I was driving with Joseph Sekiku through a town called Omorushaka when he remembered that a friend’s wife was in hospital there and we stopped to call in. She was sitting on her bed recovering from a major operation and looked rough. Her husband looked pretty shaken and I empathised with him very much; I had been in that situation, seeing the person you most care about suffering from a life-threatening illness. I must have given him a sympathetic look, we certainly didn’t say anything as we had no language in common. Or perhaps I looked worried, remembering how it was when Flic had cancer. When we left the ward he took my hand. We walked down a long, long hospital corridor like that, holding hands all the way.