Though I have been traveling for years and been to any variety of places and cultures, i've never really had culture shock. There are only 2 occasions that I can recall that even come close, and they totaled less than an hour. The first, was as late as 2005 and I was in Gangneung, South Korea. It was my first visit to Eastern Asia; I had spent the previous 6 weeks or so in Siberia and had arrived in Korea unexpectedly and after a hellish journey on a knackered and sinking ferry in typhoon. Though I had been in Korea for a few hours, it was only when I went for a walk to find food that evening that it hit me: For maybe 30minutes or so, I was like a kid in a candy store gazing at this mass of advertising lights – or, really, any amount of light at all – and all these strange symbols that form the Korean alphabet, plus such amazing curiosities as a restaurant called McDonalds....

The second occasion in was 2006 and was a very brief 10second whammy. I had just arrived in London having been and out of Europe for most of the previous 18months or so, and had just got on the tube when I was suddenly hit by the realisation that of the mass of people all around me, not one was speaking English. I don't know why it was such a shock – London is one of the most multicultural cities in the world – but suddenly being back in an English speaking country for the first time in 18months and not hearing any English was just crazy for a short instance. Then I heard an announcement telling me to Mind the Gap, and all was good again.

I have always put the fact that I don't tend to get culture shock down to the fact that i don't fly. If you get on a plane in London or Stockholm or Atlanta and then get off 8-10 hours later in somewhere like Delhi, Tehran or Lagos your get such a sudden blast of new sensory inputs that your brain struggles to cope, especially if it is your first visit to such surroundings. However, if you have spent weeks or months getting there by surface, you have generally already adapted by that stage. There are very few places where by just crossing the 100m or so of no-mans land, you arrive in utterly different scenery or surroundings. It is a more gradual change and you have had time to adjust.

I'm not sure what I expected of Zimbabwe, but i blatantly was not prepared that first evening. It had admittedly been an early start and a very long day, but after being picked up by the lovely Dilly, my first CS host in Africa (it has been a frustrating continent to travel from that score) and taken to her apartment, my brain went into semi meltdown. Her apartment is a spacious and well kept place in a nice area, and was entirely western. I would go a far as saying swanky, and the sort of thing that i would be hugely impressed with if it had been in Munich or Stockholm, let alone Harare. It would not have looked out of place – inside or out – in London or any other Western city. It had electricity, hot running water, curtains, a cooker and more.

But what really got me was walking into the bathroom. As well as a toilet, it had a shower (yes, hot water with pressure) and a separate bath, plus, wonders of wonders, a washing machine. Admittedly not the most modern, but a washing machine. I haven't seen such an appliance in over 6months. so i stood and just stared at it, almost transfixed for a few seconds.

Though I still have some time left before I have to retreat to what some people laughingly call the real world, and have much to see, explore and experience before that moment, I suddenly realised that the end is rapidly approaching and i am now back in what Westerners would class as civilisation.

This will take some serious adjusting to.

About the only thing that seemed oddly comforting and, well, African, was the neighbours. I was solemnly and very seriously told that under no circumstances should i consider walking on the other side of the road here. Apparently the neighbours don't like it, and I would be shot on sight. And seeing several (often drunkenly staggering) guards with guns wandering around convinced me they weren't necessarily pulling my leg. 'Why', i asked out of curiosity? 'Dr. Robert Mugabe lives there'.

Welcome to culture shock, Colonial style remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The trio had been part of a larger group of about 10, all guys, and all with Malawian papers. Apparently the larger man with the bag was paying off the Malawians to let them through (or get dodgy passports from them, i'm not sure which) and was a well known people smuggler, who regularly made this trip with young men who wanted to get to Zimbabwe or South Africa for a better life/opportunities. Whether any of this was true, I don't know. What I do know is he returned minus the bag, was definitely the leader of the group, and carried himself with a kind of cocky self confidence that suggested that he had nothing to worry about from anybody. And he was at least partly responsible for the delay which caused to sit in the sweltering heat waiting.

After the Tete corridor and creaking bridge over the Zambesi, the Zimbabwean part of the border was one of the friendliest I have ever crossed in Africa, though the bus then got delayed for another hour or so for reasons I don't know. Add in another 2 police stops and then a puncture barely 10km from Harare, and it all mean't that by the time we arrived it was gone 10pm. Happily, the bus then shot past the nicely lit place it was supposed to stop (and where I had arranged to meet my host) and then dumped me in a very dark and dodgy looking corner of Harare city centre with some very, erm, interesting characters lurking nearby.

Hmmm. Welcome to Zimbabwe

Another routine African bus journey remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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5 hours later, i had left again. Pretty wasn't it?!

Tete remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Again, i am not entirely sure why (though i am guessing at keeping unemployment figures down, and allowing ample opportunity to try and solicit bribe), Malawian police are extremely enthusiastic with their road blocks. Whilst this is not always so much of an issue when you are in a private car, on buses it generally means long stops where everybody has to get off, and then bags are then checked: Sometimes at random, sometimes thoroughly and sometimes with such a fine tooth comb as to be utterly frustrating. Especially when they refuse to say what they are looking for, and when you had just emptied your bag on to the sand barely 20ins previously at the last road block and the bus hasn't stopped anywhere in the interim. And at both stops you were one of only a very small number to be searched.

Back to why being awake at 2am has anything to do with police; It mean't that when they randomly raided the mostly empty hostel I was in at 3am, I was already awake. They were not quiet, they were not polite. About 8 barged into our room and though all wore assorted uniforms, not one would identify themselves (except, when asked, to say 'I am from immigration': No sh1t, sherlock, that's why your hat and jumper both say immigration on them in large white letters) or say what they were looking for. Suffice to say that passports were gone over in a fine tooth comb, and then my hand luggage and anything that was left out was scrutinised deeply. They looked suspiciously at my bread rolls and jar of peanut butter. They seemed convinced that Tiger Balm was something entirely different, and for the umpteenth time seemed utterly stumped by my Doxycycline. This is not a new phenomenon: At every check, the thing that has baffled them most is my malaria medicine, and most other backpackers have said the same thing. I don't know why Malawian polie are so uniformly stupid, but surely in an area with a very high malaria rate, mzungu's with malaria medicine should not exactly be a novelty to them any more. But from how they deal with it every single s*dding time, you would have thought i was carrying plutonium pills. Or Licorice...

Half an hour later i was left alone. The Japanese girl who was the only other person in the dorm was not so lucky. She works for an NGO who keep her passport. She had with her a notarised copy (all that i required under Malawian law), but that was not enough. The olice needed to see her actual passport. And now. After chucking everything out of her back to check it, they forced her off to the police station, literally shouting at her to hurry up repacking her stuff and not even letting her dress properly. An American from the next room seemed to be having a similar discussion in the hallway and also disappeared, whilst a third person was also heard to be being removed from the premises. As there were only 5guests that I was aware of and at least 3 were removed, I could only count my lucky stars that i was still there.

The Japanese girl came back about 5.30 (without her bag), but i have no idea what happened to the other guys or her bag as I left at 6.30 to find a bus. Malawi has been pretty enjoyable in general, but it is definitely time to move on.

A happy last morning in Malawi. Oh yes. remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The first was barely 20minutes in, when the driver suddenly slammed on the breaks and slowed to an almost pedestrian rate. 'What's wrong?' we asked. 'A policeman with a speed camera ahead' he answered. But I quickly saw that things weren't quite right. For one thing, you could see the plug dangling down by the policeman's feet and not, as one suspects is normally required from such plugs, being plugged in. Another couple of seconds and i burst out laughing and told the drive he could speed up again if he wanted to. 'But there is a speed camera ahead' he repeated in puzzled tones. 'No there isn't', i said 'It's a policeman pointing a hair dryer at us!!! In it's way it was utterly brilliant, especially as you know that there had to be one or two real ones around the area, or else people would quickly cotton on and ignore them.

The second incident was another 20minutes or so further on, when in a brilliant display of evolution at it's finest, we suddenly saw a monkey walking along the road towards us carrying a small plastic bag of chips he was eating from, whilst on the opposite side of the road walking in the other direction was a local man carrying a large bunch of bananas. Kodak moments are made of brief snapshots like this, though my camera was sadly not to hand.

