When the shock of living in the ugliest city in the world had finally settled in, about two weeks after I arrived to Lusaka in early September, I started counting down the days until I get to go travelling. At first, it seemed like ages away; three and a half months. I gritted my teeth and thought, right, I need to get something out of this experience. So I stayed, and counted the days. Three months, I get to go travelling. Ten weeks, two months, I can leave. A month, that'll go fast. Three weeks, two weeks, anyone can do that. Now, its mid- December, people at home are going on company Christmas parties, snogging people they don't even like, singing horrible 80's Christmas hits and buying stuff they don't want or need. And I'm sweating in a cramped internet cafe that drums bad African pop music, has a broken fan and a smelly guy next to me. But it doesn't matter. Because tomorrow, I'll be gone. So for the first time in ages, I feel fine. Almost rosey.
Sure, I have to come back in January. Sure, I need to work another couple of months. But in a way, it's not worth thinking about. What I want is a Malawian beach, a few beers and a nice Christmas with my friend; my thinking does not, and cannot go beyond that. Maybe a cocktail at new year, and a few cool backpackers to create a party. I don't know. All I know is that with every passing hour that puts miles between me and Lusaka tomorrow, I'll feel better. The Great East Road stretches endlessly beyond Lusaka; at the end of it, Malawi. I need this. It's time to put some fun in my life again.