A Day in Antananarivo

[Disclaimer: I actually live in Talatamaty, which is in Antananarivo but would not be described as the centre of the town – we are actually closer to the airport than the city. But think of it as living in High Barnet – technically it is in London…but everyone knows that it really in Hertfordshire]

I usually wake up between 6-6:30am, but the neighbourhood has already been up and about since around 4am, and the stray dogs have been up all night barking and cavorting. The day begins in earnest in Antananarivo, as people leave their house for the hustle. The local textile or biscuit factories start early to squeeze as much productivity out of their employees, and those who work in the rice fields next to our house take advantage of the sunlight. I don’t see or hear much of this, because the shutters are still drawn across our windows for security, and there isn’t much point in opening them before we leave to take our daughter to nursery.

We depart at 7:30, and our journey is a long one into the centre of town, fraught with difficulties. Before we get to the fast bypass road, we need to weave through a number of narrow, single track lanes. A school is at the top of our road, so we drive slowly to avoid any accidents with the masses of children who attend it. The local shopkeeper, already hard at work, gives us a smile and a wave. We feel quite settled in our community, compared to where we moved from a year and a half ago. It is common for us to get stuck in some of the narrow paths, especially if cars or delivery trucks are parked on one side of the road. The car breathes in and somehow we manage to fit through, with moped riders buzzing around us trying to pass.

Traffic ebbs and flows according to the bottlenecks on the roads. When we reach the fast dual carriageway, we must have our wits about us. There is no codified driver’s conduct in Antananarivo. We speed past rice fields and newly erected buildings with wooden poles for scaffolding. Workers on the back of pickup trucks tossing bricks two at a time to their colleagues on the ground. Despite this being an official highway, we pass omby (cattle) wagons, walkers, runners, cyclists and mopeds all vying for space. The architecture is diverse in the villages we pass: sprawling apartment blocks, mud huts, corrugated shacks, French maisonettes, and traditional Malagasy houses. The road itself is half-completed, moving from two lanes into one at several points without a moment’s notice, all under the watchful eye of the local traffic police, who pull over bikes and buses to “check their paperwork” Some tentatively open their hands to suggest a small gift (a cadeau kely - the price of a coffee) will move everything along.

Our daughter’s nursery is in an affluent part of the city, but poverty is still seen all around. We buy a couple of limes every Thursday from a girl who is always smiling. Sometimes she gives them to us even when she doesn’t have the money, her daily aim is to empty her quota of limes from her rice-pan. There are ladies sitting in the middle of the road with outstretched arms, often with children or babies in their arms. They sit there for most of the day even when the day is at its hottest. There are sellers walking along the road and their inventory is diverse. Some of it is janky electronic equipment, educational posters, umbrellas or spare windscreen wipers. It's important that I try not to catch their eye otherwise they'll be at the side of my window for a good 5 minutes in the traffic. After I drop my daughter off at nursery I head to a local cafe in a shopping mall. The contrast between where we live and where we work is vast.

When we returned home after school and nursery we take time often to rest in the afternoons unless of course there is a ministry engagement. The day is often quite hot between 1:00 PM and 3:00 PM, but sometimes that's when we have to close our windows so that the smell of smoke from our neighbours burning rubbish does and enter the house. The Malagasy will be having their lunch at this time, you can see the spirals of smoke from the charcoal burning ready to heat their pots of rice. The factory workers will leave at the same time and sit in a line against the wall outside the factory. Their meal is often boiled rice, plain and simple. If they are feeling decadent they will sprinkle some sea salt on top of the rice or perhaps top the rice with some lemongrass. Others will be making their way to local street food sellers and enjoying noodles from a Tupperware box or fried beignets.

Occasionally we take some time to walk among the rice fields in the afternoon. It's beautiful especially in January or February time where the stalks start to change from green to gold and they are at their full height so that they sway in the breeze. The pathways are well mapped out and the people are very friendly as we pass them in the field. The fields by our house also produce lots of other things like lettuce and corn, depending on the season and the land available. We pass by into the residential area on the other side of the field, and we hear the mitoto machines whirring and pounding the husks of rice in a nearby wooden shed. A throng of women are washing mounds of clothes by the waters of the rice field ready to dry them in the afternoon sun. As we look across the fields, we can already see a multi-coloured patchwork of clothes draped over the embankment. There are sellers everywhere, setting up their stalls in any available space they can find. Their fruit and vegetable produce is good quality, especially the giant avocados, ripe and ready for eating. Sometimes we have to hold our noses when we pass the stalls selling meat or fish, which are beginning to spoil in the heat of the day, a haven for flies and strays. On the hour mark, we can hear the strong tune of church bells from the local Catholic church coming out of their speakers. It is not uncommon for us to pass huge Marian statues and other shrines on our walk.

By 6:30pm, Antananarivo is finishing work and clocking off for home time. The bus queues swell, and it is a contest to get onto the bus when it arrives, with much running and pushing and shoving. Most people go home and finish the day as it isn’t usually safe to walk around at nighttime. But the neighbourhood winds down often with music, there is still a buzz inside the Malagasy homes even if they are not out on the town. It can sometimes become discordant when two or more homes compete with their music, and the winner is often the one who has the loudest speaker. The sunsets are, more often than not, stunning, and the stars come out in their number in the clear sky. Before preparing dinner, we have to make sure that our vegetables and fruit are washed thoroughly in diluted bleach and then filtered water. If we have had low pressure that day then we often don’t have enough water to fill our filter, and we must reluctantly use our reserves of bottled water. This also means that our daughter has to postpone her bath to the next day. Power cuts have decreased a lot in recent months, but if they happen it is usually when we are having dinner, and as we plunge into darkness our small emergency light activates. We also use candles and battery powered lanterns.

This is only a snapshot of our daily life in Madagascar. The truth is that every day is different in this wonderful country and its diversity constantly keeps us on our toes. If, as you have been reading this, you believe that I have been poking fun at some of the Malagasy idiosyncrasies, in actual fact, it is (most of) those quirks that add to the richness of this people and culture.