The Mada (mora) Beep

As we mentioned in our "What It's Like" blogpost back in January, there's something that we call a madabeep that is unique to this country.

As you can tell from pictures from our daily commute posts, it is straight craziness driving on the streets here.  There is no concept of sidewalks here (even in the few cases where they exist) so every time you are driving down serpentine impossibly narrow alleys streets you are always close to running over someone, something, some chicken, some goat.

Ah yes, the ubiquitous madabeep.  This beep is not a blare, a toot, or a honk.  It's the barest of beeps, you have to hit the steering wheel horn just enough to elicit the slightest sound.  In Madagascar this diminutive beep is actually considered courteous when done with the correct timing.  Typically (hopefully) people will take a half step out of the street when they hear the beep.

Oh yeah, and it's also done about 15 times during a half hour drive.  When we were back in the States this summer I had to stop myself from doing it numerous times:)

Taxi-Bousse Corollary:
You can feel free to give a nice loud honk at the ubiquitous taxi-buses that clog up the streets.  Their signature move is to only half pullover off the road to pickup/dropoff passengers.  That way they can stop up traffic even more instead of using the full shoulder area.

The Chauffeur/Driver Corollary:
My Malagasy driver Julian, can get away with honking the horn much louder than I would ever dare (when he feels like certain pedestrians are being idiots).  I've noticed the volume of these beeps is directly proportional to how far out of the street the person moves.

Stop, Look and Listen Corollary:
I get the sense that this is not taught to children from infancy as it is in the US.  People frequently step right out into the street with nary a glance to the left or right.  It's actually pretty scary to see sometimes.

The Road from Tana to Antsirabe

Ruined rusted red sheet metal roof

of the church by the muddy opaque serpent
                                                                     win   ng
                                                                          di
                                                                        lake 

Inexplicable phantom railway tracks appear just across a muddied red asphalt strip

Rice fields glow verdant with every spectrum of green in the universe bleeding Into yellow there 

Weary black brown faces
asiatic eyes staring
                                blankly as you pass
a slightly raised eyebrow betrays only the slightest germ of curiousity 

Fresh shucked corn in boiling smoking black metal pots.
Dirtied faces
Coal black eyes
strong hands gripping shucking

Other hands hoist fresh ears for sale

An old sky blue Citroen                       stops
a young Malagasy man                      emerges
hands over a note
                                                           grinning.

What it's like to drive in Comoros: A Matador, A Bull, or the Cape

From Jack:

Comoros: A land of near misses

    I  traveled recently to Comoros--specifically Grand Comores (there are actually 3 islands that make up the state of Comoros: Grand Comores, Anjouan and Moheli--many Comorans claim Mayotte as part of the nation but currently it is an overseas department of France)--for work.

A billboard proclaims/admonishes along the coastline of Moroni:

"Mayotte is part of Comoros and always will be"

 I spent a week in its capital city Moroni, only venturing to the northern side of the island once.  Most of the week I had a driver (in Comoros and Madagascar, your rental car comes with a driver whether you desire one or not) but on a few days I had the opportunity to drive myself.  There's a plethora of things that one can write about the island and people of Comoros but for today I will discuss what it's like to drive in Comoros.  

Comoros is a country of near misses—if you are driving that is. 

You know how sometimes you can be driving somewhere in the US and you suddenly arrive at your destination with no recollection of how you got there?

This probably never happens to Comorans and certainly not to Americans driving there.

One cannot blithely drive down the roads in Comoros—zoned out and soaking in the lush green scenery (and the scenery is breath-taking--think north-side Kauai jungle).  By and large, the concept of a two-lane road is one that is foreign to Comoros. Sidewalks fall into that same category.  There are no shoulders, or drainage ditches in Comoros (with the exception of a FEW well-heeled neighborhoods perched in the high part of the city).

Driving anywhere in town is less an exercise in driving than in automotive hop-scotch—a constant series of dodges, accelerations, decelerations, stops, feints, and sphincter-puckering squeezes.   Your brain must be constantly calculating mental trigonomery to determine whether your vehicle or the one approaching will first reach the section of road only passable by one car at a time.  Another variable in this are the ubiquitous pedestrians (most Comorans don't own a vehicle) that are traveling down the same roads.   Finally add in the myriad potholes (some sections of road are less roads than long stretches of loosely connected potholes and craters) and heavy rainshowers and you have mathmatical calculations that exceed far beyond that of this English major.  All that said, the Comoran drivers that would zip past my slowly lumbering Toyota Prado were smoking butts and chatting distractedly as they nimbly navigated their vehicles centimers past mine with nary a furrowed brow.

As I parked the Prado in the hotel parking lot after my first jauunt, I thought of the person who would make the perfect driver in Comoros--the skilled, thrill-seeking matador.

For one must bravely face each oncoming car while calculating the exact time to pull back one's cape (i.e. veer to your right).  But I would venture that, drive long enough in Comoros, and sometimes you are instead the bull.  Matador, bull or cape--it is a decision you must make  hundreds of times during every two mile drive in Comoros.