Saturday Morning 3:00 am

Designated drivers staying up all night talking, cringing at Wonder Showzen and watching Green Card. Irresponsible but oh well, trusting caffiene and nicotine to keep out eyes on the road. Small cups of coffee and dodgy toilets at garages. Quiet, dark roads with mystery landscapes. Panoramic sunrises, 5 a.m. is still my favourite time of the day. Artificial forests seeping mist into the roads and the border approaches. A donkey stops in the middle of the road to scratch his ear with his back hoof. We're the only white people in rows of black faces. We lose cellphone reception, and the breakaway truly begins. We drive through Mbabane, Manzini, past billboards where the only intelligible word is hiv+. We get lost, find our way again, almost get crushed twice by manic drivers, and turn into the backpackers, shaken up but still alive.

The staff are friendly, the house has character and the atmosphere very relaxed. Clean up after yourself, especially in the kitchen, aside from that your happiness is pretty much your own indaba. There are bins for organic waste and non-biodegradable waste. A solar cooker outside that cooks water in 15 minutes, on sunny days. Slow internet and a lunar bar, with U2 and St Germaine playing over the speakers. Huge dogs and cows. A few posters for Swazi School of Poi, sealing the thought that there will be some fellow firespinners in the crowd. On the one door there is a letter, written by a little girl who lived in the house before it was turned into a backpackers. The letter is addressed to the house, thanking it for all the good days, the protection, the memories.. and wishing it good tenants for the future, with written regrets that she has to leave. They discovered the letter under some floorboards while they were renovating the house, and stuck it on the door leading outside, with an explanation of the story.

We switched years at a place called House on Fire, which I'll ooh and ahh about some more where when I have pictures to justify the amazement I felt walking through the best venue I've been in my whole life. Gallery cum venue cum outer-space creation from the artistic underground, it felt like we discovered a lost Gaudi village, inspired by Mama Afrika. Left the party physically exhausted, slightly drunk, slightly stoned, missing skin on my fingers, clammy with sweat, and very satisfied. 4 a.m. swim, chlorine stinging my fingers, and the sleep of the dead.