Camp is in disarray, the Tour has divided. Something catastrophic has happened. The socio-dynamics of the entire group have finally erupted in an explosion of malice and anthropological diaster that threaten our very existence. It all started yesterday evening when dinner was served. This section, we've had 11 new riders (just for the section to Lilongwe) and many of the riders who defected to Zanzibar for some time have returned.

Dinner is usually some form of carb (rice, or pasta), a main course (meat of some variety or a vegetarian alternative) and a side of vegetables. With the increased group size, tour resources have been strained and it was unfortunate that James, our cook, was unable to provide us each with enough main course - freshly butchered chicken (or cashew nuts with green beans for the vegetarians).

At the rider meeting, the Indaba crew announced a round of changes to our venerable locker system, including but not limited to a 10 litre reduction in the amount of space in each locker because of the new strengthened two inch thick locker doors - still made out of wood but hopefully less susceptible to breakage.

The outrage spread amongst the riders but we dutifully accepted our meagre fate, with only six weeks of the tour remaining and the prospect of flushing toilets and genuine beds just around the corner. When you've been on the road for nearly three months, six weeks seems like an acceptable fate.

This morning, unable to fit their belongings back into the lockers, a group of riders were inconsolably frustrated. The Indaba crew stuck to their decision and insisted that any possessions unable to fit into a riders' locker must be left behind. Angry at having to leave their expensive chocolate supplies and portable showers behind, a plot was hatched.

The trucks never arrived at camp this afternoon. Neither did forty riders. We're stuck here with whatever possessions we carried on our bike. We have only two jerry cans of water between thirty of us and the staff. There is no food except for two boxes of twenty PVM bars each and a half empty bag of orange glucose sweets. The sky is dark with water saturated clouds and it is only a matter of time before the Malawian rain attacks.

Already the hierarchy of control is shifting. Paul, the calm but controlled Tour director, is struggling to control his staff. The nurses are guarding their first aid box. There have been reports that the missing members of staff (those riding sweep and helping with lunch) are stranded on the side of the road. Those riders who stashed extra PVM bars are smugly confident, while others who have no food are sitting, dishevelled and hungry, strained from a energy deficit of several thousand calories whilst cycling the two hundred kilometres mandated for the day's stage.

There is no word on the trucks, we have no idea what the other riders are doing. Word has it that they may be driving ahead to the next 5* hotel in Lilongwe.

As far as we know the tour can't continue. We have no support, all of our money and possessions remain on the trucks. The immediate priority is to ride to the next village and find food and water. We don't have the energy for that. The road we're taking is a quiet side road and the only vehicles we've seen are agricultural vehicles and rarely at that. There is no shelter either. My lifelong spree of vegetarianism may be prematurely ended by the struggle to survive in this group of alpha personalities - fiercely competitive and stubborn human beings.

It's like every survival television show you've ever seen but worse. This is real. We're in Africa. And we're stuck. This may be my last blog. To my family, please keep my servers running.

Yours truly, EFI until the bitter, premature end,

Sunil