Travelling By Local Transport In Madagascar

The Gates of Hell…AKA the Malagasy Taxi-Brousse Station The following morning I spent an hour birding the camp and along the road before meeting up with Pedro. After establishing the real price back to Tana, we boarded a passing taxi-brousse bound for the nearby town of Moramanga where we then changed to a Tana-bound taxi-brousse. Unlike in Cameroon and Guinea, taxi-brousses in Madagascar are not cars, but mini-buses that ply the routes between the country’s villages, towns and cities. And nowhere else, except for maybe Kenya, have I experienced the prevalence of the “local” vs. “Vasa” (foreigner) price as I do here.

I’d been forewarned by the travel guidebooks, fellow travelers, and Peace Corps volunteers that the experience one gets at a Malagasy taxi-brousse station is, to say the least, stressful. There is seemingly no organization to the process of finding the correct vehicle that will take you to your destination. The scene typically goes like this: Before even entering the station you will be assaulted by a band of local guys asking where you are going and, at the same time, trying to take your bag(s) to ensure that you follow them to their waiting vehicle. To the unknowing and inexperienced, you will be then escorted into a makeshift office (shack) that has the name of the place you are traveling to. They will then write out a ticket for said destination that will, undoubtedly, be for an amount much more than the actual price. You will ask them when the taxi-brousse will leave and they will assure you that it will be leaving very soon. They will even point to a vehicle that is near full and tell you that you will be going with that mini-bus. As soon as you have paid, you will then be escorted NOT to the vehicle that they indicated previously, but to a different car that, when you arrive, has nor more than a couple people (if any) waiting inside. And then the waiting begins. Because taxi-brousses do not leave until full (most brousses I’ve been on have anywhere between 18-22 seats), the wait time for departure can be excruciatingly long. Eventually the vehicle will fill and off you go, squeezed into a row built for 4, but made to fit 5 across.

As was the case for my first experience with Tana’s infamous southern taxi gare (station), I arrived together with a Dutch expat who shared the taxi ride from the hostel. He’s been in country for several months and has traveled the 8-9 hour route to the city of Fianarantsoa before, so I was a bit more at ease as we drove up to the station. He was traveling with a local Malagasy who had made a reservation the previous day and I was hoping that I could get a spot on the same taxi-brousse.

As we exited the local taxi, we walked directly to the “office” of the company where he had his reservation, ignoring the local touts’ shouts of “Ou va tu” (Where are you going). We simply stared straight ahead and acted as if we neither heard nor saw them. They kept pace with us and entered the office to claim that they had indeed brought us there and would then expect a commission from the company. Florens, the Dutchman, explained that he had a reservation and was waiting for his partner to arrive and who had the tickets. I asked if there was space on the same taxi-brousse and was assured that there was. We were then shown the vehicle - a newer looking Mercedes mini-van – and were told that there would be only 3 passengers in each row and that we’d be leaving promptly at 7:30 am. Content with the ease at which everything was happening, we headed back to the office. Florens’s phone then rang and I could tell it was his Malagasy partner who was wondering why the Dutchman hadn’t yet arrived at the office of the taxi-brousse company. Over the shouting and general noise of a Third-World taxi gare, Florens explained that he was at the office and that he’d been waiting for the partner to arrive. It then became clear that a mistake had been made on the part of Florens and that he’d gone to the wrong office. Apparently there are two different offices for the same company and we were at the wrong one. We made our way over to the right office where we met up with his counterpart. Again I had asked whether there would be a space on the same brousse. At first I was told that there would be, but eventually it became clear that I would not be traveling with them. I immediately walked back to the original office to buy my ticket on the taxi-brousse that we’d been shown when we arrived. By the time I reached it, it had already loaded and was about to take off. I quickly walked into the office, asked if I would be on that same taxi-brousse, and was told that I would be. A ticket was written for me, my bag was grabbed by someone who I assumed worked for the company, and I was escorted out to my soon-to-be-departing taxi-brousse. As we reached the Mercedes I noticed that the pace of the guy with my bag did not slow down and we were soon walking past the vehicle and getting deeper into the bowels of the taxi gare.

