Racial and ethnic groups in Northern Madagascar

As described in ‘Are Malagasys racist?’, race and ethnicity matter in Madagascar. Although it may look as if everybody is a crazy mix, these are the main groups that I have identified.

In Antsiranana, the racial groups are:

  • Coastal Gasys
  • Plateau Gasys
  • White people – Vazahas
  • Chinese – Sinoa
  • Indians – Karan
  • Arabs
  • Creoles

Coastal versus Plateau Malagasys

This subheading, Coastal versus Plateau Malagasys, implies competition and conflict. This is a fair representation of the situation; there is much suspicion and bad feeling between the groups.

In simple terms, the ethnic groups of the plateau are largely of Indonesian origin, so that many people have glossy Asian hair and Indonesian features. The Coastal groups are largely of African descent.

Historically, the plateau tribes, primarily the Merina, dominated the other tribes for three centuries leading up to the French colonisation.

Some of their dominance was based on having a more complex society structure and beneficial relationships with the British. But, their dominance was also enforced by slavery and war.

It is not ancient history by any means and the memories of the coastal people are long and seemingly unforgiving. Their resentment is reinforced by each generation with constant criticism of the ‘bourozan’, the disrespectful name for the Merina, almost whenever there is an opportunity to have the discussion.

In turn, I think it is fair to generalise that some people of the plateau consider their own culture more advanced and sophisticated than that of the coastal groups. Certainly, when I go to Tana (Antananarivo) there are many things that feel more developed than in the coastal regions.

Understandably, there are not many Plateau Malagasys in Diego because they have to deal with feeling unwelcome. If they are here, they tend to be in a secure financial position and have come because of work or through a marriage (normally to a Vazaha, it’s rare for them to marry a Coastal Malagasy).

However, there are extremes of wealth on the plateau with some of the country’s richest and poorest residents. So, as well as the bourgeouis Merina that come here there are also teams of low paid workers working on things such as road projects.

Just yesterday I sat having a drink with a local woman explaining to me why the plateau people were all racist (and uncaring and greedy), at least the pale skinned ones are. I eventually gave up pointing out that she was being racist by saying this as she just kept giving me more examples to prove her case. I have had this conversation many times here.

Vazahas – white people

Vazaha means stranger. Vazahas come from ‘andaf’ which means overseas. The term Vazaha is used almost exclusively to mean white people, or any thing that is not of Malagasy origin, e.g. You can speak Vazaha, listen to Vazaha music etc.

I’ve posed the question of whether foreigners of other racial origin are also Vazahas but, in general, these people would be called African, Chinese (probably covering any countries of Far East), Indian (covering all of Indian sub continent) etc. And mixed race people are just called mixed race (my son is known as Vazaha Gasy – like this site).

If you’re Black British you will just cause confusion. Jean, my partner, wouldn’t see anyone who wasn’t white as truly English when he was in England. It didn’t matter how many times I explained about successive invasions by the Vikings, the Saxons and the French – White people were British and anyone else was African or Indian. Similarly, American Peace Corps volunteers will not be accepted as American if they’re not White (and, Yes, we have all tried explaining the ‘melting-pot’ aspect of American immigration).

Resident Vazahas tend to be French but there are also many Italians, especially on the tourist island of Nosy Be. I suspect we will see increasing numbers of Southern Africans as they are increasingly investing in tourism here. Americans tend to be Peace Corps volunteers or working for an NGO. In Diego, the British are all Frontier or volunteering for something – there aren’t that many of us in Madagascar.


There are many people of clearly Indian descent here as they tend to marry within their own race and religion. They probably dominate the economic life of the Antsiranana region more than the Vazahas. They run many businesses from small shops to major import-export concerns.

Most of the Indians are Muslim, with women often wearing an outfit that comprises of a skirt and a top piece, with head covering in pastel material with embroidery.  For some reason I keep having visions of pastel versions of the Wicked Witch of the West on her bike every time I see an Indian woman on the back of a moped.

The non-Muslim Indians are primarily Hindu.

I interact with people of Indian descent a fair bit; including my French teacher, the older married couple neighbours opposite (rare to find coastal Malagasy couples that have married once and stayed together), and various women at aerobics. It is not uncommon for them to have family in Britain or, like the local tailor, to have lived on Essex Road in Islington himself.


People have come from China at various points over the last 150 years, mainly to help with construction of roads or to escape conflict at home. I imagine that there has been quite a bit of intermarriage because there are relatively few people looking ‘pure’ Chinese but lots of people with some Chinese features.

Apparently, in Madagascar …”there are about 30,000 Chinese, the majority of them came from the Pearl River delta in Canton.”

The first major wave of Chinese immigration to the Indian Ocean was as indentured labour in the nineteenth century, when slavery was abolished. However, many of these people returned to China when their contracts were finished. So most people who stayed are from free immigration at the beginning of the twentieth century.


