Death was imminent. I was sure of it. It was so humid that the word “air” could be used only sparingly. And it was so hot that there may as well have been an onion on my head and a tomato in my mouth: I was being roasted alive. The thermometer pegged the temperature at 72oC (162oF).
On an overcast February morning in 2012, after two weeks in Malawi and a serendipitous travel diversion, it was great to be back in Amsterdam. Before I left…