#lokaro

03/2017 Fanzine Participation

Participation for the fanzine Kromozom. It’s a special numero for help an humanitarian association.

This association help access at healthy and scolarity In Madagascar.

I have now officially been in Madagascar for two weeks, so it seems to me that I’ve reached the point where I can make some general realizations and acknowledge some adjustments I’ve had to make. Before that though, just a disclaimer that given my extremely limited and slow internet access, I’ve decided to only post photos to Facebook and not here as well, so that’s where they all are (and the privacy settings are no longer strangely set to me being the only one who can see them, so they’re even visible).

Pretty much everywhere we go in Madagascar, either in a group or individually, people shout “vazaha” at us, which means foreigner, non-Malagasy, or if you’ll grant me the artistic license, whitey. Which is the reason for this post’s title. That said, it’s not meant perjoratively – it’s just Malagasy culture to say that when you see a foreigner go by. Countless small children have greeted me with a big smile and a “Bonjour, vazaha!” Whenever we drive by in our vans or our bus, people will stop and stare and shout it again. And then yesterday when we are at Lokaro (possibly the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen in my life), a man walked up to me and tried to sell me some oysters (“Bonjour vazaha, vous voulez des huîtres?”) So that’s new, but I think I’m doing alright with it.

I’ve also just realized that it’s the middle of February. And I’m constantly sweating and going to the beach. This is definitely not a bad thing, but it’s taking some getting used to. I fully anticipated being hot all the time, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the refreshing virtues of bucket showers. Even though they’re definitely not the same as real showers, the cold water feels amazing on my face every morning – I’m also not losing moisture all the time and my life is much more water-efficient than at home. In contrast, squatting has been more of an acquired taste. The latrine is infinitely better than the chamberpot I have to use at night though – because Maman Dette doesn’t want me going outside in the night. The latrine is also where my next big adjustment has come into play – cockroaches. The few times that I’ve used the latrine around dusk, it’s been completely packed with cockroaches. I was prepped for exotic tropical bugs (Hissing Cockroaches, etc.)  but I completely forgot about the more typical ones. There have also been ants all over the place.