You Jerk
The other day, Bruce and I were strolling down the road hand in hand and two young teenagers walked past us, giggling,
“Bonjour les amoureux, mpifankatia.” (Hi you lovebirds)
I turn my head,
“Nefa mpivady.” But we are married.
I asked myself why I felt the need to explain myself, then realized that I wanted to separate myself from the growing trend of sexual tourism in Madagascar.
This country is quickly becoming the new Thailand, as far as being a playground for old white men. The further north, the worse it gets. Last year when we visited the resort island of Nosy Be, I couldn’t believe the number of shameless, wrinkle-ridden, saggy legged, turkey-neck men wearing khaki shorts and a tee shirt, walking down the streets with fresh and beautiful young Malagasy girls. The sight of visibly biracial toddlers on the streets, likely born to impoverished and exploited young mothers was disturbing. Even Bruce was approached by twenty something girl, far younger than our own daughters.
The airports have notices posted, warning against sexual tourism, but it seems nothing is enforced. In Nosy Be, entire multi-story hotels offer “day rooms only.”
In Sambava a year ago, we were awakened in the night by a very loud Frenchman living next door, screaming into his phone.
“What? How do you know? What do you mean you…. It can’t be possible!”
He approached us the next morning wearing his signature heavy red glasses, skewed up on one side making him look stupider than he already was. The sides were tied with string and tape, accentuating his aging beach bummish fashion statement.
“You are a doctor. You understand about these things. I feel I can talk with you.”
Bruce nodded. I stayed in the background.
“You see I was up in Diego and had a short friendship with the cleaning girl. Now tells me she is pregnant. I think she is making it all up to get money out of me. After all I am seventy-seven years old and have experience in these matters.”
“What do you think about asking her to send you a doctor’s report,” I said.
“Well I think she should take the taxi brouse here so I can make sure she gets a proper test. I don’t trust the doctors up there. I will pay her way of course.”
I imagined a young pregnant mother in her first trimester traveling for three days on a pothole-riddled road.
“And if she is pregnant, we can arrange to have her ‘cleaned’, right doctor? I already have three grown up children. I also fostered two Malagasy boys during the covid lockdown when I was stranded here. I have done my share of parenting. It is a simple painless procedure, right doctor?”
I imagined him being painlessly ‘cleaned’, that jerk.
He left the hotel the next day and we never heard the end of the story. Another young-girl-turned-woman, used and dumped.
Madagascar is one of the poorest countries in the world. It is the tenth poorest country in the world (GDP per capita) as of 2023 data, with South Sudan being number one. It is no wonder that young women are resorting to sad and debasing ways to somehow make a better life for themselves.
https://gfmag.com/data/economic-data/poorest-country-in-the-world.
