25 October

Up to the great sprawling bus station for 5.30am, all our luggage squashed into a small family car, with Caroline looking like a contortionist on the back seat. At that time in the morning Dar-es Salaam is alive with, commuters, the ubiquitous daladalas’ horns blaring and men and women selling food from small stalls; newspapers, bottled water- all you need for a hectic commute.

At the bus station John – the pushiest porter soon identifies himself and for a good fee carries all the luggage – yes, all the luggage!- singlehandedly across the huge coach park. Once aboard in the best seats (I think Benjamin had paid a premium to make sure we were comfortable) we set off in a coach which I estimate was at least 25 years old, had cracks across the windscreen which had been sealed with yellow sealant to match the company’s logo. The driver had installed his own distinctive horn system, a selection of garish, sometimes vulgar, always loud sirens, which he used every few minutes to move cyclists, pedestrians, cars, in fact anything smaller or slower than him out of the way.

We were making good time, perhaps because the dereva made no allowances for speed humps. After two hours, not long after we had hit the open road, a loud rattling came from the engine housing and we pulled over. The old man next to me was clearly angry. I think he blamed the driver for recklessness. I was despondent, thinking that in the UK, this would mean a lengthy wait for a replacement coach. At this point Caroline suggested unhelpfully that it might be the fan belt. The driver opened the housing and with his only spanner and the ignition key rammed into the gap between spanner and bolt, he began painstakingly to remove the alternator casing. We limped to the next small town, ramshackle collection of mud houses, where he found a man with a spanner that fit and within twenty minutes, he had the fan-belt – yes, Caroline was right! – back on.

We continued, at one point covering a 60km stretch of unmade road, avoiding humps, crevices and holes, at speed, with great skill. It was impressive but incredibly uncomfortable, and after an hour or so, the sense of adventure had turned to tedium.

We arrived in Mtwara an hour late, but to find Francis, a fellow tutor, waiting for us with a Landcruiser. Our shared sense of relief was palpable. Mama Eliwaja, the Principle, was waiting for us at the college and we moved into our new home.

We ate kuku na chipsi na bia – yes you’re getting the hang of it, that’s chicken and chips and beer – with our new colleagues at the cafe across the road from college. At night everyone eats outside where there is no electric lighting whatsoever. It was relaxing, but eating in complete darkness, is a testament to faith rather than discernment, as no-one can have any idea what they are actually putting in their mouths.

More about our new home later. This morning, we feel tired after a sleepless, sticky night. The house has no fan, no water and single beds with ill-fitting mosquito nets. We feel it will be a challenge but in the fresh light of day, all will seem better.