Comforts of Home

Our house is a construction site (recall 'Duck 'n Cover' in June) so we're staying in the so-called Guesthouse which neighbours a mosque. That means we get a less than gentle wake up call every morning at 4am and unfortunately the muezzin is completely tone deaf. So not in the least bit romantic...like 'The English Patient.'
Also, squat toilets only and despite years of yoga I'm still a wonky squatter. It's impossible or at least undesirable to read while on a squat loo :(
Soon we're going home to South Africa, where comforts are many, but not for all.
Just got a heart breaking e-mail from my friend Caroline who is a doctor in New Zealand for now, though originally from South Africa and possibly on her way to Niger with MSF.
I hope she'll forgive me for quoting her:

when i see a kid that's so emaciated, i think what he
needs is food and water, and what that kid needed was
to be held. obviously he needed food as well, but his
most pressing desire was to be picked up again.
and it reminded me (& this is why i cried) of
a skeletal aids baby in SA when i was a medical student,
called Gift. and Gift cried ALL the time in his lonely
hospital bed and when i picked him up, he cried more.
so i put him down, cos i thought he was sore & it hurt
to be held, but now i realise that it hurts more NOT
to be held. and that everyone needs to be held, no
matter what.
so i'm hoping that i wont get embarassed and think
i've made the baby cry and quickly put it down, if
that sort of thing happens again, but that i'll hold
them.