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<\/a><\/p>\nI was nervous as we met Sam, a quiet young Kiwi who, we would learn, had developed the concept for his NGO while still in New Zealand, and had specifically chosen Madagascar based on his own research and its potential. \u00a0A trained engineer, he had quit his job, and brought his savings to Madagascar, moved into a village, learned the local language, local customs, learned to plant rice and survive on the local cuisine, gradually gaining the trust of the villagers. \u00a0Only once he had done all that, he had launched his search for a “video maker.” \u00a0The more I learned, the more I worried maybe I had taken on more than I could handle. \u00a0Was Sam really depending on my videography skills to collect over $30,000?<\/p>\n
Too late to turn back now…<\/p>\n
We woke up bright and early, packed all the food, water, and supplies we thought we might need for 4-5 days into our brand-new REI backpacks. \u00a0Plus another backpack with lollipops, notepads, crayons…to hand out along the way. \u00a0We walked down to the local “bus station” and loaded into the back of a covered pickup truck. \u00a0All of the bags were strapped to the top, and maybe a dozen or more of us piled into the back of the truck and tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible sitting on the spare tire, bags of rice, cases of Coca-Cola… \u00a0We had negotiated with the driver that we’d pay extra, and that he’d cram fewer passengers than normal into the back. \u00a0We wondered how many would fit in the back had we not done that…or maybe the joke was on us…<\/p>\n Along the way, we picked up a few others who would be introduced by Sam as additional members of our entourage. \u00a0One of them was Jerome’s teacher, who Sam thought might be useful in the video.<\/p>\n We tried our best to keep the circulation in our legs moving as we headed eastward down a sandy road that would rise and fall almost rhythmically where the rain had worn huge indentations that were often filled with water. \u00a0After more than an hour (it seemed like three!) Sam announced that we had arrived at the end of the road, and would be continuing on foot.<\/p>\n Things started off OK, but it quickly became obvious this was not going to be a walk in the park for us old folks…even though I had said I was “fit.” \u00a0The days of carrying a 60-pound pack and hiking through the North Carolina woods had gone long ago. \u00a0We went up and down hills, through streams, slid on muddy clay roads. \u00a0I spent the first hour cramming more and more unneeded clothing items into my pack – starting with shoes, which would have just been heavy, wet blister machines.<\/p>\n Here I decided to strategically include the first of two photos, where Anne has gone calf-deep in mud, and I am crossing on the log. \u00a0In the next photo I am calf-deep in the mud, hanging on to the log to avoid toppling over into the creek. \u00a0I was carrying all of the electronics, and this would have spelled disaster.<\/p>\n Every now and then, I would ask Sam, “how much farther?” and he would say “oh about an hour.” \u00a0After about 3 hours, I asked one of the others, “Are we getting close?” and she answered “We’re not even halfway!”<\/p>\n In the photo above, everyone wondered why I had stopped – I had overheated, and had pretty much immersed myself in the stream for some relief.<\/p>\n Every now and then we would pass through a village – maybe 300 people or so – and the locals would stare curiously at the odd band of people who were passing through. \u00a0We would get a break while Sam would drop his pack and pay a visit to the village “President.” \u00a0The President would listen to Sam explain what we were up to, and would give his permission for us to pass through his area, and assign us a “policeman” (the gentleman in the red t-shirt is one such policeman) to escort us to the next village, whereupon he would disappear and be replaced by someone else. \u00a0Invariably, the policeman was always carrying Anne’s pack…and would carry it like it was filled with pillows, not 50 pounds of gear!<\/p>\n Along the way, we would pass others, either carrying their own luggage in rice bags, or often it was young men carrying (for example) two cases of large soda bottles tied to the ends of a bamboo pole which was balanced on one shoulder, or the equivalent amount of commercial goods, for sale upstream.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n