When a development consultant finally managed to track down the son of a long-lost family friend it left childhood memories forever tarnished Memories from childhood whirl down like autumn leaves. There’s one I’ve often caught from the time I was very young and it’s always the same. My parents pick a letter out of our postbox at the bottom of our drive. Cries of delight. “Matthew has written,Matthew has written.” Hugs and leaps. My mother enacts an idiotic dance, a whirl of celebration. I see the jagged dark shadows of the rhododendron leaves on the tarmac road, and her legs flashing,and the sun suffuses everything gold. I know that Matthew is important, that he looked after me for several years when I was a baby in Africa. Years later I hold that letter in my hands. The animal stamps ripped in half by that first fervent tearing. I pull out a photograph. A solemn young man with wide eyes stares out. Matthew says he has a novel job as an immigration officer. He’s married. He has a baby daughter called Charity. He asks approximately us all. Related: Secret aid worker: sometimes I go to supermarkets to escape the loneliness Related: Secret aid worker: there is still racism within humanitarian work Related: Sexual violence in the aid sector: what should NGOs be doing? Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com