Traveling across the southern spiny desert of Madagascar, I suddenly grew very sick. I wasn’t sure if it was dehydration or perhaps food poisoning, but in any case we needed to stop along the road where we came across a small village. After stepping out of the car and standing under the beating sun, my vision swam and I crawled under a small lean-to hut to find some shade. Yolanda, as I later learned her name, graciously shared her roof with me. Her face was covered with powder made from a medicinal tree, and she explained that she had malaria, so she too was not feeling well. Suddenly feeling sheepish about my much less dire sickness, I was still grateful for her company.
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