"Welcome to Antananarivo, mesdames." A dark-skinned man in light, loose-fitting shirt and trousers materialized beside us. He was holding a tablet notebook like a clipboard; a jute carrier bag dangled from one arm. "Your luggage will be taken to your accommodations for you-don't worry, we have never lost a single bag!" Chuckling, he reached into the bag and handed each of us a zippered 8 x 10 envelope; I could just make out a lot of printed documents inside the frosted plastic. "Everything you need for your layover is in there-food and drink vouchers, transport tickets, and of course the passes for your famadihana."
"'Famadee-yan'?" I said, mystified.
"The bus is outside, you must go now." He shooed us toward the nearest exit.
There were a lot of buses lined up at the curb outside and they all seemed stuffed to capacity and beyond with people and luggage. "Maybe we're just supposed to get on anything with room for us," Suzette suggested doubtfully.
Abruptly, two women pushed us toward an ancient white school bus, already overcrowded with passengers. Suzette hesitated; as the people nearest the door pulled her up the steps, the tall man reappeared beside me. I was torn between wanting to ask him who he was and keeping track of Suzette. Smiling, he made an after-you gesture. Then I was being yanked up the metal steps while the two women gave me an unceremonious push from behind.
I had never been in such a crush. Every color and shape of humanity seemed to be represented-fair-haired Nordic types, Latins, Japanese, Chinese, Indians, Middle Easterns, North Africans, South Africans of all colors. People called to each other in Russian, Italian, French and other languages with clicks and glottal stops. It was so fascinating I almost forgot about the tall man.
I couldn't see him anywhere up front. Apparently I'd been the last sardine in. Maybe security guards had carried him off again. The bus started off with a jerk. There was nothing to hold onto, no hanging straps or poles within reach but it didn't matter. I couldn't possibly fall down. "How long do you think this'll take?" I asked Suzette, who was wedged under my left arm.
"I heard someone say it was ten miles to the city," she said.
The bus went over a large bump and I felt my feet leave the floor, along with everyone else around me. I'd barely caught my breath when we went over two more in quick succession, both larger than the first one so that the bus practically seesawed. As the front half dipped, the back end rose and I caught a glimpse of a familiar tall figure behind a young couple who were each holding a laughing toddler.
It couldn't be him, I thought. He'd have had to go past me and I knew he hadn't. No one had because no one could.
Another bump; the toddlers giggled as his hair flew up with the motion and fell down over his forehead. He laughed with them.
"See anything?" Suzette asked.
"Nothing I can explain," I said.
I looked for him when we finally all spilled out in front of the hotel but he had vanished again.
"The white umbrellas you see there, that's the Zoma." The man pointed out the open window of our hotel room. "Today is the biggest day for it, in fact. 'Zoma' means 'Friday.'"
I looked at Suzette. "Is today Friday?"
"Don't mind her," Suzette said. "We've been traveling for so long, she lost track."
"Oh. Yes. Of course you must be tired." The man looked apologetic. "But you will not be able to rest until after your famadihana. Now it's time to go."
"Can't we have five minutes to wash up and change?" I asked, looking longingly at my suitcase over in a far corner.
"I'm sorry, no," the man said briskly. "You must be exactly as you are for your famadihana."
"What is that?" I demanded.
"It's what you came here for," he said, herding us out of the room.
I tried not to budge and failed completely. "Actually, we came here to find her mother," I said, jerking my chin at Suzette. "Or have I been traveling for so long I've lost track of that, too?"
"Many come here to find mothers. Also fathers, siblings, friends, lovers, even themselves. The only way is the famadihana."
"But what is it?" Suzette asked.
"The Dance with the Dead."
I'd expected to see another bus or even the same one in front of the hotel. But the vehicle waiting for us was an old Geo that looked amazingly like the one I'd left sitting in O'Hare's long-term parking. The man thrust the plastic envelopes we'd been given at the airport into our hands and hustled us into the backseat, before getting into the front seat next to the driver. "You've come this far, you don't want to be late now!"
The driver looked over his shoulder at us. "Seatbelts on!"
We obeyed. As I clicked mine into place, I silently apologized to everyone who'd ever ridden in my Geo's backseat. It really was horrible.
Street-level Antananarivo went past in a blur and a cloud of dust; the many-windowed houses covering the hills stared into the distance. The man in the passenger seat was saying something about how the famadihana took place only during the dry season, from June to October.
"Practical reasons for that, of course," he said, peering around the back of his seat at us with a smile. "We restrict your famadihana to the same time. Out of season doesn't work as well for vazaha."
"What's a vazaha?" Suzette asked, leaning against me as we took a corner at 90.
"You are," said the driver cheerfully. "Means foreigner."
We took another corner on two wheels; the city vanished in a cloud of dust behind us. On the hills, the houses continued to stare impassively into the distance.
After a couple of miles, the sound of clarinets and drums came to us faintly under the chatter of the engine. Suzette and I looked at each other; she shrugged. As the music grew louder, I heard accordions and flutes as well.
"I don't think that's the Rolling Stones," I said more to myself than anyone else.
"Maybe it's their opening act," Suzette said.
The man in the front passenger seat turned to say something. Suzette shoved the photograph under his nose but before she could ask about her mother, the driver stood on the brakes.
My forehead hit the back of the seat in front of me-not so hard it hurt, just enough to be startling. The shoulder harness did hurt-I swore I could feel every fiber in the strap bruising my skin.
"What the hell, Suzette?" I yelled. "Couldn't you have waited till we stopped?"
"I didn't do anything!" she shouted over the chaotic mix of laughter, singing and music now surrounding the car. "I dropped it! Where is it? Give it back-"
"Is that klezmer?" I peered out the windows.
Children grinned back at me. "Vazaha! Vazaha!" They jumped around and mimed taking photos. Behind them, several adults went by, carrying a coffin. They were laughing and singing.
"What kind of a funeral is this?" I asked.
"Not a funeral-it's a famadihana," the man told me. "The coffin has been removed from the family crypt. Now the family will dance with their dead, wrap the body in a new lambamena, and return it to the resting place, until next year."
Suzette and I looked at each other; she was as flabbergasted as I was.
"But my mother's not buried here. She's not buried at all. She was cremated and we scattered the ashes." Suddenly, she looked horrified. "My Aunt Lillian! Has something happened to her?"
The man reached down beside his seat and came up with the now dog-eared photo. "I do not know of any vazaha who has died here." His face creased with a mixture of amusement and pity as Suzette took it from him.