Liwonde, even when nothing much is happening. Meanwhile all around the capital of Lilongwe the landscape is plotted and pieced as Hopkins says, a patchwork in sepia and van Dyk brown as the fields lie open to the slow rain and wait for seeds to yawn and stretch. Summer is here - the frangipanis, for so long domes of stark branches decked with terminal posies of blossoms, are filled with dark glossy leaves while the blossoms fade and fall. The garden is awash with calls of coucals, cuckoos and tropical boubou. The peak and trill of woodland kingfishers starts with dawn, and the rude unlikely noises of the drongos.
Science says they sound like malfunctioning electronic black-birds .
The drongos have assumed a new possessive air around the garden and I think they re nesting in one of our trees, but I can't find where. The blue-headed tree agamas are flourishing fatly. I saw one chasing a little blue wax-bill this afternoon, all along the top of the garden wall. It s heading for 10 pm now, and the cheerful froggy conversation in the dambo below the house bodes well for more rain. I think I ll take a book and retire for the night.