Well despite the optimistic predictions there were no lifts. Every 30mins or so through the afternoon there would be a vehicle in my direction but either they didn’t stop or they were full or they were turning off shortly to take a different route. The sun set. Finally, when I was on the verge of giving up and looking for a local guesthouse, an articulated lorry with trailer stopped; probably because I was a mzungu and looking desperate. It was a modern flashy "voor sprung dorch teknik" affair with a spacious cab. There were three or four people already behind the driver. I sat next to the driver’s mate and we set off. For all its strength I concluded the lorry must have had a very very heavy load. We inched our way up every hill, and gingerly eased ourselves down the other side - the driver pumping the air brakes all the way. It felt perfectly safe but was going to take an age. Still, I was finally on the road again. We eventually reached a point 5km out of town at 2200. That was as far as he was going that night, but the other remaining passenger also wanted the town so we set off, walking along the empty moonlit road accompanied by the sounds of crickets and frogs; the African bush.

After 30mins, just on the edge of town a vehicle came up behind us and we tried to wave it down. My walking companion explained that I needed to find a guesthouse near the bus station so I could be off early in the morning. It turned out the vehicle was driven by a Catholic priest returning home. He gave me a lift and invited me to stay at his house. He also invited me to have the supper that had been left out for him as he had already eaten. I realised I hadn’t had breakfast or lunch and needed to eat something with my weekly Larium so gratefully accepted. He had been trained in Shrewsbury and said the English people had always shown him great hospitality.