Patricia would always look at me like this. I was a mystery to her: I wasn't selling anything; I didn't have wife or child; I spoke strangely. She would come anyway, sit next to me and talk to me. Her family were merchants and so she mostly wanted to know what everything I owned had cost and then if she could ride Judas. She agreed with many that my only redeeming quality was a donkey. Her gypsy family, like me, lived in tents and was seminomadic.

The leaf cutter ants were intimidating. The biggest looked like they had muscles: their rounded head and body bulging fire engine red. They would cut beautiful, almost perfect circles in my tent. Some the size of my fist, some the size of my head. At least those nights they weren't biting me. Even so it was hard to sleep when their pheromone paths ran over the top of me. When they swarmed or were driven out by the rains Judas would go stand in the water. I had little choice but to try and move camp. Thankfully, like some ants we encountered, they didnt have wasp sting tails.

A little boy of ten, tattooed and shirtless, stopped me outside this government housing project in Southern Brazil to ask about Judas. My portuguese was pretty bad but it didn't matter; he was happy just to see the animal in close quarters and stretch up to touch his withers. Having been robbed twice in Brazil I was definitely nervous. There are some places you just shouldn't go even if you have a donkey to break the ice.