A signpost ‘welcome to Kacholola Motel’ immediately feels like a very good idea!

Harry has been towing Michnus for more than an hour and this after examining, on the roadside, every possible reason for that bright red radiator warning light! Its past 8 o’clock in the evening and we are nowhere near the next town.

We head up a gutted gravel road to a disappointingly dark group of buildings. But ‘wait’, a young Richard runs up to us and ‘yes’ they have camping sites and chalets. We get off and become aware of these dark and dismal accommodation options, complete with a very rowdy group of people around a fire.  Our collective gut goes for a block-like ‘chalet’; at least this way we get to keep ourselves and our goods behind a locked door.

Our ‘chalet’ has no electricity and no water. But water arrives in buckets and we are invited for a drink in the bar! Inside that dark bar we are introduced to Richard’s grandfather, George. A match is struck, a candle throws light and two rounds of ice-cold beers emerge from of a paraffin fridge. After our emergency meal, pasta and tinned pilchards, we hunker down behind our locked door. Many of the window panes have no glass, our neighbours become really loud, a trucker pulls up right next to us in the early hours of the morning and the rain hammers down all night long.

We wake to sunshine!

Our threatening neighbours turn out to be the young family of the secondary school science teacher and some of their holiday friends. They have great big smiles, fantastic English and help with water, buckets, and man-handling bikes. George takes us for a stroll around his motel. It is the well-kept remains of a 1950s motel complete with empty swimming pool.  George cannot replace his old power generator from his current motel proceeds but is hopeful that electricity will soon be brought for the secondary school recently built in the village of Kacholola. Richard and George pop in and out with their cell phones and possible contacts for transporting our bike.

We spend two nights and a day at the Kacholola Motel.

Elsebie and I wash our clothes in buckets and dry them on our bikes. We make friends with the little Brenda, the hard working 12 year old girl that is kept busy washing, and sweeping all day long. We go down to the roadside village and buy bread and eggs. We chat with the science teacher and his wife and play with their little son. Michnus and Harry work the bike. Michnus plays chess with Richard. Harry teases the troupe of little boys that mimic our actions all day long. We watch the passing traffic and the flurry of life a stopping car or truck brings. We take in the music of children and birds and goats and trucks, a pick, an axe, a shout, a laugh. We watch the sun set over the plain. We enjoy nshima and goats-meat made by George’s wife.

How could we have got it, Africa, all so wrong? We leave early the next morning with our spirits as light as feathers.