Inhambane

With his delicate Celtic skin, Tim stepped out of the shower and declared ‘I am already peeling. I am literally just wearing my own skin in clumps around my body.’ It was a visceral start to the day.

Tim works for a council in London and is in purdah in the run-up to the general election. As I often start my day with some sort of political tirade about the latest injustice served up by the Conservative Party, it was interesting to learn that civil servants are officially not allowed to express political opinions publicly. I wonder if there is any real comeuppance for it. In the UK it has become a daily necessity and coping strategy to bemoan the status of our national politics, regardless of whether you work at Tesco or the purchasing department of the local council.

Our day was spent chilling in Inhambane. I’d seen a bold claim somewhere that Inhambane is the loveliest town on the coast of East Africa. It may genuinely be correct. I came here several times in between 2004 and 2008 and I remember the vibe of the town, which let’s term ‘faded sleepiness.’ It’s the provincial capital but is less commercial and bustling than Maxixe across the bay so over the years has settled into a quieter pace of life with friendlier police, wide deserted streets and a humid tropical atmosphere. Once I’ve explored all areas of this country I wouldn’t be surprised if Inhambane triumphs as my favourite place.

After a relaxing week, we became merry on one too many drinks after an early dinner and eventually fell into bed in a drunken, tropical stupor.