I had to do some asking about this group as I wasn’t sure what constituted being called an Arab here and, like the Chinese, they don’t seem to be a racially pure group. As with much of coastal Africa, most of the contact with outsiders before the European scramble for land was with Arab traders. Most of the African slave trade went on with Arabs long before the British started shipping people to the New World. Therefore the influence of Arab culture goes back a long way.

However, many Arabs came to Madagascar, mainly in the North around the 1800s – apparently most originated from Yemen. They were especially involved in trade around the Port.

Unlike the Indians, they have intermarried a fair bit (marriage should always be taken in the loosest sense of the word in Northern Madagascar). Muslim men are entitled to marry non-Muslim women as the women take the religion of the man (her whole family is supposed to do this also I understand). So they didn’t need to only marry people who were already practising Muslims.


I had tried without success to identify the true meaning of the term ‘Creole’ here by asking many people who call themselves it, all from Reunion Island. I’ve either had vague or conflicting answers.

By looking it up on the internet, I can now see why there is this confusion.

The Wikipedia page on Creoles says:
“The term Creole…has been applied to people in different countries and epochs, with rather different meanings… and originally referred to locally-born people with foreign ancestry.”

“…in the Indian Ocean, the term denotes someone whose ancestry is so mixed that they don’t belong to the other categories (small white, big white, Indian, Chinese, and so on).

In Reunion island, creole is a more inclusive term that denotes all those born on the island.”

Nearly all Creoles that one meets here are from Reunion, a tiny island 880km to the East of Madagascar (not far from Mauritius) which is part of France.

The people that visit from Reunion tend to be mixed race with some nearer the black end and some near the white end. Sometimes you meet someone who looks 100% white but it’s rare.

There is a high rate of relationships between men from Reunion and women from Madagascar. Men from Reunion appear to make up the highest percentage of foreigners marrying Malagasys and are frequently‘sex tourists’ (or men who pay for sex whilst they’re here on holiday – they may not like being called sex tourists). It’s common for Reunion men to find girlfriends here that they see on repeat visits (and not uncommon for the local girl to have more than one of these boyfriends). If the girl is lucky, the man ends up marrying her and taking her to live there. If the girl is really lucky the man turns out to be a gentleman to her as well (I know of one girl who is desperate to come back as her Reunion husband drinks and hits her).

So, there are a lot of children of mixed Malagasy / Reunion parentage which makes them a whole Indian Ocean mix anyway. Diego is full of visitors from Reunion at holiday times, back to visit family.

Apparently, much of the black racial origin on the surrounding islands, such as Reunion is from Malagasy slaves who ended up there. I also heard (BBC World Service) that a high proportion of the ‘Coloureds’ in South Africa are also of Malagasy origin.


Mouse eats knickers

A mouse has just run over my foot whilst I was getting underwear out of the cupboard. Thus I have now linked two minor events that happened in the last week where I spotted:

1. holes in my knickers

2. a mouse running into our bedroom during the night.

This will teach me for letting my knickers fall to the bottom of the cupboard.

This is just one of the beasties which enjoy sharing our human world in Madagascar. Here are the other top offenders, all impressive creatures in their own right, with my most hated at the top.

Aedes Aegypti Mosquito Enemy number one that inspire me to irrational hatred. They are everywhere, they buzz, they give you itchy bites and they carry life threatening diseases. I’m sure there’s an ecological reason they exist (food for something much cuter I expect). They are amazing only in that they are all over the world so must be an incredibly effective species at reproducing. But this is one time I’d really like the human race to dominate – wipe the buggers out!

I have personal experience of one of the maladies they carry, Chikungunya, which is still giving me joint pain.

Madagascar is well known (amongst cockroach fans) for its large, hissing variety of cockroach, the Madagascar Hissing Cockroach.

Apparently these are not the ones that I sometimes find crawling through the grill over the plug hole in my shower (how can something that big get out of such a small holes?)

There’s something about them that just makes me nose wrinkle and my skin crawl. We don’t get many of them in our house – about one a week. But they are so big and they scuttle – really fast. The only way to pick them up is by your hand because with any other method they run off whatever implement you’ve used and up your arm.

It’s one of the few times I go quite girly and go, head tilted on one side, and ask Jean to get rid of them for me. He points out that I have to learn to do it myself. So far, the squealing and head tilting is working fine for me.

From looking at the Wikipedia pages given above I’ve learned that they can climb smooth glass – which I actually discovered when I looked up from brushing my teeth to find one on the mirror in front of me, waving its antenna smugly at me.

There’s a hole at the corner of my street where they all pour out of at night – cockroach horror movie style.

I’ve had pet rats and think they are splendid animals. But we all know they shouldn’t be running around your house. And now I have a baby boy in the house, I especially don’t want big rats which are partial to chewing little limbs. I’ve seen one run through the area at the back of the house and in the next door neighbour’s garden in the last week.

