My Little Guide

Our hotel resort in Morondava was right on the beach. From our deck to the water in the morning was less than 50 yards. But by the time noon came around, the water was nearly a third of a mile away. From our comfortable beach chairs next to the hotel pool, we could see dozens of fishermen out on the water. In the morning, they got in their boats and were out on the ocean. They would return to shore around mid-morning and start pulling in their catches. We couldn’t really see them well from our hotel. Thus, I took it upon myself to go out and see these fishermen for myself. Little did I know that I would be accompanied by a little guide.

I didn’t want to bring much, especially not money. I can’t lie about not having money if I simply don’t have any on me. So I put on some shorts, my adventure hat, some sunglasses, an unbuttoned shirt, some sandals, and my rosary before I started making my way across the sand towards the ocean. I hadn’t made it further than 100 yards when I was joined by a young Malagasy boy who could not have been more than 10 years old and began walking alongside me.

I said hello in Malagasy and kept walking. I didn’t make it far until I realized that he planned to follow me much longer than the normal Malagasy kid. Indeed, he started talking to me, and I would respond the best I could. He kept talking about a fee of sorts, which didn’t make any sense to me until I realized that he was talking about a fee for being my guide. Therefore, he expected a fee for his service.

I didn’t think much of it. We kept walking down the beach towards the water together. He babbled on in Malagasy. I responded the best I could. There was a lot of miscommunication. I asked if he spoke French. He told me no.

Eventually we made it to the water where there were dozens of outrigger canoes coming in an out of the water. Men were pulling on long ropes that stretched far out into the water and were connected to enormous nets filled with little fish. On the beach, there were circles of women and children sorting through the little fish and dividing them into different buckets.

When I reached the water, many people took notice of me but did not really change their behavior or stop what they were doing to look at me. I spoke with a few of them, asking if I could watch because I wanted to be polite. Many of the people I spoke with were very friendly and also surprised that I spoke Malagasy, even if only a little bit. I asked about their daily lives and about fishing because I am pretty limited in my Malagasy vocabulary. They told me that they start at 5 in the morning and finish before the mid-afternoon because that’s when the tide comes in. Some people go out in the outrigger canoes whereas others use the large nets that they drag in from the shore. And others sort the fish or cleaning the nets.

My little guide, who had disappeared and returned a few times at this point, finally caught on that I was interested in what the other Malagasy were doing. He then began spurting out information about fishing in Morondava faster and more powerful than a firehose. He was even using actions for words that I clearly didn’t understand. I was secretly proud of my little guide for starting to be more creative in his communication strategy. At one point he said something in French, to which I said, “miteny fransay ianao ! Nahalala aho !” You do speak French! I knew it! He was a little embarrassed that I caught him.

After some time, I began making my way back to the hotel. My little guide followed me the whole way, asking me questions a whole lot of questions. He asked if I were married or if I had kids. He asked me why not. Thankfully these kind of questions fall into the category of vocabulary I know in Malagasy. I didn’t understand everything in our conversation, but I did get that he went to school, for which I told him I was happy about that. He also wasn’t from Morondava but from the Comoros, a cluster of islands north of Madagascar. He and his mother moved from the Comoros to Madagascar a while back. I don’t think there was ever a father, something not uncommon here in Madagascar.

The whole way back I was debating whether I would pay him or not. His “fee” from our first conversation. To be honest, he wasn’t a very good guide. But I had to give him credit for trying. Heck, he even adapted his communication strategy when he finally figured out what I was interested in learning! So when we got back, I handed him 300MGA and sent him on his way. I didn’t see him again the rest of our time there.

It’s not really an interesting story, just a slightly entertaining one. For me, it was a good opportunity to practice my Malagasy and speak with some locals in their own language. It was a nice change from my normal interactions in the capital. My little guide has a lot to learn about being a good guide, especially if he wants to be paid a reasonable fee. Maybe one day he will make it. Maybe not. I will never really know.

As always, know that you are in my prayers each morning. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

May God be praised.