-The Malagasy theory that the reason some cars have the driver side on the right is because those cars were designed by left-handed people.
-The whole making charcoal from eucalyptus process.
-Those tractors on the side of the highway between my site and Moramanga that are in a constant state of (dis)repair.
-A bulldozer in the middle of the highway, that looks quite like it fell off the back of a flatbed tractor-trailer.
-Passing tractor-trailers on blind curves/hills.
-One lane bridges on the national highway that connects the capital to the largest port city in Madagascar.
-Malagasy ripoffs of N'Sync's "Quit Playing Games with My Heart", in which the music is used but has Malagasy rap superimposed on it.
-That it's totally cool, anywhere, anytime, to pick your nose.
-The folks who have set up fruit stands along the highway where the pot holes makes all the cars slow down. Those pot holes get filled in with dirt by children who ask for money for the service they are providing. That dirt then washes out with the rains. Rinse. Repeat.
-The notice painted above the window of the brousse, stating, "We don't carry drunks."
-Sitting next to an old, drunk Malagasy man, who looks strangely similar to the late John Lee Hooker, who is wearing two collared shirts.
-All those goofy sounds that the brousses have for horns, that don't sound like horns but more like whistles or sirens.
-The "Parking Securisé" place, located along a stretch of the highway that begs the questions, "Who wants to park here? And how secure is your picket fence?"
-Lucky Dube, the reggae artist from South Africa, is pronounced "Leaky Deeby". And yes, that annoys me.
-That Malagasy folks look really funny in those wild west sheriff hats that you can buy here for $2. They're everywhere. They even have the star on them. And then you pass police officers, real police officers, who are wearing them too.
-That rain or shine, those rice fields aren't going to bust themselves up.
-How all those clothes that we donate to charity in America, that don't get bought by us at the GoodWill or Samaritan's Purse, end up being sold in bulk to dealers in the developing world, sorted (shirts, pants, undies, etc), packed into huge bales (3ftx3x5), and sold on the streets here for dirt cheap. Yes, that shirt that says, "I'm not getting less hair, I'm getting more head", that you gave to charity, that no one bought, is now being worn by a Malagasy man in my town who has no idea what it means. Same for that "I love Strippers" shirt. Only in the developing world can two people wear rivaling sports team hoodies, sit next to each other, and not think a thing about the other person. And no, that respectable looking man wearing a nice suit does not know that his hat, reading "Club: Men's Power", advertises a pornography company.
