Warm Greetings from a Malagasy Hooker

The night began groggy and foggy, you know, that time when you’re so exhausted your eyelids feel like 10lb weights are dangling from each lash and some how, simultaneously, every ounce of moisture has been sucked out rendering your eyeballs a instantaneous desert waste land.

That’s how it all started, but took a sharp turn from nearly bed ridden to hookerville.

We stumbled upon a young Malagasy man named Bobi who easily could’ve been on the wrong island. He embodied all of those stereotypical qualities you would find in a Rasta man. His sea-laden dread locks bouncing around as he strode, a stride that slowly pulled him along the sandy beach guiding us to our fate. He emitted the aroma of many nights set ablaze, and those minutes before we stumbled upon him were most likely spent… a blazing. He looked at you, his head half-cocked with eyes straining to stay open--clearly they were treading in a more server desert then my own—slightly contorted, he plastered on a smile. He did not seem to be the most reliable guide but he had an enticing air about him and we all followed blindly.

First we met the dogs.

Following our newly acquired guide out of the “Resort Area” to his realm, we stumbled along. Along through what could be considered alleys, but what I would call night flooded paths between beach cottages and shanties. Not as hair-raising as a night-time-stroll down a city ally, but they did emit the ‘you never know what’s coming around the corner’ vibe. We trudged on, enchanted by the lyrical murmurs that were emitting from our fine leader. Finally we came upon an open area that resembled a town square. There, nearly deserted, stray dogs pranced along, and we walked on enchanted. Behinds us a fight broke out. Revolting growls grew louder and louder. Screeching, scraping and screaming. We turned to find two livid dogs ravaging one another. Within seconds “blue” our 100lb TA was within arms reach of the dogs screaming at them in Malagasy and reaching her arms closer to the knot of enraged jowls. Bobi jolted out of his trance and within seconds was pulling blue from her ringside seat. She flailed about screaming gibberish at the dogs. Either they were through with their little tiff or blue’s gibberish had some profound effect on them for they went on their merry way as if they had just shared a nice meal together and were dear old friends saying farewell.

We trudged on.

Within no more then 15 steps we came upon an unwelcoming wall of Malagasy men. Bobi fumbled around in his pockets, stumbling to find his ID. After a few minutes of joking around with what we were later to learn were the local neighborhood watch we walked ahead. Bobi turned to us to explain, “We’ve had, uh, a little man on man attack goin on… but its ok you wit Bobi!” We looked to each other with widened eyes and tried to laugh it off, we had already come so far.

Then came the drums.

Within half a sandy-block we could hear the palpitating heartbeat of drums, we had made it to our destination unharmed. Le Bananier, the cozy local bar where we were to spend the duration of our night, laughing, drinking and enjoying the soothing beats of local musica. We promptly ordered a round of THB (the god awful excuse for beer in Madagascar), found a table facing the band and isolated ourselves like the vaza (white people) we are. It wasn’t until the music got louder or our bellies became fuller with THB did we stand up and enjoy the party that had been going on in front of us. In a swirling array of bongo’s and harmonies we let ourselves go. We let go of our inhibitions and synchronized ourselves with the band’s heartbeat. Blue broke my trans and made me realized that the good ol’ THB was getting to my bladder. So we embarked on a hunt for something that resembled a bathroom.

Blue clearly need the facilities far more then I needed as she frantically walked around behind the bar grabbing Bobi and whispering her dire need for a toilet. He took us along to a W.C that was overflowing. Blue bounced around “No No No! Im not going in there,” after she looked at the soiled and soaking wet toilet, walls and floor of the Bathroom. “ I can’t use that! Bobi I have to poo!!”

He strode along to her, hand on her shoulder and said sincerely, “oh Blue why ya have to go and make life so difficult girl, just go.”

She went, and I was left there doing the signature “ I gotta go” dance. I searched around for a good place to hide, in search of a bush of some sort (after living in the forest you get used to peeing behind bushes), I looked for 5 min, I was shit out of luck and decided to just wait for blue.

Then she came along.

She was a beautifully tall Malagasy woman, who was all legs, and she let them hang out, for her mini skirt just barely covered her voluptuous rear. She looked at me and laughed, “Your in Madagascar!” and within moments she was squatting right in front of me. Perhaps it was the THB acting or my dire need to relieve my self but promptly pulled down my jeans and squatted next to on the concrete in front of the bathroom.

Still squatting she reached out her hand to me, “I’m Marion,” I hesitated out of shock. Mildly bewildered, I grasped her hand mid pee, “Nice to meet you Marion, Uh... I’m Meaghan.” We exchanged a smile, and she bounced up and away back into the bar. I squatted there for a few moments, kind of befuddled over the events that had just occurred, I laughed and slowly rose.