Malawi is undoubtedly a beautiful country, and generally, a very friendly one as well. Malawi is the only place in Africa that I have been where random locals would regularly come up to me on the street in the bigger towns and cities – and I am not alone in this happening to me – to shake my hand and welcome me to Malawi, without anting anything from me at all. They would say hello, welcome, shake my hand and walk away. After being in so many places where everybody who comes up randomly to say hello either wants something, or wants to sell you something, it is great to actually feel welcome for being you, and not for being a walking (or hobbling) ATM. A surprising number of the expats and lodge owners I have come across are abut my age, and I have made allot of friends amongst them and other long termers.

This happy chap had apparently been on the bar all day, and was happily dancing to whatever music happened to be playing. I could have watched him for hours

Other guests/travellers could generally be split into a few small groups: People doing medical electives (EG placements) for 1-2.5months, and just traveling at weekends or for a short period after they had finished, or living in hostel for the whole time. These tended to travel in pairs, and a large number of these were Scottish, Dutch or German. Then there were mid-term volunteers who were mostly settled location wise for 3 or 4 weeks or more: Many had been to Malawi before, and pretty much all of those that hadn't declared their intention to return in the next couple of years. And then there were the backpackers/travelers/holidaymakers of whom there were a surprisingly small number and 95%+ were couples (or at least M/F duo's). I can pretty much count the number of solo travelers I met in the 7 weeks or so I was in Malawi on one hand.

But whilst on the whole I do still really like Malawi, there is much not to like about it, and I leave with mixed emotions. I still love it here and want to come back, but it's not a clean cut as all that. As previously mentioned I managed to prevent a bag snatchingand then got robbed in a dorm. When reporting the robbery, the policeman apologized profusely and said 'this is not normal. You must believe that such incidents are very rare, and Malawi is a very friendly and safe country'. I wanted to believe him. Yet from my experience, it is not and they are not. It has been the most striking aspect of my time here, but more than 50% of the travelers and mzungu's I have met have also been robbed. And that is a heck of a lot of robberies. There is no obvious link - some have been opportunist, some have been professional, some pickpockets, some have been well known cons, scams or tricks. A few have been violent. But the end result has been the same. The thing that intrigues me is that many chose not to report it, or didn't even mention it until they heard that I had been robbed – the attitude of 'these things happen' and 'oh well. I suppose they are so much poorer than me that it doesn't matter' are very strange ones to me. Yes, these things do happen, and yes, the locals are much poorer than the average backpacker. Old fashioned and colonial as I may sound, to my mind that still does not make it right or OK for them to steal.

From personal experience, i would say that Malawi is the one place I have been (and over the years i have been to a few places) where you are most likely to be robbed. And I would never have expected that.

But more than the frustrating but often vaguely amusing TIA moments and more than the robberies, the one thing that really made me think twice about Malawi was an incident at a club in Lilongwe a few weeks ago. A large group of us had piled into back of 2 pickups (much to the amusement of the locals to see so many mzungus in one pickup), and we were going out to one of the more well known night spots in town. We were a fairly diverse group in terms of ethnicity and nationality, and two of the DJ's were friends of at least half of our group. I was looking forward to it. At the club, as we slowly paid our entrance and shuffled in, I heard the (local) bouncers suddenly say 'I'm sorry, this is a private party and you are not welcome here'. I turned to see them talking to Max, a really cheery young guy with a London accent. He protested, as did the rest of us who were still within earshot. This is just not on, we argued. Why is he not allowed in? 'Policy' we were told. The rest of our group was recalled from the club, along with some extras who were just as outraged, and we left on mass, disgusted that such a thing could happen in Malawi.

Why did this p1ss me and everybody off quite so much?

Max is a black Malawian.

The end of Malawi remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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It's even hard to explain exactly what constitutes a TIA moment. Small things like the drinks delivery truck turning up without either Coke or Green's (Carlsberg green, by far the most popular drink in Malawi) on board. Traffic logjams with no police anywhere, except for 4 all directing traffic at the only junction in the entire city that has traffic lights (which are being ignored by the police). A scheduled bus which is scheduled to leave at 5am or 6.30 or maybe 3pm, or maybe 9am: Basically nobody has the faintest idea what time it leaves, although all agree that it is a scheduled bus and leaves on time. The shipping company that basically takes out adverts to announce that its main ferry is not seaworthy, but continues running anyway; The thieves that stole the double mattress and took half-bikini's but left more portable and expensive items? All incidents of 'TIA'

TIA is used for all those small incidents, issues, problems and kind of 'shrugs. Sh1t happens' moments, and things which just don't make any kid of logical sense, but happen -or not - anyway. Any one incident might happen elsewhere, and bring small amusing stories passed on to friends and families at a later date, but the sheer number of them that you come across leads to TIA. I have had occasion to

To take one small example, i am currently in the Scottish named commercial capital of Malawi, Blantyre. My idea – after the hopeful conclusion of my fight with the Mozambiquian officials, anyway – is to head to Harare in Zimbabwe. It is the next logical destination, and (though I have no intention/interest in avoiding it) to avoid Zimbabwe completely would involve a detour of 6days of solid travel, and significant expense. I really don't have much time left and so could just go straight through to Johannesburg, but as I would still need to pay the required 55usd visa fee to cross Zimbabwe, that seems a little silly. But it isn't as simple as all that. I have so far found nine separate bus companies who operate services between Blantyre and Johannesburg, who offer between 1 and 4 services a week each. Combined, there are at least 20 weekly buses to Johannesburg. All services use the same road through the Tete corridor of Mozambique and then pass through Harare. It is unavoidable. But here's the thing. None of them – not one – offers a service to Harare or is prepared to drop passengers there. I have even offered to pay the full fare to Jo'burg and just jump out early. But none of them will accept that. By now you will have guessed that I haven't managed to find a single company that is prepared to take me to Harare – or offers a Harare service – despite the fact all buses to Jo'burg must go through there, most almost certainly stop there somewhere for a comfort break, or the fact that it is a good 18hours or so closer. Instead, at the moment I am reduced to a trip which at a minimum will consist of 4minibuses and a taxi, 3 currencies, 2 European languages (and countless local ones) in a mammoth of a trip which will probably take me two days. Yup, TIA.

Ah yes, The Lilongwe to Tayport bus...

And as for the Mozambiquian incident described above, it could become a book in itself. Suffice to say that I had found 4 different locations/addresses for the consulate, visiting of which took me 1.5days to visit, only to discover that 3 of them had never had anything to do with the consulate or Mozambique, and the 4th was the consulate – until 5years ago. No taxi driver had any idea where it was (although two happily drove me at random around Blantyre and Limbe for over an hour each hoping they would get lucky and I would pay them lots. We didn't and i didn't). I eventually discovered the consulate is now in a small office block in the centre of Blantyre (with no sign or flag) and which I had walked past at least 6 times during my previous fruitless searches. If that was bad enough, the fight to get the visa I want (It's only a double entry, which is on their price list and so shouldn't be *that* hard to get) is still ongoing, wearying, and seems oddly unsatisfactory to both myself and the consular officials – it is one of those depressing long running 'discussions' in which the only agreement is that we are all unhappy about what is happening, and can't see an end in sight. TIA. There will be no winners here.

When tents go wrong...

As an almost unrelated aside, todays Newspaper watch comes from the Malawian Daily Times. In an article entitle Wife cuts hubby's parts, you can pretty much guess the story and what happened, so i'll spare you the painful (especially if you are male) details. It's the sort of story that does come up every few months even in Europe and is not all *that* uncommon. What makes this one special though, is a throwaway comment near the bottom of the story, which states '... Mverani [the Police officer in charge of the case] said Ndilowe [the wife and scrotum cutter] has in the past been arrested on similar charges but was released on demand by her husband...' . Yes, re-read that. The wife has more than once in the past cut her husbands testicles, yet he has demanded – demanded – her release. My guess is that for that kind of leniency, she either has an absolutely brilliant blackmail photo of him, or is stinking rich and he desperately needs her money. And for the record (just in case you were contemplating it), if anybody happens to deliberately cut my balls – especially more than once – i will not be demanding your release back to me: rather, I will be paying people to keep you away from me for much, much longer....

Moving on.

Yup, This is Africa

Don't know why, but I just like the idea of Solarly.

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Starting the walk in darkness through snake and scorpion infested long grass on a steep hill was not ideal, but we managed to walk all the way across without further incident, arriving at the docking area to discover.... Nothing. The boat was gone. B*llox. I had got out of bed at 4am for this???

