Before I left on this adventure I had decided to extend my time in Madagascar to try and experience life in one of the poorest countries in the world firsthand… And hopefully help in form along the way. Desperate to find a non-profit organisation that gives back to the community in a form other than letting privileged white girls get photos with third-world children I stumbled upon the Bookfeeding project. Passionate about literature and the value of literacy it seemed like the thing for me.

Flash forward two months and there I was. Alone in Madagascar about to make my way to some crazy rural place. I was honestly excited but at the same time more nervous than I had ever been.

The timing of my arrival in Madagascar was good. I knew that the project I would be volunteering at was self-sustainable so there was a high chance I would be left to find ‘Ambohitrakely’ alone, but a couple of girls were just finishing a two month stint of volunteering at the project. I had the absolute luxury of someone to escort me to the village and show me the basics. Reflecting on the situation now I do not think I would have made it (or stayed in Ambohitrakely) if it wasn’t for Maya.

We arranged to meet outside one of Antananarivo’s well-known hotels. If you thought Madagascar was a touristy destination you thought wrong. Maya’s slightly lighter foreigner skin stood out easily in the islands capital. After stocking up on essentials (peanut butter, candles and fire starters) we said goodbye to the city of electricity, running water and wifi and made our way to the Taxi-Brousse (bush taxi) station.

A Taxi-Brousse is just as crazy as a vehicle named a bush-taxi should be. My bag was thrown on the roof of the public minivan, we were pushed to the front, we squeezed in the tiny, congested rows of people – shoulder-to-shoulder and mentally prepared ourselves for the next hour and a half.

 

The most ridiculous part of the situation was paying. Seemingly at random, money gets passed down the bus and you watch it make it’s way to the back where you yell at the money-collector that it’s your payment. The money-collector rides the journey hanging off the edge, along with the overflow of passengers which is absolutely hilarious to watch – well, when you are in the comfort of a tattered taxi or some other more glamorous vehicle.

The journey was long and uncomfortable. The broken windows made the inside of the bus an absolute wind tunnel and my neighbours fell asleep on my shoulders while the children beind me played with my hair. Sometimes someone would randomly yell and climb over the other passengers to get out of the bus but mostly everyone just waited to reach the final destination – Mahitsy (which would soon become the nearby big city for me).

Finally – we arrived. Mahitsy was crazy. The streets were packed with stalls selling typical Madagascan street food, locals stared at the two white girls who had obviously got themselves lost in the Madagascan highlands and with my backpack weighing me down and aware that it was an hour and a half walk ‘home’ I begged Maya to let us find a cab.

After a week in Ambohitrakely, Mahitsy felt like a big city – but keep in mind that Ambohitrakely is a powerless village of 50 people. In comparison to any other city I had been too Mahitsy was a village. And just like any other village  finding a cab was a nightmare. We finally stumbled upon a row of cars and tried our luck. We managed to somehow express where we were going, (unsurprisngly, Ambohitrakely isn’t very well-known), and hopped in the absolute wreck of a vehicle.

I was honestly surprised the car didn’t blow up on the journey – (or the springs sticking out of the shattered seats didn’t puncture my butt)…

As the streets became more dilapidated and abandoned we slowly made our way to Ambohitrakely.

The village was small – real small. But apparently all the children had been waiting for us to arrive. Running along the car we were greeted by quite an audience who stood by and stared as we hopped out. After a few days I realised that a car going through the village is a big deal. In fact it is now one week later and I haven’t seen a single one…

After having all the kids introduce themselves (and forgetting all of their names almost immediately), Maya took me upstairs and showed me my new home…

My room was basic – a well-used bed, a desk and a chair. The outdoor kitchen was even more basic – a table, a small shelf, a small stove and a bucket to collect water from the water-pump down the road. The toilet was super basic – an outdoor hole in the ground. My life was about to get very, very basic.

Looking back at my journal I have been keeping during this trip, it is safe to say I was tense…

“This entire situation is insane… I am literally in the middle of no where in one of the world’s poorest countries and have absolutely no idea what I am doing…” 

It was time to get back to basics…

After reading Madagascar Undergrounds Taxi-Brousse lowdown (To taxi brousse or not to taxi brousse by Christine-Lorren, I have now learnt the standard procedure of Madagascar’s most horrifying popular form of public transport…

You’re sitting in your seat trying to calm down after the hectic pushing, shoving and madness of the crowds. Happy with the fact that you managed to buy a ticket. Now your just waiting to get on the road. There is a spare seat next to you. This is your lucky day. Its time to go, and you can feel your legs already starting to sneak their way over to that spare 40 centermeters of space. Other passengers are getting on and off, passing bags, food, children, and the occasional animal over your head. You wonder why you haven’t left yet…schedueled departure was 20 minutes ago. You wait….. Hurry up you think….you wait some more..… Finally the engine comes to life, with a cough and a spit, and a slight rattle that continues to the beat of the  distorted music which is starting to give you a headache. The air is thick. It must be 40 degrees, and climbing. But its ok, in a second you will be moving with fresh air flowing over your face…at a top speed of maybe 60km/ph. What are we waiting for now you think now…oh no…is that what i….it is…no it cant.…your stomach drops…a small figure…coming over the horizon…a bag under each arm…say goodbye to your spare seat pal.

The Taxi-Brousse pre drive safety check :

– Seat belt…nope.

– Functioning doors….nope.

– Sober driver..nope.

– Unrealiable motor…you betcha.

We are good to go.

What the captain of this van should say next is

‘If we don’t crash, break down, or spin off the road into a ditch, we will be at your destination in 23 hours….give or take a day or two.

Its the way to travel, if your on a budget, and have ample time up your sleeve. But there are more efficient and much safer ways to get around Madagascar that wont break the bank like Air Madagascar will gladly do, or give you a stomach ulcer like the infamous taxi b.

Let me introduce you to Lulu.

He will provide you and your fellow traveling buddies, a comfortable, safe, reliable, and fast mode of transport around this huge island. Its by far the best way to see this amazing country. Years of experience and countless hours behind the wheel have given this man a wealth of knowledge you need on these roads.