Mozambique is a hot country at the turn of the year. There are moments throughout the day and at night when one can do little more than sit, drink, sweat, and hope that there is going to be a breath of air, from one direction or another, in the next moment. The sea-level summer of the southern hemisphere is nothing like the temperate climate of Kampala. But one gets used to anything.

It is a funny feeling indeed to stick your face, snorkel attached, in the Indian Ocean and see a ten-metre fish coming straight at you. This was the first time I ever felt that an underwater camera might be handy. But I was quite happy to be merely watching as the whale shark slid past me, almost at touching distance, just a few metres away. Like most (spotted) giants, they are gentle creatures.

This trip was a good way to finish my African adventures for now (at least for half a year). On Wednesday, I'll be landing in the cold world again. The world of pale winter-weary students, sharp-minded silences, and white horizontal light.

Actually, that already happened. I'm now sitting at Schiphol Airport, at a round table, surrounded by businessman types whose laptops hum so quietly it's barely audible. And I'm already beginning to feel the cold. Conveniently, though, and unexplainably, I managed to develop a sore throat even before I left Africa. 09:44