So this is how I happened to become the gum-shoe gem thief of Madagascar; it was really by accident.
I went there for two weeks for work. The real Madagascar, not the Disney animated Madagascar, is known for its gemstones, along with its amazing biological diversity, including bottle shaped baobab trees, and bizarre animals such as the screaming lemurs. But I was not there for trees or screamers.
No, I was there as a mere tourist. I was going to an exotic place, and when you go to an exotic place, and your wife does not get to come along, and your anniversary is coming up, if you have half a brain, you eschew going to see bottle shaped trees and furry little screamers, and you go to get something for your wife for your anniversary. But when you are newly arrived in any country, especially in Africa, buying gems is a tricky business. Especially if you, like me, are a guy with no idea whatsoever about gems, no taste, and no confidence about walking into a gem store where the haughty looks and level of disdain are potentially lethal. So, on arrival, I called an old family friend with whom I worked earlier in Zambia. She had been in Madagascar for a few years, and she was known for her collection of jewelry. She offered to take me to the best gem shop in the capital city, Antananarivo (Or “Tana”), run by Emme.
Emme is a tall Italian whose well-stocked gem shop seems to attract a fairly discriminating clientele. When we arrived, there was a French couple there. They were impeccably dressed (this goes without saying, but I am saying it anyway). Judging from their appearance and the questions they asked, they had money to spend, but only if they could find gems of impeccable quality. This was made obvious not so much by their words - they spoke in French, which I understand - but there was a subtext running:
French Man (FM): I am lookeeng for zee most beautiful gem stone for my beautiful lady friend (I may be shorter than you, you annoyingly tall Italian man, but I have a lot of money, so don’t waste my time!)
Emme- the Italian Man(IM): But of course, sir, I have the most-a beautiful gems here in-a my store (Italian men are much sexier than you French, you little pipsqueak, even if you have lots of money!)
French Woman (FW): Oh, Pierre, ‘ere eez a beautiful yellow gem! (I am going to eegnore you silly men. I am a haughty French woman, I am so tired of men fighting over me, just ’urry up and find me a gem!)
I, on the other hand, came in wearing my stone-wash khakis, and my Keen sandals, and carrying a back-pack, showing two things: 1) I was a typical, badly-dressed American with extremely ugly shoes; and 2) everyone suspected right away that I could probably not afford precious gems (diamonds, emeralds, rubies and so on). On the other hand, this could be a trick. Here is what the Europeans were thinking, as I was able to tell from their very subtle eyebrow movements, shoulder shrugs, and general disdain:
FM: (What a badly dressed man, he must be poor, why are you allowing him in your shop?)
IM: (Yes, I know what you mean, but on zee other hand, perhaps he’s a wealthy American , you know, one of these computer geeks who invents a useless thing like Facebook and becomes a billionaire! I heard that Mark Zuckerberg wears flip-flops all the time, yet he could buy my store with spare change)
FM: (Yes, it is extremely annoying, even zough zey are very badly dressed, zey just keep inventing amazing new sings wiz names zat are ‘ard to pronounce in French, like “FASS-BOUK”; it is not right!)
IM: (Yes, and FB is-not a very good for Italians, because you cannot even hug-a your friends online!)
FM: (Eet eez very stupid, zees Fass-Bouk, to ‘ave so many friends eez not good for French people!)
So there you have it, our family friend (Barbara) and I were probably the poor country cousins in the gem shop. But you can never be sure, and customers are customers, so Emme attended to us. There were lots of fabulous and fascinating semi-precious stones, many of which I had never seen; some names were new to me (though probably well-known to most gem-lovers): citrine, morganite, titanite, and tourmaline. Our friend Barbara asked to look at some of them. Emme handed her some little display boxes, which had transparent lids for easy viewing. She turned over a box and looked at the price. He showed me a box with a beautiful, big tourmaline, a really stunning red stone.
After looking at it, I turned over the box to look at the price, not realizing he had removed the box lid. The stone fell right out of the box. I felt it hit my foot. I looked down. It was gone! Emme was shocked.
He and Barbara looked at me in concern. The French people looked disgusted. More sub-text followed:
IM: (Who is this clown you have-a brought into my store? Is he a thief? If he is a thief, I will kill him!)
Barbara: (I can’t believe you dropped an expensive gem and lost it after I brought you in here!)
FM: (Zees eez what you get when you allow zees badly-dressed American into your store. You see!)
FW: (I am going to eegnore zees people. Eet eez not my problem. Please keep pampering me, cheri!)
So with all eyes on me, and a rather expensive looking gemstone gone missing, the pressure was on. I had to drop to the floor to find that stone. Otherwise, I’d be soon be dead, or off to a Malagasy jail!
I laid on my belly on the floor and peered under the display counter. It was so dark that I could not see a thing. Emme gave me a small light. I peered into the dark,dusty space under the display counter, but still could not see it. What, I wondered, were they all thinking about me? Given that I had dropped an expensive gem within five minutes of entering, one can safely presume that they concluded I was either a complete idiot, or a clever jewel thief, or both, playing a scene right out of a Pink Panther movie. So, while I was on the floor, the sub-text kept running among those watching me root around down below:
Barbara: (I only brought this pathetic loser here because he wants a gem for his wife, who’s my friend!)
