I went to a service in Nairobi. I could not find a Catholic Mass. It was upstairs, an unlikely ‘church’ with a corrugated tin roof and open sides. 6,000 feet up the sky was cloudless, the air coming through the open sides cool. I was the only white person there.

The sermon was in Swahili and English. I wasn’t sure I understood the English any more than the Swahili. At the end of the long sermon I left but, in the road, heard them singing. I returned. The chant was endless, repeating, rhythmic. I went with flow. I was wondering whether to put my last 1,000 Kenyan shillings note in the box. I left, then returned to do so. As I walked down the stairs, they were singing ‘Jesus is the Truth’ or something like it. That service was more memorable and did more for me than two dozen traditional liturgies in England.

I was steering a small dhow made entirely of bits of wood attached to a hollowed-out tree trunk, the sail with many holes. A young man was balancing gracefully on the outrigger. For some reason religion came up. This young Mombasa fisherman seemed very well informed. He said ‘The human race is the tree, religions the branches, and we are the leaves.’ I suppose it is a cliché, I don’t know. I have not heard the phrase before. It seemed remarkably apposite and full of wisdom to me. We are all a unity. The human race is one great tree and all religions stream from us and flow back to the same roots.