The village of Biwi is only a 40 minutes convoluted drive, from the urbanised chaos of Lilongwe. The last 20 minutes off-road is a time-warp, where twin oxen drawn carts over laden with bleached-white corn cobs, grass topped huts, and children chasing chickens in the bright red dust, abound. Of course romanticised, sun brightened imageries, only temporarily mask the realities of crushing poverty, poor life expectancy and dreams of running water and electrical power.
Juxtaposition this with 16 twenty something young people who are grappling enthusiastically with the finer points of emotional and mental health under the shade of a scrawny tree. Here, the teaching challenges of a Chichewa interpreter, illiteracy, an elected deaf mute and spontaneous rowdy tribal song and dance, would give Mr Gove apoplexy.
Meanwhile a grey speckled mother hen and her eight noisy chicks took their morning walk through my brightly lit alfresco classroom.