However, the most memorable encounter with a rat – and one of my most memorable Madagascar moments – was in August, not long after I’d got back. I’d spent the day investigating a smell in the kitchen. I’d cleaned everything. At 6pm we found the dead rat that had fallen and got squashed between the back of the fridge and the grill, thus slowly cooking said rat until all its rotting juices poured out into the drip tray. Gag, gag, gag.

I am delighted to read this article, Plague; a Reemerging Disease in Madagascar, which confirms that:

“In the last 15 years, Madagascar (population 13 million) has accounted for 45% of the cases of plague in Africa.”

Luckily, it’s not in my town – but it’s not far away.

These are one of the most fascinating animals on the planet and I wish no individual any harm. However, it’s their pesky effectiveness which makes them so infuriating. Even if you clean your kitchen so there’s not an ant to be found, drop a grain or rice and it’s a party. And I’m tired of clearing out pots full of ant infested food before I’ve had my morning tea because they’ve managed to find where the lid doesn’t fit properly.

And today’s new entry – mice. I’ve been aware of a single mouse that I have seen over the past few weeks but I think they’re cute and our house in England had them for years. Of course, I know enough about small rodents to realise that this solitary mouse is in fact probably a gang (or harem). So, the traps will come out. Small rodents with a penchant for Marks and Spencers white cotton briefs are getting too close to my precious little boy. Off with their heads!

Should we be nice to children?

In Britain, children are worshiped and considered the most important members of the family. The parents exist to provide for and guide the children, their own needs being second place to fulfilling their children’s needs (or wants).

In Madagascar, children justify much less respect and sentimentality.

Here are some examples of how children are not on a pedestal:

  • Any adult (not just family) can instruct any child to do, fetch anything and the child will do it straight away
  • Children must never walk in front of adults who are sat talking
  • Children don’t join in the adult conversations
  • Children are expected to do domestic chores (and not just the nice ones)
  • Parents don’t spend much more time on their children than is necessary – playing is something done by children amongst themselves.
  • Parents don’t intervene much in children’s disputes (unless it disturbs the adults)
  • Children are the last people to be greeted when visitors arrive
  • Smacking children is normal
  • Children are not encouraged to express their opinions or ask questions
  • Children are not comforted if they hurt themselves – it is either pointed out why it was their own fault or someone distracts them by doing something humorous
  • Physical affection is kept a minimum
  • Children are rarely praised
  • The normal mode of parental conversation is barking instructions, correcting negative behaviour (criticising or telling off) or mocking (Malagasys from other towns tell me this ‘mickey taking’ is particularly a Diego trait)

If you are a sensitive Anglo-Saxon reader (British or American), you are probably sobbing quietly into your hanky by now. I frequently come up with plans to protect my child from unfeeling Malagasys such as raising him alone in my living room, setting up an orphanage where children can be raised in my way and distributing copies of the poem ‘If a Child lives with’ in French and Malagasy (I confess I’ve already translated this to put up in my own house).

I should note that, despite my initial concerns, the two people who have looked after my son, his Dady (Granny) and Zakia, have both been lovely with him.

How is my parenting perceived?

Remember that all Malagasy parents were raised as Malagasy children and so see this as the right way to raise children to be functioning adults. And they’re right because that’s the way society works here. It would be unacceptable for children to impinge on adult lives and Malagasy adults also talk to each other in ways more critical, more directive and more mocking than we consider appropriate.

So far, people aren’t too critical (to my face) about my parenting but I know there will many opinions about over indulgence, over sentimentality and lack of boundaries.

Is it about money?

Boys at RamenaIn England, families spend a fortune on their children – not just toys but food, education, activities, holidays, electronic gadgets, baby equipment – I could go on and on.

The difference in parenting isn’t directly about money – people also don’t see why children need much more than food, basic clothes and a place to sleep. Children make their own entertainment and toys and certainly don’t need after school activities to keep them fit – all the 10 year old boys are ripped with six packs and biceps.

Is it about time?

In England, adults invest inordinate amount of time into their children. Manic middle class mummies attempt to create a constant environment of stimulation with visits to petting zoos, coffee mornings with other mums and children, playing classical music, reading, putting on child friendly videos etc. etc.

People have argued with me that Malagasys are too busy looking for something to eat for their children to be ‘playing’ with them. However, anybody who has visited Coastal Madagascar will know that there’s a fair amount of ‘down-time’. Britain has the longest working hours of any country in Europe – maybe that’s why we make so much effort in the hours that we are with the children.

Son and ducksIn Madagascar, real life is going on all around and children get a lot of stimulation just from watching real life. There’s no need to visit petting zoos when animals are all around. And who needs videos when the adults are carrying on their lives around them. And there are always plenty of kids around providing the best form of entertainment.

However, looking at Madagascar with my English eyes, I do feel that children here lack something by not doing some structured activities lead by adults. My natural reaction is to be depressed by the lack of effort put into encouraging children to have inquiring minds. I heard a resident Vazaha say the other day that ‘The problem with Madagascar is the lack of a stimulating environment for infants.’ It’s an interesting thought although may say more about different cultural approaches between Vazahas and Malagasys than whether they lack a stimulating environment.