A much much smaller boat stood on the other-side, and it was soon ascertained that it was also heading to Nkhata Bay, and at 6 'o' clock. Perhaps our luck wasn't as bad as all that. And having agreed a fare, at the astonishing time of 6:03 (so punctual that by African standards it was at least 2hours early) the Emmanuel headed out with about 30 of us on board. Nobody seemed to have the faintest idea where the boat had come from, but that wasn't really any of our concern.

Leaving Likoma, blissfully unaware of what would happen next

After a leisurely trip around the southern end of Likoma, we did start to ponder certain other small questions: Was the boat seaworthy? Where the heck did those waves come from and is my head supposed to be getting continually drenched by them? And wasn't that bag now floating rapidly away on the Lake, on our boat a few seconds ago? That sort of thing. To be fair, it wasn't really all that rough by standards of some places I have been. However, when you are on a small boat, being listing by well over a metre and your feet are getting wet - and basically in the Lake - every few seconds, it felt pretty bad. I was sitting on the metal hatch in the centre on the boat, the only person not crammed around its edge or on the (singular) seat, which mean't that I had nothing to hold on to and was thus sliding around like a giraffe on a skidpan: I was petrified that I would accidentally slide into somebody and push them overboard, though at least that would mean more room for me...

An hour or so of increasingly worse bobbing about and some of the people were becoming antsy. Many of the locals were, erm, not that happy at the state of affairs, although the mzungu's – who were not used to boats of any size – were taking it much worse. I was by far the calmest of the 6 mzungu's on board but that is not really saying allot, and the though of traveling another 6-8-? hours across open lake in this wind and waves was not my idea of fun, especially on a small boat with no seats, nothing to hold on to and no safety equipment. Lake Malawi is large enough to get some very bad – and changeable weather – and small boats are lost with alarming regularity. Marcus seemed to be taking it worse, or at least the most vocally, and it was probably by seeing him (Marcus is a former Cardiff Blues rugby player, and thus not a small man), the biggest of the Mzungus so scared and constantly shouting at the captain, that helped them relax a bit. In general terms, providing there is somebody more scared than you, you will be OK and can calm down a bit. And Marcus was very definitely scared.

Much calmer by now, but stilll some unhappy Mzungu's....

Eventually, it was announced that we were going to go and moor on Chizi to await the wind and conditions hopefully calming down. Whether the captain was going to anyway, I really don't know, but i would say that the threat of physical harm and potential hijacking of the boat by Marcus may have possibly helped his decision making process... So 2.5hours and ll of 11km later, we were back on Chizumulu.

From there, it wasn't so bad. Though it sure as heck was not calm, when we resumed our voyage a couple of hours later (after some very scared mzungu's had almost abandoned and opted to stay on Chizi for as long a needed, and having gained another 15 or so locals to another vocal discussion on overloading involving the crew and certain Mzungu's), our heavily laden small boat made its way back across Mozambique territorial waters to the mainland fairly easily. A few sketchy moments and occasional refreshing wetness to be sure, but apart from being cramped into a horribly uncomfortable small corner for 6hours, not too bad.

Relaxed locals on the approach to Nkhata Bay

I doubt many people have been so pleased to arrive at Nkhata Bay a some of the passengers on our boat were.

The Malawian shipping company had published an advert in the national papers a few weeks earlier (I had not seen it), basically saying that the Ilala is not seaworthy and that everybody travels on her at their own risk: EG – Don't blame or sue us when it sinks. If and when she does go down (pretty much everybody agrees that it is inevitable, though everybody hopes it never comes to that) it will be a tragedy on a huge scale and there will be massive loss of life. And it will, due to a complete lack of alternatives around lead, doubtlessly, to any number of similar crossings on small boats. Lets just say that i'm happy that i've visited Lake Malawi now, and didn't drown to tell the tale.

The Emmanuel, our vessel, at Nkhata Bay and (bottom) the remains of that orange thing was the only thing vaguely resembling a life jacket on the entire boat

How not to drown on Lake Malawi remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Likoma is a slight curiosity. A small island with a correspondingly small population, it also houses a cathedral that is bigger than the one in Westminster, and one of the largest in the Southern hemisphere. It is very pretty, well kept, and decidedly out of place.

Though I couldn't tell you why, I much preferred Likoma to Chizi. It was large enough to be able to get a decent walk, with more varied terrain, some good beaches and also some good cheap local restaurants: Rice, beans and veg for about 65p at the Hunger Clinic (and no, i was not spying) became a daily staple. Likoma was also home to hoardes of very friendly young kids, though surprisingly few 'give me's'. Whilst out exploring one day with an English girl called Lisa, we ended up collecting an ever changing mass of kids: At one point I counted 54. All they wanted to do was talk to us in a local language we knew 3words of between us, whilst walking alongside us, preferably (for them) whilst holding our hands. Which meant that I often had one small child hanging off each finger, and a few off my arms as well. At one point, i was convinced I would loose a finger on my right hand to a particularly enthusiastic 5year old. But they enjoyed being lifted up, and just walking with the mzungu's, and even – oddly – stuck strictly to boys to me and girls to Lisa.

Menu at the hunger clinic. No I have no idea what the spy thing is about either

I would certainly recommend that anybody who has time to visit the islands, but time was something I was now lacking. So I had decided to return to Nkhata Bay and go overland rather than wait for the ferry to next head south. But by now the Ilala was properly b*ggered, and the island rumour mill in full swing. Depending on exactly who you talked to, the ferry was definitely coming; definitely not coming; Coming at least 24hours late or Canceled for 3weeks. Inquiries to friends in Nkhata Bay produced more confusion, whilst phoning the shipping company didn't help either – 10 calls returned 4 different answers and 6 non answered. And the 4 responses all turned out to be wrong anyway.

Eventually, consensus said that whilst the Ilala may or may not turn up late to some degree, there was going to be a replacement service to Nkhata Bay (only) the following day. A much smaller boat had been 'borrowed' from the Mozambiquians (Mozambiquei?) and would be leaving at a changeable time that seemed to be being pulled out of assorted hats. On the plus side, there was a boat in evidence tied up near where the Ilala normally moors, which was bigger than anything else around (although admittedly, that isn't saying much).

So at the moment, we basically have no idea what is going to happen, or when. And I don't just mean in the game of beer-dice, to which I have just been introduced, but is fairly incomprehensible to me. We'll just turn up, pray, and see what happens.

Sounds like a fairly typical Rich journey, doesn't it?!

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But the kids on Chizi were creative to say the least: One kid of about 7 told me long and in great detail about his long struggle, and great jihad he is currently undertaking against his T-shirt (showing me the holes in the T-shirt's back here he had had some victories) to the endless amusement of some of the other kids. I was also bombarded with 'Give me's', which ranged from the normal (money, pen, sweet etc) to the cheeky (Give me cellphone) to the surreal: Give me Grandma, Give me Big Issue and Give me Vagina being the 3 most memorable, though I'm not entirely sure which is my favourite.

About the only other thing that we did was buy and slaughter a goat. And he was pretty damned tasty.

Billy, out goat, before, during and after...

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But being in the right place at the right time (an amazingly unlikely occurrence for me) and just about having enough time decided me. It was now or never. The Ilala in all it's 100+year history is now slightly creaking, shall we say, and all was not well. She had been late arriving after an almost slapstick attempts to fix her had failed, and then only managed an unplanned 2hour tour of the lake at strange hours of the morning (a free journey) instead of actually making it North as timetabled, after breaking yet again.

To be honest, I didn't actually expect it to depart, let alone to go anywhere useful for me. And so we sat in the bar at Aqua Africa talking to people long after the alleged departure time. But at 10pm, we were told that the boat would be leaving soon-ish, so said our farewells and tried to board. The problem was that this leg of the boats journey is by far the busiest, and all the locals had boarded hours ago, leaving the 3rd and 2nd class deck which you board through, erm, quite full. In the end I resolved to cheat, and to the amusement of the many locals watching, climbed up the outside of the boat and in to the first class deck area. My Israeli companion fought her way through the lower carnage and appeared much later. Astonishingly, barely 4.5hours late and without crashing into anything overly significant, we finally left, and after 5hours sat on the open deck (Notable only for the rat which ran over my leg repeatedly during the night) arrived at Chizumulu Island the next morning without incident.

