Secret Police

It is nearly impossible to remember every person you meet the first few days after moving to a new place. This is true at least for my experience of installing at Peace Corps site. There are few people I actually remember meeting, and even fewer names that I can recall.  Yet, even in the blurred flood of names and faces, there is one encounter from my first week at site I will never forget. 

It was my third day in my new home. While sitting in my doorway doing laundry, I heard a "hodio!" called from my gate. In Madagascar, "hodio" is the equivalent to a knock, meaning "can I come in?" I looked and saw I man I hadn't met yet, so I went to meet him at my gate to see what he wanted. He seemed a bit strange, but not threatening, so I commenced speaking to him with the gate in between us. 

Like many of my conversations in Malagasy, I struggled to understand what the man was trying to tell me. After a while, I figured he was trying to ask me if I could help him learn English. He seemed satisfied with my conclusion and left. I didn't think much about our encounter, as many people in the community had been stopping by to meet me and appease their curiosities of my presence. 

Two hours go by. Slightly to my surprise, the man shows back up in similar fashion as before. This time, however, he brings a handwritten contract he wishes me to sign! I look it over, and the only words I'm able to understand are the three words written in English... "Secret Police" and "Facebook."

Naturally, I am thoroughly confused, and am in not the slightest way inclined to sign this "contract" I can't even read! At this point I decide to seek additional assistance, and head to my back yard where a neighbor is working on a fence. He takes a look at the contract, and simply tells me "Beefa."

Beefa is the mayor of my village, as well as one of my main counterparts in the community, and also happens to be the most proficient English speaker in the village. I learn that Beefa is at the bureau in the center of town and begin heading his way. Meanwhile, the man continues to have an easygoing, slightly blithe demeanor as we stroll down the street. I am cautious, but not alarmed. 

Arriving to the bureau, we find Beefa and I explain the situation. Beefa takes the contract, reads it, and becomes just as confused as I was. As it turns out, what I thought to be Malagasy writing was, in fact, complete nonsensical gibberish. As our investigation of the man and his contract continued, it became apparent that the man, while looking fairly normal, was not mentally sound (Beefa said it was because the man smoked too much marijuana. I don't know if that is true, but I found the conclusion amusing all the same). Oh, and the "Secret Police"? That is what the man believed to be his occupation. 

Realizing the nature of the situation, Beefa and I decided to play along in hopes that the man would lose interest after his demands were met. In amusement, Beefa government seal stamped the man's contract about three times, and I signed it in about four random places by the man's direction. The man was happy with his contract, and Beefa sent him on his way. I left a little bit after, still entertained by the adventure of the day of encountering the Secret Policeman. 

Since then, I've seen the man again twice. Each of those times, in concern for my welfare, a member of my community has chased him away. While I have never perceived him as threatening, I have been glad to not be bothered by him all the same, and am even more glad for my neighbors sense of protection for me. He hasn't come back again... And, as far as I can tell, my house hasn't been bugged, either. ;)