Less children, more effort?

I saw Bill and Melinda Gates talk about setting up the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, which is the world’s biggest medical funding charity, trying to cure the world of big nasties, such as malaria and HIV. They commented that the West has been allowed to develop a different parenting model because of our increased confidence that our children will grow up to achieve adulthood. We can confidently invest all of our effort into our precious 2 children relatively safe in the knowledge that they will thrive. In poorer countries, the child mortality rate is still very high and people have more children.

I asked the woman I bought fish off this week how many children she has and she said 8. With 8 children and little money, you have little choice but to let them raise themselves whilst you search for money to feed and clothe them. She could have saved money by investing in condoms but that’s a whole other debate.

Or is it just more French?

After I’d written this piece, I found the following article in the Telegraph by Janine di Giovanni called, ‘Is Maman mean or magnifique?

It describes the difference between Anglo-Saxon and French parenting styles and seems to sum up the situation here perfectly. I’ve yet to work out how to evaluate the effects of French colonialism (only 60 years) on Malagasy cultures. But, by coincidence or learning, the Malagasys are definitely quite French in their approach to children.

Who’s got it right?

Little Robin HoodsAnd Malagasy children do grow up (usually) and they grow up very respectful of authority and rules. And they learn to fulfil the main tasks of life. Could they achieve more if they were given more attention? Probably? Could they benefit from some praise and tenderness from time to time? Well, I’m British so I’m going to shout ‘Yes, show me the love – let’s all hug’.

But could British kids benefit from having a bit less of everything they want, a bit more time freely running outside with other children and a bit more hard graft to do? I think they probably could.

What about me?

I am British and middle class and the child of Anglo-Saxon educationalists. I fulfil my demographic clichés nicely. I devote my time to making my son feel loved and stimulated, monitor his progress against developmental milestones and ensure he is my priority in life (and everybody else’s if I get the chance).

However, I hope that he will benefit from a more physical life here (will he be the one fetching coconuts?), he will have more chores to do (keeps them occupied and gives them a sense of responsibility) and will spend time running around outside with other kids (I’m more nervous about this one when I see what some of the kids get up to but you can’t have it all ways!).

I believe in discipline and boundaries in theory though I’ve yet to demonstrate I can do it in practice. But I had an idea that punishment comes from showing disapproval contrasting with the usual positive atmosphere of praise and love – disapproval isn’t a punishment if it’s the default mode of interaction. I’ve also been watching TV programmes like Supernanny (and anyone else peddling the same ideas) since becoming a Mum so I’m all up for (again in theory) giving the child choices and explaining consequences and following up on them.

But, I know I sound like I’ve swallowed an ‘Earth mother’s guide to raising your child’ and even I have a horrible fear that’s a recipe for a wilful little prince to develop.

Can I learn to be a little more Malagasy and a little more French so my child doesn’t get horribly confused or take his mother for a sucker against all the other bossy adults around him (surely any approach needs to be consistent and in context)?

We’ll wait and see. For now I will go and wrap my son in my arms protect him from any stray harsh words or mean looks that might be blowing around on the hot Malagasy breeze.

Ile Sainte Marie: my overview

Ile Aux NattesI’ve just returned from a magical trip to Ile Sainte Marie, a small island off the North East coast of Madagascar. Previously it was a haven for pirates and now it’s a little piece of paradise for tourists; adventurous tourists at any rate.

Sainte Marie has a deserved reputation as an exotic holiday destination. It has the unpopulated white sandy beaches, turquoise seas and coconut palms that delight the Western traveller. Added to this, real Malagasy life goes on around you so Sainte Marie gives a fascinating glimpse into real Malagasy lives and is a lovely place to just amble about.

It has seen enormous strides in development in the last ten years. The tourist hotels may look rustic, using large amounts of natural materials, but they are slowly taking over most of the beachfront land, pushing the villages a few metres inland on the other side of the road.

However, the everyday life of the local islanders and tourists won’t feel over developed to most people.

In fact, a trip to Sainte Marie, as to anywhere in Madagascar, requires being prepared to compromise on luxury, convenience and health and safety.

The main road from the airport is terrible and only improves after you’ve taken your life in your hands on a crumbly, single lane pontoon over an inlet. Water and electricity are not in continuous supply in most places. And of course there are mosquitoes and malaria, as well as other interesting bugs and tropical diseases to be prepared for.

Sainte Marie is a great place for those who prefer their tropical island paradise experience to be combined with experiencing the realities of a country and its people up close.

And if the single dirt track road going around the island is too much development for you, there’s always Ile Aux Nattes. This is a separate smaller island off the southern tip of Sainte Marie, that has no roads and no running water and is reached by a small local canoe.

See my Ile Sainte Marie photos.

