Word of mouth spreads the name of an Oumbiasy and Francois tells me that customers from the capital do not mind paying his travel bills for important services. He fiddles in his bag and shows me a ‘moara’, a horn of a zebu with an intrusive musky smell. It has been stuffed with a sticky cocktail of grated tree bark and bones. A couple of chicken feather protrude on both sides of the mix while on top, sunk to its hips, a figurine of a black man smiles at me.
Mahajenga, Madagascar 2015 ©