Visitors

I appreciate having most visitors at my house. There isn’t much space, I only have two cups and three chairs (one of which I use as a small table) around the table so, sometimes having visitors takes some rearranging. I don’t always make my bed or wash my dishes after every meal (mostly on days when there is no water and I don’t want to use up what I have stored), so sometimes my house isn’t as clean as I would like for unexpected visitors. Here in Mada, it is custom for people to come unannounced. If they come, and you are eating, you should offer some to them, there will always be enough to go around. There is a Malagasy proverb that says, “Valala iray ifanapahanana,” cut one grasshopper so everyone can share. I am practicing having unexpected visitors, practicing welcoming distraction, sharing food and discussing at length “what’s the news” even if there is none. It’s a change of pace, but mostly, I really welcome having visitors, seeing the people and spending time with them.

But, there are some visitors who are not welcome. Their names our moka and akoha.

 First, akoha, the lesser of the two evils. Sometimes, I hear the akoha approaching as they come closer to my door with their friends. I know what they are up to; they are here to eat out of my compost again. I understand, they are hungry, but soon, I will take the compost outside and dump it out, then they can feast. They must be patient. I walk outside and scare them away. They often leave a mess, and I must clean up after them.

The moka are the most terrible of visitors. They come into my house at night. After dark, when I am cooking my dinner, which usually involves going in and out often from the stove to inside, they quietly sneak in through the door. I am unaware of their presence until I turn off my light, climb into my mosquito net and I begin to hear them. I often tell them that they are not my friends, and that I do not want them in my house, but they do not listen. They are in my house and will surely eat me. Usually, they cannot reach me in my bed because of my net, but sometimes, they find a way in. And, even if they do not find a way into my protective bubble, I still hear them, buzzing to each other, as I fall asleep.

In Malagasy, akoha means chicken and moka means mosquito. These visitors called moka and akoha, are uninvited and unwelcome here. I welcome the human visitors though, just as they have welcomed me into their community. They come bringing stories, laughter, and friendship.