CHAPTER 28 - MALAWI

 

-top

 

Exchange rate 42 Malawian kwacha to US$1

 

1 kwacha = 100 tambala

 

Fr 10/1/99 - Karonga, Malawi (474m)

 

I woke worrying for the single typewritten paper Robyn held that might allow her through Tanzanian and Malayian immigration. We left Boder Guest House at 830a and were hounded by Moses as we walked down the road. Even though we had asked three people this morning what the exchange rate was and they consistently said 17 shillings to 1, he still insisted to 20 to 1.

 

At Tanzanian immigration the men shook their heads and said Robyn didn't have the correct paperwork, immigration in Mbeya should have provided a interim passport with photo. That hadn't a problem with the police report but suspected the Malawian side would. Argh!

 

We walked further on, across the Songwe River Bridge, into Malawi, into a new time zone, and into Malawian immigration. We filled in little immigration cards, and worried. While I was processed, Robyn's officer read through her letter (police report). I finished and stood behind her. The man shook his head and started to sound negative, so I walked a few steps away, fumbled into my money belt, and pulled two five dollar bills out. I spread and held them in my hand on the counter next to Robyn. The winds changed and I assumed the money was the reason but not so, he never indicated to pass them over. We were in!

 

Moses and I settled at an exchange rate of 17.5 and amongst a humorous mob of such black marketers, I swap about thirty dollars in shillings with him. We boarded the first minivan heading to the biggish northern town of Karonga and away we went into Malawi.

 

I was weary from a bad night of sleep, the room had been stifling hot and mosquitoes annoyed me, and now I gazed through the van's windows. I was in Malawi, the country I have heard of for many years now, the country so wonderful and pretty and with people calm and very friendly. At the Malawian immigration office I spoke with two travellers entering Tanzania and they raved about Malawi, Lavingstonia, and a guest house in Karonga. I was happy to be here, especially for the major snafu in Mbeya. Damn Mbeya, what a hassle, and waste of time and money and energy.

 

While we tooled along avoiding extremely large potholes, the rear of the bus was engaged in poking fun at the muzungus. We weren't sure what was being said but had no doubts of the main subjects, we heard "muzungu" many times and found them throwing glances our way. It wasn't a bother, I smiled and somehow enjoyed it. The young man next to me was a major player and I caught a little English. We when arrived Karonga I asked this man, Bope (BWOPEE), where the bank was. "Don't worry, we will show you." I figured they would drop us at the bank, but no.

 

We stopped at a quiet brick bus station and followed Bope to the bank "just near". Robyn suggested that she stay at the station but I thought something of interest may happen, like food or drink, and so we carried our burdensome packs. The sun was baking and we were sweating and soon swearing because the bank was "just near" for half an hour. We had walked way across this searing hot spread out town before I was able to receive a horrible exchange rate (42 kwacha to $1 minus two percent).

 

Bope was good to us and I had to remind myself this, I was moody from carrying the weight over an indefinite amount of time. Over sodas he told of how he spent his childhood until standard four in Zambia then followed his father, a miner, and mother to Karonga. Many of his nine siblings stayed behind in Zambia. Now he is trying to save money to finish an automotive mechanics course.

 

Bope walked us back to the station and then walked home to grind maize. Although the couple I spoke to at the immigration office recommended we spend a night in Karonga then bus to Chitimba, the turnoff for Livingstonia, and hitchhike to the high village, we decided to move immediately onto Chitimba. While hanging for a minivan south, a driver leaned from his seat and asked, "Are you the ones who lost a passport?"

 

The passport?! It seems word reached the border and was passed on amongst the taxi drivers. This man ran us over to the telephone office and after much frustration trying to call the police station in Tanzania, we connected with Mustufa and he confirmed that the passport and travelers check were found. He didn't mention anything else except no money was there. The connection was poor and we were pleased with that little information.

 

We had set our minds moving in one direction in dealing with this mess and now we were in the middle. Go forward or backward? We could have asked to have the passport and belongings forwarded to the Malawian capital, Lilongwe, and carried on with the travel. But with the bad telephone connection the cards fell such that we were fetch Robyn's belongings. Over lunch we made a plan. Robyn would head back alone and I would stay in Karonga at the recommended Club Marina on Lake Malawi playing catch-up on travel notes. I lent Robyn 2000 kwacha and $50, more than enough to cover costs there and back overnight, plus an emergency fund.

 

Robyn had a minivan heading back to the borer immediately and I trudged once again across town to find Club Marina (300MK/1, 420MK/2). It was a nice spot, bricked chalets and the lake two hundred meters away over sand and through thin bush.