Chizumulu and Likoma are two small islands in Lake Malawi; Malawian due to historical links although well within Mozambique's territorial waters. After a failed attempt to disembark passengers (too choppy) we found another more sheltered bay, lowered our bags over the side and fought our way off.

I never expected to actually make it this far. Anything else is a bonus.

The real steering was completely f*cked, so the Ilala was being piloted from this hi-tech backup system, with guys on the bridge shouting directions at them constantly through the night. The rear compass, alas, does not agree with the front one, and the rear steering is also held in place pretty much by duct tape and bungees, and breaks frequently, so it isn't really a huge surprise that it failed again...

A return to the Ilala remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Everybody has to start traveling at some point, and you generally start by knowing pretty much b*gger all. Most learn soon enough. Most of us gave them a quick glance, half shrugged and got on with ignoring them and continuing whatever it was we were doing beforehand. But one of the locals in our group had seen something he liked: He walked over to the girls, who were still standing in the centre of the room taking the atmosphere and setting in, with what now looked like faint unease on their faces. Our friend walked up to them, and says 'Hello and welcome. My name is Chicken Pizza. What are your names?'

The look on at least 4 of the 5 faces was priceless. These alpha-girls, who knew everything suddenly betrayed the fact that they had only been in Africa for 2days and really had no idea what the heck was going on. They also didn't seem to be the brightest, as you could see the single shared braincell desperately trying to compute what Chicken had just said, and if they had heard correctly. A combination of semi laughter, confusion, indignation and incredulity washed over them before almost as one, they said 'you what?!'

But they had heard correctly.

Though they certainly don't all have crazy names, in Malawi it is pretty common for the beach boys and those locals who hang around at backpacker haunts and the like to have taken on assumed names which are often a bit daft, but probably easier to remember and pronounce than their real names. Thus, as well as several Kelvin's, Benji's, Koumbe and good solid African names like Innocent and Special, I have also met the likes of Chicken Pizza, Cheese on Toast, Lemon Squeezy, Bacon Sandwich, Eggy Bread, Happy Ending and Bottle of Gin as well as at least a couple that sound more like old fashioned American Indian chief names: Staggers when Drunk and Shits in Bushes both come to mind. One lovely small Mzungu girl had wanted to take on the local name Battery Acid, though it hadn't managed to stick.

As for me? One or two people tried to come up with a suitable name one night, and then came to a happy drunken agreement. You can be sure, however, that I will not be introducing myself to all that many people by saying “Hi. I'm sleeping with sheep”...

What's in a Malawian name? remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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And yes, i know that served no purpose whatsoever.

Lions remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Originally I had intended to head to Zambia on a visa run and visit some people in Chipata, the town just over the border. But with stunning inevitability, my friends in Chipata were then away, and the trip i had planned to take got canceled. Thus my options degenerated to either going to Chipata alone and spending 4days there by myself, or extending my visa for a couple of days (or overstaying and trying to talk/bribe my way out, and back in the same way a few days later). I ended up paying, was given – for the normal fee, naturally - an extra month, and left 2 days later. Yay.

I had decided to come back so as to visit South Luangwa national park, home to lots of animals, not so many tourists (allegedly) and one of the largest hippo populations in the world. And i like hippos. Though I didn't realise at the time that I would come to like them in a very different way...

I've started to really love these Baobab trees. They just look so great

And I did actually enjoy it. The campsite was brilliant, in that it was on the river front where we could watch the crocs and hippos playing, but better than that we were regularly visited by both monkeys and elephants. And elephants wandering around the campsite is very cool (unless you happened to be the South African woman who came out of the shower block oblivious, suddenly saw an elephant; screamed and ran until being persuaded by our desperate shouts to stay still, and thus narrowly avoided being skewered to death by a tusk).

For reasons now lost in the midsts of time, a longstanding dream on this trip has been the introduction of something utterly implausible – and just a single animal, not a whole herd/group etc – to one of Africa's big game parks, just to utterly confuse the tourists. I have visions of hundreds of people enjoying the wildebeest migration and then seeing one random kangaroo bounce past. Thinking about it, kangaroo's would probably prosper wildly, so perhaps that isn't a great idea. A whale or dolphin would be very hard to fix, but a polar bear is another favourite, although i'm sure a Tiger would cause limited extra excitement in places as it is 'close enough' that it wouldn't raise the same suspicions. Somewhere down the line, and at a local South Luangwa level, this translated into Hippos balancing on beach balls. Possibly whilst attacking monkeys on elephants. Whilst all avoiding the ants with nukes, naturally. It's best not to ask.

From a distance, this looked like one really strange mutant giraffe....

To the boring stuff (yup, animals), we did ok. A couple of leopards were spotted (one in the day in a tree, the other at night stalking two lots of dinner: the impala were one thing, but the Kudu was too big to be attempted), plus two prides of lions, one of which was 16strong and the other which we saw twice including once on the hunt. There were several elephant families including a couple of small babies, a small number of giraffe (but including what looked to be twin youngsters), a hippo fight, a hippo running – feck me, they can move -, Impala sex (out of mating season and with a baby – also out of season – looking on: That was one randy Impala), an Impala with only one antler and assorted other antelopes including Kudu; civet cats, a mongoose, some owls, many sorts of bird, a small number of zebra, some buffalo's and a hyena. It as a pretty good selection, although the other vehicle of our group - who had struggled a bit – saw a lion kill on the final night. Danged it.

Animals like Impala are often so omnipresent that it is easy to get bored of them, but if you pay attention, every now and then you still mange to see something a little different. This poor one antlered guy (top) will have to work extra hard to find a mate, whereas the guy below didn't seem to be having any such problems, despite it not being mating season

I am now completely animaled out, and have no intention of visiting any large game park – unless it's very cheap or for a very special reason – for a long time to come, as i'm sure you will all be happy to hear.

Greg, I promise no more leopard pics for a really long time (unless they are really, really good ones of course)

As to the different way of enjoying hippos, I must admit that it was not intentional and not even entirely confirmed, though I have very strong suspicions. On arrival, we had been asked if we all ate 'red meat', although our attempts to find out what red meat were studiously ignored. For the next 2 days we were then served a selection of dishes all using the same red mince meat – Versions of spaghetti bolognese, chili con-carne and shepherds pie all made an appearance. All using this strange red meat, which actually tasted pretty good whilst being a taste not entirely like any meat I eat with any regularity. So we were served unidentified red meat at just the same time as the annual hippo cull (to keep numbers in check) occurred.

I think putting 2 and 2 together in this instance is entirely justifiable...

Top: This Hippo wandering into his small pond quickly led to this hippo fight (below), which the incumbent won. That evening, the interloper could be seen standing about 20 away from the pool, looking hot and a bit sheepish and with some bloody wounds from the encounter

Actually, ignoring the hippo meat (if, indeed, it was hippo meat), the food was universally pathetic. Portions were small, and some of the stuff was just wrong, or at least very odd. Being woken up at 5am before a safari is one thing – but then offering solely decaf chicory (instead of coffee) and rubbery 'toast' without topping for breakfast is something else. Similar things, obviously recycled food or just rubbish continued throughout (a single stale lettuce sandwich was our lunch on the journey over), but the brilliant finale was lunch on the journey back to Malawi which included Shoprite-value Rusks.

To take a quick straw poll, has anybody here had a rusk since they were about 5years old???

South Luangwa is a great place for Sunrise's (if you aren't a lazy ******) and Sunset's (unless you are already drunk), though these photos really don't do it justice. I really need to learn how to actually use a camera properly

Hippos with beach balls. And rusks (But without hippo's) remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Whilst sitting in the bar of Mabuya Camp, Lilongwe's premier – and, pretty much only – backpacker destination, i got talking to Sam, the friendly if sometimes confused (OK. Always confused) barman. It wasn't the first night I was there – and won't be the last – and so we were continuing, to the utter bemusement and incomprehension of anybody else within earshot, with our attempts at solving what, in our high and mighty and possibly drunken tones, we had described as the problem of Africa.

In a nutshell, that meant NGO's.

Now before you all start sending hate mail to the wonderful overlords (Hi Sam and Pete) here at Travellerspoint, or go and actually do something useful (you know: watching dry paint fade, rearranging your ties according to hue, or talking to your wives/husbands/partners/kids [delete as appropriate], that sort of thing), I should probably explain. I will start with another disclaimer: There are many, many NGO's that produce brilliant – indeed, often miraculous – results every week, all over the world. There is lots of good work done, and there are any number of minor Saints who, day after day, fight against a virtually incomprehensible range of problems, bureaucracy, corruption, stupidity, incompetence and odds in order to try and make peoples lives better. And there are lots of well meaning, well intended aid and NGO workers and projects in Africa, and indeed the world. That I am not disputing.

