“Our story with him ends, another begins. Who knows who he will have met on his way, who knows where he will have arrived, we hope that his journey has not ended in the woods, who knows if the contagion will have overcome him or will have been stronger of him?
Questions, only questions, few answers, no certainty. He, on the other hand, the certainty of not being able to stop, of having to continue, of persevering, at all costs, with two legs dripping with pus, with such a high fever, … ah here, maybe he was delusional. Maybe that’s what prompted him to flee the camp in the middle of the night. He will. Il cannot be, il cannot be otherwise. Or maybe, or maybe there are those who at twenty years, there are those who will never see their family again, there are those who will never arrive here, there are those who bring the shoes he no longer knows what to do with them, the wounds are now his soles. And then for those who have known all this an infection, however serious, is just a pebble in the shoe. And then he goes away, restarts and who knows how many more times. And we just have to wish each other: “we hope he brought the antibiotic!”.
Barbara, volunteer doctor of DonK HM.