 

I threw my pack into my room and heading immediately to the lake. I walked through the bush, passed an old crooked man herding cattle, and onto a very nice sand beach, not overly wide but with a rise and slope running into the lake. The water here was lightly silted, further out it turned a brilliant turquoise. There were boys swimming naked and a few dugouts, called wato, one being tended by an older man, leaning against another a young man repaired a fishing net.

 

Here I stood before the famous lake, the third largest in Africa. It's 500km long, 60km wide, and as deep as 700m. The lake provides a border between Mozambique and Malawi, and Tanzania and Malawi, although most of the body of water lays in Malawi. Through an arc of nearly 180 degrees I could only see the lake's horizon, it was as if I was staring off across an ocean.

 

The boys ran to me and I took a rather provocative photo of them naked. A young man named Richard who spoke English and was visiting an uncle in the area had earlier washed clothing and left it to dry. Now we were friends and he asked if I could "snap" him. I took a photo, then the man fixing the net asked the same and I again obliged.

 

Richard walked to Club Marina with me. In my room I made an earnest effort for catching up on the journal. I typed for hours and about 5pm I broke and walked to the lounge patio with a view toward the lake for a Sprite, then continued typing there.

 

I was very excited to find satellite television at dinner and eagerly watched world news and then the British sports channel and lastly chuckled at CNN in Swahili.

 

Back at the bar I joined a white named Paul who was raised Kenyan and sports an American accent. He has been living in the Dominican Republic for five years. He was traveling with an old school mate who was raised Tanzanian and whose parents are missionaries. He sounded British. I looked at the two of them with curiosity, these two god looking young men seemingly western but with a very different background from myself.

 

I returned to my room and typed until 12pm.

 

Sa 10/2/99 - Karonga, Malawi

 

I woke at 530am, rolled over, grabbed my handheld and was immediately back at typing. I was still very far behind.

 

After two hours I broke for breakfast - one egg, two pieces of toast, jam, butter, and very very black tea. I then returned to tying in my room and wondered about Robyn. Maybe I shouldn't have left her alone to deal with the touts, immigration, bus people, moneychangers, hotel staff, and police by herself. Maybe she would be hassled to a dangerous degree, maybe she would be taken advantage of.

 

I moved back to the patio and typed and around noon I worried more about her. Although I guessed she wouldn't return until 2pm or so, I continuously glanced up toward the drive to see if she was there.

 

For a break from typing I moved inside to the bar area and sat with three people playing boa and chatting. There was an English couple, Robin and Tasha, on a one-year honeymoon, and Maurice from Richard's Bay, South Africa. Again, I continuously glanced to the drive for Robyn, this time through a window. Maurice had a very strong South African accent and a stammer on top. His inflection reminded me of Alan Staniforth, a crazy friend from Cape Town who I met in Newport.

 

I caught a blur from the corner of my eye in through the window. Sitting prim and proper on the luggage rack of a bike was Robyn.

 

We had traveled together for forty days and this was the first time apart, so we had missed one another. I jumped up to great her and hear the news ending the robbery episode.

 

Eria had been caught by the police returning home on the second night after the theft, the day we left Mbeya. Everything was returned including US$21 but excluding an old vaccination card and pages from her address book. The credit cards were also bent (for what reason?). The police begged Robyn to stay on until Tuesday for Eria's court case, of course she refused since I was in Malawi.

 

We heard a there is a theory about the addresses. Supposedly they are given to Africans travelling to the respective area. We hoped this wasn't true since besides the address book, we have given home addresses to many people

 

Otherwise, Robyn faired well. Along the way she was treated nicely by locals and since she was alone also received disgusting gestures from men. She laughed and told of a wild minivan ride to Mbeya with chickens and pongy people. When a very large women tried to enter the packed van everyone let out a sigh and the conductor shook his head and simply said, "Oh mamma!".

 

We decided to stay the night instead of moving on. After booking back in, we walked to the beach and there were a large crowd of naked boys playing about in the lake and on the beach. We sat on top of the beach and observed. The boys were acting up for our benefit trying crazy dives and racing in circles. Fifteen meters to our left were a group of half dresses girls swimming and just beyond five women washing clothing. Men were hovering around their watos. They were all fully conscious of our presence and seemed to derive pleasure from it.

 

This lake is endless, a blue extending to the curved and softly hazed horizon like an ocean. Sitting here was very comfortable in the late afternoon, the temperature pleasant, and the sky clear. I commented on the boys, "Look how white their hands and feet are", and Robyn returned, "And how black their willies are!".

 

We moved down and away from the crowd. I figured with the beach sand shore the weed the harbors the muscles that harbors bilharzia was vacant. I jumped in for a skinny, happy to be in fresh water and this gorgeous hue African lake.

