Married in Madagascar

Living in Madagascar certainly has its benefits. The cheap lifestyle, cultural differences, and the ability to get drunk on the finest rum East of Africa are but a few. I most certainly do my best to reap these benefits when not stuck in the classroom or stressing over being stuck in the classroom. Yet every now and then when the holidays come around, I find myself with a few weeks to indulge in the finest cheap lifestyle, cultural differences, and vanilla rum this side of Africa. Sometimes however, an opportunity appears to delve into a culture so deep that you have no other option than to extract every last ounce of tourist in you.

In July 2019 this opportunity revealed itself to me in the form of a friend. Mr Bertrand, or Mr B for short, is a good friend and colleague who helped me through much of my first year teaching in Madagascar. He was born and raised in a village close to Fianarantsoa, in the Southern region of Madagascar. Equipped with fluent English and muscles to wrestle a zebu into submission, he quickly became a close friend of mine and still remains so today. Towards the end of the school year, when I was still lacking any summer plans and even an idea of where to go or what to do, Mr B came to me with an invitation to attend his wedding within a few weeks time. Ofcourse I was thrilled to be invited and immediately agreed to attend, without knowing the where, when or how’s of it all.

As the weeks rolled by and school came to an end, it drew closer and closer to Mr B’s wedding. A few teachers and former teachers would travel to see the beautiful union of Mr B and the woman of his dreams yet honourable mentions go to my first hand woman of exploring the wild of Madagascar, Hannah. Pretty much a veteran when it comes to Malagasy life, handy to have around in a tough spot.

As the days counted down, we finally found ourselves sitting at the bus station around 6:30am listening for any key French words that indicated our bus’ departure time. By now I was never excited or dreading bus journeys throughout Mada as 12 hours is pretty average and anything less than 2 break downs is smooth sailing. Most recently on a separate trip to Mahjunga, the structural integrity of my back and butt rest seemed to collapse under the constant pressure of me dozing off every 5 minutes, and for around 3 hours, I found myself sitting on the floor surrounded by feet, or simply sitting so straight that my vertebrae would put a spirit level to shame.

Bus journey down, we arrived in Fianarantsoa and headed out to catch the Madagascar vs Tunisia game, what would be Madagascar’s final game in the 2019 African cup of nations. It was a truly valiant effort for a country that not only were ruled out from the get to, but were playing in their debut competition. The streets of Madagascar came alive with pride each time the Barea were on the world stage, it was a scene that brought the whole country together and united everyone around. It’s a strange feeling to feel such pride in a country you have no connection to but since the African cup of nations I can safely say I felt pure pride and elation to be right there in that moment with countless strangers around, all sharing in the passion of football.

After a brief look around Fianarantsoa the next morning, we finally headed to Mr B’s village. For the most part, I will let the photos do the talking, as it can describe the beauty a lot better than I could ever try to.

To be welcomed so gracefully into such an alien environment as we were through these few days, is an honour I couldn’t begin to explain. To share homes, plates, experiences, and stories with total strangers in a scenario so different and new to everyone involved is an experience worth a thousand capital city visits and countless 3 star bed and breakfasts. The joy from Mr B’s family and friends surrounded us from the moment we arrived and we instantly felt at home.

After touring the village with the local kids, we treated them to a quick photo shoot and a few games of football. These kids knew the ins and outs of every blade of grass within a 3 mile radius. Every route to every paddy field and each cobbled stone to avoid lest a broken ankle be gained. Teaching them songs and visiting their school, the elation never left their innocent little faces as we carried on dancing and singing through the fields under the beating sun.

That night we spent trading stories, drinking beer, and taking part in wedding day eve rituals gathering in circles spreading positive energy towards Mr B.

Finally came time for the wedding. Once again, words cannot describe half as well what pictures paint in our minds. Experiencing normal events in different countries, (weddings, funerals, parties, football games) is by far the easiest way to experience real culture. Although it’s best to live in the moment and not compare it to former experiences, when you trade a mountainous church spire for a corrugated iron roof, it’s hard not to. The wedding was a unification between Mr B and his Wife who came from a separate nearby village under a beautiful atmosphere and although I failed to understand 100% of the entire evening, I’m sure the general idea was the same. The vows, the bonding, the promises, it was easy to see the love emanating around the room for the newlyweds.

As the day drew to a close, Mr B was finally married and we were preparing to head home. We bid a final farewell to his family and friends, gave the newlyweds our good luck blessing and headed on our way. I had only known Mr B for 7 months and yet here I was stood sharing one of the most important days of his life with him. I will be eternally grateful for the invitation, or at least until the day I can invite him to a wedding of my own one day, then we’ll be even. But for now, big love to Mr B, and to another school year with his support and smiling face carrying us all through the day.