What I am saying, is that so much more could be done with even half the current resources and donations that are used, if more of it was actually of immediate relevance to the people who are they think they are helping. For years it was a vague curiosity of mine that Aid/NGO workers (especially the 2white people in a brand new white 4x4's that proliferate allover the world) were pretty much the most despised people to locals around the world. In all seriousness, I have met people in countries that Dubya Bush declared war on (or at least royally f*cked over, though I admit that doesn't narrow the list of countries down much, if at all) who much prefer Dubya – even love him – in comparison to NGO's and Aid workers.

It is an odd situation to fully grasp. Do the locals not understand that they are here to help, I thought? Then, one day several years ago in a really really really poor village somewhere lost in my memory, I finally realised (or admitted) what I think I had always known at least subconsciously: They are here to help, but are really not helping. Too much aid/NGO is about the aid company feeling good in themselves, showing the people back home how great they are and how much they care and how much they are helping, whilst simultaneously managing to not actually help out the people they are supposed to be – and are saying they are – in the slightest, for a variety of reasons. I would even go so far as to state that in the medium to long term, significantly more than 50% of the normally well-meaning aid 'given', actively make things worse (sometimes significantly worse) for those it is intended to help, in one way or another. I wish I was joking. I really, really am not.

I don't have the time (or, really, the inclination) to expand that to the lengths that I probably should, full of detailed examples and personal experiences, but I will happily debate that point in depth with anybody who wishes to, when I have more time, internet access, and possibly alcohol. For now, to those of you frothing at the mouth and plotting my long and painful death – or, worse, tipping off Kiki to my whereabouts – let's just agree that everybody is entitled to their own opinions and let it go at that.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, the bar at Mabuya.

Anyhow, Sam and I were discussing this problem (and it was him that started this long 3 day debate, saying how useless the NGO's are, not me) and how to save Africa. We started off by thinking that the easiest way was just to destroy Africa and then start again. But then we felt that to be grossly unfair to all the innocent animals and locals. So we looked at removing all the animals and most of the locals, and then bombing the utter sh1t out of Africa, killing the NGOs and then returning the animals and locals; ideally with new countries and national borders that actually make sense (unlike 99% of existing African borders which are basically, ignorant, arrogant imperial European f*ck ups). But logistically, that would be hard: To take just one reason, there are no planes able to carry a big enough payload to drop a single nuke that would be powerful enough to destroy Africa. And we don't have the budget for the number of planes that would be needed to do it independently. And besides, such an approach would also destroy much of the glorious nature and countryside that Africa contains.

We needed a different approach. One on a smaller scale.

To this day, I don't know the route we took – and it was a long, convoluted and possibly (though actually, not all that) drunken night to be sure – to arrive at our conclusion, but in the end it was pretty much agreed.

Yup, Ants with nukes are the answer to all of Africa's problems.

Ants with Nukes remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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For todays starter, what is the following a list of?:
- A swiss army knife
- 200usd
- 2 cigarette lighters
- A mobile phone
- A small container of antiseptic handwash

So what are you thinking so far? Contents of a handbag? A survival kit? That would be feasible, for sure. But no, not quite. Let's continue.
- A pair of shoes
- A pink camera
- An Ipod
- 10000 Malawian Kwacha
- a USB memory stick

Now that's starting to look a bit more obvious, isn't it? But then again, we can continue on a bit more and see if we can stump you properly.
- Half a pack of chewing gum
- 2 half bikini's (both bottom halves)
- A skype headset
- 2 handkerchiefs

That starts to confuse things a bit more, doesn't it? But as you are all clever people, i'm sure that you have already worked it out. And you don't even need to see the final 2 items on our list:
- A lightbulb
- A double mattress

So what is this motley list of items a list of? Yup, as i'm sure many of you have guessed, it is a list of items that were stolen from our dorm room. Whilst all 4 of us were asleep inside it.

Robberies are a sad fact of life. But whilst pickpockets, bag snatchings and opportunist thieves are one thing, robberies from a room you are actually asleep in are a bit different. And this was no opportunist robbery. Exactly what happened will doubtless always remain unknown, but it was very deliberate and almost surgical in it's execution.

Two of us are very light sleepers, yet none of us heard anything or woke up. And it wasn't as if the thieves snuck in grabbed whatever they could and fled. Everything i lost (barring the phone which was on the floor next to my bed) was in zipped pockets of my trousers, which were next to my bed. But they didn't just grab my trousers, or even open the pockets and grab stuff and go: They were so confident that they had time to open my wallet and look inside: I know this because an email address on a piece of paper which had been under some money in the wallet was on the floor, and could not have accidentally fallen out. My passport was also left on the floor.

The dorm had a door which stuck, and needed a hard shove to open (and made noise), and all but one of the floorboards squeak like heck, but we still heard nothing. And the floor on one side was an utter mess of assorted bags and stuff, yet the thieves still were able to root through and find what they wanted without disturbing us. The following morning, a handbag, my wallet and two pairs of trousers (not mine) were found just outside, missing anything of sellable value, but nothing else: Passports, credit cards etc were all left. My wallet had been gone through carefully, but they had even attempted to put items back in it instead of just dump the stuff they didn't want. One of the girls purses was found minus the useful cash, of course, but still included coins. or some of them. The thieves had been that brazen/confident that outside the door of the room they had just robbed they would go through all the coins in a purse and only steal the Malawian ones – euro and British pound coins were left.

Then there was my pockets: A cigarette lighter and the chewing gum went from one pocket, but my watch (a knackered old one, admittedly) and a pen in the same pocket was left. And amazingly, my 'day' cash in my back pocket was missed by the thieves, and so still there. And why steal dirty handkerchiefs???? The two bikini bottoms (also, perhaps unsurprisingly, not mine) were hanging up to dry outside, but next to their corresponding tops which were still there. One of the girl shoes had been stolen, but mine which were just as accessible were left. A couple of other bags and zips on bags (again not mine) had been opened and pockets searched but contents left.

And the double mattress (taken from the room next door, which was empty) had had the sheets taken of it and neatly folded on the floor. It just make no sense. The lightbulb had been removed from the outside light from next doors room, but totally removed and stolen as opposed to just unscrewed or dumped. The light in next doors room had been left on earlier that day by accident and yet was still on: the mattress wasn't even taken from a dark room. There were 4 night watchmen on duty and many lights on around the site, yet no one could see a lightbulb being removed or a double mattress being stolen....?

It is all very strange. Later the following day after the inevitable farce of dealings with the Malawian police, i randomly – and very luckily - found my swiss army knife and USB stick in a nearby cactus. But it was in such a place that it can not have fallen accidentally, and must have been deliberately chucked. Why? Who knows!

Robberies are always annoying, but it could have been much worse. My personally loss of 200usd, 3500ish Mkw (about 25usd), my phone and some small very random bits was frustrating but not the end of the world – the dollars are the worst because i need them for visas, but there is very little foreign reserves in Malawi and so replacing them is going to be hard and at an appalling rate. Of the other stuff, the camera's photo's had luckily been burnt to CD only 2 days previously, the ipods songs on her home computer and her boyfriend flying out in a weeks time so he can bring another pair of shoes. We could have all come out of it much worse.

The hardest part is understanding how none of us woke up or heard anything (none of us had had much to drink, 2 of the girls nothing at all) despite the creaky door and floor and the obvious time they spent in our room and then sorting stuff just outside. if any of us had woken up feeling iffy, or it had been elsewhere, i would have instantly suspected gassing. As it was, we all woke feeling fine – rapidly changing when the losses were realised – and all that is left is a big mystery.

How do you hide a double mattress from 4 security guards? remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Now I know that it was.

Back in Nkhata Bay, I somehow managed to spend another week doing not allot. By now I knew a number of people, and there was a good crowd around, and so it hadn't been very difficult to persuade me to stick around to be sociable, a birthday celebration and to watch some cricket (WooHoo! Another Ashes victory!). After a few days, we were sitting there one morning watching as what looked like a deep rain cloud descending over the bay, until we realised that it was the Lake flies again. Malawian Lake flies have a fun life cycle: They are born, blown into shore and die. In their billions of billions.