 

My excitement for world news on the satellite television turned to despair, it wasn't functioning and I spent our dinner playing with the remote. We cashed at 8pm.

 

Su 10/3/99 - Livingstonia, Malawi (1374m)

 

Our travel goal of the day - Livingstonia. The plan was to rise early and walked the half hour to the bus station, and find a minivan for the four hour drive south to Chitimba along one of the worse roads in Malawi, then hitchhike 26km and 900m up to Livingstonia.

 

I woke at 430am and laid still. A half hour later the security guard knocked and asked if we wanted a ride to Chitimba - at 430am! Last evening he had heard we were heading that way and now just outside our door a van heading south started it's engine, creating more noise. How could anyone be woken so early and be expected to walk out the door and into a car? Africans could.

 

At 5am I walked out to the lake for sunrise. The sun raced with clouds to show itself. Three women washed clothing to my left, three fishermen readied their gear to the right. The watos are amazing - heavy one piece dugouts like bananas, complete with knobby ends for manoeuvring the boat around. Even though they are old and weathered, they have attractive raised and course grain.

 

I walked back and woke Robyn and asked if we could press for an early start. By 630am we were giggling and pressing our noses to the dining room window and moaning for breakfast. Although no one could convince the satellite television to work last night, this morning I was glued again to the BBC World News. Within an hour we had eaten, packed, and were walking the thirty minutes back across the town and to the bus station.

 

Three minivans waited for passengers, but none going south. We laid our packs on the dusty walkway and against the main building of the red brick station and sat on them and waited for Africa with dozens of others. Nearby was a fairly large market with everything from meat, fish, and produce to jeans, wraps, and household goods. By 9am I noted that if a ride didn't come soon we would be jeopardizing our chance to hitch up to Livingstonia. I counted out a scenario and saw our chances diminishing. In the dirt road across from the station sat a old blue flat bed truck and I inquired with a young man working around the station as to where the truck was heading - to Chalumba, just north of Chitimba. Since we had already waited for an hour and a half, we thought it best to take the open truck and I then began figuring the difficulties of being exposed for hours in the tropical sun and road dirt, probably not too pleasant but an adventure. Suddenly, without warning, a small bus flew into the station blaring it's horn and someone said, "Mzuzu!". I cheered, Mzuzu is the first major town to the south and beyond Chitimba.

 

It was an express bus to Mzuzu (MK100) and only stopped once before Chitimba. People packed in but no one stood and I looked around this airy bus and marvelled over our luck. We sat five across in the last long seat, Robyn to my left, and a government social worker to my right.

 

Why? Why do we always have the rear seat?

 

The social worker, a man in his late twenties, was interesting. He explained that his major aim is to assist children orphaned from parents who died of AIDS. They encourage the extended family support system, but, of course, money was a lacking issue. We also talked about the school system. Children attend standards one through eight, then forms one through four, on average education students bow out by fifteen years old. To qualify as a social worker, he attended two years of university. There are two universities in the country.

 

On the local transportation, people are always stuffed in, it's the only way to make a profit. Shoulders are hard against one another so one person may lean forward to relieve the squish and I did this while reading "The Cry of the Kalihari". Soon afterward I had Robyn asleep on my left shoulder and the social worker on my right.

 

The bus stopped after two and a half hours in Chitimba (only one other stop!) at the intersection with the westward road to Livingstonia. Immediately a man named Mike with a Pistons basketball shirt sauntered out and invited us into The Florence Bay Restaurant, a small square building near the roadside. We didn't hesitate and ordered sodas and then dinner. Between Mike and Colin we received the low down on transport to Livingstonia - there hasn't been a car yet and probably wouldn't be one today, it was quiet on Sundays. The main source for a lift comes from the hospital in Livingstonia, so if a car came down then there would be a lift up. Outside a thin Englishman named John (28) had been waiting beneath a tree with a group of Malawians for hours. This difficulty added to the intrigue of this Scottish mission atop the escarpment.

 

While we ate chicken, vegetables, and rice we decided to wait until 3pm and if a ride didn't come by, to leave our big packs at the Florence and walk up. John then joined us at the table in the Florence, ate lunch, and afterwards the three of us started walking with two hired (MK100 each) guides named Franklin (14) and Chance (15). Franklin wasn't his real name, but each of the three times I asked I received a different mumble of something and when I repeated it each time for verification, they said "yes". Of course Mike and Colin pressed the use of guides for the locals benefit, there had been incidences with whites walking up the escarpments and they had gone into detail about the different scenarios and how a guide would help. My major concern, however, was that the locals know the shortcuts and can cut the walk from five to three hours, a savings we needed to arrive before dark.

