It was only after the interview ended that I noticed it had been raining. I’d been so absorbed in Victor’s story, so moved by his words, that I’d stopped taking notice of the world around me. I said a heartfelt thank you, turned off the dictaphone, wiped the rain drops off my glasses, then walked away.
I needed to find a quiet spot where I could cry.
A grim contrast
It’s February 2020, and I’m in a small village in rural Malawi. It’s taken hours of driving through the countryside to get here – countryside that, for now, at the end of the rainy season, is lush and green. If you didn’t know the story of the people here, it would feel like paradise. There are butterflies everywhere, and an abundance of colourful birds flitting among the trees that surround the village.
But the beauty only serves as a grim contrast with what people like Victor are going through.