Marion spent the rest of the night draped over her Spanish client. I danced for hours and left Le Bananier with high spirits and yet another great memory.

19-days In Madagascar

 

            Things have gotten tremendously excited here over the past week. I saw a variety of lemurs, a lot of them with infants.  Spring has defiantly sprung in Madagascar. It’s weird to think that the trees are just starting to change into fall colors at home, and here things are just beginning to bud and bloom. I am enjoying the warmer weather though. The entire week has been absolutely beautiful, not a drop of rain, strange because we are in a rain forest. Everyone that has been here for a long duration of time, like Dr. Patricia Wright, the founder of this program and the national park we are currently inhabiting, keeps telling us how spoiled we are. I can’t complain. On the note of Patricia Wright, she is wonderful. As one of my classmates put it, she is the perfect combination of great wisdom and childlike enthusiasm. 

            This week we went on several intense hikes through the thick of the forest. The guides here are beasts, to say the least. Practically dragging our out-of-shape American Asses up and through trees and forest undergrowth, over streams and through the mud. Its’ been wonderful, I am sore and going to come home with buns of steel.

            We had quite the fiesta on Saturday night. It was a post-test celebration. Because we just finished our first class, the test was intense. Conveniently downtown Ranomafana was having a tourism celebration, which seemed more like a study abroad meets the Malagasy people of Ranomafan. I love how so many countries adopt popular American music, which was popular during my 6^th grade dance and probably came off of a Now 5 CD. It was swell. We danced until the sun looked as though it was coming to say hello. The only unfortunate thing about living in a tent is that it is completely impossible to sleep in. Once the sun begins to heat up it is like living in an oven. By 9.A.M it felt like I was Ace Ventura, being birthed out of a mechanical hippo, horrible feeling when you’re a bit hung-over.

            Now we have just begun our Biodiversity course. It’s a week long with lectures all day everyday. BORING. I think solely because we have the rain forest behind us beckoning us to come and explore. It’s ok though, I can’t complain, I’d rather take a 3-credit class for one week in Madagascar as opposed to a four month long class at home. J

            Speaking of home. I miss everyone. It’s strange though. I feel as though I am completely detached from that reality. That home is such a distant memory. I am living in a different world. Every time I listen to my Ipod I feel strange, it feels almost unnatural to be doing so. Even when I get the opportunity to go downtown and utilize the Internet I feel almost compelled to decline. I guess its because missing home only alters this experience in my mind. Why miss home when you’re in one of the most unique places in the world? So I suppose I don’t really miss, but really, I think that everyone should have the opportunity to see this colorful world.

            

Salama

Ranomafana

 

 

After 10 hours of nauseating-windy roads, we arrived in Ranamofanda National Park. The ride here, though it was nauseating, it was extremely beautiful and enlightening. I must say that Madagascar at first glance was not what I was expecting. I was expecting lush foliage in warm-moist-environment, you know, stereotypical rainforest situation. But it was none of that, at least at the start of this trip (Antananoriva) and still even now, in the rain forest. It is lush and filled with foliage but it’s still not the viviparous greens and nearly florescent colors I had imagined. Though I am not disappointed at all, just trying to take in this new vision.

            The 10- hour drive south through the mountainous roads that look like they were straight out of a mazda commercial “zoom zoom zoom” conveyed a great deal about the lifestyles of these people. The houses are primarily constructed from clay, red-earth matter and the complexity of their designed went from a clay-type house found in southern California to primitive shanty houses, with grain and straw roof tops. It was interesting to see the move from the “big city” Tana, with a high concentration of people and more complex housing, to the simplicity of the countryside.

            Unfortunately once we reached the most beautiful point of this trip, our new home for the next three months, a plague invaded our team. More then half of the people came down with one illness or another, including my self. Nausea, diarrhea, fevers, chills, vomit, you name all of the things you do not want to acquire while on vacation, especially in Madagascar, someone got it. I’d like to add, that feeling like you are going to vomit at any quick movement, makes living in a tent on top of a mountain in which you have a 10 min vertical hike pretty undesirable. As well as not being able to accompany the 15 or so people that saw not one, not two but four species of lemur on the first hike into the forest. a bit upsetting. But what will be will be.

            I’d like to add that it’s eleven days into this trip and yes I am still yet to see a lemur! I just may be the only one. But its ok I think I’m going to go out and look for microcebus (mouse lemur) adorable.  Or maybe even find an aye-aye, which seems to be very unlikely.  I’m not too worried about it. I am no longer sick, and my diagnosis, that I am allergic to the forest…Who would’ve thought that me being allergic to latex (condoms) would impact me in the rainforest? Oh rubber trees how I loath thee. It has been several days now and I haven’t taken a benadryl so I think I may just ignore that whole diagnosis. The forest is too beautiful to be allergic too. It seems all too ironic in some way.