Our Sainte Marie hotels

We split our 10 day trip into 3 parts, staying

  • 5 nights at the Tsara Bay guest house, near La Crique bay towards the North
  • 3 nights at Le Galleon guest house, just South of Ambodifotatra (the capital)
  • 2 nights at Le Pandanus, Bungalows, on Ile Aux Nattes

Tsara Bay

We loved this place and were very sad to leave it. It is a guest house in its own private bay, which ended up feeling like home (in fact I now covet this as a future home)

Double room: 40000 Ar per night
Extra bed: 10000 Ar per night
Meals: 8000-12000 Ar main course, Breakfast 4000 Ar,

La CriqueWhen you first arrive, you feel that there are no other hotels for miles around. You have found your own private island lodge.

However, a quick peek through the trees at the edge of the garden, and you see the bay of the popular La Crique hotel. The bay is so good it’s a highlight stop for island tours, due to the lovely beach, excellent swimming / snorkelling and good food (quite expensive).

So you can split your beach time in between La Crique with the other tourists (usually only between 5-15 people) and your ‘own’ bay in front of the Tsara Bay guest house, for more privacy.

Tsara Bay, Sainte MarieThe Tsara Bay house is made almost entirely out of wood. It is only one room wide, so remained cool and all rooms have a view over the bay from the bedroom and veranda. In fact, most of our time was spent on the shaded veranda which goes along the length of the house, either at tables, in comfy chairs or in the hammock.

There is also a sumptuously decorated main living room with sofas, reading material and a big TV (only switched on once at the request of a guest). The living room has a mezzanine level, also with beds.

The area has been well landscaped and planted, so you are surrounded by trees and flowers, and thus also different birds. I enjoyed watching the aggressive behaviour of the Crested Drongo, a common but nevertheless stunning bird, whose entirely black plumage oozes glamour with Audrey Hepburn like simplicity.

Behind the house are the few chickens and ducks kept by the household and a view over some rice paddy fields.

As with most beaches on Sainte Marie that I visited there are sea urchins so I appreciated having a mask with me to scout them out.

One of the things that makes this such a lovely place to stay are the staff. Aurelie, Jenine and Simone were lovely, catering to individual needs and always easy to find, without being intrusive.

Best for:
Families, people looking for peace, small (sociable) groups, lone travellers (cosy atmosphere good for chatting to people)

Worst for:
Romantic couples who want privacy or people looking to party.

The drawbacks are:

  • Only one bathroom and toilet. This ended up not being the problem we thought it would be – but could be if all the beds were taken.
  • The hotel is isolated so our food and bar bill etc. ended up expensive
  • Have to walk up steep grassy path to get in and out

Le Galleon

Pirate’s cemeteryA good value, well-run bed and breakfast near Ambodifotra which is owned by La Ballenatoro diving company. The set up encourages a friendly atmosphere with guests getting to know each other. It’s on the track that leads to the pirate’s cemetery.

20000 Ar per night per person sharing a room (we had a double and single bed). Includes excellent breakfast. Two bungalows available for 30000 Ar per night.

Highlights are:

  • Walking distance to Ambodifotra and hotels on South of island
  • Helpful, friendly staff
  • Quiet and peaceful but sociable
  • Generous servings of great fresh natural juices at low prices
  • Excellent breakfast (bread from wood fired oven, home made jam and fresh juice)

Drawbacks are:

  • Lack of privacy – rooms poorly soundproofed
  • Running water not always running (there were always full buckets if this happened)
  • Only one very nearby option for eating meals – but many choices 15 minutes walk away

Best for:
Small sociable groups, lone travellers, people who want to dive.

Worst for:
Romantic couples who want privacy or anyone looking to bring people back at night (forbidden).

Le Pandanus

A Malagasy run collection of bungalows on the North beach of Ile Aux Nattes, run by a family working hard to compete with the other hotels that have taken over the beaches.

Bungalow: 25000 Ar (€10) per night (regardless of how many people in there – we had 2 double beds so managed 3 adults and a travel cot in ours).
Meals; 8000-12000 Ar (€3.20- €4.80) for main, Breakfast 4000Ar (€1.60)

Getting to Ile Aux Nattes involves a 5minute journey on a pirogue (traditional canoe). I did see some other boats occasionally, looking like they may belong to bigger hotels that also do sea fishing trips.

Le PandanusLe Pandanus was by far the cheapest option on the North beach (which we chose because it was the nearest beach and neither granny seemed keen to spend any more time than necessary in the canoe. Other hotels cost between 50000 Ar (€20) and 91000Ar (€37) per bungalow, and were more luxurious.

Overall our stay at Le Pandanus was a good one, but there were constant little things that could be improved.

All the hotels on the island are in walking distance to each other, so you can easily walk to the best swimming points (10 minute walk from La Pandanus) and eat in any of the hotels. You can swim right off the beach right in front of La Pandanus but it’s quite shallow and there are small sea urchins. I preferred to walk 10 minutes to the west corner of the North side where there’s an area of swimming pool quality, deep drop off of white sand to about 5 metres deep maximum. There can be a bit of a current coming round the corner but it takes you round the beach rather than out to sea. So you can swim about watching the pirogues coming and going, and even the odd plane.

