Sunset
Over Africa - Part II
by Andrew Crone
|
|
| I
had just returned from eating dinner and was waiting for the taxi-brousse
to Tulear, when the attendant mentioned that a private car had arrived
which could be taken immediately rather than waiting seven hours for the
taxi-brousse. I would have to pay 60,000 Malagasy franks (fmgs) rather
than the 30,000 I had expected ($12 rather than $6). It was a man and his
family of four in a brand new Renault Alliance, and he could get to Tulear
in just fifteen hours because the car could navigate the roads better than
a large truck or bus. Nobody could be this lucky, but I hesitated, time
was not important to me, but as I stretched out in the back seat with plenty
of leg room, and a comfortable pillow to sleep, I laughed that I actually
thought twice about it.
The car soon
left the paved road and entered the typical Malagasy highway. There were
ruts in the road that were more that three feet deep. Maneuvering the highway
was quite amusing. At times we would be traveling along the right side
of the road only to find that it was a dead end. We had to back up and
find a place to cross over to the left side of the road. There were many
places where everybody had to get out of the car so that it wouldn’t scrape
on the bumps. |
| Part one
of this article appeared in Vol. Two, Issue number Five of the Escape From
America Magazine. To read Part One - Click
Here - |
|
|
|
We arrived
in Tulear, where I was let out at the taxi-brousse station. Tulear has
a significant population from India. Malagasy call them Karana. The Karana
are responsible for an disproportionate amount of commercial activity in
the region. There was a significant difference in the climate of Tulear
from the cloudy rainforests of Ranomafana or the cool high plateau of Fianar.
The hot salty air in Tulear brought beads of sweat to my brow as I rolled
my luggage under the shade of a tall palm tree
The first task
was to read my Madagascar travel book and find a place to stay. This in
itself was difficult because a crowd of pousse-pousse drivers had gathered,
urging me to take their pousse-pousse. I negotiate a price of 3,000 fmgs;
only to discover later that 1500 is the standard fare. Before searching
for Mr. Fabien, I needed to find a bank. My cash had started to run low
several days ago. I had persuaded the bar owner in Ranomafana to ex-change
American dollars before I had left.
| The bus
stop in Tulear where we picked up our last load of people before we left
on our treck |
|
|
|
I didn’t change
much money though because he charged quite a bit, but he was the only player
in the black-market in Ranomafana. I had found the bank in Tulear when
a tourist at the front of the line said that she had been waiting for half
an hour. The clock on the wall showed 11:30. Everything in Madagascar shuts
down from noon until 2:30 or 3:00. Luckily, my transaction only took twenty-three
minutes then I was off to find Mr. Fabien. His office was just across the
street from the bank. A seven foot yellow brick wall surrounded the offices.
Two tall palm trees and a crumbling red tiled roof were visible from behind
the wall. |
You needed
to enter through a grand cast-iron gate and follow the dirt walkway, which
was defined by two rows of rocks through the dirt yard. The offices were
in a yellow one story building. In front was a verandah with several tall
green French doors, each leading to a different office. The paint on everything
was chipped and faded. Two men were sitting on the steps to the verandah.
I asked them where I could find Mr. Fabien. One man slowly walked to an
open door and pointed to a desk in the back of a long narrow room. Several
desks lined each side of the room. His was the last desk with an small
old oscillating desk fan. After I told Mr. Fabien my story and explained
that I was a friend of Sambo Clement, he said to come back in a couple
of hours while he would see what he could do. Later that afternoon, Mr.
Fabien mentioned that he knew of a person who has visited the Mikea. This
person is the only person in Tulear who is familiar with them and has actually
taken three American anthropologists there over the past three years. His
name is Jaovola Tombo.
Go To Page
Two of This Article - C
L I C K H E R E
-
|
