Day

My days start at 5.30 in the morning when the towns numerous cockerels persuade me from sleeping any longer. If I'm lucky an elderly gentleman who works at my lodge brings me hot water, his way of communication this is to shout ‘Haat’ outside my door, where he waits with his pail for me to disentangle my self from the mosquito net.

The morning sun is strong but its heat is not immediately felt due to the altitude; although its accumulative effects usually tell around eleven. I start work at 7.30 but this can mean 8 under the rules in used here - its pretty relaxed.

So far my work has consisted of shaking a lot of hands and sitting on the porch of my office (district planning office) reading Malawian news papers, waiting for the daily power-cuts to end and for my desk to be built, which took three days. The irony of working in a planning office that takes three days to construct a table is not lost on me, nor is the sense of what may hay let my self in for. I am now preparing for an up hill struggle.