I would never have imagined, at 52 years old, finding myself about to board a flight to Madagascar. Yet here I am at Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle, early one November morning, dragging my carry-on suitcase toward the check-in counter. My wife walked me as far as security; she kissed me with that slightly worried little smile she sometimes has, telling me to take care of myself. Two weeks isn’t that long, I replied. Just enough time to lay the foundations for the subsidiary, meet the first candidates, and get everything organized with Johary, the local contact the company introduced me to by email.
The direct flight to Antananarivo lasts eleven hours. I watched two movies without really following them, read a few pages of a report on the Malagasy market, then dozed off. Upon landing, the heat hit me in the face as soon as the doors opened. A heavy, humid, almost tangible heat, very different from the Parisian gloom I had left behind. Walking down the stairs, I caught the smell: red earth, spices, wood smoke. Everything was different.
Outside Ivato airport, the contrast struck me full force. Rickety taxis, porters rushing forward, entire families waiting behind the barriers, and everywhere this impression of intense, chaotic life. I didn’t have time to observe too much: a driver was waiting with a sign bearing my name. Destination: the residence the company had booked for expatriates – a quiet hillside neighbourhood with a pool, security guards and reliable internet. A small island of Western comfort in the middle of it all. I dropped my things in an air-conditioned room, took a shower, and told myself I would manage.
The next morning, Johary came to pick me up. A man in his forties, smiling, impeccably dressed, with impeccable French too. He shook my hand warmly and immediately put me at ease. “Welcome to Tana, Mr. Damien!” The premises of the future subsidiary are in a modern building in the city centre, not far from Analakely. Everything is already rented, furnished, wired. All that’s missing is the team.
The first day was devoted to interviews. About ten candidates, mostly young computer science graduates. They arrived on time, well-dressed, very polite. But as soon as we got into technical matters, I could feel the difference. The training here isn’t quite the same, nor are the references. Some mastered the tools we use perfectly, others much less so. Johary sometimes translated, explained cultural nuances. I took notes, asked questions, tried to stay focused despite the jet lag.
Late in the afternoon, Johary offered to drop me at the residence, but I declined. I wanted to walk a bit, to see the city other than through the air-conditioned window of a car. He pointed me to a lively street not too far away, with restaurants and bars frequented by expatriates and wealthier Malagasy people. “You’ll be fine there, Mr. Damien.”
The streets sloped steeply down toward the centre. The pavements were crowded with street vendors, women carrying basins on their heads, children playing among the cars. The smells of grilled meat, vanilla, wet earth mingled together. I felt both curious and a little lost, like a tourist who isn’t really one.
I went into a bar that looked friendly: soft music, dim lights, a few tables on the terrace. I sat at the counter and ordered a nice cold THB – the local beer, apparently. Around me, groups of expatriates were talking loudly, Malagasy couples were laughing. I sipped my beer quietly, observing without staring too much.
That’s when she came and sat next to me. A young woman, very young even, wearing a light dress that highlighted her slender figure. She had braided hair, a dazzling smile, and huge eyes. She spoke to me in French, with that singing accent I had been hearing everywhere since I arrived.
“Good evening, vazaha! Are you new in Tana?”
I gave her a polite smile. “Yes, I arrived yesterday. I’m here for work.”
She introduced herself: Ennemiah, 19 years old, tourism student. She ordered a Coke, then turned to me as if we had known each other forever. She spoke quickly, asking a thousand questions: where I came from, what I did, whether I was married, whether I had children. I answered without going into too much detail, a bit surprised by this immediate familiarity. She laughed a lot, occasionally brushing my arm while talking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I didn’t really know what to think. She was charming, full of life, but so young. I told myself it was simply the way people are here, this warmth in human relationships. Nothing more.
When I paid the bill and wished her good evening, she slipped me her number on a piece of napkin. “If you ever want me to show you around the city one day, call me!”
I walked back to the residence; the air was mild despite the late hour. In my room, I put the paper in my wallet without thinking too much about it. Just out of politeness.
Tomorrow, more interviews. I need to rest.
I have absolutely no idea what awaits me.