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been any improvement. The toe was black and oozing pus.

‘I’m afraid that the infection will spread to his whole foot,’ he warned Don Jorge. ‘He has to see a doctor. Otherwise he could lose his foot.’

Don Jorge listened while Marcus explained in detail. Marcus showed him how to clean the toe with alcohol and warned him not to drink any of the alcohol that we were leaving with him. He gave him some antibiotic cream as well, along with bandages and antibiotic tablets.

‘If it doesn’t get any better in a couple of days, you have to take your son to Apolo,’ Marcus warned him again.

‘I will do as you say,’ Don Jorge promised.

‘And don’t let him go barefoot. He has to wear a sock at least. He can’t let the bandage get dirty.’

Kevin returned from a short picture-taking stroll through the village. We put our packs on our backs. They had grown heavier because we were now carrying the rice, five pounds of coffee, smoked pork, bananas that Don Jorge’s father-in-law had given us, and some chancaca (a lump of brown sugar derived from sugarcane).

I was sorry to say goodbye to Don Jorge, his wife, and his neighbours. They were all good, pleasant people, and I hoped that I would see them again.

Flaca had mistakenly thought that she would be left to loll about the village, but Karl let her know in no uncertain terms that wherever we