 

The road is steep and broken and even at 3pm, the air was still very hot. We each had bought a 2/3 liter of water and John carried his full pack. He immediately removed his shirt and I followed, figuring I best save it from reek since I would be short of clothes in Livingstonia. There are twenty bends numbered top down order from the escarpment. Some bend numbers are posted.

 

Franklin led us along the crown of the road in single file and up the steeper shortcuts when there was one. The pace was quick and I didn't slow it since we were pressed for daylight. John suffered under the weight and Robyn suffered in the heat. The heat caused a huge difference in her speed here compared to Mt. Keyna. They both poured sweat and Robyn's face reddened. I took her fleece from her waist and once we were in the shade of the forest I took her hat, unfortunately her gender prevented shedding much more. The boys were very interested in making time, they would walk down afterward, and so it was understandable that Franklin prodded us along.

 

The sun was low and so the forested mountains to the north and south descending to the great lake were warmly lit. The area of Chitimba below us was flat and studded with trees and huts. Waves crested white along the lake shore now kilometers away and again I felt the need to comment on how it looked like waves on the ocean.

 

After a quick paced two hours with growing reststops we crested the escarpment and saw a few buildings. We paid the boys 200 kwacha and another 20 kwacha for Cokes. They looked very disappointed and we felt guilty and explained that 200 kwacha was the price we agreed on at the bottom at Mike at Florence. John tipped 20 kwacha for carrying his tent.

 

Ahead was a flat-ish, forested and farmed land and then a long hill across our view running parallel to the escarpment with the buildings of Livingstonia on it. There are two lodges, Guest House in front of us and Stone House to the left.

 

We walked amongst mud huts with shaggy roofs and small terraced farms and forty-five minutes later were at the yellow-brown colored brick Guest House. We verified that there was lodging available here and moved on to the recommended Stone House. We passed the school with a bell made from a cut truck wheel swinging from a tree, with a beautiful and huge purple flowering tree, a jacaranda outside. A long, wide, inclined dirt road lined with trees led us into the village center and past a commemoration cairn (1894), the hospital (1910), town clock, industrial school, and finally fifteen minutes later, to Stone House. Every proper building in the village is orange bricked except Stone House. By this time the sun was well set and all three of us beat tired.

 

Livingstonia was founded by Dr. Robert Laws in 1894, the third location for a mission and hospital. The location was chosen for its altitude and relief from tseste fly and malaria. Most buildings are bricked with iron sheet roofs. In 1906 Stone House was built for use as Law's home and meeting place and sits atop a great view to Lake Malawi to the east.

 

We received the cold reception from an old woman as is the reputation at Stone House. There weren't other guests and she showed three rooms and said the cost was KW70 per bed or KW280 for a room. I placed my bag on a big bed in the one room with the veranda outside and facing the view and said that we'd take the room. I asked about food and she stonily replied, "You need? Do you eat meat?", and so I assumed there wasn't a menu.

 

Our room had one double and four single beds, a huge original bureau, and wardrobe. We sprawled over the beds while waiting for dinner. I was very tired and listened to Robyn and John and then dozed and drooled on my arm. During dinner of meat, rice and cabbage, I again only listened to the two, then after rummaging through a case of old books, I felt asleep on a couch while reading a book of the history of cinema.

 

Mo 10/4/99 - Livingstonia, Malawi

 

At 530am I was on another early morning wander. I walked around a fenced antenna outside Stone House and down a path and stopped at a mud hut with shaggy roof to chat with an old photogenic man named Owen. The sun had turned from a red ball to a hazy spot behind thin clouds. I liked the light on the straw and mud and Owen's face and hoped for a picture. He sported a scraggly gray beard and gray around a shiny bald head. He brought out a short wooden stool and I sat and answered his many questions about my adventure around the world and where I was from. His English was very good, his eyes sparkled, and he was interested. He worked at his hut repairing shoes, many pieces of truck tire were on the ground, but lived on the lake shore, and had being coming up to Livingstonia for nine years.

 

A very dark young women with tree trunk like ankles and calves sat nearby and a long conversation in Chichewa started between the two. I waited patiently for it to end. After long minutes of talk, Owen rose and went into his small hut. He returned with 20 kwacha and passed it to the girl. The conversation started again and was another combination of bargaining and laughing and Owen went into his hut again. I really wanted to talk with Owen a bit more and ask for a photo but was losing my patience now. Owen returned with an old yellow five liter container and emptied it into a section of tire turned upward, then handed the empty container to the girl who was finally off. I was curious what this long exchange concerned and then Owen explained - the girl was to bring him some beer. The beer was made from potato, kasava, and maise, and was alcoholic.

