We arrived safely in Antanarivo, Madagascar, after a few
hiccups: baggage not checked through, plane delay, long lines upon arrival and
a nail in the tire on the way to Antsirabe.
We got to the airport at 2 a.m. The airport is small
and a big plane from Italy arrived before us - too much for the police to
handle so it took a while to get through all the lines. Our arrival party, Jochen's friend Irene and
her cousin Gael had waited for us for two hours, which is rare in such a tiny
airport. They deposited us at a small a
local hotel to catch a few hours of sleep because we had been traveling 8 hrs
from Amsterdam, and 3 from Nairobi with a 5 hr layover. I barely remember getting to sleep.
Immediately after breakfast, we set out on our trip to our
final destination, Antsirabe, with Gael's uncle's jeep. Antsirabe is about 100 miles south of
Antaraive on a single lane paved road which is (somehow) shared with traffic in
both directions. It took an hour to
cross Antanarivo, the capital of Madagascar.
My immediate impression of the country, I admit, was the poverty. Dust everywhere, hundreds of people walking
barefoot, carrying heavy goods on their heads, small overcrowded shops, and
small huts for houses. The countryside
was beautiful, however. Madagascar has
very reddish looking dirt which is used for making bricks, and everywhere you
see the terraces built for planting rice.
Bricks and rice are among the most important goods produced here. I'm told there are over 10 different
varieties of rice in Madagascar alone. The
trip was supposed to take 3 hrs but we took a road side pit stop after which
the jeep decided to stall. People are
nice here - so another vehicle packed with people stopped to help (I didn't
know this many people fit into a vehicle but few have their own cars so they
pool or take overcrowded small buses).
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| Rice Fields in Antannrivo |
After some helpful stares under the hood, much discussion in
Malagasy, and a few phone calls the jeep decided to comply on its own and
started up again. We drove to the nearest
gas station, where it was decided we need an oil change and water. It was lucky we stopped because that's when we
saw the giant nail in the rear tire. So
Irene, her six month old baby, Jochen and I set out to find a restaurant while
Gael stayed behind to get the jeep into shape.
We found a place pretty much only white people could afford, and the
three of us had duck with vanilla sauce, duck with pineapple sauce, as well as
curry chicken for a whopping $22.
Refreshed, we set out for the other half of the trip and
arrived, three hours late, but without further incident, at our hotel where we
were greeted by a small group of women that had been eagerly waiting for us so
they could show us their gems. My visit
had been announced weeks in advance and there was much anticipation about what
I would buy or how much I would spend.
Despite the interesting collection of gems Madagascar has to offer,
there are surprisingly few foreigners who come here to shop. Perhaps this is because those without
connections don't get good prices - approximately the same as in the US. Luckily for us, Irene is a well known and
respected broker, and she had placed dozens of calls ahead of time on our
behalf. All the selling would take place
here at the hotel, and people lined up to see us all day.
After having seen the poverty on the ride to Antsirabe, I
had lowered my expectations considerably as far as the hotel was
concerned. But I was in luck because
Jochen had found one of the nicest spots in town on his first visit about 13
years ago. Hotel Greenpark consists of a
little more than a dozen individual round brick "huts", spacious and
reasonably well equipped by American or European standards. The huts are surrounded by a botanical garden
planted by the owner of the hotel - it has a few ponds, bridges, shadowy seating
areas and local trees and flowers. You
can hear the birds sing all day.
Our Hotel in Antsirabe
I didn't get much of a chance to enjoy the scenery,
however. The brokers, many of which have
known Jochen for more than a decade, were eager to show their wares. After throwing my bags into my hut and taking
an extremely brief shower (I was so rushed I didn't realize that towels hadn't been brought to my room yet), I joined the group in the yard. Irene had arranged a system by which each broker
had received a number according to which they would be received.
After four hours of sleep, I was in less than perfect
condition to think about prices but I gave it a try. I was so curious what they had. In fact, Irene had already provided me with
samples during the ride and had arranged that I would get to see the things
that interested me most. From what I was
able to learn so far, the system goes like this: in Madagascar, foreigners are
not allowed near the mines. Therefore,
one has to go through a broker, who either borrows from a dealer or is a dealer
him or herself. Many dealers don't show
their gems themselves because they don't want others to know what they have and
where they live. Getting robbed is
always a distinct possibility. So the
broker, who gets a commission, is needed.
Upon arrival, the brokers place their goods on the table,
one by one (usually small boxes with one or many pieces). They go slowly unless you insist to see
everything more or less at once - that's usually the better idea because
otherwise it takes too long. Each person
has maybe 20 boxes. You look, you can
open, you select what you like, you ask for a price. You expect it to be a first offer intended to
figure out how you react. Less experienced
brokers just read off prices and have to call the dealer to confirm. Others know their prices and can
negotiate. You have to assume the first
offer is too high, sometimes way out of whack and sometimes reasonable. That depends on the broker and/or your
relationship. I had an idea of what
items to expect and so I made sure I knew my stuff beforehand.
