Proclamations

I’ve had neck pain for a week. I have reached the age where you can get a cricked neck from sleeping on a new pillow but I’m wondering whether I’ve got whiplash from being thrown around like a rag on recent road journeys.

In Ponta do Ouro at the southern tip of Mozambique, we are having our workshop at one of the few accommodations that can host a large group. The only time I have previously stayed here was on a drunken weekend to Ponta with Maputo friends. The showers take the prize for the most powerful stream of water I’ve ever been under. It thunders down in a column like a jet used to clean a dirty driveway.

This visit is rather different. We need simultaneous translation as the workshop facilitator is not Portuguese-speaking, so the fairly cramped meeting room is bedecked with a full translator’s booth and the desks have these microphone gadgets like we are announcing things at the UN. Here is Foloma proclaiming something.