at his bedside for moments like this, and began scribbling, He was terrified to lose any of his inspiration. After that, he began to think, to take the idea that had come to him in a subconscious flash a few minutes earlier, and worked on it, applied logic to it, picked and nagged at it until it revealed so much more, details that opened up a whole world of possibilities.
He was so excited that he wanted to phone someone and share his discovery, but he knew Judith would be fast asleep. Anyway, she was likely to have been slumberously dismissive, as she was with any of her husband’s ideas that were to do with work. Nor could he wake Emma – like most 14-year-olds, she slept like a log. Everyone else in the UK, including his business partner, would also be asleep. Even for this revelation, he couldn’t presume to wake someone up in the small hours. Eventually, he turned out the light, and tried to get some sleep, but not before having decided to postpone his flight back to London, and to call Tim first thing and get him to fly back to Korem. He had to talk to Anne Chaffey immediately.
Soon after ten the next day, he was back in the Cessna, flying north. Anne Chaffey was taken aback to see him again so soon, but when they sat down in her tiny office at the back of the clinic, she soon became engrossed in what he had to say. Adrian kept calm, and explained – or sold – his idea as simply as possible. As well as attempting to foresee any worries she might have, he also emphasized the fact that it had been her words that had inspired him in the first place.
Her only real worry – apart from the logistics of the project – turned out to be with its ethical aspects. But, to Adrian’s surprise, she proceeded to argue against each of these as soon as she raised them. He simply had to sit there, nod his head vigorously and say every now and again, Yes, Anne… Absolutely… Quite right… I agree…
‘I imagine you’re looking for a young person, Mr Burles.’
‘You must call me Adrian.’
‘I feel more comfortable…’
‘I insist. We can’t be so formal when we’ll be living on top of each other for several weeks if this goes ahead.’
She nodded, so reluctantly she could almost have been shaking her head.
‘I think, ideally, someone in their late teens or early twenties.’
‘And male?’
‘I’ll leave that to you. What do you think?’
‘It’s very much a male-orientated society, and although it pains me to do anything that might perpetuate that inequality, I’m not sure it would be acceptable to ask a woman to undertake such a task.’
Adrian was pleased she was thinking things through as carefully as he himself had done. It gave him faith in her.
‘There’s no one suitable in the clinic at the moment. As for the camp, I’d prefer not to involve them if at all possible.’
‘Why’s that?’
She sat straight-backed before him, her lined, suntanned face, although austere, looking emphatically granny-like. There was a gently humorous warmth in the eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. They sparkled with life, and there was a softness in her hair, which was delicately curled and white.
‘In the Korem camp, and also in the seven camps around Mek’ele, there’s a bureaucracy that can be quite overwhelming. I’ve heard stories,’ she added, smiling suddenly, leaving the three words alone to tell those stories.
‘What kind of stories?’
‘Oh, that’s not so important,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s their attitude that will be a problem, especially with a request as unusual as this one. The camps are full of young aid workers, and, heaven forbid there’s anything wrong with that – far from it, but they can be, well, how shall I put this…? Maybe I have spent too long working on my own, but I feel they can be a little earnest and idealistic at times – too hesitant and overly suspicious.’ She smiled. ‘“It can’t be done, it can’t be done,” they tell me over and over again – even about the most trivial request – and they demand the filling in of countless forms, and emphasize the necessity of consulting with Paris or Geneva or New York rather than making any kind of decision themselves. You could be waiting for months, possibly years, before you receive an answer. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t think they’ll be happy to cooperate, anyway.’
‘But we only need one person, for heaven’s sake, to borrow one person, that’s all we’re looking for.’ And even though this imagined youthful slayer of dreams was not before him now, he supposed Anne Chaffey was right. If such people, with their do-gooding, pious sentiments and their tunnel-vision minds could try even the patience of an old nurse, he was unlikely to get far with them.
‘“We can’t just let you walk out of here with someone who’s in our care,”’ the nurse parroted, ‘“it would be irresponsible, even immoral.” That would be their justification.’ She giggled. ‘But I’m being most uncharitable.’
‘How can they talk about morality and responsibility in this chaos, in this hell where people, despite all the food and medicine, are still dying? Are you saying Korem would also be like that?’
She hesitated. ‘I’ve been here a long time, Adrian, long before Korem and the other camps were set up to cope with the latest famine. My primary concern has always been the long-term health of the locals, whereas their primary concern is to feed people.’ She picked up a folder lying on top of the small table, and carried it across to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. It was as if she were saying she couldn’t spare any more time simply sitting and chatting to Adrian. ‘There’s some crossover between us, and with so much food now being flown in from the West, the camp is able to keep us supplied too. This is necessary because many refugees from the Tigray and Wollo districts still come here, to the clinic. They’ve known about us for many years, and see no difference between us and a refugee camp; to them we’re both sources of relief.’
She closed the cabinet door and returned to sit at the table. ‘So, although we work closely with their aid workers, I wouldn’t be happy involving them in this.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘Well, you should know.’
‘There’s also a problem with refugees not wanting to leave the camps.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Why would you leave when you have food and shelter, when there are soldiers outside the camp who may kill you? The civil war is still being fought. It’s much safer to live in a camp.’
‘I’ve heard there are many who’d be more than happy to leave the camps. I understood they regard them as a last resort, almost as an admission of defeat. A nurse I met in London, someone who worked in Ethiopia in 1985, told me she never had it in her to send anyone to the camps. It didn’t matter if they were starving, her conscience wouldn’t allow it. “It’s a death sentence” was how she put it to me.’
Anne moved her head from side to side, as if weighing up the options. ‘I think that’s a little exaggerated, even for then. They do their best in an impossible situation. It’s the local officials who are to blame for making the camps difficult to run. There’s theft, corruption and, worst of all, incompetence.’
By early afternoon, everything had been agreed. Anne would find a suitable person, and Adrian would return to London and make as many arrangements as he could in the meantime. ‘But we must
