Centrelink on my tail

The other night I headed out to a restaurant in Nkarta Bay, a small town on the shores of Lake Malawi. The power had been out all day and the town was even darker than usual. I sat waiting for dinner in a small, candle lit restaurant, whilst Damo headed for beer. As I sat waiting a well dressed man in a suit walked in, and immediately my eye was caught by the badge on his lapel. In the dim light it was hard to see but a cold chill ran through my body - I was almost certain that the badge was from Centrelink (for my non Australian friends Centrelink is the government agency which collects as much information as it can on Australians, then proffers bait in the form of social security with the hope of catching out anybody who applies for help) Having failed to tell Centrelink that I left Australia after cheekily received some benefits when I was there for three weeks in September, and having been in Africa long enough to realise anything really is possible, my heart began to quicken and my mind began to race. Surely not ? Surely I must have been mistaken. The gentleman sat in the corner directly opposite behind me, so I good only make furtive glances over my shoulder to check whether he really was wearing a Centrelink badge.
I contemplated doing a runner, surreptitiously sneaking out the door, throwing my passport in Lake Malawi and disappearing off the face of the earth - but it had been such a drama to find a place to eat, and I was still hung over from New Year's Eve that a general sense of inertia kept me in my seat. Damo soon returned and I told him what I had seen, so we both now kept glancing over to the corner and the man who had been joined by two friends. Our food arrived, and as I had yet to be arrested we began eating our meal with our hands, much to the amusement of everyone in the restaurant - including the Centrelink spy and his friends who had joined him. Unable to resist finding out whether my new laser shaped eyes had deceived me, I wander over to the table and explained to the guys sitting there what I had thought I had seen. The guy wearing the badge didn't speak any English, but proudly showed me his Centrelink name badge, emblazoned with Steve. His friend explained that he had a close friend named Steve who died and he had found the badge (likely in some recycled clothing sent from Australia to Africa) and wore it as a memento for his friend. They were more than happy to pose for a photo - unfortunately the light was too dim, and the battery went flat, so I have no photograph of my little scare.
I returned to the table and Damo had begun conversing with a local guy who had joined our table. When both Damo and I had picked as much meat as we could see off our whole fried fish, we pushed the bones to one side. Damo offered them to the local who said "You mzungu don't know how to eat fish" and then pretty much proceeded to eat the entirety of what we had left, head and all. It was a very revealing testament to the difference between honks and locals in a general sense - we consume so much yet use so little - whilst most Africans would be more than pleased to live off what we discard.