Sometimes i walk to the nearby cafe just to get out for a minute. The sidewalk is lined with vendors mainly selling things they got from a container shipped from the US or Europe with all kinds of castoffs. One vendor has only used tights of all colours, carefully clipped onto hangers for display. Another has only long-sleeved shirts. Another has only pants, folded and laid out on a blanket on the sidewalk. A pile of clean but old baby shoes; 40-50 used French schoolbooks; bucket hats. A pile of oranges; 6 carefully sewn satin pillows. Each person has a small section of the sidewalk with their wares. There is a man with 3 bathroom scales sitting on the pavement in front of him. For a small fee, you can weigh yourself. It's hard to imagine how anyone survives on whatever it is that they earn from these small businesses. I get to the cafe and spend the equivalent of 2 dollars on a coffee with steamed milk.

*

The days go so fast. I arrive at work by 8 and then suddenly it is dark and i only notice when someone turns on the lights. We keep working and then it's 7 or 7:30 and we are wrapping up with the team - everyone reporting back on their discussions and the priorities as i try not to scream with impatience because it is just too. much. talking. And then a quick drive back to the hotel [it's not safe to walk at night] and dinner with 2 glasses of wine. Then i go to my room and read a book for 5 minutes and pass out.

i'm in M@dagascar again. This city is lovely. It is cool this time, with the most beautiful light hitting the hills around the city every afternoon in Antan@narivo. On Sunday i walked with J all the way up to the Queen's Palace, the highest point in the city. I looked at the graffiti; wandered through neighborhoods; marvelled at the poinsettas that are in tree form here - so big and bright. Bougainvillea in all colours.

We wound through all the families dressed up in their Sunday best, mostly blending in until we got close and then they realized that these brown people are different. J is so loud when she tells a story! I slouch along in her wake like an embarrassed teenager whenever she gets exited about something. She's just herself: swearing loudly, pulling out her phone to check for directions, taking photos of whatever. I don't know why i try so hard to be inconspicuous. Why not just own the fact that i am alien? Story of my life.

Later we split a bottle of rosé and surreptitiously watched a 15th birthday party (9 girls, 1 boy) with the awkward offspring of the local élite at a fancy hotel. With J i remember all the reasons i took this job - the opportunities for growth, for wonder, to see and explore - and i wonder if I'll be able to hold onto that when she leaves this portfolio in September and I come back here by myself.

9:14 a.m. - 2018-06-14