I am leaving my small hotel in a northern Malagasy town, getting on my motorbike, when she appears —light-footed down the potholed street, smiling, in a bright blouse, skirt, and colourful apron, looking radiant and pretty. A nose ring catches the sun. She stops, says she is shopping for her employers, then with some words of rudimentary French and hand signs suggests “caresses.”

It’s 10 a.m., the street busy, no furtiveness about it. She doesn’t mention money, nor do I, though a small gift would surely be expected—she likely earns less than a euro a day. For her, there is no shame in her offer.

I decline. Thinking her needy, I offer her a small Malagasy banknote, worth about 1€ – a day’s wages. She looks surprised and shakes her head. I feel embarrassed at her thinking that I might think her a beggar.

She laughs, says “Maybe tomorrow,” skips over a pothole and continues on her way. Very probably, like most Malagasies, she goes to church or mosque each week, loves her probably large family, and lives relatively honestly. I never saw her again.

Who wants to cast the first stone ? If yes, at who?