Mark stuck his head in the hood of the truck, the sweat pouring down his neck and the African sun blistering above. The engine had over-heated, it was no wonder, climbing the hills after Tete on the way to Malawi and loaded with everything he could possibly pack into it. He turned his head and watched as the convoy left him behind. 

He had minutes, if that, to get the old army Ford Control he'd bought in South Africa back on the move.

Mark had met the convoy at the border between Zimbabwe and Mozambique and was told to keep up, or get left behind. Mozambique was at war and the RENAMO millitant group and political party made it known that the roads were dangerous. Driving through the country was best done as a large group, and at speed. And for whatever reason, you did not stop.

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Mark managed to shift the washing machine over and grab his tool kit. He was twenty five, had recently gotten married and had a baby and after hearing about an opportunity in Malawi, had made the decision to make the move from Johannesburg to Lilongwe...

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