Ministry of Road Traffic won't get lost in the shuffle.

 Normally, I advocate for a divide-and-conquer approach to errands. However, having spent some time in, well, Africa, I know that there are certain day-to-day tasks and events that come together to shape one's overall experience of, well, Africa.

Therefore, when it was time to go to the Ministry of Road Traffic (i.e. Malawian DMV), I forced Brody to come along. "We came together to share this experience... so we have to share this experience."

He thought I was being dramatic, but nodded knowingly as soon as we arrived and saw their filing system.

Aside from having to go to the
Ministry two days in a row since I initially was missing the correct documents (about which there is no website and 5 different experienced people will tell you 5 different things), highlights included:

1. Being led alone (Brody inexplicably not allowed in) into a room with a large, Black man in a pinstripe suit behind a huge desk as he skeptically glared at me before finally doing me the favor of signing my papers.
3. The young man in the "No one knows I am a lesbian" shirt.
4. Actually making it through the 4th, no, the 5th line I had to stand in without getting cut. (The trick is putting your nose into the back of the person in front of you.)
5. Driving over the just-narrow-enough 10 foot cement pit with stairs leading into it for the automotive fitness exam.