Language is always a barrier, yet skin colour in misleading. It was half past five in the evening, the sun was due to set at six and we had no where planned to stay for the night. Usually we would have found a place at 4 however today we had had to keep on driving in a desperate search for fuel. We passed through village after village when suddenly I spotted a white person! I ran over to her and asked hopefully ‘English?’ but she smiled a big toothy grin and patting my arm cried ‘Nada, nada.’ Shame.

We found fuel, found some students to translate numbers for me as I tried to buy items in the market and began driving again in search of a ‘space for the car.’

Rob looked in his rear view mirror, laughed and pulled over. Behind us were two Land Rover 110’s containing a mixture of Italian and French people (again white). Together the three Land Rovers continued onwards and we sat back as the Italian man organised with a village that we should camp on their land. What ensued was a comical evening where no one could really understand anyone. I sat and ate with the Italians and yet I could communicate far more easily with the old woman mashing banana in a huge pestle with a baby tied to her back. I think that, surrounded by all the kids, I was actually feeling kind of at home.

The roof top tents caused a riot, and when Rob and I did eventually climb into bed it was to listen to little children clambering halfway up the ladder before hearing a noise, screaming and running for their lives…over…and over again. I know the tent looks a little like a tardis but it wasn’t like we had vanished!

Dawn (quite literally) dawned, and with it the sounds of the cockerels and the children. We sleepily packed everything away, took some last minute photos of everyone and set off towards the Malawian boarder. Fuel had been expensive in Mandilovo so we had only filled enough to get us to the next fuel stop. Rob drove at a remarkably steady pace staying on 2000 revs, staying in 4^th gear despite huge potholes the size of caravans that loomed out of no where. The fuel light came on and still we drove, 40, 50 61km, and then the car died. No worries we can pump fuel from our reserve tank. Yet ah, a slight hitch. Though being convinced that we had filled the left hand tank we had never actually checked. We jacked up Daphne to try to let the last drops dribble out but no…there was nothing. We were stuck. And so the kids came and surrounded us and giggled when we asked for gasoline but were actually no help at all.

Finally our heroes came trundling over the horizon. The Italians had arrived and they were wonderful. They summed up the situation, kidnapped a local girl and with me and a 20l jerry can in the back we set off to find fuel. In the first market place we had no luck though we did manage to pick up another local man. On and on we drove with me burying my head in shame. At one point the men leapt from the vehicle and organised fuel from a large truck. I was just about to pay the very reasonable price the driver was asking for when I smelt a smell. I don’t know what it was but it was unmistakably diesel. ‘Erm guys, I just want to check that this is petrol and not diesel.’

‘Yes, yes gasoline’ muttered the Italian but the driver looked up. ‘It’s diesel.’ Ah.

Back into the tank went the driver’s diesel while the driver told our local off for pretending to speak English.

On we drove till a yellow jerry can signalled that fuel could be bought here. Thank goodness thought I till I was informed that they too, only had diesel. We were just about to leave when a man rode up on a bicycle with 20l of petrol. A whoo!

‘How much Sir?...You WHAT!’

$60 for 20l of fuel, which I know is not much by British prices but when you are scrimping and saving everyday. Staying in awful campsites because you can’t afford the nicer ones that amount says to me another month of slumming it! We tried to reason with him. We even bundled him into the car with the other 2 locals and took him to Daphne but he had us over a barrel and kept trying to escape on a bicycle. The deed had to be done. The money was paid and we were on the move again over the boarder and into Malawi. Which is where I sit now writing this email. Our backpackers in Blantyre has cheap internet so I thought it was a good time for an update. Apologies for the Africa information overload.

We will heading to Cape Maclear tomorrow for the full moon party and (fingers crossed) to do that scuba course. With the tea and the English language and the three prong plug sockets, we think we are going to like Malawi!

Love to all

Georgie