political unrest

Those two words have ruled my life for the past three weeks.

It seems only natural to me that there would be political problems in Africa. After all, the countries weren’t created based on tribes or history, but simply reflect which lands were claimed by various colonizers. Tribes being split in half? Who cares—France got to one side first, Britain to the other. Two different groups of people competing for power because they’re forced to form one country together? Doesn’t matter—they all speak French, right?

But Madagascar doesn’t count. It’s unique because it’s an island. It was a country before any white person stepped on the soil. Yes, there are different tribes, but they’re all Malagasy. They’re already used to living on the same one island. They used to fight for power, sure—but it made sense that they had to work it out between them. One island equals one country. Right?

Doesn’t matter. Apparently political unrest can hit the fan here too. In short, the mayor of the capital—who looks about 14 years old, fyi (oh, how short the Malagasy people are)—decided that HE wanted to be president. Never mind the fact that he’s not OLD enough (literally—I’m not just joking about how young he looks) to be president. Never mind the fact that elections aren’t for another couple years. And never mind the fact that the current president is quite happy in that position (and possibly trying to read the constitution in a sneaky way so he can be re-elected for a third term). He just declared himself the new president one day. You didn’t realize it was that easy, huh?

The problem with this silly story is that some people are unhappy with the current president (I won’t use names because—as my sister says—they all start with R and contain about 25 letters). That’s what happens when a millionaire (or more?) businessman becomes president. He makes bank while the rest of the people are poor. So then when he buys a new jet with the country’s money, people are bound to get a little upset. They support the opposition simply because it’s the opposition.

The result was that I got sent to Morondava in case I needed to be evacuated from the country in a hurry. Now, this seemed silly to me living in Mahabo. Honestly, this part of the country doesn’t really care either way about what’s going on in the capital. One president’s the same as the other, and what matters most is whether or not it affects the price of rice. So while buildings were burned down in the capital, we simply got annoyed that the national radio got cut off.

Nevertheless, to Morondava I went, where I lived in a tiny hotel room without a kitchen or work for 3 weeks. Painful. Not knowing if I’d said goodbye to my school (in a hurry) for the last time. Not knowing what country I’d be in at the end of the month.

The thing is, we were actually VERY close to being sent to the States. Especially after one weekend where I guess a crowd got shot at. Again, not near me, so whatever.

But what you have to understand is, Malagasy people just aren’t into violence. I mean, yes they watch martial arts movies or whatever. Who’s not into that, right? But that’s just movies. The people do not walk around karate kicking everyone they see. Even the animals here aren’t dangerous. The snakes and spiders aren’t poisonous and there are no large lion-like or even elephant-esque creatures to give you nightmares at night. Go figure. When you live on a chill island, violence doesn’t seem to evolve. We’d get destroyed here if we were suddenly connected to the continent.

And so it is with the people. After a weekend of shooting, the Malagasy people kind of said, “Meh—let’s move on.”

Don’t get me wrong—it isn’t over yet. That darn mayor is still trying to set up a new government and tell the president what’s what. And it’s possible prices will skyrocket. Especially after so many places were looted in all the confusion. And fyi I could very well end up still getting evacuated, who knows.

The good news is we were finally allowed to go home—our Malagasy homes. Of course now everyone wants to know why I left for so long—aren’t I happy in Mahabo? They can’t seem to grasp that I had no choice. I would have much rather had my life and done my job than be held hostage in a hotel room in Morondava. But we can’t always get what we want.

So now you know. Political unrest can happen in the most unlikely of places.

Though I think it was just an excuse to loot warehouses for giant sacks of rice.