footie

Mr M. appears round the side of the verandah, bearing gifts.

"I came to see how you were," he says. He hands me Mozambican groceries: a carton of fruit juice and some apples. He's the head of an AIDS charity here. Just before he travelled to Botswana, he developed back pains and had to be wheeled through the airport in a wheelchair. He's better now but thinking of taking a new direction: life-coaching.

"Tickbite takes four months to get over," he says. "I remember, when I was in the Lowveld, there was a guy who got it..."

Mr M. moved from the Lowveld (southeastern Zim, cane-sugar growing area, hot, malarial) a few years back. He started to play soccer one evening a week: nothing formal, just a few blokes getting together. One of the men had a brother in the shadowy Central Intelligence Organisation and managed to get a glimpse of Mr M.'s file.

"This man is dangerous and needs to be watched," it began.