When we finally got close we parked the bikes and walked toward a stand of mature mangoes where we heard some commotion. In the cool, dense shade of the trees were gathered a bunch of young children. The ground was dense with old and brittle mango leaves. It was impossible to walk quietly. I learned that the children gather here under these trees about three times a week to sing and play and to be read a story out of a
Bible story book.
They tell me Mare Koshon means "standing water where the pigs go to" and they walked me to a field that for some reason, did not drain water well even though we were at some altitude. It was boggy with a fair amount of standing water. I never saw any pigs.
I have a few videos of my time there and I'll post them when I figure out how. You will enjoy them, I'm pretty sure.
You can't find Mare Koshon on a map. I figure that's because it's tiny, plus no one much knows its there. But now I know it's there. My time there was one of those alive, exhiliarating, pinch me experiences you have every so often. Mare Koshon is a precious place with precious people whose needs are basic and severe. I figure I'll be back. Probably soon.