We reached the main airport of the country. The internationalarrivals. Well, they try anyway, saying it's up to internatonal standards might be pushing it a bit, ( a lot). It looks good from the outside but once you reach the human element of passing through the arrivals you soon realise that things are not as you would wish them to be, in several ways.
Firstly, you pass through immigration. Leaving a lot to be desired.
Searching the suitcases in the main hall in front of everyone waiting to pass behind you isn't my idea of fun. A bribe makes the chance of leaving the airport quicker. And as you wait for them to allow you to pass through, a fervent hope runs through your mind that the cock roach you just saw that's the size of a baby mouse doesn't enter your exposed belongings ... appears to be a natural ocurrence because it's only us jumping up and down and pointing at it ... in horror.
We reach the outside safely and intact; body and bags. It's only when I see the mosquitoes in the misty grey dawn light swarming around the bulbs in the walls of the building that I remember we have to take our tablets against malaria. Dismayed I pull out the bottle of water. It only has an inch or so left in the bottom, between 5 of us. Kids and husband first, they swallow down their foul tablets. Leaving me to try and build up enough saliva to put the small round tablet in and swallow. Have you ever tried that under pressure? It's a no-go situation and it was all I could do to muster up enough courage to pop it in and try.
I advise against this technique, dry heaving on a minibus in front of strangers whilst pulling all manner of faces at the undescribably, disgustingly bitter taste is not a good way to make friends and influence people. And then the bus lurches forward and on we go to the domestic airport. In the rain. At breakneck speed to meet up the next flight. 
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