Adventure Begins Before Arrival

Joni Roberts
Jun 22
3 min read

Written by Joni Roberts

Traveler, storyteller, and public health advocate

If you've been following me for a while, you already know: adventure has a way of finding me wherever I go.

And lately, I've realized something new— adventure doesn't just happen at the destination.

Sometimes, it begins long before you ever arrive.

This time, it started on my way from Malawi to Madagascar. I was traveling for a site visit—excited to learn, to see new programs, to bring something meaningful back for my students.

At the airport in Malawi, I passed through the international gate like I've done before. And like clockwork, I saw the same female officer who checks women at security.

But this time, the interaction went a little differently.

She commented on how I had many small bags of things—and she wasn't wrong. I had one for medicine, one for electronics, one for makeup. Organized chaos.

Then she opened my purse, which was inside my backpack, and found an envelope of money.

She flipped through the bills.

Not casually—deliberately. Like she was checking for something hidden between them.

When she finished, she handed me my bag and then asked if I could "give her anything for a refresher."

I chuckled and said no.

Because in that moment, it clicked—she had just counted my money. And in doing so, decided that I must have something to spare.

Now, this isn't my first time encountering corruption.

But it was my first time experiencing it like that in Malawi—and from an officer.

And just like that, before I had even left the country, the tone of the journey had already been set.

Difference is visible.

And sometimes, it's measurable.

Then came Madagascar.

I had arranged an airport transfer with the hotel since I was scheduled to land after 2 in the morning. I was told there would be a driver waiting with a sign with my name on it.

I arrived.

No driver.

I called the hotel, and they told me the driver was "giving difficulty."

Only in Africa can a driver decide they're simply not coming—because it's too early or too late.

The hotel apologized and told me to take a taxi instead. They gave me a price range, reminding me that I would need to negotiate.

So there I was, fresh off a flight, at an unfamiliar airport, negotiating transportation at 2 a.m.

I found one of the many taxi drivers and asked if he spoke English. He didn't—but he knew enough words for us to figure it out. We agreed on a price.

I asked him if there was an ATM in the airport. He showed, I withdrew cash, and headed to the car.

And that's when it happened again.

One of the men who had helped me find the ATM asked me for money.

I said no.

He insisted.

I said no again—and got into the taxi.

By the time I finally arrived at my hotel—early morning, still dark, still unfamiliar—the driver knocked to make sure someone was there before I got out.

As I stood there paying him, another woman came running down the road, speaking to me in French, asking—begging—for money.

And just like that, I realized:

In less than 24 hours, across two countries, three different moments—three different people—all asking me for money.

Different circumstances. Different lives. Same perception.

I am not local.

I am seen as someone who has.

And that perception shapes every interaction.

It's not always about what you actually have—it's about what you represent in that moment. Access. Mobility. Opportunity. Even if the reality is far more nuanced.

So before I ever stepped into a meeting, before I visited a single site, before the "official" purpose of my trip even began—

This was my introduction to Madagascar.

Not the landscapes.

Not the programs.

Not the work.