 

Mr. Owen Bimtawali

 

P.O. Box 7

 

Livingstonia, Rumphi

 

Malawi

 

Breakfast was simple, three small pancakes with lemon and sugar, and tea. Robyn walked off with John to visit a waterfall below while I typed in the livingroom. A group of eight guided by Colin from Florence showed on a day trip breaking the quiet setting and peaceful typing. An American girl warned that owner of Florence is a thief and everyone should check bags when returning.

 

When Robyn and John returned, I suggested a lunch at the very small local market on the wide red dirt road through the village. We found Macson, a an eager young businessman, happy to have three muzungus visiting his very humble restaurant. We were led into a small mud hut, dirt floor, and laughed but appreciated the surroundings. Macson's meu follows, exactly worded as it appeared:

 

STANCOM TOBACCO COMPANY (MALAWI) LIMITED

 

GREEN LEAF SHIPPING

 

menu by macson

 

black tea 5.00

 

white tea 7.50

 

coffee tea 8.50

 

rice with beans 25.00

 

rice with vegitable 25.00

 

rice with flying eggs 25.00

 

rice with soup 20.00

 

rice with tomatoes 22.50

 

plane rice 15.00

 

rice meat beans 45.00

 

rice vegitable eggs and bananas 35.00

 

rice with cheken 45.00

 

nsima with small fish 25.00

 

nsima with meat 35.00

 

nsima with vegitable 20.00

 

nsima with eggs 25.00

 

nsima with cheken 40.00

 

nsima with bean 25.00

 

plane nsima 15.00

 

extra meat 15.00

 

extra vegitble 17.50

 

extra soup 7.50

 

Livingstonia's personality is special. The village sits high - 3000 feet - above the lake, a little closer to god, self justified here in purpose. Although the village is full of trees blocking views off the lower escarpment, you can search out views like on the porch of Stone House, and the cooler air, lack of mosquitoes, and long hot walk up to Livigstonia is a constant reminder that the mission sits nearer the heavens. Central Africa is a place where little man made lasts long, so this village with buildings dating to the beginning of the century are unusual. And the history is deeper than the trials of Dr. Laws and his peers - the village was built in memorial to Livingstone, the famous explorer and missionary with books of tales to tell. The village also serves the country with its hospital and secondary school. To spend time here is to absorb the exuberance and missionary culture and history and Malawian culture.

 

Lunch was mid-afternoon, and after checking at the hospital for the administrator, we just made the Livingstonia Museum in one end of Stone House before it closed. Here I learned more about this mission village.

 

At the service for Dr. David Livingstone in West Minister Abbey in 1873, Dr. James Stewart was so moved by the occasion he re-lit previous efforts to start a mission in Central Africa, this time in memorial to Livingstone, supported by the Free Church of Scotland. In 1875 E. D. Young, Royal Navy, Dr. Robert Law, and in a second party, Dr. James Stewart, founded a mission on Lake Nyasa (Malawi) at Cape Maclear. The ship Ilaya, named after the tribe Livingstone lived with when he passed away, for the purpose was dismantled and carried by 800 porters around Murchinson Falls and into the lake. Finding this site unsuitable, it was moved to Bandawe in 1881 and moved again in 1894 to Khondowe (Livingstonia) on the Nyika Plateau beyond the reach of tsetse fly and malaria. Dr. Robert Law (1851-1934) planned a stay in Africa for two years but found his life work in Livingstonia and instead returned to Britian 52 years later. In 1905 electricity was brought to this remote station. In 1924 the mission at Livingstonia and at Blantyre (named after Livingstone's mother city in Scotland) combined under the Church of Central Africa, Presbertarian (CCAP).

 

Further breaking our monopoly on solitude in Stone House was a group of Austrians in new Landcruisers. They were settled in when a second group, Germans with reservations, displaced them.

 

Tomorrow Robyn, John, and I would find our way down the escarpment to Chitimba and then south toward the beach resort town Nkhata Bay.

 

Tu 10/5/99 - Nkhata Bay

 

I was awake at 5am, walking around before 530am. Again the sun was a red ball behind thin clouds on the horizon, not much for photographs. I headed straight for the Scottish designed Livingstonia Church, a big brick structure with clock tower and green painted corrugated roof. Newer bricks in a round-ish pattern have replaced the clock in the tower

 

The doors were locked so I went on tiptoes to peer inside. It was very plain, the ceiling was simply the other side of the corrugated roof, rafters were exposed, and all windows were simple stain glass either clear or yellow, except for a large widow at the entrance, one of Livingstone and natives.