That evening, we got to experience it properly. Luckily they are not in any way dangerous, and don't bite. But they are annoying as heck. Any kind of light attracts them in hoardes, and even non lit areas get infested. Simple things like talking end up with you having a mouthful of flies. The only drinks worth attempting are bottles, which you can cover the hole with a thumb when not being drunk from, but your drinks are still lumpier than ideal. Food is offered with a lake fly coating – extra protein, if nothing else. They get through the smallest gap, and that includes holes in mosquito nets. Showering is just not worth it. Basically, you just get covered by flies regardless of what you do. It is a strange experience, even for me who has been in sandstorms before – lake flies seem so much intrusive.

I was going to take some pictures of the mess, but somebody else attempted it and their camera died seconds later because of the flies getting into it (similar to when sand gets in a camera), so I decided against it. The following morning, the number of live flies had rapidly diminished, but there was a black layer of dead flies, sometimes over an inch thick covering pretty much everything. Clean up is attempted, and respite gained, but they return the following evening to start the cycle all over again.

The technical term, I believe, is yuk.

It's plague time remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I hadn't planned to come to the Zulunkhuni Lodge in Ruarwe at all, but then I hadn't planned to spend a week in Nkhata Bay either. I'd rocked up with the intention of getting the weekly boat to the islands in Lake Malawi, to discover that it had left the previous evening. Probably I should have checked such things at ferry timings beforehand, but planning was never my strong point. So i spent a pleasant few days doing not allot at Butterfly, a community project and hostel, waiting for the next ferry before being talked into leaving a day early on the same ferry in the opposite direction. Hmmmm. But it just seemed the right thing to do, and so I did.

Every now and again, I just need to turn off from the world, and Ruarwe is definitely a good place for it. Occasional outside excitement was offered by a tornado spotted on the lake (the first real one I have ever seen), a 2metre-plus long Forest cobra in a tree, the suppressed yelps of an Irishman trying not to scream as he jumped of a balcony and assorted games of scrabble. Other than that, it was just pure unadulterated freedom.

The MV Ilala is the lifeline of Lake Malawi. It as built in Scotland in the 1940's, and transported to Lake Malawi by sea, road and rail, and has been working lake ever since

A view of Zulunkhuni lodge hidden amongst the lake, the Forest Cobra, bits of the waterfall, and waterfall jumping (no, not by me)

Happy hour at the lodge, relaxing on the beach at night under a gloriously starry sky; woodcarvings around Ruarwe; heading out to the Ilala on a rowing boat (I always started singing the Hawaii 5-0 theme in my head whenever I was in one or a dugout canoe) and bottom, disembarking back in Nkhata Bay

In memory of Hawaii 5-O remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Within the first 300m after the turnoff, I was passed by 2vehicles who both offered me a lift, but i declined. It was a gorgeous day, and besides, it was only a 12km walk on a road up the side of an escarpment, so not as if it was a serious challenge. I had been told there were many shortcuts and cutoffs, and started experimenting down some of the more likely looking of the many trails and paths that headed off from the road, discovering quite rapidly that whilst (obviously) steeper, they did cut down the distance quite allot. As such, I was making pretty good time. In fact, the only thing that was slowing me down at all, was the slightly irritating kids, who I have now christened the 'give me' children.

The 'Give Me' children are just normal Malawian children from maybe 3-12years old, and almost universally cute looking. I m used to – and enjoy – the normal interaction with African kids, which tends to involve lots of waving, hand shaking/similar, saying of 'Hello' and repeated 'How Are you?'s' (this involves every kid around – even in groups of 30 or 40 – all asking 'How Are You' individually and repeatedly. One meeting with a group of a dozen or so lovely Ugandan kids probably involved us exchanging some 500 How Are You's), but in Malawi it seems a bit different. How Are You is generally missing, and Hello is only an occasional comment. Instead, there is a constant stream of 'Give Me's': Give me Bottle/pen/sweet/Kwacha (Malawian currency)/money, or sometimes more oddball things such as 'Give me balloon', and one memorable 'Give me Laptop' as i walked past.

The problem I have is that there is never anything resembling a please/thank you, and pretty much every 'No' or ignoring of their demand leads directly to the next give me. I am aware – acutely aware – that the people are very poor: many families live off a dollar a day or less, and I understand that as travelers we are stupendously rich in relative terms. But I dislike the fact that you can sometimes hear parents (which means it happens many times that you don't hear) instructing their children when they see a white person passing 'There's a mzungu, go and say “Give me....” to them', and the fact that despite the average Malawian speaking much better English than their East African counterparts, I have yet to hear a single 'Please' from a Give Me. I am happy to donate, and help out charities and locals where I can, but despite being probably stupendously wealthy in Malawian terms, I don't like being constantly seen/treated as a walking wallet even though I understand it. If you are going to beg or try and get stuff from me, just please be polite about it. Anyhow. Moving on.

Even now, i'm not quite sure exactly how I ended up scaling a 20m or so sheer cliff, and then
climbing up through a waterfall, even though it was blatantly obvious that I really shouldn't be were I was, and the short cut I had attempted to make really hadn't been a shortcut – or, really, a path – at all. A couple of hairy moments, some glorious views, a little backtracking, and some logical swinging through trees in the right direction (at that point, there really wasn't any path or even way through) and I stumbled Tarzan-ish-style back onto the road. And resolved perhaps not to attempt anymore shortcuts unless they were obviously very well used.

Looking out over Lake Malawi from the Mushroom farm, though sadly this was taken when it was hazy so Tanzania is not visible in the background

And so roughly 2hrs 20after starting off from Chitimba Beach Camp, I wandered onto the Mushroom Farm. It was only at this point that I discovered that most people don't walk up. They hitch. And it was only the very brave, stupid, energetic or mad that actually walk, especially without using local porters to carry bags &/or local guides to show ll the shortcuts and thus not end up, for example, climbing up waterfalls and sheer cliffs by accident. The Mushroom Farm is not a farm and does not have mushrooms, but is instead a small vegetarian hostel on the top of a huge cliff near Livingstonia, an old Scottish missionary station on the top of the plateau, and with amazing panoramic views out over Lake Malawi, the surrounding areas, and even across to Tanzania, and i had been told that i had to come here.

Livingstonia

I loved it. The following day, I walked up to Livingstonia itself, another extremely pleasant walk, and was treated to the odd sight of 130year old British style brick buildings and streets which looked like they could have been plucked out of somewhere like the Ironbridge museum. The mission is still in operation to this day, though large chunks of the town are now part of the University (which was closed, as was the cathedral), and it was slightly surreal to walk around what in parts looked like a 150year old ghost town.

On the way back, I fended off some slightly, erm, enthusiastic monkeys and found a glorious waterfall to sit and look at. I ran into another couple of people who i got talking to, and who invited me to join them on a little wander round through some pools and into some caves behind another, from here hidden, waterfall.

The main Manchewe waterfall and then walking behind the other waterfall

I've only been in Malawi a couple of days, but already I am rapidly warming to it – the beauty of the country and friendliness of the people (bag snatchers and 'give me' kids notwithstanding) and think that I could finally start to relax here.

Give me bottle. Give me pen. Give me Kwacha. Give me Sweet. remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I watched idly as the scene unfolded: tomatoes, bottles of fanta, freshly cooked cobs of corn and assorted sundries were purchased, and i sat there with my head slowly shaking from side to side to indicate no, i didn't want whatever the heck they were trying to sell, to their disappointment at seeing a mzungu (which in large swathes of Africa in hundreds of languages means, variously, European, white person or foreigner) who wasn't buying anything let alone at the normal special 'mzungu rate'.

This guy ambled over, slightly slower than the rest and unfocused. He had a few small bags of peanuts for sale, but just didn't look quite right. At the bus he seemed a bit too preoccupied with something else except selling: and as most of the hawkers get the entire family income this way, being preoccupied can lead to hungry children. He even sold at least one bag. He walked along the outside of the bus, but even ignored a couple of locals who wanted to buy. At the window in front of where I was, he stopped and feigned attempts to sell again, but by now my senses were really up. In front of me were a Mzungu couple – the only other white people on the bus. They were slightly preoccupied in haggling for a fruit purchase. Suddenly the hawker continues walking past, but now he had a bag in his hand.