           

           

            

Hollywood in Anatanarivo

Hollywood in Anatanarivo,

After 2 long days of being thrown into a new world with 30 strangers, being carted around like sardines and smelling a bit too much like them, this trip defiantly began as an adventure.

The first night was an icebreaker. Thrown into a room with our newly acquired friends to be. Girls paired in twos and boys in threes. I lucked out, I knew my roommate, well at least could call her an acquaintance. After walking up these frenchesque stairs toward the our temporary homes in Tana, to our surprise there was a single full-sized bed a “water closet” or I would call it a toilet closet and then an open shower that left a great deal of room for a peep show. The close quarters geared us for what was to come in the next three months.

In Tana our large group navigated through the bustling streets, filled with food peddlers and young children (the children are adorable here, filthy, but adorable). Not to mention dodging the mass of minivans and old English cars that fly through the streets. There are no traffic laws here, or at least none visible to me. And of course yielding for pedestrians is a far-fetched goal, just to keep you on your toes. This kind of made me wonder how a country that has probably relied on human transportation up until recently, I.E the wonderful invention of the foot, can completely disregard pedestrians once they got behind the wheel. Then again, the everyday technology that we take for granted, seems to reign high in all of the developing countries I’ve been to (China was the same deal except you also had to dodge the bike lane, which was far more terrifying).

I’m not a city person, so I can’t really say Tana has been my favorite part of this trip. I can say that Madagascar has a distinct smell of burning and B.O which is a strange combination. But I suppose not that strange due to the amount of slashing and burning that has devastated Madagascar and unfortunately continues to this day. The air seems to be permanently stained with soot, it has this gritty dusty feel to it. Like your trapped in your grandmother’s closet but replace the stench of mothballs with campfire.

We wondered around Tana for a day or so. We went to the zoo and saw all of the Lemurs we were going to study in the forest, in captivity. That was sad. We saw a fossa adorable little predator. We learned about the traveler’s tree, a palm that is endemic to Madagascar and a little periwinkle flower that is now used to treat and cure childhood leukemia (also endemic to Madagascar). Then we all piled into our European-style minivan, it looks like a box, and began to climb up the mountain to the King’s palace.

The palace was the main palace for the 2-meter tall king and his twelve wives, however only his favorite wife lived there, lucky gal. I must say that it had some spectacular views. Centered on the tallest mountain overlooking Tana. It felt like you were on top of the world. We learned, as we looked out on all of the green grassland and rice patties, with small patches of forest here and there, that all we looked upon was once, a continuous forest. Also sad. Can’t forget the mass of cell phone towers that seemed to be erecting on the tops of each of the surrounding mountains.

Some cool facts about the palace, besides the fact that the king was the size of a small-child.

The stairs were not made for people that were under 4 feet tall.

The walls were made from crushed stone and egg whites. They felt like concrete. And have held up for hundreds of years.

AND The king was a pimp.

Oh and the word for garbage can in Malagasy is Oscar. A reminder of Sesame Street for us all.

After our fieldtrip we set off home to our hotel. We drank some THB ( the only beer in Madagascar that strangely tastes like tin foil) went to sleep so we could wake up at 6 am to set off on our 10-hour car ride to Ranomafana National Park.

Playing tetris

Before embarking on this greatly anticipated journey, I am dealing with the pangs of packing. It looks as though hurricane Gustav has ripped through my apartment rendering my life, for the next three-months, strewed across the carpet, table, bed, couch and I'm sure if I had a chandelier there would be something hanging from there as well.

The task of fitting a tent, 2 tarps, therm-a-rest sleep pad and sleeping bag neatly into my backpack all while attempting to find a home for all of the other "necessities." ( underwear of course, 30-pairs to be exact, a bit excessive?ha) has become a mind numbing experience. Something laughable as I wonder how much I can fit into a 1 gallon zip lock bag and if I'm really going to need all that shampoo (probably not).

Then I look at the mass of cloths I have dubbed as necessary and I know that it probably is not. I will be the stinky kid wearing the same dirty T-shirt for the next three months if it means my two bags are under the 50lb weight limit.

But in reality, who cares, this all seems to be so trivial when "I'M GOING TO MADAGASCAR!" kicks in and I think, wow when I'm looking at that lemur I don't think that smelly T-Shirt will make a difference.

So on that note syanara Long island and all of you New Yorkers!


I'm going to the Red Island

and yes, I will morph into an animated character upon landing.