Claude

Claude is my eight-year-old son. Every night I put him to bed. After a little snack and a wash, we sit down on his bed (a mattress on the floor under a mosquito net, like our own) and I read to him. Tonight it was a book about air - non-fiction. After finishing it, we lay down and instead of starting to play "I spy" (his usual ploy), Claude began asking me questions about air, and other things. We talked for about fifteen minutes. I look forward to these times with my son, he's such a lovely boy, and holding him and talking to him gives me intense pleasure. Actually, he has a slight fever this evening, flushed face and glittering eyes. I covered him with his "blanket" (a soft cotton sheet) and escaped, so that his mother would take a turn with him. With her he speaks a kind of mixed language of English and the local dialect. "Mag-lying down, Mummy!" he calls. Rose lies down with him till he goes to sleep.

Claude has been coughing a lot lately, I took him for an x-ray in case the TB he had last year had returned, but the x-ray was clear. So we don't know why he is coughing.