Besides having to sleep in its hospital, Mangily was a nice place to be for a few days! We had our ocean-facing bungalows; a champion host called Maurice that liked a drink or ten; hammocks to lounge about in; a beautiful beach to swim at; and G&Ts to slurp in the Mangily hotel up the road. We wandered around, up to Ifaty town, teasing the kids on our way, admiring the brightly painted pirogues, collecting shells, finding random things along the beach.
The main beach was packed on Easter Sunday - everyone was there: the beautiful young Malagasy girls in their bikinis; kids splashing around in the surf; families strolling along the beach; the pirogue captains making a week's wages in one day ferrying people back and forth from Ifaty village; young men impatiently awaiting the boxing match that day; the vazahas watching it all from their pricey hotels while they ate their overpriced food.
We headed to Toliara, a major town on the west coast of Madagascar, our jumping off point for heading east up Route Nationale 7. This town is nothing spectacular but we liked it - it was busy, colourful, with a bunch of old, weathered buildings and broken footpaths but a vibrant market and city centre. It was also useful for topping up the cash supplies and anything else we needed. A bit of civilisation was also good after our 'rural' adventures...
But 'civilisation' attracts vazaha. And there are plenty of them living in Toliara, as well as many other major Madagascan centres, as we soon found out. Most of them are old, fat, disgusting French men that drive around ON QUAD BIKES. What the?! Shorts and sneakers seem to be the normal attire - even to go out for dinner - and even worse, they get around with no shirts on during the day. They look ridiculous! Surely they must be aware of how they appear to the outside world - especially to other vazaha. But unfortunately the women they attract clearly don't. It made me feel so mad, and sickened, to see beautiful, young, willing Malagasy girlfriends (or prostitutes? I could never tell) hanging off their arms, dressed to the nines, clearly taking any opportunity they can get, but having to sacrifice any taste in men that they may have had.
When I compare the young, fit, good looking Malagasy men with these horrible, wrinkly old Frogs, I feel sad for the women; but of course they do whatever they can to improve their financial situation, for their own benefit and their families'. Most Malagasy men just don't have any money, which is what they need to attract a wife. And these vazaha, while gross, provide that for them - and of course are more than willing to accept offers of companionship from these beautiful African women. What man wouldn't?
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