 

Just beyond is the prestigious secondary school. Many male and female students without uniforms were milling about. There I was led around by boy with floppy blue hat and black shirt with writing about power lifting. He said it was one of the most beautiful schools in Malawi and I do not doubt it. The school, brick like the rest of the town, was a series of pretty covered walkways connecting different buildings with courtyards between. He explained that there are 150 students in each of the four forms, and that 75 percent of graduates attend one of the two universities (there are also three technical colleges). He pointed out Law Hall, the library, the girls and boys boarding rooms, and the basketball and volleyball courts. I asked what time school started, 730am, and then why so many students were milling about at 545am - for breakfast.

 

Inside the serving area fifty boys pushed chest to back and held plastic containers - bowls, cups, rectangular plastic storage containers. Porridge was slopped into each from a large pot. The porridge was a cooked mixture of maize (corn), sugar, salt, and water. When my guide asked if I have ever tasted porridge, I quickly explained that, yes, we have it at home and that I have already arranged breakfast at the Stone House.

 

Robyn was sitting and reading on the porch of Stone House as I supposed. The early sun on the long wooden porch and it's advantage point for view was itself picturesque. With the other patrons present we were demoted in the pecking order and waited until 8am for food. Not only that, but Robyn and John were suspicious when the water became operational upon the arrival of the large groups with vehicles.

 

We received plenty of offers for guides for our walk back down, but none of us would even consider considering a guide. We quickly visited Manchewe Falls. During most of our walk there we discussed Robyn and John's walk back from the falls yesterday. A boy named Happy terrorized them. He badgered and nagged and whined and turned stories around in hope for kwacha. They were still irate about it, but we all laughed. To shut the young tout up, Robyn handed him 20 kwacha even though he as never recruited, and his reply was then, "Fifty would be better".

 

So, we were dead set on the walk alone, mad at the local opportunists, including Happy and those at Florence. Muggers, robbers, thieves - there probably wasn't any. We walked a wide red dirt road bordering a small local village and a large yellow dog walked happily with us. He walked ahead to wait at the start of short cuts across the switchbacks and we realized we had a free local guide and felt chuft. He spotted monkeys high in the trees and we enjoyed that, he stopped at waterholes in small rivers. On one bend baboons got his attention. too. He was our walking guide and wildlife safari leader.

 

At that bend three men sat with red eyes and heavy eyelids. I said hello and one asked, out of the blue, for a dollar. I just laughed at him. They weren't much for conversation and soon stood and walked away, almost forgetting there "medicine" - a piece of paper with dope wrapped in it.

 

At the bottom, I was surprised to find Mike and Colin not overly excited to see us. They knew we wouldn't be forking much kwacha their way, and asked anyway if we were staying the night. I was curious why they hadn't asked us to sign the Florence's guestbook. Although I had placed my big pack in my large blue canvas bag and locked it, Robyn hadn't the same security measure and had her backpack rummaged through.

 

Mike and Colin explained that the dog was owned by a muzungu in Livingstonia and that he escorts whites up and down. If within two days more muzungus do not show, he'll return alone.

 

Our next goal, a suggestion of John's, was Nkhata (KATA) Bay, a resort area on Lake Malawi that rivals the famous Cape Maclear. From Chitimba at the escarpment base south to the city of Mzuzu would be one leg, then a second leg would be east to the lake coast.

 

We received a good ride to Mzuzu in the back of a full pickup owned by two large and well off brothers, hungry for lunch. We stopped ten minutes south of Chitimba so they could eat, at a very nice inexpensive resort with excellent beach. The ride to Mzuzu took two and a half hours total. Although I squirmed for comfort, the ride wasn't too bad and somewhat fun. There was great scenery heading up into the mountains with sweeping views over the lake before it was out of sight. Near John a baby puked, then a man puked off tailgate. He tried to hide it from Robyn, but she quietly noticed and offered him one of our water bottles.

 

I talked at length with another man who faced me, named Jacob, first asking why the other man was sick. Jacob replied that malaria was suspected. Jacob was raised with his Malawian parents in Dar es Salaam until his father died, moved in with uncle until he died, then returned to Malawi at 20 years of age to live with his sister who also died. He's married and after his first borne died just after childbirth, the couple had a son with meningitis who passed away last year. Wow! He assumed I was from England and asked if such things happen in Europe. I said "yes".

 

We arrived Mzuzu at 230p, lunched for about an hour, then spent a long while waiting for a mini-van heading to Nkhata Bay directly east on Lake Malawi. We baked in the sun while sitting on our packs against a brick wall amidst a hundred others also waiting. The taximen saw big money in us and hounded with the price floating up and down between 900 and 1500 kacha. When a minivan for Nkwata did pull in, they weren't the first to point it out and they half heartily yelled at the young man that did inform us.