Highlights are:

  • Excellent seafood
  • Generous portions of food (so good for hungry people)
  • Watching the planes take off
  • Enjoying the North shore at a much cheaper rate than the other hotels


  • Water runs out frequently and you have to ask for them to let it down from the water tower again.
  • Low level of French spoken amongst staff (and no other languages other than Malagasy)
  • Details of requests often misunderstood / forgotten

Getting around Sainte Marie

The state of the roads means that travelling around is an undertaking, either requiring considerable effort or money. And we weren’t there in the rainy season. There were roadworks going on at various places mainly putting little bridges in I think.

On foot

AnivoranoAlthough, as mentioned above, it also gave Sainte Marie some of its charm and some of our nicest experiences were walking around. And it’s easier to walk around here than some places in Madagascar because the frequent clouds and rains give some cooler days.

So, going on foot is one option – there’s only a few roads which are easy to find and all areas feel equally safe so you can explore.

Two wheels

Other locals and tourists were on bikes or motorbikes. As well as the roads, many vehicles for hire will be in relatively poor condition so may require tolerance and fortitude. The Bradt Guide says that most hotels rent bikes and I saw various places with both bikes and motorbikes for hire.


Taxi brousses pick people up along the road and are usually minibuses or Nissan trucks. I think people were paying 1000-5000Ar for many journeys. I’d be more comfortable recommending taxi brousses on Sainte Marie than most places in Madagascar because the roads mean that the drivers can’t pick up any speed. And many private hire vehicles double as taxi brousses or are just as unroadworthy,

Private taxis are extremely expensive compared to the rest of Madagascar, between 20000Ar and 65000Ar for most journeys (depending on the length of journey and the vehicle).

Hotel pick ups

Your hotel may well offer to pick you up at the airport or port. Find out in advance if this is a free service and, if you’re interested, whether it is their own car or a local taxi (see above section on taxis).

By boat

Remember Sainte Marie is an island and the sea is probably the fastest way to get around the island. I didn’t investigate boat options or prices but I’m sure you could make arrangements, either in boats with engines, sail boats or pirogues.

A tale of two grannies

Two grannies in DiegoToday’s tale is a travelogue of an unusual trip from Diego to Sainte Marie, with my baby son Fred, my Mum (white Granny), Jean’s Mum (black Granny)

So, 3 women set out on the same journey with a collection of objectives.

  • To visit your birthplace and family
  • To meet new family
  • To indulge in relaxation
  • To see another part of Madagascar
  • To scout Sainte Marie out as potential future home (this is a vague notion of mine and a more serious consideration for Jean’s Mum)

What a privilege to be travelling with my son and his two Grandmothers – especially on such an exotic trip. Fred doesn’t realise how lucky he is now but I’m happy that he is loved already so much by the people close to me.

We piled into our car and another taxi to get to Antsiranana airport – which has been improved during my stay in England. There’s two check in desks, an information desk (a rare thing indeed in Madagascar) and sliding doors.

Air Madagascar customer service

Nil points – when in doubt, lie

I had one experience with Malagasy customer service that would have once tried my patience much more than it does now.

Air travellers with small children now normally have the right to keep a pushchair / buggy with them right up to the plane door. It is stowed and then returned to them when they arrive at the next airport. I have done this before with Air Madagascar.

I had pre-packed my buggy this time to save time. The check in desk insisted on checking it in and putting it straight in the hold. They claimed it would magically appear at Tana if I spoke to ‘someone’. My experience on any international travel indicates this is not likely – and in Madagascar even less so.

As a response to my insistence, a man said he’d phone Tana and disappeared. I told the lady I’d return in 10 minutes to find out who they’d spoken to and what I needed to do at Tana. When, to her dismay, I did return, she told me I should go and speak to her boss, the man who had disappeared ‘to phone Tana’. He then told me there was no need to phone Tana and then went on to explain that people getting their pushchairs depends on the amount of flight traffic.

So, the bald fact is he’d lied about phoning Tana and was now making up Air Madagascar policy. I don’t know for a fact that he was wrong but it was already clear he was not an expert on the Air Madagascar pushchair policy.

Anyway, instead of the seething rage this might once have produced, I only suffered mild, amused disapproval. I realise that he may be breaking my code of customer service but I was also making many Malagasy cultural faux pas (I still make them all the time but I’m more aware of when I’m making some of them).

Firstly I was expecting to receive full customer satisfaction. Secondly, I kept driving at a point when it had become obvious somebody didn’t know what to do – to Malagasys, my insistence at this point is justification enough for the man lying, it was the acceptable thing to do to save everybody’s face. Thirdly, Malagasys don’t have pushchairs so my insistence that it was a necessity for a 5 hour stopover at Tana, is incomprehensible.