Money has to be in local currency, Ariay, cash only, or cash at the
end of the journey if you have a good helper like Irene who is respected. Or, if you really have "street
cred", money wired via Western Union after you leave (bank accounts are not common here).
But no credit card, no foreign currency - credit cards are virtually unknown.
The problem this creates is that currency is 1 to 3000, so there are
literally plastic bags with bills changing hands. You need a calculator at all times and some initial help so you don't
miscalculate.
The first offers I was made were way too high. I counter offered, the dealer was called. I
was honest (too much money, not nice, window, no clients, etc - whatever reason
belongs to the set of true answers), but I also made some smaller good faith
purchases, for more or less the right price. That way people
didn't think I was just "eye shopping" or had no money or didn't like
the merchandise. French being the
language most people share except for the local Malagasy, I had to dig out all
my high school French to be able to communicate. After a day or two, I was doing ok with that.
At sundown, the selling ended - for the obvious reason, no light.
Of course you want to know what kinds of gems I saw and what
they have here. So here goes:
Beryl - lots, blue, clear, greenish, some
pinkish (no heat, just about all of it).
Even some emerald, but the price for that is too high because the
thinking is, it's emerald and so that's very special. The emeralds I saw were included and small, and
I passed. There was some nice big size
aqua though.
Sapphire - Madagascar is famous for those, but I saw fewer purple ones than I expected.
I bought a small lot (parcel) of pinks to be nice. I asked if there were larger purple ones. Most of what I saw was blue, blue green, yellow, bi color blue and yellow.
Was offered some kornerupine but that wasn't kornerupine but
diopside according to Jochen. Not that
people are dishonest. But not everyone
knows and not everything's obvious.
Anyway I passed. Sphene - nice but
included, not very green.
Chrysoberyl - very little available but I got some.
Demantoid - got one super nice piece, am
hunting for more because that stuff is rare here and interesting, not like the Namibian or the Russian.
Ruby - mostly small stuff or included but I got one that has to go to the lab.
Apatite - galore, some green stuff too, some nice stuff at a reasonable price.
Sanidine - pretty.
Danburite - looks identical to brown topaz,
very strange. Not like the yellow
Tanzanian stuff at all. Tourmaline - lots available also but not
necessarily pretty. Lots of yellow
stuff, or yellow green, windowed or included like mad. Lots of cats eye but UGLY. A lot depends on what is
available or found that particular week or month. And of course they all know that sapphires,
rubies, emeralds, are what all the world buys.
Tourmaline is also popular. Cat's
eye sapphire here is interesting but I didn't really like it, neither did I
like the stars.
Garnets - there was tons of regular red but I passed on all. The Malaya was more interesting. Tsavorite - rare here but not that nice.
Passing.
Unusual stuff -
grandidierite, phenakite, moonstone that's local (most moonstone comes from
Tanzania or India).
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| Tourmaline and Morganite |
On the second day in the morning, all the women and some new
ones returned. There was essentially an
all day picnic in the yard, with people waiting their turns, several kids, grand
kids, other friends, people hanging out on blankets and bringing their lunch. Even though Jochen was also shopping (for
tourmaline slices, rough stones, and crystals), most of the brokers had been
waiting for me, as it turned out, some of them since 7 a.m. I was shown much of the same merchandise but
also new stuff. One woman whose stuff I
had rejected told me that the owner of the gems was willing to come down in
price of the merchandise - by half.
Standard procedure. The trick is
- I've learned this the hard way with the old time dealers in New York - to get
the buyer to make an offer. Because if
the offer is accepted, that's a deal.
Since there are no returns or exchanges, the offer is binding (unless
the stone was a fake or something but even then it can be tricky - more likely
you won't buy there again). Therefore
conversation goes back and forth. After
initial offers are made, one has "une discussion", or the price is "a discuter." The broker keeps asking what I am willing to
pay, I ask what a more serious price is.
I decide if I am going to make a low ball offer because I don't like the
piece or the price is way off (low ball meaning maybe 20% of asking). Or if I offer half, which is more serious -
in one case, where the seller really wanted to make a little money - my offer
of half was accepted immediately. That
meant I bid too high. But that was that,
the deal was made. Luckily it was just
$50. Other goods get put aside because I
say I will think about it, "je vais reflechir". I can ask if I can choose from a lot but that
rarely pays. Mostly lots are cheaper,
sometimes they are 1/4 of the price.
Those always include "dogs", stones you don't want. And per carat prices are not on the box. So you have to count and estimate, or weigh
the contents (I did both), count out the "dogs", subtract them as a
loss, and then reprice the lot price into carats, compare to what you pay at
home and decide if you want it. If you take
nothing the seller won't be happy and might get pushy. One should not take offense though because
this area is so economically depressed that a sale of a few hundred dollars is
a really big deal. Even $50 is
good. At 3-5% commission for the broker,
it will make a day's wages and the trip won't have been in vain.
Goods are often shared between brokers, or one owner uses
several brokers, so you can't be surprised if you see the same stuff more than
once or in someone else's hands. And
don't expect them not to share with each other what you bought and for how
much. That's important information, and
it has to be treated as public.
