The sky is pink as the sun breaches the horizon and a golden path floods across the sea, sunlight pouring in through the windows. To the south hazy cloud hangs in valleys between rocky hilltops.
The white sand below us is like the surface of the moon – little footstep craters in the deep shadow of the morning sun. Down by the water’s edge a small dog is playing in the surf.
It was little over a year ago, now, that we lived at the foot of the Wussum mountain in Makeni. Hot, airless days when heat would radiate from every surface and each breath would roast your lungs. A dry, dusty atmosphere obscuring a red sun.
Last week, Sierra Leone passed another week without new Ebola infections. Each passing week brings hope. There are undoubtedly obstacles ahead, but as they look forward to the future so, too, must we.
And so last week we left London in the rain in search of a new mountain. This one a sudden ridge that rises steeply from a wide flood plain, a hill of golden rock that sits at our back as we look out over the Mediterranean from our new vantage point on the Spanish coast.
This is home for the next three months.
While Georgie seeks contracts in troubled places I invest in a writing project that may never pay off. It’s an uncertain path that we’ve chosen, but sitting down to work today, watching the waves roll lazily onto the wide beach as the sun creeps higher in a clear blue sky the decision, so far, seems like a fair one.