After a brief, boozy farewell at Doogles on Thursday night, we leave Blantyre in high spirits - me, ready after ten weeks in Malawi to move on to wider and wilder pastures; and the others - Marie and Eline from the Kabula Lodge; Richard and Melise, two ex-pat friends - at the start of a ten-day holiday to the Mozambican coast. Spend enough time as a freelancer and you begin to forget what it’s like to live a life of early-morning commutes, workplace politics, nine-to-fives. In short, you forget how much of the world lives. But now, with the others giddy at the prospect of a ten-day jailbreak, and the girls free from the hospital’s headaches, even I’m infected by the holiday mood. Ten days! Imagine the luxury, after daily wake-up calls at half-past four; after
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