After a night in Kahama at a very friendly local guesthouse, we sit and wait for the bus to Singida. 4hrs later we’re taken to a place ’beyond the police checkpoint’. Out of town. We fight our way into two seats on the back row of an overcrowded bus. Every speed bump (and there are many) throws us up into the air. The bus breaks down just a few miles from Singida. A man with shoes tied around his waist, English language newspaper pasted to forehead sings ’my bonny flies over the ocean’ to me. The mosquitoes circle and the heavens open.