The past two weeks have all blurred into one boring, horrible day, that's done nothing but remind me of working in a normal job. If there is such a belief that one has to do ones time to really live one's life, well this is me doing mine. (Not that I didn't already do years of this back in Australia) As it has seemed like one long day, I shall treat it as one.

I get up at 8am every morning and my alarm goes off, I am in a small room with dirty walls and even dirtier sheets hanging over the window as make shift curtains. I am in an uncomfortable double bed, which has a foam mattress which sinks down in the middle, my back aches. I am surrounded my mosquito netting and wrapped in a blue and grey blanket and sleeping on a faded red sheet with cigarette burns all over it. I vaguely remember where I am, and the soul crushing reality that I am still here sets in as I procrastinate about getting up for another twenty or so minutes.

I eventually scramble out of the nest that is my bed and get dressed, usually in the same clothes I had on yesterday as I don't want to completely destroy all clothes in my arsenal. I go into the kitchen and make myself two slices of toast, one with peanut butter and the other with nutella, which I have had to buy myself. I sit in front of the TV, which has cable on it and watch crap for twenty minutes while I eat my breakfast.

When it hits 9am, I vacate the house (if that's what you call it) and head out into the truck yard that is the workshop. There really isn't much left to do, but if I don't look busy my boss who also lives here will no doubt either have a go at me or find me some ridiculous task to do. Such tasks have included, scrubbing filthy truck tarps that really should be replaced, cleaning camp stools, erecting broken tents to see what's wrong with them, pre washing all the dishes so our house cleaner will have an easier life, trying to find roll mats that have been taken off the truck in my absence….well you get the idea.

In short I spend most of my time hiding in the workshop with the African workers and staying out of his way. The day after my birthday, another tour leader showed up and few days ago we went out in Arusha, mainly so she could buy bus tickets to get the hell out of here. The boss was not so happy that I tagged along, however, I was grateful for the reprieve. The following day I went out again, mainly to get to know the city, I am supposed to advise passengers on it after all. I did a bit of souvenir shopping and then ran into Martin, our Pikipki (motorbike taxi) driver who then drove me to Shoprite to collect supplies and then drove me back to the workshop.

Upon my return Natasja (the other tour leader) told me that the boss was angry that I went out. This really is a prison I thought, apparently I can't leave, even for a couple of hours….hell prisons in Australia are nicer than this, the food is definitely better that's for sure and certain. I really don't think someone is entitled to control my entire life from the moment I wake up until the moment I go back to bed, for one hundred pounds a week.

I've actually began to invent more work for myself, so I can actually be busy, instead of trying to look busy. The work I'm currently doing, involves trying to somewhat organize the most disorganized company I have ever worked for. Good luck with that. No trip notes, no centralized schedules or contact lists…how the hell do these people manage?

I manage to get lunch around 1pm, which again is usually toast with peanut butter, the same as breakfast. Sometimes around lunch time if I'm incredibly lucky the boss goes out and I sit and watch TV until he returns, I actually watched Ground Hog Day today, the irony. He carries a mobile Wifi device, so if the signal comes back on my iPhone I know he's come back and I need to again, try to look busy.

When Natasja and I went out, I had a coke, an ice coffee and chicken schnitzel for lunch, I was temporarily in heaven. After lunch and before getting stranded in the supermarket for half an hour during a torrential down pour, I ran into an old friend…Helena. Helena was the truck from my Dragoman trip between Cape town and Nairobi. It was like seeing a familiar face, something from those wonderful four months….the best of my life. It made my week, that in itself should speak volumes about the situation, that a hunk of orange and white metal could put such a smile on my face.

Dinner is usually either mince or chicken cooked in a pressure cooker. The boss decided to make a change the other night and make some kind of fish…again in the pressure cooker. I had no idea what he was cooking, I was so hungry, it was 8pm before dinner was finally ready, as soon as he took the lid off the pressure cooker I smelt it. That gut wrenching smell of a fish that probably spends all its time feeding on the bottom of a lake…kind of like the smell you get when you clean out a stagnant fish tank. I had no choice, I had to eat it. I was starving and as usual had only had toast all day. I wonder how many people reading this, have actually had to choke down food that made them dry wretch or starve.

After dinner I usually watch TV for a while before having a shower or the power fails right at the crucial moment of the show I'm watching. The first couple of weeks a shower consisted of having to turn the taps on and off about six times so the water in the bottom of the tank could heat up. This of course meant that most of the shower was freezing cold….except for those three days when we had no water at all that was fun. As soon as I get out of the shower I coat myself in mosquito repellent, least I get bitten and get malaria.

I go to bed as soon as is acceptable and either stay up reading or watching movies on my laptop, just to get some distance from my boss. Eventually, I get changed into my pajamas, check my netting to make sure no mosquitos are trapped in it, turn out the lights and lay down and listen to the toad that insists on croaking irregularly all night. Burp, burp…..burp, burp, burp, burp………………*thank god its stopped* BURP! *face palm* burp, burp, burp….burp. If the toad has for some reason, has decided to take the night off, the Escari (our security guard) usually sits outside my window playing horrendously distorted African music, accompanied by constant changing of the radio station outside my window. Eventually, I manage to fall asleep, wake up….rinse and repeat.