My angle of vision, plus the chaos of the scene mean't that I hadn't seen him actually take it, but I was pretty sure that he hadn't been carrying it before. And it looked like the sort of bag a female tourist would carry. Without thinking, i shoved my arm out of the window and grabbed the bag, but oddly i didn't say anything – part of my brain was still not quite sure that it wasn't his bag. The guy tried to struggle and run without dropping the bag, but my hand was well in place and I still said nothing. Neither did he. We just kind of looked at each other whilst tugging. This silent tugging commotion had roused peoples attention, and the English girl sat in front suddenly realised her bag was the centre of a tug and war outside the bus and started screaming. That was enough for the guy – and the crowd – he made one last desperate tug, dropped the bag, ran, and was caught. The bag was passed through the window and as if on queue, the bus suddenly drove off, leaving an angry mob behind and a failed thief to his fate.

On the road, I got a very brief thanks from the girl, and then discovered my hand hurt like hell. Especially the top of my thumb, which on reflection realised had probably been forced back more than would be ideal when the guy made his last desperate bid for freedom. A couple of days later, I had a really horrible fever and then went for a malaria test just to be safe. Whilst there and almost as an afterthought, I asked if they could have a look at my hand. Astonishingly, they had an X-ray machine and I discovered I was now the proud owner of a broken wrist.

My African hospital/clinic tour sadly seems to be continuing unabated.

A new country means a new hospital remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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It is odd. I have been in Kenya for about 2months spread over the last 3, but due to circumstance haven't really seen that much of it on the grand scale of things. It really hasn't gone quite to plan, even allowing for the fact that I didn't have a plan to begin with. I arrived in Nairobi both horribly sick and with some fairly bad preconceived ideas, and to be honest, it really didn't do anything to try and help me improve that image.

I had some interesting experiences, and yet more that I will not forget in a hurry. I met some cool people – local and travellers – and made some good friends. Eventually, I was also lucky enough to find some really excellent Doctors and specialists as well. There have been some high points, sure, but to be honest, most of them were quite small: the beef noodles at the local chinese restaurant which were wonderful and possibly consumed more often than they should have been; the staff at the internet cafe where I became a regular, the coffee in Java House and to a point, Dormans. Some of the staff at Bush house and Nairobi Hospital. Nakuru national park was a wonderful surprise, and I really liked Mombasa old town.

But in general there have been more disappointments, and I have to say that Kenya has the dubious distinction of joining a very short list (previously only Vietnam was on it) of countries I have visited that I was happy to leave, and which I would in no way be bothered if I never visited again. Like Vietnam, there are a couple of things I really would have loved to do but did not: Climb Mt. Kenya, visit Hells Gate NP, the Kakamega Forest and Lamu island chief amongst them, but even the pull of those is not enough to have me already wishing i could go back, as so many other countries do. Even passing a fairly fancy looking hotel in Kitengela whilst on the bus to Tanzania and seeing that one of it's attractions was an 'elegant butchery' (amongst more normal selling point like free wifi, and DSTV Satellite TV. Out of curiosity, how often is a butchery – elegant or not – high on your your list of requirements when choosing a hotel?) could barely raise a smile by that point.

Most of what I saw in Kenya disappointed: It's 2 major and most famous attractions, the Masai Mara (admittedly I missed the wildebeest migration) and the Mombasa area beaches (admittedly out of season) were both big let downs for different reasons, whilst Nairobi somehow managed to leave me with a worse impression than my initial expectations had imagined (which were so low that even Aylesbury and Hssleholm were above it). There aren't many places I have been where you spent half of your waking hours stuck in traffic jams – or being in accidents in traffic jams – and when you are not in those traffic jams, the most memorable events are a person dropping dead and then being robbed in front of you, a policeman shooting repeatedly at the bus you are in and rocks smashing windows of the vehicle you are in, in an attempted carjacking. The fact that much of my time in the city was spent in hospital and really wasn't fun, seems positively pleasurable in comparison.

Add in the political turmoil which is cleverly and rapidly destroying what was one of East Africa's strongest democracies, and sadly, Kenya is somewhere that will not highest on my list of places to recommend to others, or to return to. And for a country with so much potential, that is actually very sad.

The hot wet sensation of freedom remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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No really, I am.

Yes, REALLY really.

And i don't need to come back. Well, ok, I do, but i'm not. Not after the events of a couple of days ago.

My life suddenly has a large hole in it that will take some filling.

I can't say that I am all that upset to be finally leaving Bush House, nice place and home for much of the last few months though it has been. In fact, it has been my home for longer than some places I have officially lived in. Cheap by Nairobi standards and scrupulously clean, nether-the-less after so long you get to see things in a different light. I have been electrocuted by 5 different things (the front gate buzzer in the rain, shower, socket, drinks fridge and power point) although none severely. The staff have generally been very good and friendly, although there have been isolated incidents where a different side has been seen: And the night 'watchman' is one of the most useless and biggest wastes of space (and, I assume, money) that I have ever come across. Hot water has not always been reliable – and sometimes is so hot that it is basically steam – and that was even before Nairobi as a city, simply ran out of water.

The electricity supply has also failed totally on a couple of occasions, and whilst Internet is free, it is very temperamental and slow if/when you actually get it to work. The orange building went from garish, to comforting to the point where it eventually started to get to me, as did smaller things like the insistence of the staff of moving 2 of the bunks in the dorm when cleaning to a position that means you then can't shut the door. And silly things like lightbulbs not being replaced (the downstairs toilet was out for well over 2weeks before it was finally replaced, despite complaints) and soap/toilet roll – who cleans a bathroom but doesn't bother to put in a new toilet roll? And whilst I love how they try and accommodate all guests, it doesn't always make things easy for longer term guests, as 8 different beds in 6 rooms during my final 9 night stay confirmed.

All of these things slowly build up over time, and nag at you and impressions change, though my time and experiences has obviously been coloured by my health/general state, and the fact that being off-season (at least to begin with -by the time i returned for what now seems the final time, it was full and i had to spend my first night back in a guest house down the road), the hostel was often mostly or entirely empty of other guests.

Despite all that, and the fact that I am desperate to get away from the chains of Nairobi, I am still sad in a way. It has essentially been my home for the last 12weeks or so (well, so has Nairobi Hospital and the Nairobi traffic) and it has fulfilled its job of a cheap, comfortable and friendly place to sleep, stay, recover and meet people, whilst not sending me even more stark raving mad than I already was. For that i will always be grateful.

I still need to go and get a couple of injections at another decent hospital of my choice (ahem) but that can be done almost anywhere. And after this week,it will definitely not be Nairobi unless I really can't help it.

But I now have a small hole in my life. And despite my excitement and relief at finally being passed fit-ish and able to leave this damned city, I have absolutely no idea where I will go next. Part of me never expected this day to come, and so I have done no planning at all towards it. Original thoughts and ideas of heading to Ethiopia for a few weeks (Along with Eritrea, I have always wanted to visit), and then either Djibouti to jump a freighter or north to Cairo and then the Middle East are no longer really viable due to assorted circumstances, whilst short term work opportunities in Ethiopia, Sudan, DR Congo and Tanzania have now long since passed.

Still, I'm sure i'll think of something. I normally do.

Looking back at life in Bush House remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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What the Kenyans did, was despite my waving my 25usd visa fee at them and actively wanting a new 1month (or more) visa, is stamp me back into for free. They could obviously see that I had left the area because the stamp was put on the same page as my Burundi and DRC stamps, but they stamped me back anyway. Normally, this would be great and would save me money. But in this case, I was close to the end of my original 3month validity anyway, yet still needed to be in Kenya for medical purposes beyond that point. After making inquiries as to the cost and ease of extending a Kenyan tourist visa, it quickly became clear that it would be much less hassle (and probably cost) to leave the country for a few days instead of trying to get it fixed in Nairobi.

Which is how I came to be in a taxi at 5.45am heading to the bus terminal in town, in order to get a bus to Tanzania for a few days on a visa run. I had picked Tanzania simply because it was the closest, cheapest and easiest country to get to, rather than any more devious reason. I had previously caught the same bus southwards on 2 occasions in the last couple of months so I wasn't overly worried about events, at least until the first 'bang' noise.

Coming around one of the roundabouts on the main North-South highway through Nairobi, we first heard 2 banging-metallic thud noises, followed barely a second later by a dull thud that sounded almost like a muffled gunshot and the cracking/sprinkling of glass. It was still dark, and even though it was an intersection on the countries busiest road in the capital, very poorly lit.

