break you. And break me they did. Oh I tried to beat them away in the beginning, but they hardly took notice of my protests. Slap one off your arm and, in return, five will land on your face. It just becomes a waste of energy ofter awhile and that creepy, crawly tickling sensation eventually becomes bearable and then hardly noticeable and then one day you realize that the whole time you've been eating your breakfast 20 flys have been traversing the landscape of your flesh and with your new deflated sense of hygiene you just sigh and go back to eating your eggs with that glazed over look in your eyes. One time back home I was watching a documentary on National Geographic where a group of field scientists were studying a rare species of sand snake, or something like that, in Africa. During an interview with one of the scientists the flys were typically dense and kept landing on this poor guy's eyelids, nostrils and lips while he was talking into the camera. It made me itch to watch it happen yet he barely batted an eye and all I could think was, holy shit that guy has gone native. This all apparently meaning that I am officially Malagasy now. Or not.
Please don't get confused though, just because I've gotten used to some of this nonsense doesn't not mean that I'll even remotely miss it. Ok, I'll miss the Zebu. And the lemurs. And the $0.05 cups of coffee. And the delicious rice flour pastries. And the hiking. And the natural springs. And the cheap transportation (Europe here we come!). And the wildlife. And maybe, just maybe the attention.
Kelly in a poussey
Making friends on public transportation - this is after this guy asked me for my banana, my shirt, my watch and my sunglasses
picture at the bottom cracks me up!!
ReplyDelete