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Which came first, building a small isolated home on the cliff-side of a national road to sell lingonberries? Or selling lingonberries on the edge of road and building a new house closer to the job? I've no idea, but the sound of our oncoming car caused a mad dash to grab the berries and hurry to the road side to sell.

The mother was generous enough to both allow for this portrait, as well as show us inside her home and how the upper floor was reach by a retractable ladder. They all slept upstairs at night.

A requested portrait at the Manambolo River Crossing. Any cars arriving needed to wait until the barge - pushed across from bank to bank by wooden pole - was ready to take the next car. A slow process entailed that these kids found opportunity to entertain and be entertained by whoever was waiting on the south bank.

Madame Marceline was the gratious owner and host of Marceline's beach-front restaurant by Ankoba. Perfect for Sunday afternoon catch-ups.

Bema became a regular go-to taxi driver for nights, and a great friend, after a chance hailing by the roadside. He was probably my best sources for learning Malagasy as he, in turn, practised English with me wherever whenever we were jolting along a bumpy road somewhere.

We regularly headed to this place from the office for lunch. This waitress had much patience, humouring our requests for any off-menu 'secret' dishes we discovered and never complaining if our Malagasy or French wasn't up to scratch when taking ten orders from a group who could never make up their mind.

It wasn't long before a "You write everything you want down on this paper, instead of me" system was devised for the benefit of all.

Abdoul was reliable. Literally and figuratively always there when we needed him to help get us somewhere. Abdoul felt that most things we did didn't make much sense and that we were very predictable. So predictable, that we rarely needed to ring him when coming out of a nightclub on the weekend as he was usually there, waiting, knowing. Sometimes asleep on the bonnet of his car if it was a warm night, until he recognised one of us spilling out of the door.

This portrait is extra special because Abdoul admitted that he thought my request to photograph him by his car was ridiculous. He felt very uncomfortable posing but did it for me anyway, with his frankensteined Peugeot, just before we said our final goodbyes.