Rui is wrapped in a bedsheet and sleeping under the cashew tree when I set off for the train to Nampula. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, raises half-heartedly, offers to walk me to the station. I pat his shoulder and thank him for the offer, but tell him to go back to sleep. “Estou bêm,” I assure him. The early pre-dawn blue has begun to show in the sky, and sleepy Cuamba doubtless has few surprises between here and the train station. The askari opens the gate and wags his hand and sends me off, no doubt grateful to dispense of his responsibilities before heading back to bed. Stray dogs prowl through the street trash; a truck idles outside the bakery, the driver slouched in his seat. At the station, two surprisingly patient queues
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