Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
It is not always easy to keep a promise. Of course we intend to send a print after
someoneposedcheerfullyforthephoto,butafterwegethometherearesomanyother
thingstodo,somanyaddressesonscrapsofpaper.Inowhonourmypromises.Here's
why.
I was checking my group in to a Nosy Be hotel when the bellboy asked if he could
speak to me. He looked nervous, so suspecting a problem with the bookings I asked
him to wait until everyone was in their rooms. When we were alone he cleared his
throat and recited what was obviously a carefully prepared speech: 'You are Mrs Hil-
ary Bradt. Ten years ago you gave your business card to the lady at Sambava Voyages
and she gave it to a schoolboy who wrote to you. But you were away so your mother
answered the letter. She wrote many letters. My name is Murille and I am that boy.
And now I want to talk to you about Janet Cross and Brian Cross and Andrew and...'
There followed a list of every member of my family. As I listened, incredulous, I re-
membered the original letter. 'We love England strongly,' he wrote, 'especially Lon-
don, Buckingham, Grantham, Dover...' I remembered passing it to my mother saying
Iwastoobusyforsuchacorrespondencebutmaybeshe'dliketowrite.Shekeptitup
for several years, answering questions such as 'How often does Mrs Hilary go to Gr-
anthamandDover?'andshesentaphotoofthefamilygatheringatChristmas,naming
every member on the back of the photo.
This brought an indignant letter from a cousin. 'I have seen your photo. It is a very
nice one. I asked Murille if he would lend it for one day only because we all study
English so we must have photo of English people more to improve this language, but
he refused me strongly because they are only his friends not mine...'
Murille brought out the treasured photo. It had suffered from the constant handling
andtropicalheatandwaspeelingattheedges.Hewantedtotrimit,heexplained,'but
if I do I will have to cut off a bit of your mother's beautiful chair and I can't do that.'
Later thatyearIsentMurille aphotoalbumfilled withfamily photos.Ineverheard
from him again - that's the way it is in Madagascar - but the story has a twist to its
tail. I returned to Sambava 12 years after the original visit, and found myself address-
ing a classroom of eager adult students of English and their local teacher. Searching
forsomethinginterestingtosay,ItoldthemaboutthetimeIwaslastintheirtownand
the series of letters between Murille and my mother. And I told them about the cousin
who also wrote to her. 'I think his name was Patrice,' I said. The teacher looked up.
'I'm Patrice. Yes, I remember writing to Janet Cross...'
Therulesarenottotakepeople'sphotoswithoutpermission,andtorespectananswerof
'no'. Give consideration to the offence caused by photographing the destitute. Be cautious
about paying your way to a good photo; often a smile or a joke will work as well, and sets
no precedent. People love to see pictures of themselves, and in these days of digital photo-