Thankfully, I avoided the major faux pas of losing my rag and criticising, as this is not the Malagasy way. So, I left the situation ensuring that the man’s professional status had been respected and by making a joke so we could all laugh together and know there are no hard feelings.

Mille points – gold star to him

The male air steward on the plane needs special commendation for his enthusiasm for his job and determination to love each and every customer. I have never seen an air steward who doesn’t at least look a little jaded – not this chap – job satisfaction all the way. He assured me my buggy would be no problem (he didn’t actually appear to help me at Tana but at least this gave me confidence to keep trying).

A chill at Antananarivo airport

The staff at Tana airport were very helpful although I did have to continue to be the insistent traveller. I got the buggy. Sat in the shade outside the airport, there was a surpisingly chilly wind which saw black granny reaching for her huge cardigan and white granny smiling, though still having to put a scarf round her shoulders.

Madagascar developing in small and big ways

I hate to trivialise the march for development, but I couldn’t help noticing that the toilets were clean and had toilet paper and soap. Small things like this give outsiders an impression of development, which is a plus in itself. I haven’t yet worked out any more complex analysis of Malagasy economics but little things add up.

As if to remind us just how far development can take you, the TV in the departure lounge was showing a non-stop infomercial for some flab wobbling, muscle toner. I suspect the majority of the Malagasy population is a long way from being customers.

Sainte Marie – plane lands, moods lift

I’d talked all week about Ile Sainte Marie as a tropical island paradise but what we’d find in reality was far from certain. Anyone who’s heard of Madagascar usually oos and ahs about the exotic, lush, mysteriousness of it. The reality of much of what I have seen is very different, and not that amazing.

So, as we came into land with our wheels skimming turquoise water and our wing tip floating between a white sandy beach and lush tropical vegetation, things were looking promising.

By the time we walked out of the terminal with our bags my Mum and I were already declaring that Sainte Marie is lovely. ‘Wait until you see the roads’, Jean’s Mum said.

What’s worse – the car or the road?

Any emotional buoyancy soon withered when we saw our transport, a battered minibus without seat belts that brought back horrible memories of previous dances with deaths in a taxi brousse with my Mum.

It was the first time I was taking Fred in a car without a car seat – I told the driver I was very nervous so to go slow – although this was also for my Mum’s benefit, who is a nervous passenger, to say the least.

Then it wouldn’t start and required a push start. Mum’s mood was blackening – I would be more zen if she wasn’t there but I know how car transport can worry her.

Poor Jean’s Mum had been terrified of the flight. We were more scared of the car journey (more faith in science and statistics?)..

Mum had had to close her eyes during the ‘bridge’ crossing of the bays south of Ambodifotatra. I had kept my eyes open, mainly to plan how I would evacuate myself with my son, before going back to rescue my Mum and Jean’s Mum, if we ended up under water.

All’s well that ends well

As nearly always, we arrived safely at our destination. Things were definitely looking up. Our hotel is a gorgeous little place nestled in a secluded bay, and it is a gorgeous tropical little bay.

Looks like we’ve found our tropical island paradise after all.

Taking the Mickey

I take pride in the British sense of humour which permeates all aspects of our lives. We enjoy nothing more than taking the Mickey out of each other (mocking) whether on the school playground, the factory floor or the sports field.

I mastered my craft at my school where you either developed a quick tongue and thick skin or you hid in the corner.

So, why has it taken me 2 and a half years to appreciate a similar mocking mentality by the locals of Diego instead of slamming them all for being insensitive critics.

Vazaha watching, a Malagasy passionWatching vazahas make breakfast

As a Vazaha visitor, you become aware that you are constantly being watched. In towns, people are more used to Vazahas so you are being watched only casually out of the corner of people’s eyes (they still notice everything). But, out in rural villages, it’s usually full on staring.

These photos show me visiting a village during a Frontier expedition (I’m the one doing something fascinating nearest the house). This is the breakfast vigil (they arrived just after we opened the door).

Bedtime audience

The people squashed themselves in the doorway the previous evening to watch us get changed and get into our sleeping bags.

We often joked that the way to get rich in Madagascar was to create a TV series called What Vazahas Do. Each week you could show mundane clips of people brushing their teeth or buying bread. And, you could make special episodes of Vazaha’s falling over which would bring the house down.

‘Tsy Mahay’, a Malagasy obsession

Tsy Mahay means ‘doesn’t know how’. Malagasys just can’t help themselves from pointing out that you don’t know how to do something. As a new immigrant, you hear this a lot.

It’s not easy keeping your morale up when adjusting to a new culture and learning new skills. Anyone who isn’t currently generous hearted to immigrants to their own country has no doubt never tried to adapt to another culture.

The Malagasy (or Diego-ite) tendency to laugh and shout ‘Tsy Mahay’ when you’re trying to accomplish a simple daily task, like building a fire or sorting the rice, which is like little sticks of humiliation being poked into your over-sensitive, paranoid white skin.

