Everyone’s very welcoming here, super nice; all smiles.

They seem genuinely happy to have me, and I’m thrilled to be here.

With a couple of bottles of water in the system I’m feeling much better than I was.

This is a million times better than being on the road; puncture or not...

Even though it was only an hour ago, it feels insane that I was going to try to make Tomboco in the dark instead of just doing this instead.

With my brain working again, my best bet for what made me think the front tyre was "punctured" is that by going through a puddle of water the tyre got cold and lost some pressure, making it appear to be a little deflated. In any case, there's no puncture as far as I can tell.

The sun sets, and the world quickly goes dark.

The chief invites me into the hut with the family and, I’m guessing, a few of his friends who want to keep talking. There are a handful of the men sitting at a round table and the women and kids are sitting on the hard mud floor. The whole room is barely lit at all by a single lamp in the corner, and we talk in the shadows.

We talk and talk and talk, with a poster of the president of Angola high on the mud wall, overlooking the chatter.

Every-now-and-again a kid walks in through the front “door” (an open hole in the wall of the mud hut) and passes out on the hard mud floor - passes out cold - without a word, while the rest of us talk and laugh.

There’s a woman sitting on a crate close-by me. I think I’m falling in love with her.

She’s flat-out beautiful. Stunning.

Her open, easy-to-smile and quick-to-laugh face has never seen makeup before. It’s beauty in its rawest form.

She has me absolutely gobsmacked.

I am falling in love...

Or I might be still on an endorphin high; I think I love everyone in this room...

I have to focus to stay on conversation - which is mostly about football and my trip. Everyone loves the Shrike.

They eat up my stories. Everyone’s been incredibly welcoming and so kind, it’s hospitality at its most genuine; they seem stoked to have me as their guest in their hut, which is surprising and delighting.

They invite me to stay for dinner. I’ve gotta be honest, I was hoping they’d ask. A candlelit dinner.

How romantic.

On the menu is fufu and mystery meat in mystery sauce.

Fufu - besides being a hilarious name - is a sort of a root or something which they pulverise with a big stick in a bowl, like they’re digging a hole for a fence post. They do this all bloody day till, finally, it’s somehow got the consistency of thick, uncooked bread dough.

The smell of the mystery meat and sauce is too much for me.

The first mouthful...

Nirvana. I stop chewing. I feel like I’m having a holy, out of body experience.

It might just be the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.

It’s perfect. It just feels so wholesome.

Just what I’ve needed.

I’m gushing with praise, I don't have enough French superlatives for this...

Another young lady sitting on the floor is absolutely rapt with the compliments when son-of-chief translates for the group. She gets up and skips out of the front “door” and tells some unseen person outside the hut all about it, like I'm the bloke giving out Michelin stars.

We all talk for hours.

I think it might be my favourite night of the whole trip.

It feels like I’m with family, and I don’t know anyone’s name...

The smiling stunner wants to learn some English. She wants to learn how to say what I've been saying - aujoudwee jay oon grand problem - in English.

Hearing her say “Today, I have, big problem!”, with a big smile on her face, and, yep, I’m in love...

I’m also a grub. Filthy and sticky and just, well, grubby.

Late into the night and my eyes are starting to roll into the back of my head by themselves. I thank my hosts for the best night of my trip, and head to my tent.

Sticky and disgusting, I lie flat-backed on the hard packed mud floor.

That second “puncture” might be the best thing to ever happen to me...

I immediately conk.