 

John had heard through the travellers grape vine that a new backpacker named Mayoka was the place to go. We walked twenty minutes through town, past the prison, the herbal medicine shop, the moneychanger, and the police station, around a small bay, up a steep road and along a path that contoured the hill and bay to Mayoka.

 

Mayoka was started and is run by a very friendly young English girl. Catherine and her partner. They cleared off and terraced the steep hillside for twenty bungalows and some tent platforms. It's a maze of steep, uneven, and unlit steps.- another testimony to the lack of building codes in Africa. The hillside shows erosion, I wouldn't want to tent during rainy season. Mayoka has been going for only three months.

 

After the long hot walk in procession with four touts, we found Mayoka filled and Catherine offered a tent for 50 kwacha total. Since the dark was very near, where didn't see much choice. I had expected a scene similar to east coast Zanzibar or something similar to our lunch stop while in the pickup - a clean light colored beach and blue water, a nice bungalo and nicer lounge area. Mayoka was too steep to be comfortable, John fell the during the evening, instead of overlooking an idyllic beach, there were rocks at the bottom and four large bright silver tanks atop the opposite shore.

 

I didn't like it and all the frustration put me in a foul mood. After dinner while listening to loud and spastic music we retired to the small unventilated tent with a broken zip to mosquitoes.

 

We 10/6/99 - Nkhata Bay

 

After breakfast I made a reconnaissance run further south from Nkhata Bay to Chikale Beach where two lodges reside. I walked up the ridiculously steep steps of Mayoka and onto a road with a few white finished houses on the inside of a curve, each with splendid view of the lake.

 

At the second house a couple of dogs came running and barking down the dirt drive behind me and as one came close I thought, "Just another curious dog, I'll ignore her and she'll go away". But then the damn dog bite me! How rude! I looked at my lower leg to see blood soaking into my white sock and back at the dog, a medium sized gray bitch with black hanging teats. Rabies is a real threat while travelling about in third world countries, rabies from dogs, cats, bats, and any other little forest creature. I had weighed the cost of pre-incident vaccine and the chances of contact (Thailand was the concern while receiving advice in New Zealand), and decided against it. The most conservative measure in such a case is to fly directly home for treatment and this was the second thought, that I may be off immediately on an expensive flight to somewhere - maybe home or Cape Town - and my vacation would be affected.

 

I went on to verify my suspicions about Njaya Lodge at Chikale Beach, that it was much more attractive and comfortable I returned to Robyn at Mayoka via the house of dogs, armed with rocks but without altercation this time. There I described Njaya to her - a nice 100 meter sandy beach, attractive bamboo cottages (I had reserved number ten on rocks just above a smaller beach, $5/pp), and a wonderful lounge area.

 

We then discussed the dog incident and what should be done about it. Common sense said go straight to a doctor, but lacking that I preferred to ignore it all and instead relax on our new beach. We gathered our packs once more and made the hot trek up the hill, passed the dogs (it was now too hot for them to bother us), across Chikale Beach and to Njaya Lodge. John followed for the walk and to check Njaya Lodge and would also check-in.

 

Our bungalow was perfect, about five meters above the magnificent lake with a small patch of sand beach between boulders below. There was a double bed with mosquito net (my preference is for one double bed rather than two twins for the larger net allows for more stretching room underneath), an electric light, a double window, and a veranda with a bamboo chair facing east, the beach, and the lake. Very, very nice spot, one of my best this vacation. The view was across this huge lake the size of a sea and we were surprised at the size of the waves and sound of them breaking. Each time I gazed out my mind was tickled by it's endless reaches, and the cake icing was that this sea is fresh water! We weren't sure about bilharzia, but there is a chance it doesn't exist here, Catherine said this, and there isn't any weed except very short green weed on only a few rocks. I haven't seen any snails that harbor the tiny worms. Our small beach and the blue clear fresh water was too inviting too ignore. A bilharzia blood test is now on the agenda when returning home though.

 

I lazed until 230pm when John and I walked into town. To the hospital was about forty-five minutes. There we saw a hundred people sitting under trees and my first thought was that, gee, they mustn't have enough beds here, the stay outside. But we soon met Mr. J. Kuyokwa, a medical assistant ("the same as a doctor but without surgery") who told us they were attendees. He brought us into his office, heard my story, and directed us to the veterinary officer in town. The officer would visually inspect the dog and find if the dog was vaccinated for rabies. I would have preferred the dog was killed (a slow death) and it's brain checked for rabies per norm (maybe checked the brain without killing the dog), but maybe I was influenced by rage. Before I left the medical assistants office, he described a six injection course of vaccine, a one shot on days 0, 3, 7, 16, 30, and 90. I asked if he had seen anyone die of rabies and his reply was, "Yes, three, from the outlying areas, not from Nkhata Bay".

