Sunday, May 23
Just when I thought sunday was turning into a football-free day Bjorn suddenly asks, "Did I tell you we are going to the PSL Football Awards tonight?"
"After 30 minutes"
It is back on with the suit and the UNHCR driver's shoes and off in the car to Pretoria.
What we didn't expect after a mad dash down the motorway was to park up, turn the corner towards the national theatre in Pretoria and then find ourselves walking down the red carpet to the entrance of the event.
It is probably the single most absurd moment of the project so far, particularly when one of the many South African football fans crammed behind the security perimeter shouts, "Hey! I don't know you. Who do you play for?!"
Inside, the presentation goes out live to 10 million South Africans. It is the standard 'goal of the season', 'player of the season' stuff, with slick visuals, half-clad dancing girls and pop star artist appearances.
Again, I find my head is spinning as I sit watching the various players walk up on to the stage to receive their awards. This is a million light years away from the dirty little shack we parked our cycles outside on the Tanzanian border a few weeks ago, not able to eat or drink because of a Cholera outbreak.
Monday, April 19
After visiting the medical centre and seeing the good work the Rafiki Kenia Foundation and the local doctors are doing we get back on the road. Unfortunately, we don't get away until after 10am and the temperature soon soars to 39 Celsius.
We were told it was 30 kms to Lunga Lunga, on the border. After 30 kms there is no sign of the town so we start asking the locals how far is left. "About 35 kilometres". Five kilometres later we ask another local. He replies, "Around 50 kms."
Then we meet some Kenyan Army men by the roadside.
"Are we going in the wrong direction?" "No."
"Are there hotels in Lunga Lunga?" "Yes, but they are closed because there is a cholera outbreak there."
The heat and humidity start to take their toll on me but, with the pedal on my bike worn loose, we glide down the hill into the border town before sundown.
A local lad repairs my bike in 5 minutes and Bjorn and I take a room each at a local guesthouse. It is the first time I have had my own room since I left England. It is a flee pit with character and nice staff. We cannot eat dinner because of the cholera outbreak. Neither do I shower in the potentially dangerous water. Instead, I am in bed by 7pm in my 1.25 pound room.