I shouted to the man and asked why I was not getting on the Mercedes. He did not respond and just kept walking. Following quickly behind, we reached another van. The guy carrying my bag told me that I’d be traveling with this vehicle and handed my backpack up to another man on top who handled all the larger bags that did not fit inside. I made a quick look inside and immediately realized that we would NOT be going anywhere soon. Inside were three young children and a couple, who I assumed were their parents, and a young woman sitting up front. I entered the van, took my assigned seat, and waited! After 5 minutes a young woman entered and I began to count the number of people still needed to fill the vehicle. It was hard to tell, but it was going to be either an 18 or 22-seater, depending on the number of passengers that would be placed in each row. We would be waiting for anywhere between 8 and 12 more passengers! I tried to pass the time reading, but the stress and anxiety that comes with not knowing when I’d be leaving kept me from concentrating on the book. A good 20 minutes passed and eventually 2 more men arrived. Then two more people - a mother with her young son - arrived, but they were not happy with the amount of empty seats so turned around and looked for another, van. Apparently they had not yet paid for their tickets so had the option of declining to enter my brousse in hopes of finding one that would fill up quicker. A good hour had now passed and we were holding strong at 10 passengers. I then saw Florens walk by in front of our brousse. This had surprised me as he had already purchased his ticket the day before for what he’d been told was a 7:30 departure. I shouted over to him and he came over to explain that they’d been duped into believing they’d be leaving at the time indicated on their ticket. After I had left them earlier that morning, they had been taken to a taxi-brousse from a completely different company and were squeezed into the back row of a 5-passenger-across vehicle. So much for going in comfort. At 8:45 I saw his taxi pull away and pass us by. Still missing several passengers, I figured that we’d arrive much later than him and would not see each other again. It was now 9:45 am and a miracle happened. A man entered our vehicle, stuck a key in the ignition, and started the vehicle. With much commotion, people scrambled to enter the van. The side door was closed and off we went, traveling a mere 10 meters from where we started, and then stopped and told to all exit. Upon exiting, we were then, on-by-one, called to enter, starting first with the back row and then moving to the front. Within minutes we were packed and loaded and off we went. We pulled out of the station, drove approximately one mile, and then, as is always the case in the developing world, pulled into a gas station to fill up. With a full tank of gas, we were on our way south to Fianarantsoa, a mere 340 miles down the road.

Surprisingly, the road to the south was in good condition. Not long after leaving the taxi gare we were in the countryside. Nowhere in Africa have I seen such dramatic scenery that covers such a large and expansive area. Rolling hills around the capital turn to mountains and the National Hwy R7 bisects the chain of mountains with extensive tracts of rice fields and terraces stretching for as far as the eye can see.

The first populated area of any size that we came to was the city of Antsirabe, located some 3 hours south of Tana. Our taxi-brousse blew through town and somewhere to the south, in a small central highlands village made up of typical two-storied houses, we stopped for a lunch break. As the driver backed into his parking spot, I noticed that we’d pulled up next to the taxi-brousse that Florens had left in. A quick scan of the area and I found him. According to him, they’d arrived 45-minutes earlier and were about to leave. We shook hands and said good-bye and mentioned that if we did not arrive too late into Fianarantsoa, we’d go out for a drink.

Our lunch break was not so long and we were soon on our way, only 20 minutes behind Florens. We had made up nearly 30 minutes on his taxi and I had a thought that we might actually pass him. And that’s exactly what had happened. We were within 30 miles of our destination and up in front of us I saw two mini-vans stopped along the side of the road. One was a blue taxi-brousse and I immediately recognized it as the one in which Florens was traveling. Within seconds we had reached the point of the two stopped vehicles and slowly drove by. As we passed the blue taxi, I stuck my hand out the window and waved to the Dutchman. Upon passing the other taxi, I noticed two Vasas standing out on the road looking dumbfounded as they stared down at the 2 men working on their vehicle’s front left side. Passing directly next to them, I looked down and could see that the entire breaking system had been taken apart and was in several pieces. I certainly felt bad for them, but was happy to know that it was not my taxi. Closing in on 6pm, they would surely not arrive in Fianarantsoa before dark.

Pushing forward, with only a few kilometers to go, it became apparent that we would also not be arriving before dark. Fortunately, however, it was only 6:10 in the evening and the sun had just gone down. I knew that the hotel I hoped to find a room in was only a few hundred meters away, and the thought of reaching it without getting lost or mugged was soon lost. Florens’s taxi pulled in just behind mine and we quickly parted ways, forgetting the idea of getting that drink. I made my way up to the hotel, entered, and found myself happy to find that there was a room available. I dropped my things, took a quick shower, and fell asleep within 30 minutes of arrival. The 13-hour trip was now over.