Don't get malaria.
More to the point, don't get malaria, seemingly get better and then start cycling/running/walking 5 miles to work and back two weeks later.
And don't eat ice cream. No one told me dairy stops the medicine working so well. (This may not have had an effect, I only had one ice cream first time, on the day I started on the medicine.)
I'm on Quinine this time, which has been making me feel wretched, and makes your ears whine. For seven days. Whoop.
The last two days have been spent in Mpandangindo writing playing with the puppy, taking photos of it and other cute things (I got really really bored), and watching ambitious pigeons try to fly through very small holes carrying two-foot-long twigs. And yesterday I read an entire book.
Oh, but on Sunday evening some of the children and I had a dance to the Pipettes, through the magical medium of the speaker on my mobile phone.
Another problem I've been having (apart from malaria): the soap I've started using conjeals around the hairs in my right armpit, but not my left. I'm left-handed and the soap is "Shearer's Soap: For Hard Working Men", a novelty gift from New Zealand from my old colleague Ann. Anyone with a good-enough sounding scientific theory for why this might be so wins a biscuit.