Antananarivo, Madagascar

It was a long flight here. I had to fly through Nairobi, Kenya, and then all the way back down south to get to Madagascar. Would have ben a lot easier to be a seagull or something. My layover was a VERY long hours in the Nairobi airport which would remind me of a prison, if I had ever been. But instead of cells, they would be duty-free stores. I found the cheapest box of Kenyan wine...3 dollars, and a plastic cup, and sqt down with my guitar. All of the people working around the airport would come and listen, before retreating back to their duties. I spent a few hours talking (barely) with 5 guys from Burma who were flying back from Senegal after working 7 monthes as engineers on a tuna fishing boat, and never getting paid one cent. Incredibly nice guys, and they showed me some photos from the very ornate buddhist temples in Rangoon (capital of Mynamar). By 2 o'clock, I was so tired and a bit woozy from wine, and airport jet fuel, I crawled of to slep in the airport prayer cubicle. Until about ( 5 a.m.) when some muslim women came into pray. Then I sta down tired and watched a group of Somalis (mostly young children) board some strange flight in the bottom level of the airport. I had no idea ther was even a flight into Mogadishu still! They reflected a lot of their country's problems: a few of the young boys started fighting and kicking each other. One young boy pulled a Full burka off of a 4 year old girl. The few older men stared at the ceiling. When the flight attendent/organizer tried to get them to line up in a line, they would roam around, or cut each other in line, and then aimlessly walk aroun, but always with a big smile. Quite fascinating really. Finanally they boarded in what wonderously became a line of thirty people, shortest to tallest!!!! I can't say if it was youngest to oldest because the women were in full wrap... The flight was very exciting as we flew right over Mt. Kilimajaro, the tallest in Africa. I arrived in Antananrivo (shortened to Tana by the locals) in one piece, except one backpack which resurfaced this morning! I would not have missed it too much as it was my dirty laundry. Tana reminds me a lot of Quito, Ecuador. A gorgeous city with cobblestone streets, and old French churches and houses built on step slopes. But the real reason is the numerous stret children with filthy hands and not a bit of youth left in them. They sleep in little packs like puppies at night. I almosty tripped over one tonight as I thought it was a trash bag. It hurts the heart. So so so so many of them. Two of them teamed up to pick pocket me the first afternoon, but fortunately caught on just in time. They come running up with their baseball caps out, and the other hand is in your pocket. I wanted to grab those two little - or è-year olds by the neck... but what else are they to do? The prostitution here is everywhere. I mean as soon as the sun goes down, out they come. In door ways, alleys, nightclubs, and huddle around little fires they make with the rubbish in the street. I suppose it keeps them warm, and the streets look good in the morning. Some of these are not women but no more than 12 or so. There is a number of old white men from Europe, the States, and all over who come here to keep this industry thriving. Quite sad. The people here look Indonesian, African, Indian, and French. They speak Malagasy in which I think every word is over 15 letters and begins with an "A". I went to one of the cabarets (clubs) last night to listen to some excellent music. Onward...