The morning I leave for Lilongwe, it's overcast and spitting with rain, the eight okta cloud cover greying out the pre-dawn light to the point where I am reminded of wintry teenage paper rounds. The AXA bus from Mzuzu to Lilongwe bears little resemblance to that from Karonga to Mzuzu. The latter's aisles were off limits to humans and cargo while the vehicle was moving, the former's aren't. I have babies' arses swiped across my face as their mothers force their way down the aisle, offspring secured to their backs by the ubiquitous chitenges. Half way through the journey I acquire
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