 

John and I bushwhacked along the lakeshore into town. If the rabies doesn't kill me and neither the bilharzia, then from the smell of the waterfront I assume this water in my wounds surely will. We did this for kicks and to see the other lodges - staying in Nkhata Bay proper is not advised.

 

At the veterinary officer's office, we found a mumbling and vague man. He knows the dog owner, M. D. Moffet, a government official with an office nearby. He showed a receipt of rabies vaccination for four grey and brown dogs at Moffet's house in June. While this man walked over to talk to him, John and I read the bulletin board:

 

-beginning-of-letter------

 

Ref. No. NB/VET/184 2 November 1992

 

PROHIBITED TO SLEEP AT OFFICE

 

It has been observed that the field staff has formed a habit of sleeping at the office and make a nuisance that disturbs the watchman while on duty. Hence, effective 24 November 1992, no one is allowed to sleep at the office unless authority is granted by this office, otherwise everybody will have to find his own accommodation.

 

Your co-operation on this issue is thanked in advance.

 

T. S. Mbale

 

Project Vetenary Offier

 

Nkhata Bay

 

-end-of-letter--------

 

The officer came back and said that the owner was out, that he would talk to him tomorrow, and that we should return at 10am the following morning. He added that he had could not force the owner to restrain his dogs. As we left he asked for a cigarette and then money for a cigarette - how obnoxious.

 

On the walk back we stopped at Mayoka and I spoke to Catherine. She said I was the sixth person she knows to be bitten by one of Moffet's dogs including herself. No one has died of rabies although no one had been bitten by the gray bitch.

 

Dinner of chicken at Njaya with Robyn and John on the restaurant veranda. I fell asleep in an awkward position, half laid out in a wicker chair.

 

Th 10/7/99 - Nkhata Bay

 

I woke at 530am to the sound of crashing waves and realized that I created an African word in my dream, 'buligo', meaning bribe money. Robyn later told me she also had strange dreams, she dreamt of being a geisha girl and I kind of liked that.

 

Walking back to the lackadaisical veterinary officer to be shown a duplicate of paperwork I've already seen would take two hours and seemed a waste of time. Perhaps I would have seen the dog's owner, Moffet, and had a fun strong word with him about the gray bitch and other dogs, but the end result, particularly any change effecting other muzungu travelers, probably would not have occurred. So, chances appeared that I wouldn't die and instead of following the situation up, I instead stayed at Njaya, relaxed, and typed in the nice lounge area.

 

A South African named Cameron asked to take a peek at my Lonely Planet "Africa" book. He was from Cape Town and has been working for seven years in Zambia. He spoke of "The Valley", actually his part of the Great Rift Valley that extends through Zambia and into Mozambique, and how it's the end of the dry season, that many animals are about, and it's not too expensive. It all sounded interesting and then I asked when he was returning, he replied tomorrow and asked if I wanted a lift. I conditionally signed up for another spontaneous adventure, I only needed to clear it with Robyn.

 

The decision would mean missing Mt. Mulanje Forest Reserve and the massif, but it meant seeing a special part of the African wild with very limited access. Cameron described a good camp bordering the park with an excellent position on a winding river with the park official across it. It sounded like we could relax and take an occasionally game drive or walk, finances permitted. Zambia isn't along the beaten path of tourists and I've heard only good reviews from people who have visited Zambia, and lastly - how often can you visit a country whose name begins with "Z"!

 

When I brought the opportunity to Robyn, she signed on immediately without any convincing, she was simply excited for the spontaneity. I imagined a long drive across Malawi and into central Zambia aboard Cameron's full cab Toyota Land Cruiser, comfortably sitting and chatting with him and his Zambian girlfriend Bridgett (Bridgett, a fair blonde, was raised in Zambia, spent ten years in Darwin, Australia, and has returned. Her parents lives three hours north of Lusaka.).

 

We spent the day at lunch, spaghetti again, while John walked into town. We all lounged the afternoon, swam twice, and had tea on our wonderful veranda. I am very impressed by this lodge, especially for the price of $5 per person per night, and would highly recommended cottage #10. For dinner I ordered fish filet and rice, the first time having a filet rather than a staring head since Australia.

 

-end

 

/--book recommended by John Bigg - Joe Simpson, Touching the Void (incidents), and This Game (general)of Ghosts

 

email and updated website notes (chapters 23 and 24)

 

-end of document