The road to Kalima is undulating, incredibly bumpy and full of ditches and boulders to swerve round. We drive for 40 minutes up some bone-jarringly bumpy roads, then park the car and walk for about a mile through farm land until we hear rushing water, and make our way towards a fast-flowing river.
“Mr Winesi lives up there.” We’re pointed towards the top of a big hill – in the bright light we can see the silhouette of an old man moving hesitantly around the outside of a house, feeling his way with his hands. This is the man we’ve come to meet. We take off our shoes, roll up our trousers and wade across the river.