This sensitivity (with accompanying loss of your own sense of humour) won’t be there when you step off the plane. It will come on once you’ve forgotten that you ‘Mahay’ (know how) to do anything properly, however competent you thought you were in your own culture.

[I have since regained my confidence but probably learnt some more humility – never a bad thing.]

Why do they mock so?

Are they just cruel?
Well, partly, yes. People from Diego are not overly sensitive types – they have been mocked and criticised since childhood (see post Should we be nice to children?). They spend most of their childhood with other children and children, as we know, can be cruel.

Learning by critique
Malagasys don’t teach by praising achievements and gently suggesting alternatives to help people. They pick out what has been done wrong and criticise that. And when I say ‘wrong’, I mean ‘not done exactly the one way that the teacher has decided it should be done’.  I have been told this is also more a French mode of education.

Picture that you have just successfully created flames out of a structure of sticks reminiscent of something you saw Ray Mears build on TV once whilst you were eating your beans on toast (“Why didn’t I pay more attention to Mr. Mears?”, you berate yourself).

You turn round to face your audience (any Vazaha doing anything, normally has an audience) with, what you hope is, an expression of humble pride.

How disheartening when people look at you and then each other and let out the joyful cackle of ‘Tsy Mahay’. Somebody will invariably come to ‘do it properly’ for you whilst the ‘Tsy Mahay’ still reverberates around in chuckles.

Accept that, unless you can perform a task like you’ve been doing it 3 times a day since you were a toddler, you do not ‘Mahay’.

Laughing ‘with’ you (honest)

Laughing at somebody trying to do something is very offensive in Britain (I remember my disapproval as my partner laughed his head off at my cousin’s distressed son who had just had a potty training accident).

I’m being slightly generous here to imply that Malagasys are laughing with you rather than at you, but there’s some truth in it. Or rather that being laughed can be their way of showing that it doesn’t really matter that you don’t know what you’re doing and that you’re still part of the group.

Malagasys laugh to diffuse tensions so there will often be jokes and laughter in the middle of disputes (which can be infuriating when you’re really up on your high horse). So, they are laughing at you, but in a way they’re trying to make everybody, including you, feel more comfortable.

What about me?

Like at school, unless I wanted to spend my time hiding in the corner, I had to toughen up (though I still sometimes get the urge to hide in the corner here). I don’t mock others too much, partly because my language and cultural skills aren’t up to doing it with sophistication. It’s also because many Malagasys already display submissive behaviours around me (because I am a Vazaha) so I feel it’s more my role to be complementary.

But, my ‘new immigrant’ sensitivity is much less and my Malagasy language skills are improving so watch out Malagasys who’ve been chuckling away to yourselves for a couple of years at all my little mishaps – I’m sharpening my tongue and I’m coming for you with all the wit and sarcasm my British heritage has afforded me.

Let the Mickey taking begin.

Anchors away

US Warship in bayA big American warship is floating proudly in the bay. It is resting after carrying its athletic cargo of trainee marines across the seas. Meanwhile the sailors explore Diego, finding its arms (and legs) wide open.

The ship is an impressive sight, almost making the bay look smaller than it is. As I took my late afternoon stroll, I wasn’t the only white face taking photos.

Excited town

The population of Diego seems to increase when the American ship is in port as the town blossoms with possibility. People from the outlying districts don their best attire to play their part in the atmosphere.

For the good time girls that Antsiranana is famous for, this is better than Christmas. Other men come in to town with money throughout the year but this is something else. This is glamour, as if life from the films has come to town. Apparently, even the highest quality girls, with no desperate need for money, will put on their best outfits and come out.

I assumed this was because the sailors were big time customers of the Diego ladies’ charms. But a local man assured me that the girls are looking for action, even without payment – a rare occurrence indeed, and one I find hard to believe quite frankly. But apparently, they want the kudos of saying they’ve been with an American sailor. Odd considering it can’t be hard to get laid when a warship full of horny men dock in town.

Why, I pondered, were the sailors exciting enough to warrant such special attention.

Everyone loves a sailor

Just as I was getting patronising about local girls’ excitement at the sailors, I was reminded that its not limited to Malagasy girls.

An odd twist of fate meant I sat down to watch Episode 1 of Sex in the City (series 5), only to discover it is called ‘Anchors Away’ and is about an American warship docking in New York. The four Sex in the City ladies pass the episode against a background of the excitement caused by the City being full of sailors.

I’m tickled by the idea of the same young men having adventures with Carrie and Samantha in New York and the young nubile ladies of Diego.

It turns out you really can see the world, and its ladies, if you’re an open minded marine.

Feeling amused and less snooty about the whole thing, I popped out in the car this afternoon to get some shopping. Suddenly I saw two strapping, chiselled and awfully handsome US marines walking my way.

And yes, I felt a flutter and my pulse quicken as I pointedly stared straight forward and concentrated on my driving.

I don’t know what the magic is but climbed down off my high horse and enjoyed an envious affinity with the local girls in their tiny, sparkly dresses heading out to find their own little adventure with their US marines.