There. were both smoked Scotch salmon and roast sirloin of milk-fed Charollais beef on the five-page menu. However, when he ordered these the waiter shook his head regretfully. Sorry, no got.
It swiftly developed into a guessing game. Sorry, no got. The waiter looked genuinely distressed as Daniel worked his way unsuccessfully through the menu until Daniel noticed that everyone else in the dining-room was eating stringy roast chicken and rice.
Yes, got chicken and rice. The waiter beamed approval. What you want for dessert? By now Daniel had learned the trick. He checked the other tables. How about banana custard?' The waiter shook his head.
No got.
But Daniel could tell by his expression that he was getting warm.
Daniel stood up and crossed to a Nigerian businessman at the next table.
Excuse me, sir, what is that you are eating? He returned to his own table. I'll have Banana Delight, he said, and the waiter nodded happily. Yes, tonight got Banana Delight.
This little comedy restored Daniel's good humour and sense of the ridiculous. AWA, Daniel reassured him. Africa Wins Again. And the waiter looked delighted at such obvious praise and encouragement.
The next morning Daniel beaded eastwards towards Chipata and the Malawi border. There was not much point in expecting a sustaining breakfast from the hotel and anyway he was away long before the kitchens opened. He had covered almost a hundred miles before the sun rose, and he kept going most of the day, stopping only to eat beside the road.
He reached the border the following morning and crossed into Malawi with a tightening of his spirits. Not only was this tiny country even more spectacularly beautiful than the one he was leaving, but in comparison the mood of its people was contented and carefree.
Malawi was known as the Switzerland of Africa for its grand mountains and highland plateaux and its lakes and lovely rivers. Its people were famous throughout the southern continent for their intelligence and adaptability. They were sought after at every level of employment from domestic servants to miners and industrial workers. Lacking viable mineral deposits, Malawi's most valuable asset and export were her people.
Under the benevolent despotism of their octogenarian president-for-life, the special talents and strengths of the Malawian people were encouraged and fostered. The rural areas eglected and the urban migration was checked. Each were not n family was ordered by the leader to build its own home and make itself self-sufficient in food.
As cash crops they grew cotton and ground-nuts. On the large Mountainside estates they raised a superior leaf of tea.
As Daniel drove towards the capital, Lilongwe, the contrast with the country he had just left was striking. The villages he passed were clean and orderly and prosperous. The people on the roadside were sleek, well dressed and smiling. Most of the handsome women favoured a full-length skirt printed with the national colours and a portrait of Kamuzu Hastings Banda, the president. Short skirts were forbidden in Malawi by presidential decree, as was long hair on men.
Along the roadside, food and carved wooden curios were offered for sale.
It was strange to see a surplus of food in any African country.
Daniel stopped to buy eggs and oranges, mandarins, luscious red tomatoes and roasted ground-nuts, and also to exchange cheerful banter with the vendors.
After the misery and deprivation he had witnessed in the country he had so recently left, his mood was uplifted by these delightful people.
Given the circumstances to make a good life, there are few peoples on earth so friendly and charming as those of Africa. Daniel found his regard for them strengthened and renewed. If you don't like black people, then you shouldn't be living in Africa, Daniel's father had once said to him. It was a remark that had remained in his memory all these years, the validity of it growing ever more evident.
As he approached Lilongwe Daniel was struck even more forcefully by the contrast with other capitals of the continent. It was a recent capital, planned and built with architectural advice and financial help from South Africa. There was no slum stench here. Instead it was a pretty town, modern and functional.
Daniel found it good to be back again.
The Capital Hotel was surrounded by parks and lawns but conveniently situated close to the centre of the town. As soon as he was alone in his room, Daniel checked the local telephone directory which he found in the bedside drawer.
Chetti Singh was a big man in town and obviously enjoyed the sound of his own name. There was a string of numbers listed. He seemed to have his fingers in every honey pot: Chetti Singh Fisheries, Chetti Singh Supermarkets, Chetti Singh Tannery, Cheti Singh Sawmills and Lumber, Chetti Singh Garages and Toyota Agency. The list took up half the page.
Not a difficult bird to point, Daniel admitted to himself.
Now let's see if we can get him to flush for a good sporting shot.
While he shaved and showered an attentive room servant carted his travel-stained clothing off to the laundry and ironed a clean but crumpled bush jacket to starchy perfection. Good excuse.
I need to restock the tucker box, Daniel told himself as he went downstairs and asked the receptionist directions to Chetti Singh's supermarket.
Across the park. The man pointed.
With assumed nonchalance Daniel sauntered across the park.
It occurred to him that he was hardly the most inconspicuous visitor in town, with his London tailored bush jacket, silk scarf, and the spectacularly travel-dusted and battered Landcruiser with his strong-arm motif emblazoned all over it. Let's pray that Chetti Singh never got a good look at me or the truck that night. Chetti Singh's supermarket was on Main Street in a new four-storey building of modern layout, with clean tiled floors and walls. The shelves were piled with abundant wares, all reasonably priced, and the premises were thronged with customers. In Africa this was unusual.
While Daniel joined the relays of housewives wheeling their shopping trolleys down the aisles between the shelves, . he was studying the building and its staff.
Four young Asian girls sat at the cash registers guarding the exit.
They were quick and efficient. Under their graceful brown fingers the registers tinkled to the sweet music of Mammon. Chetti Singh's daughters, Daniel guessed as he noted the family resemblance. They were pretty as sunbirds, in their brightly coloured saris.
In the centre of the floor a middle-aged Asian lady sat at a tall dais from which she could keep a beady eye on every corner of the shop.