For lunch, we took a 2 hr break and went to both of the
local markets (Le Circle and Hotel Diamand) to show our faces and let everyone know we were
here. Insofar as they didn't, because
there are probably only about 50 booths total between both markets. Both Jochen and I made sure to go inside each
and every booth so as not to offend and show willingness to look at
everything. I arranged with Irene that
if I said I liked something, she would speak to the seller, get a price, and
borrow the merchandise for me to look at in the hotel. That is common practice, and it worked
well. It saved us a lot of back and
forth, and it reduced the selection down to what I was interested in. Each booth only has 50 lots or so, which makes
it fairly easy to scan. And it helps when you
know what you are looking for.
Also since the stones are all local, there isn't anywhere near as much
stuff as at a gem show.
After the gem markets we went to the local farmer's market
to have lunch. There are several large
"kitchens" - areas with a tiled huge table and wooden benches where
someone makes a few dishes that can be served over rice. We had (a tiny) pork chop, rice and peas, and
some tomato. There were several kids
hanging about, looking at our plates, and I was wondering if they wanted
money. That wasn't the case, after I was
about 3/4 done with lunch, a little boy I had photographed earlier tugged on my
shirt. Jochen explained he wanted to
know if I was finished because he would pour the left over rice and the pork
bone into a tiny used plastic bag.
"They bring it home" he said, it gets cooked in a big bowl of
water to flavor it and cook out the fat.
I felt bad, ordered a little more food, gave it to the boy, and added
one of the bananas Gael had gotten for us while we were eating.
The Gem Markets
The food, by the way, was surprisingly tasty. Simple but well prepared. I shared my moist
napkins after the meal - Irene who had one of her favorite foods, deep fried
fish head, really needed it. Gael was intrigued
but also challenged by the packaging. He
pulled out several wipes at once but then shared with Maria, Irene's 16 year
old daughter, and her child. The wipes
were definitely a hit.
Food is generally excellent here. There's not a huge selection, and the wines
are hit or miss (mostly miss), but you can have your zebu meat (the local cows
which have really big horns) with freshly cut fries, fresh and well prepared
veggies, or rice. The food is French
inspired (i.e. you can get foie gras) with a local touch (curries are common,
or vanilla sauce or something similar).
Breakfast can be local - something called Vary Marainy - rice with a little veggies and
dried pork - or French inspired continental with a Baguette, butter and jam, coffee
or tea, fresh pressed juice of local fruits (had courassol this morning but
don't know what it is), and an omelet or eggs sunny side up. The local bakery has a small selection of
cheeses that can be bought separately and some sweets that look French
inspired. Croissants are available too. Didn't try any of that yet.
On the first morning, Irene joined us for breakfast. She looked for us at the hotel but didn't
find us there since we were up early. So
she came over to the bakery - it's Jochen's local spot. A discussion over local and chain food ensued
and I explained that in America, no matter how far you drive, you can always
eat the same food at a chain like McDonald's.
(That's not the case just about anywhere else in the world, and
certainly not in Madagascar). Irene politely listened but I realized quickly
that she wasn't understanding something.
Jochen caught on faster than me. "Do
you know what McDonald's is?" he asked Irene. "No." That explained it.
I don't think I have words to express how refreshing this
was to hear. Fast food has NOT taken
over the universe. Irene has a TV
(though no fridge) and has finished school.
She uses the internet all the time - you have to buy it in data units though so it's expensive.
Yet McDonald's had somehow escaped her.
I was thrilled.
So yes, not everyone
has a fridge. Since not everyone has shoes
this is not a surprise. Not everyone has
a house, and most houses do not have glass windows. This is not terrible since the climate is
mild - in the winter it's about 40 at night and 80 during the day. Heating and air conditioning are unknown. Life generally takes place
outside. Rooms are tiny indoors, and
used for sleeping, protecting from the summer rains, or watching TV if that
exists. Cooking is done outside in
general, on big pots on top of charcoal.
Hence the rice with stew or vegetables.
That makes the most sense and can be consumed immediately.
I got a better sense of local living on my third day here,
when I was invited to an exhumation.
This will take some explaining.
Let's see. So in America and most
places you and I know, the dead are buried or burned and then it's done and over
with, save for photos and mementos. Not all places have photos or mementos
though because not all countries have cameras or things. How would you remember your family member if
you didn't? Here's a thought. You remove them from the mausoleum in which
the bodies are kept every few years, i.e. every seven in this case, seven being
an important number. You take the body
of the ancestor out of the mausoleum - wrapped in a white sheet of course - and
bring them outside with the accompaniment of a lot of music, speeches, and, in
this case, beer.
You let the dead participate, in other words, in
your world and your daily life for a day.
You then "dress them" in a new sheet which is wrapped around
the old one, and after a few hours of daylight which they get to spend among
the festivities - in a manner of speaking - you bring them back home into the tomb, again with a lot of spectacle, and put them back to sleep. Many tears can be shed and the dead are kept
in close company, including hugs and tears, for a few hours.
More about the exhumation and the rest of my trip in the next entry...