The driver and I both instinctively ducked, and glanced at each other is slight shock. We briefly slowed a bit, before the driver started to speed up again and I swiveled around (still half ducked) to survey the scene. The rear driver's side window was now sporting a fairly large hole in it's centre, with the rest of the window badly cracked but still just about in place. In the middle of the roundabout a few dark shapes of young men could be seen heading towards the car and then hesitate when it started to speed up again.

A few minutes later, we stopped at the relative sanctity of a well lit petrol station with several people around and took stock. A survey of the car revealed obvious dents on the driver and rear driver side doors just below window level, whilst I retrieved a lump of jagged rock a bit bigger than a golf ball from amongst the shattered glass on the backseat. Instantly, we both realised that we had been very very lucky in pretty much all respects (excepting the taxi driver's needing to spend a small fortune he probably doesn't have on a new window).

It seems we had been caught in one of Nairobi's current trendiest carjacking methods: Had we continued to slow down or stop to inspect the damage when it had occurred (as would be the natural reaction), there is little doubt that we would have been relieved of the vehicle and everything in it, and quite possibly we would have had been subjected to other 'entertainments' as well. Being forced to withdraw lots of money from ATM's, being ransomed, injected with AIDS infected blood, driven around for hours whilst tied up in the boot and/or being murdered (as happened to one Member of Parliament in a carjacking only last month) are par for the course in Nairobi. Similarly, if one of the rocks had been a few centimetres higher, or the successful one a half second earlier, then the driver would have been hit (whether they were specifically aiming at the driver or not is unknown, but all 3 hits were on the drivers side, so probably), with probable horrific and – quite likely deadly – consequences. And we were extremely lucky that there had not been a rear seat passenger, who would undoubtedly have been hit by the window-breaking rock and probably badly injured or worse.

After looking at the scene for a minute or two, with nothing else we could really do, we continued on our way. In the 3minutes or so it took to continue to the bus stop, i had made a decision. I have occasionally been in dangerous places or situations before, and admit that I had come to Nairobi with a very poor preconception, but after being shot at and now almost carjacked within a week in a 'normal' city/place, I resolved there and then that regardless of anything else, I would not be returning to Nairobi in the near future if I could in anyway prevent it.

I know that i still need to be here for probably another couple of weeks, but that's for me to try and solve. For now, my loathing of Nairobi is at it's highest and I need to leave – and for some time, not just a few days – before it ends up being the death of me. At this rate, literally.

I REALLY hate Nairobi.

(Sorry there are no rock/broken window pictures. I did think of it, but my camera was buried deep in my locked rucksack in anticipation of the bus journey, and I didn't want to start rooting around for it and unpacking everything at that point. Besides, it would have been a bit of a p1ss take to the poor driver who has to fund a new window)

When carjackings go wrong (or right?) remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I have had some crazy ones in the past – that night journey in Tajikistan all those years back, and that hostel in Southern Turkey will both take some beating – but what I think fascinates me most is how quickly when talking to a stranger, you can realise you have a mutual friend. A classic example of that came in Shanghai on one of my longer trips a few years back, when I randomly got talking to an English girl one night in the hostel. Within 10minutes, we had discovered that she had shared a house in Australia with somebody I had spent a few years at school with 20years previously. It wasn't the fact that we both knew the person in question that was astonishing, rather how the conversation happened to run in such a way that we worked it out so quickly. In other circumstances (and this is pre-Facebook, where mutual friend links suddenly become easier to discover), i could probably have known this girl for 5-10 or more years without conversation ever going in a useful direction for us to realise we both knew Matt. Possibly what is even more interesting/frightening is how many of these mutual link exist that are never discovered, simply due to fate or turn of conversation.

When traveling it has always been fairly common to run into people over and over: You often find that whilst you thought you had a wonderfully unique route or idea, in actual fact there are many other people doing very similar routes at similar times, who you periodically bump into. Seeing familiar faces months later is almost always good fun, although can occasionally be a hideous experience.

In areas with a fairly narrow 'tourist trail' as such (such as the South-East Europe loop, or Vietnam), or more limited backpacker/western infrastructure (such as parts of East Africa), this gets accentuated. Certainly, having pretty much lived in the same hostel for 3months, I have met several people 2 or 3 times as they pass through at the start and end of their trips, or between tours. One girl, Kelly, i think I have now met on 7 different occasions at the same hostel: We are both stuck around this part of the world for a while and return to the same place in between our short excursions. East Africa also has a large number people who come for voluntary placements, and there are also several groups of people who are constantly turning over on their way to/fro the same project: I have met any number of people from a Dutch University all on the way to/from Kitui town, where they work on assorted projects as part of their studies. Ditto Engineers Without Borders going to Kakamega.

And naturally it works both ways. There are not that many Welsh people traveling the world (personally, I meet very very few), and even fewer cartographers. So people tend to remember the Welsh map guy, or hear stories about me long before I ever meet them (and many, i will never meet) especially the more oddball ones, and occasionally it is in the most surreal of ways. This is particularly true at the moment, where I am in a fairly small hostel and with a specific story that people like passing on to others in their projects (the wonders of having such a fun parasite as Hamish. He is certainly a frequent topic of conversation) – several people I have met have said a bit later 'oh, you are the guy we were told about' or words to that affect.

And so, happily I can report that in the past 24hours, I have randomly come across 5 different people who I know from different African countries and different stages of this current trip. It has been a bit surprising, but also fun catching up. I don't know why there has been this sudden spurt: After a few weeks without anything, I have also come across several old colleagues/acquaintances via the Belgian, and then one of Maaret and my stalkers - who we met regularly in Namibia and Zambia - in Jinja. By now, you will have realised that there i absolutely no reason for this entry except that i have an hour to kill during treatments and can't do anything except lie on my front. I've just finished my book, so i figured i may as well type this drivel, as it is more exciting – marginally – than watching the already dry paint on my cubicle wall.

Now, if only i had a good tin of magnolia paint...

Six degrees of Kevin Bacon remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Though I obviously wasn't around then to compare, something which sounds extremely similar happened to me last night and I am now wondering if it is a regular occurrence. I had been talking with some acquaintances in a city coffee shop, and as a few of us were heading in the same direction i decided to get a matatu with them. It is the first time in Nairobi that I have caught a matatu after dark, normally preferring the relative extra theoretical safety of a taxi.

As we sat in the matatu waiting for the last few seats to be filled, suddenly a huge commotion kicked off a few metres away. I didn't understand a word of the shouting, but my companions started to look slightly worried. The matatu driver, whether by coincidence or not, decided to turn the van around in preparation for departure. Exactly what happened next, I am not sure. But a policeman suddenly appeared and banged on the passenger door. Then somebody (i think the conductor) started shouting 'DRIVE – DRIVE'.

The policeman then raised his gun in the air and fired straight up. People on the street suddenly started screaming and running in all directions, and the driver did as he had been ordered, and we took off to screeching tires and smoke. Through the open window, I watched the policeman lower his rifle, point in our direction and fire several times in the vague direction of our tires. As I was sitting on the back seat above one of the rear wheels, i wa not necessarily the happiest at this new development.

The sound of crunching metal told us that at least one shot hit the matatu somewhere, and we swerved badly, but we kept driving at speeds and levels of recklessness that are rare even in Nairobi. The passengers all had their heads down and were simultaneously wondering what the heck was going on, whilst we pretty much all expected to die horribly and shortly in a fire ball of mashed matatu, seeing as we were speeding horrifically down the wrong side of a dual carriageway swerving crazily around onrushing matatu's, and with the expectation of at least one shot out tire: The ride levels were definitely not up to their normal (poor) levels.

A kilometre of so later on, the driver calmed down, we rejoined the correct side of the traffic, and the conductor started collecting our fares. In an odd silence (this is the only matatu i have been on in the city without a booming sound system playing) we then proceeded as normal.

When i got out, I was surprised to see all tires in place, although there was an ugly hole in the rear corner of the van just below where I had been sitting, and a very definite liquid leak trailing along the road. We had been luckier than I had realised at first. Slightly shaken, I walked the last few metres home, still none the wiser as to what the heck had just occurred. Danged it. I had made it to July without breaking my New Year's resolution, which is almost an all-time best.

I really need to finally get out of this damned city, and sharpish.

Bang-Bang went the policeman's gun remains copyright of the author Gelli, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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