I was quite a good student at school and after my A levels, I won a place at a top London college to study history, philosophy and politics.
Upon graduation I applied for, and was accepted into, the foreign service. After a few years working in minor posts in the FO in London I got my first posting overseas. It was not a long term post but involved preparing the way for a state visit of a senior member of government.
The counter involved was one of the newly independent African countries and one of the parts of the visit was to a village where we were to open a clinic.
It was a smallish village, quite remote from the capital, where the customs of western civilization had not completely become the norm.
I was greeted upon my arrival by a band of near naked children – some of whom appeared quite well into their teens or older – and was led to the house of the village chief. The building was a mud and tin hut – although it was the largest in the place – and was surprisingly cool inside.
As my eyes became accustomed to the light inside I could make out a wizened old man upon a high chair surrounded by several large women in brightly coloured dresses. There were two small boys fanning the chief with ostrich feather fans and in front of them all was a low table upon which were a selection of fruits.
I greeted the old man and was surprised to be welcomed in good English by a young girl who had been eclipsed by one of the large women. She came forward and shook my hand seriously and told me that her name was Rani and she was to be my guide and interpreter for the duration of my short stay.
I was asked to sit at the table and was offered fruits and juices until I could eat and drink no more.