FW: (Too bad, sorry for you, we women know zat all men are pathetic, unless zey are also very reech)
IM: (SMS’ing a “friend” on the phone: Please send some large, very mean men here. I have a thief! If he does-a not find-a my gem, I want-a you to follow him when he leaves and break-a his two legs, OK?)
FM: Zees eez intolerable! Too be badly dressed AND to lose gems AND be zee center of attention!)
But despite how embarrassed Barbara might have felt, she had no choice. She had brought me in, and she could plainly see how inept I was at finding the gem. She got down on the floor too. Sub-text:
Barbara: (I can’t believe this. I cannot ever come in here again unless we find that gem. Now I have to get down on the floor and help you to find it, since men can never do anything right on their own!)
Now we were both on our bellies peering under the counter. Still nothing. As if this was not enough, the French woman (FW) and Barb began to bond silently around the issue of how pathetic and useless men are. The FW also got down on the floor. Emme was holding his head in his hands at this point. I don’t think he had ever had so many of his customers down on their bellies on the floor before.
Though no words were spoken there was a sub-text once again:
FW: (You are an American woman, but we ‘ave some-sing een common: we both know zat men are idiots. That stupid fool will never find any-sing. So I must get down on zee floor and ‘elp you to look!)
Barbara: (Yes, you are right, even if you are French, and you have a wealthy man who is buying you an expensive gem, we have to stick together, or all will be lost. You look to the left, and I’ll look to the right)
FM: (Mais non, eet eez not posseeble, my beautiful French woman is now on zee floor helping zat man. ‘e is very clever, no? ‘e pretends to lose a gem, and now zee women feel sorry and ‘elp him search!)
IM: (Clever or not, if he does not find my gem, I will pretend it is OK, but I will have him killed. Watch!)
Time was ticking past. Ten-fifteen minutes of frantic searching revealed nothing. The women continued to communicate silently with each other, using their international women’s mental telepathy ability:
Barbara: (Do you suppose it would occur to him to look in his shoes? Do we women have to think of everything? What if you and I just keep thinking the same thing? Do you think he will hear us?)
FW: (No, men are very, very stupeed. Zey are babies who never sink of any-sing zemselves. We will actually ‘ave to say eet out loud, and then geev ‘im a look zat weell make ‘im feel very, very stupeed)
To my surprise, the two women simultaneously and without any apparent means of coordination, gave me a withering look of scorn, and told me to take off my shoes and look in them. I felt very, very stupid. Why hadn’t I thought of it? It was so obvious. A baby could have thought of it. Thank god for women.
So I took off my shoes, the big, ugly Keens sandal’s with the thick, criss-cross leather straps, and a rubber cap over the toes. I pulled and peered at the straps and banged the sandals to see if a gem would drop out. Nothing. My face was hot and I was sweating. Emme kept watching me very closely. My backpack had also been on the floor. He asked me to empty it, turn it inside out and shake it, just in case; I did as asked. No gem came out. Emme acted very nice, and said he was sure it would turn up eventually:
IM: (I am smiling at you, but meanwhile, very dangerous men are waiting in case you try to run away!)
The two women: (We both know the gem is in one of his shoes, but he is just too stupid to find it. How long will we have to keep giving him this withering look of scorn before he figures out what to do? If it were not for women, the world would grind to a halt within days, and all life would cease. Honestly!)
Under the continued look of withering female scorn, which was much worse than the anticipated bodily harm that Emme would have visited upon me if I had not found the gem, my male “lizard-brain” finally activated and began to function in something approaching an effective manner. In desperation, I took off my sandals one more time. This time I looked at them more closely. The rubber cap on the right foot had separated from the leather straps. There was a gap. I pried my finger into the gap and felt a small lump. It was the gem, perfectly hidden inside the rubber cap of my sandal. Almost a perfect heist!
The ladies smiled in triumph that their telepathic messaging and withering scorn had once again done the trick; it always does. Emme sighed in relief. He said I should go ahead and select a gem, which I did. Semi-precious of course. I paid. Emme, and said good-bye. As I left, he quickly sent out another SMS
IM: (SMS: He did not steal-a the gem, it was in-a his shoe. Abort, abort! Do not break-a his two legs). (Thinking to himself: OK, you stupid American, you have-a paid, now leave and NEVER COME BACK!)
FM: (Zees eez outrageous, you ‘ave eegnored me, and ‘e ‘as cleverly treecked my beautiful lady to get down on zee floor! Now I weell never buy any-sing. I am now leaveeng your gem-shop een protest!)
With that, the Frenchman shook his head as if to say he had found nothing of interest, grabbed the hand of his lady friend, and quickly departed with the customary salutation to all, which all French people are forced to utter before leaving a shop, even if they are disgusted: “Au revoir, messieurs, mesdames!”
And that, my friends, is how I almost became the gum-shoe gem thief of Madagascar, frustrated the rich French man, and mystified the Italian owner of the gem store, but still avoided injury in the end . If not for the women, and their irresistible force of their withering scorn, my legs would have been broken, and I would still be languishing in a Malagasy jail, with the gem sitting right in the toe of my sandal.
(So, for those who may be curious, the stone I got was an aquamarine, a very light sparkly blue color, and very reasonably priced. Our friend Barbara took me to another shop, a goldsmith, who let me design a ring. My wife loved it.)
