Amelia had surfaced with the commotion. She also took in Mukwege’s photograph over Xander’s shoulder before washing her face at the kitchen sink. I packed my camera into my backpack and downed two pint glasses of water. I was parched. Hungry as well. Xander had liberated about thirty mini-boxes of cereal from the hotel breakfast bar before he left. Despite having no milk I ate two bowlfuls of cornflakes on the spot. Amelia chose Coco Pops. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know she’d be coming too. I was relieved. Tracking the guy down and convincing him to take me seriously seemed a mountainous task. If – and it was a huge if – we got the chance, I knew Amelia could be more persuasive than me.

63.

I resisted the temptation to speed us to the People’s Palace; Kinshasa’s streets, I’d noticed, are full of traffic police just looking for a reason to stop cars, motorbikes, even cyclists, and demand a payment. Better to make like a tortoise than a hare. That also gave Xander time to work out that chairman Mukwege would likely be arriving by car also, since the summit was taking place across town. When we spoke, on our arrival, he had a plan all worked out.

‘Get rid of the bike and act like a tourist; work your way as close to the entrance as you can and if – no, when – you see him, try shouting, “Cloudburst!”’

‘Why?’

‘It’s what I labelled the file.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Make your own!’ he said, trying to buoy me up.

Amelia had been listening in. ‘Instead of talking about something that doesn’t exist, let’s get in position, shall we?’

Mercifully there were no big crowds of protestors, or indeed tourists, clogging up the front of the People’s Palace. The great oblong building sat flat on its enormous apron of tarmac beneath a felt-grey sky. A steady stream of cars was rolling up in front of the main steps to deposit important people, however, and there were guards stationed there. To get to that point the cars had to filter through a roadblock of sorts. It was Amelia’s idea to station ourselves there. Had Mukwege already arrived? I wondered. Hopefully not, since the summit he was apparently closing wasn’t due to end until roughly now. We sidled as close to the pinch point as we dared, and stood inspecting the cars as they came. It seemed a ridiculously long shot, and yet I knew Xander wouldn’t have suggested it without having done his best to research the chairman’s schedule and movements. Some of the cars had heavily tinted windows. They were agony to let pass. As more and more time ticked away I felt hope draining through the soles of my trainers into the warm tarmac. Twelve o’clock turned to twelve fifteen turned to half past.