A question I am asking myself is what the heck have I done with the last 27 days of homelessness in Madagascar. To start with, I dabbled into the expat life in Madagascar. The 9 PCVs in the north put on a 4 day camp for high school students in Nosy Be, the mecca island for tourism. While the camp, “Good Choices”, was quite a hit, my choices following the camp were not. I spent my days drinking at the expat pub pretending I understood the rules to Rugby and really cared who won the World Championship, riding around in the back of a pickup trucks to different beautiful beaches and most dangerously eating my daily dose of meat on a stick cooked on the side of the road (because that was all I could afford). After these 11 fabulous days, my body and wallet told me it was time to go. Next stop, off to the village to visit a friend. Life changed drastically in just a few 100 kilometers of road. We jump into a taxi/pickup truck in the regional capital and started on our short 22 kilometer journey. The first stop a monastery. Erin and I were both under the impression that we were going to pick up maybe a priest or nun that we would probably need to give up our spots in the front cab. I guess you can say luck was on our side as we drove around back to the barn area. Everyone jumped out and went to watch the spectacle. The taxi assistant went over to a stall and all we heard was screeches, screams and squalls. Fifteen minutes later, two men emerged carrying a 250lb skyward pig with ropes attached to each leg. The pig was placed next to the truck as he waited for his friend. These unlucky pigs were tossed into the back of the pickup truck while the people filed in right behind them to become their new “stall mates”. For the next 45mintues of our ride, we listened to the sweet melody of the pig squeals.
<< Home