The tsingy of Madagascar, the thin, needle-like rock formations in the country, have a soft, sweet sing-song name.
With one foot on a knife-edge, the other in the air, the word soft didn’t come into it. I gripped the tsingy and tried not to look down. A long, long way down.
In Malagasy, the word tsingy means “walking on tip toes” or “the place where one cannot walk barefoot.” It’s a translation I’d overlooked for reasons that didn’t come to mind right now.
My hand grazed another and I did my best to ignore the pace of my pulse. I had to focus, to cling, to move. To grip and not to slip.
And then she appeared.
Light of foot and dancing.
A lemur. Then another. And another. Hopping, bouncing, chatting and calling, they danced and danced while I clung on.
And despite my heavy, dizzy, legs, I felt my heart join in, fluttering like lemur tails to be here in the wild in Madagascar.