Getting there

On the 31st December 2015 I left my phone in the car. Left the car in the garage.

The garage is 4000 miles away, so text messages have been routed via Alison's phone.

England blew us across the North Sea in a gale, and we rose from Schiphol in a Dreamliner for a sleepless night to Nairobi.

When the sun rose, Kenya welcomed us. The connection for Dar Es Salaam was a rush past Kilimanjaro into the humid city. The plastic bottles and bags lined the streets, and the traffic danced around to a peculiar music of its own.

We took a taxi to the MIC Hotel near the bus station. Air conditioning dripped down the power conduit in the bathroom, down the back of the sink, on to the floor. I stood in it, barefoot, brave and exhausted.

In the morning the Shabiby coach took us the eight hour journey to Dodoma, way up in the middle of Tanzania. The driver talked on his phone, spoke with a voice so rapid he sounded like a machine, and steered the bus with his elbows when he needed to change gear and talk on the phone. Our progress was rapid.

Francis, the head of the school, met us at the bus station, and we had lunch at the Dodoma Hotel, opposite the station.

The earth is red and the trees and grass are green. The rainy season has begun.

The ride to Mvumi was on a winding dirt road, and the following two days were spent resting - and finding food.