June 2nd: Arrival in Antananarivo, Madagascar!

[I finally have internet on my own computer! It took a while, so I'm a little behind in my blogging. The following is an excerpt from my journal written the night we arrived in Antananarivo, describing first impressions and whatnot...I'll have updates about more recent stuff soon!]

I awoke on the flight some time before landing, and waited for Madagascar to appear through the clouds. At first, green, hills, rolling ones, some terraced with rice paddies. Still later, drier, flatter, more agricultural – the product of deforestation. A patchwork quilt landscape in yellows and greens. Finally, Antananarivo, “Tana,” a sea of small buildings all vying with one another for a spot on the hill.
Disembarking from the plane, it was warmer than South Africa, but still on the cooler side; lots of moisture in the air and big billowing clouds with blue underbellies.
The police officers at customs were wearing green, not blue, and had those little berets and big army boots. It’s the dress you’re used to seeing in videos of political unrest in Africa, which produced in me a little twinge of unease. And yet this was just customs! Later, driving through the city on our way to the hotel, we passed officers directing traffic clad in the usual blue. It’s amazing how something as simple as uniform color can change your perception. (The next day, on our taxi-brousse ride to Fianarantsoa we stopped at a gas station where the attendants were clad in orange jumpsuits – the garb of American prisoners!)
Our taxi was a tiny beige French Renault. Seatbelts? Ha! It was a bit of a drive; we paid 40,000 ariary (although after we realized we should have only paid 30,000, according to our employer’s e-mail). We took pictures out the windows, trying not to bump the lenses around too much. People along the side of the road, some begging, some selling, some in transit themselves. Men, women, children carrying large baskets on their heads with ease – no hands! The sellers offering a miscellany of things – produce, sausages, peanuts, rice by the cup, fried snacks, packaged snacks, cheap toys, broken watches, secondhand clothes and shoes - no real rhyme or reason to it.
The best comparison I can make, based on my own experience, is the Tijuana area in Mexico, but obviously the culture and people are completely different. Everyone we have encountered so far has spoken good French, and the accent isn’t hard to understand. The faces of Madagascar are varied, some looking very Indonesian, while others look like continental Africans.
Once installed in the hotel we made an excursion down the winding streets from our hotel to buy Malagasy cell phones and get cash from an ATM. We stopped at two different little electronics stores; the woman at the first was Muslim, wearing a headscarf, and looked Middle Eastern. At the second, a helpful Middle Eastern man spoke to us in fluent English.
The younger men eye us, one touched my arm in passing and I rushed forward with an angry glare back. Next time I’ll have some French profanities at the ready! Often little children try to get your attention, sometimes asking for money, sometimes just for attention. In one little alley path some boys set off a few poppers and I jumped a foot in the air – just as I did all last summer in France, between Bastille Day and August 15th – I HATE firecrackers!
There are some other young Americans staying at the hotel, said they’ve been here for two months. In two months we’ll have that same confidence and ease getting around.
Everything is still so vivid and different; we’re still at the phase where taking pictures of signage in French and Malagasy is exciting. Hard to believe that soon, once settled in Fianarantsoa, it will all cease to be such a novelty as it becomes a daily reality. That’s part of the beauty of international internships: achieving some sort of assimilation, reaching that point where you’re no longer a tourist just passing through. That best part is the people will cease (hopefully!) to see and treat you as such a novelty, too, thus opening up a freer dialogue and greater understanding.
Ate a delicious Thali végétarien (traditional Indian dish with naan, rice, and little bowls of different vegetables) at an Indian restaurant called La Medina, just down the street from the hotel. Beautifully decorated, with bright cushions for lounging and smoking hookah; it seemed like a place you could find in any cosmopolitan city in the US. Refrained from fresh vegetables for the moment, even though I was craving them, out of fear of being sick on our 8+ hour taxi-brousse ride to Fianarantsoa tomorrow!