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on my arm hadn't formed a scab. The edges were white. My fingers and the palms of my hands were also lily-white. I had been constantly wet for several days.

My body is rotting.

We walked until late evening. I didn't stop talking for a minute, chattering all day long, trying to keep her spirits up, trying to keep her from losing hope. When she stumbled or slowed down, I offered her my hand, caressing her sad face. I was so anxious to cover as much ground as possible that I didn't even notice that the sun had almost set. I had to hurry and find a place to rest our heads before darkness fell.

I tore off some palm fronds and spread them over some muddy tree roots. I didn't bother trying to get comfortable; my body was inured to discomfort. I covered myself with the wet nets and the poncho. Taking my shoes off had been agony. I didn't remove my socks. They would just have to remain wet and dirty with mud, blood, and pus. I pulled the sack over my feet very carefully, knowing how tormenting the slightest contact would be. I didn't change position all night long in order to give my feet a rest.

I believed with all my heart that tomorrow would be my last day of hardship. Tomorrow a plane would find me.

‘Thank you, my love. Thank you for being here. Tomorrow you’ll get the kid-glove treatment. Don’t cry. Try to shut your eyes, to get some sleep.