Maeva* is an intern at ADES and is currently writing her Master's thesis in Madagascar. She gives us an insight into her experiences.

After Sambava, Elia and I travel on to Ambilobe. At first we didn't know exactly how we would get there, as the journey is long (between 7 and 10 hours) and the road is not always the best. In addition, Elia is four months pregnant and I was also wondering how safe it was with my luggage. Finally, the price for a chauffeur and a car was immensely high (around 2 million ariary) compared to travelling by the main local means of transport between the cities, the taxi brousse (30,000 ariary - around 6 francs), so the decision was self-evident.

To explain: a taxi-brousse here corresponds to a minivan with around 15 seats. As already mentioned in the travel blog about the journey to Fianarantsoa, the quality of the taxi-brousses varies drastically from vehicle to vehicle. Some seem reasonably new, roadworthy and robust, while most of them bump along the tracks, wheezing and coughing, and make more progress than they should. We were lucky and initially ended up in a reasonably new taxi-brousse, which even had a stereo and raised seats.

However, these buses do not set off at a specific time, but wait until they have collected enough passengers travelling in the same direction to make it economically viable for them. It can therefore happen that you end up sitting in a taxi brousse at the starting point for several hours before the bus even sets off. We were lucky that we set off relatively quickly, but the driver changed his mind about halfway through the morning journey because he thought it wouldn't be worth travelling any further in that direction. So we were transferred to a much smaller, narrower taxi brousse, which travelled half as fast but only had one breakdown stop.

The most important detail of the Taxi-Brousses is the occupancy. Because as I said, this vehicle actually has around 15 seats. There were 28 of us travelling! Whenever I thought that no one would really fit in, the driver stopped again and someone else squeezed in. By now there were at least 5 people in each row, plus children on their knees and sometimes half on top of each other. In the morning I was lucky and was able to sit next to the driver at the front, where it was much less cramped. Once we came across a taxi brousse that had a goat attached to the front of the roof. The goat was sitting in a sack but with its head free on the front of the car and undoubtedly had the best view and the best position. I was definitely tempted to swap places with her.

Despite the cramped conditions and potential claustrophobia, I really enjoyed the journey. I sat at the window, looked out and could watch the passing landscape and people or follow what was happening in the car. People are sometimes chatting to each other, sleeping, looking out, thinking or talking on the phone. Almost nobody is really on their mobile phones or listening to music. Often, when we stop at the beginning and end of a village because of police checks (or because people let us out (ufff!) or, to my horror, pick us up again), women come to the windows of the van and sell fruit, fried bananas, hot, fresh corn on the cob, fried chicken, fish, nuts or biscuits. Then there is always a collective picnic on the bus, you hand a few notes out of the window and get a freshly fried fish in return.

Such journeys somehow weld us together. You know who all belongs to your taxi brousse, who is still missing, even if hardly a word is exchanged. At another police checkpoint, I half overheard them jokingly say: "In an emergency, we'll hand over the Vazaha... So you see, I was a full member and an integral part of my taxi brousse group. I think that made it easier for us to continue our journey in between, as otherwise the vazaha cars are always waved straight on during these checks and only the taxi brousses have to stop and sometimes have their ID checked.

As already mentioned, there is almost always at least one toddler travelling with us, usually several. What amazes me is that very few of the children ever cry, and if they do, it's only briefly before they fall asleep again or just look around. There is always someone looking after them or giving them attention. In the taxi-brousse, a child is simply quickly placed on the neighbour's lap so that the mother can sit down better, take something out of her bag or take a break. You look after the child together, naturally and without question. I think that's wonderful.

We finally arrive in Ambilobe in the late afternoon. My first impression of the town: it's full of goats and I really like it! When we arrive, the sun is shining golden through the dusty streets. The town seems to be stretched out. In any case, the main road is long and runs parallel to some hills in the east of the city. There are lots of cosy little gargottes and bars, small but clean hotels, a large market and many other stalls along the streets. Here, too, you get the impression that it is more of a transit town, but that is exactly what makes it so charming for me and I feel very comfortable. During the three days we are here, I don't see another white person. I love looking around and exploring the city with Elia. And the city really is full of goats! They walk through the streets in groups of 3 or 4 just like me, the little goats playfully fighting as they run after their mum. It makes me laugh how a few goats keep popping up.

What strikes me: since Maroansetra, no child has come begging after me, asking for money, biscuits or anything else. The children here have not yet been taught that they always have to ask the Vazaha's for money. That really changes the feeling of strolling through a town. Elia and I have settled in a small hotel and are sharing a room. It is very well located and allows us to stop off every now and then to take a short break, drop something off or pick something up. In addition to our partner's visit, we have a very enjoyable time here. In the morning we have breakfast in another hotel with wifi and work, then we take a break, eat something somewhere, walk around the market before sitting down to work again in the afternoon. We eat ice cream, go shopping together on Whit Monday and both buy khisalis (the colourful, beautiful scarves that the women here tie around themselves). We talk about Mother's Day presents, children, men, women, showers in Mada or in Switzerland, beauty ideals, travelling, our work and food. Travelling with Elia allows me to immerse myself even deeper in Mada. She planned the whole taxi-brousse trip for us, negotiated and phoned around to make sure they were waiting for us. She translates for me, explains Malagasy customs and people's opinions on the broken bridge and the president's project to simply fill in the river. She accompanies my visits to partners, resellers and cooker users and explains the various Malagasy specialities available at the Gargotte. I will miss her after our part of the journey together.

Unfortunately, the next taxi-brousse journey from Ambilobe to Diego is nowhere near as pleasant as the first. Instead of 4 hours, we need 7, and I'm pressed so hard against the wall of the car in the middle row that I end up with a bruise on my hip. It's already deep night when we finally arrive. I am hugely relieved when I can finally climb out of the taxi brousse and the driver hands me my purple rucksack from the roof. It was an exciting and good experience, but I won't be travelling in a taxi-brousse again so soon.

* Name changed