I was standing by the side of the tarmacked road when the bearded stranger’s car pulled to a sudden stop and he flung the door open. He didn’t see me then, I don’t think, as I was standing slightly up the slope behind some palm trees and other plants. It’s very lush and green here up in the mountains between Port-au-Prince and Jacmel: low clouds and regular rain showers mean there's lots of bananas and other crops.
There’s just the one road up here and Fondwa stretches interminably along it, with various denominations of churches dotted along the road. The rains had meant that the last hour had seen lots of locals running past me, carrying their books from their churches, dressed in their Sunday best. Those who weren’t at church were packing bananas in huge wicker baskets for transport to the city, or standing by their motor-cycle taxis waiting for customers.
Anyway, he flings the door open, leans out and, his back gradually getting soaked in the drizzle, starts to retch out his last meal onto the edge of the road. I look on, with great interest, and lick my lips. The good folks of Fondwa stake out me and the oher goats in different places each day - and while I enjoy the grass and other greens wherever they choose to stake me, I began to move towards this unexpected food source even before the bearded stranger had gulped some water and looked into my eyes as he weakly closed the car door.