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May 20, 2002 - Malawi Madness
After 2 nights in Dar Es Salaam, we began our harrowing journey south. A 24-hour train ride was trying; hot in the day and cold at night, we battled cockroaches, perpetual noise and less than sanitary toilets. But we arrived more or less on time and decided to head straight for the Malawi border. After two very squishy mini-bus rides in which we felt like sardines, we arrived in Karonga on the shores of Lake Malawi - the defining feature of our new country. We tried to keep travelling, but Karonga had a hold on us.
After sitting for an hour at the bus station in a 'half' bus, waiting for it to fill up and leave, we were finally on our way again.... until the half bus stopped abruptly just around the corner from the station and demanded all passengers inside the comfortably full bus to get out and move instead into a mini-bus of about half the capacity of our current bus. By the time we figured out what was going on, it was too late. The mini-bus was bursting at the seams and there simply wasn't room for us. We gave up and checked into the nearest guesthouse. Malawi somehow seemed to have a different feel about it, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. What we certainly did figure out quickly was that getting around the rural, northern areas of the country by public transport was no small feat. Vehicles - primarily ancient and decrepit mini-buses - only leave when full up (and then some), with each passenger compacted into about 18 cubic centimetres of uncomfortable space. At no particular time in this country without schedules, the vehicle would depart, moving forward alternatively at death defying speed or a still idle. The mini-bus would stop every hundred metres or so to cram the 26th or 27th person in - provided of course they looked worthy - preferably wearing the rural Malawi style necktie which hangs about 8 inches to mid chest and is nearly equally wide. The vehicle again proceeds forward along bumpy, pothole filled roads, but don't worry about the lack of seatbelts - the ceiling is padded. Provided of course you aren't seated underneath the fancy faux chandelier... The windows are closed up tight to keep out the freezing Malawi winter temperatures of 30 degrees Celsius. If you are really lucky, you will be travelling on 'Simama Trans', translating to 'Stop Trans', whose motto, like half the other vehicles on the road is "In God We Trust". You would have to to climb aboard these buses! In the end, we escaped Karonga and headed south along the shore of the turqoise blue Lake Malawi, travelling beside the road as the road itself was under construction. The earth was salmon-pink and the trees and bushes pale green - a very scenic drive. We passed men cycling with sun umbrellas in one hand, women with assorted large packages balanced precariously on their heads and round bundles of baby tied onto their backs with colourful swaths of cloth, dozens of hair-cutting 'saloons', and a sobering number of coffin carpentry shops - all against the distant backdrop of Mozambique's mountains on the other side of the lake. We reached Nkhata Bay by a typically Malawian sunset - something akin to a blazing forest fire on the horizon. Walking around Nkhata Bay, we encountered dozens of friendly young Malawians. They would introduce themselves, ask your name and say "How is it?" or "How does it go?". If you are passing a curio shop, they'll ask you to look inside - "Looking is free!", or if you pass the bus stand, they'll ask you "How far?". Though many just wanted to say hello. Nkhata Bay was full of 'bottlestores' and assorted shops home to stockists of various lists of unrelated items - bread, cement, soap, cold drinks. Unfortunately though, we could partake of little as the only bureau de change in town was "out of money - come back next week". The town's internet connection was down, the electricity and water supplies were sporadic and nothing much was doing on a Sunday. So we did a little hiking, a little sea kayaking and sat back and read our novels. When at last we tried to leave, not a soul in town could tell us if another vehicle was headed out of town that afternoon, so we waited. And waited. In the cab of a piled-full pick up truck, we eventually we made it to Mzuzu, a larger town with better transportation connections. We awoke at 5am the next morning to catch the 6am bus, which by 8am still hadn't arrived. A reconnaissance mission taught us that the bus had broken down the day before, so we took up the offer of Geoffrey to join him as well as strangers Mrs. Nassoul and Mr. Wanda in his Toyota Corolla to head to the capital. After little, old Mrs. Nassoul prayed for our safety, we were on our way. Mr. Wanda, an employee of the Malawi Revenue Authority, extolled the virtues of the Malawian government while Geoffrey argued with him, punctuating his points by taking hands from the wheel and clapping - much to the horror of Mrs. Nassoul who insisted on not exceeding 60km/h for our 350km journey. We were happy to be approaching the city when the car began to shudder and slow down in fits and starts. Out of gas. Definitely a journey of comedy and treachery but we made it to Lilongwe in enough time to catch a connecting bus to Blantyre, Malawi's commercial capital in the south. We were more than pleasantly surprised, not to mention ready for, Blantyre's modern, clean feel. Finally, after nearly a week in the country, we were able to get our hands on some local currency. We used the city as a base to explore Mt. Mulanje - a 3000m plateau 'massif' by the Mozambique border - definitely the highlight of our time in Malawi. We hiked on Mt. Mulanje for three days, surviving on macaroni and peanutbutter and jam sandwiches, and sleeping in small wooden mountain huts. On our first day, we climbed up the steep plateau side and arrived on top to a sea of pine and cedar trees separated by damp river valleys and sparse fire cuts. We watched the sun set eerily over an area burned by fire seven years ago. Our second day was rolling hills through changing landscape and our third was of course our descent back to the realities of Malawi's rank as the 8th poorest country in the world - sobering after our retreat into the wilderness. After a morning of travel back to Lilongwe, we discovered the great dearth of life, activity and opportunity in an African capital city on a weekend. We passed the time reading month-old Time magazines from the Shop-rite. On Sunday, we cut our Malawi public transportation woes short and flew to Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. > See photos from the whole Africa trip. > See photos from Malawi. > See other Africa journal entries. Back to top |
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