The training group, more or less. These are all colleagues of mine, mostly from various partner banks across Africa. Standing, left to right: Felix from Rwanda; Valeriu the trainer, from Moldova, wearing the Masai blanket we gave him as a souvenir; Sophie from Kenya; Isaac from Ghana behind Mphatso from Malawi; Mike from Ghana behind Diana, my boss and the logistics manager of the training, originally from Romania and now living in Nairobi; Robert, head of the IT support centre, from the USA (not part of the training, he just dropped in to catch up). Diana is seven months pregnant but Robert isn't. In front, left to right: Erick from Kenya; a skinny fake Moçambicana; Lumbani from Malawi. Missing, due to an early flight home, are Ermelinda and Marin from Albania.The garden belongs to the Emmaus Centre, a retreat run by the Sacramentine Sisters. Every second house in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi seems to be a religious institution of some kind (I mean "leafy suburbs" in much the same sense as the term is used in Australia). Apparently this flowering is quite recent - most are less than twenty years old. Many of them offer accommodation and make a cheap option for groups with a studious purpose. We had to be home by 10pm every night (not everyone in the group managed this consistently) and generally behave - not a big ask when there was so much to learn. There was no internet available, which no doubt contributed to my unwontedly serene and contented state of mind.
Michael, the cook at the Emmaus Centre (very good at his job) vanished partway through our stay there, and we later discovered a child of his had died. He returned in time for some of us to contribute money to his funeral expenses, as is the custom in much of Africa. It was his nine-year-old daughter whom he'd lost, and her death adds one more to the toll of al-Qaeda's 1998 bombing of the US embassy in Nairobi. Michael's wife had been riding past the embassy in a matatu (minibus) with her new baby girl in her arms when the car bomb exploded. Both survived, but the impact of the blast somehow damaged the baby's body so that she never thrived. Even when she was eight or nine, Michael told us, she looked no more than a baby. At length the insidious damage caught up with her and she died.
"God gives us these crosses to bear," said Michael with a sad smile.
