A Year In Motion

Cape McClear was definitely a highlight in Malawi. As Ninfa mentioned in our previous post, we were both crazy about the children there, and we couldn’t walk anywhere without them running up and holding our hands. After that they wouldn’t say anything but would just smile contentedly as they accompanied us on our walk. And all the other children would wave and smile as we walked by. On the last day, we gave them balloons (Ninfa had packed balloons for gifts for children – good thinking) which they loved, and myself and Juan (a Spanish guy we have travelled with through Malawi) played a football match on the beach with varying numbers of children participating at any one time.

Another great thing about Cape McClear is that it is an authentic, typical, lakeside Malawian village. So one morning, I took a walk to the market about 1km away. I walked past the mud huts with their rooves of long grass thatch, past the water pump where the children would be helping their mothers pump the water into buckets before they would carry them back home on their heads, and all this with an infant bound to their backs by one of the traditional batik-print clothes. There are a few good quality, good price hotels in Cape McClear haggling usually gives some rewards. We stayed in Mgoza which had an en-suite double room with king-size bed and huge mosquito net for 5000Kw per night. On the other hand, the tours which are organised by the Tour Guides Association are way overpriced – a minimum of $20 per person in a country where half the population earn less than $1 a day. If they charged reasonable rates, such as $10 or $20 a day, they would all be working every day instead of lounging around the village. It was one of the off-duty guides Joseph who walked with me around the market.

Joseph also took me to meet his mother at her house which is built with cinderbrick and a corrugated iron roof. He is saving to pay for the plaster on the outside. The house is fairly spartan, but his mother does have a bed, while I’ve seen inside other houses, where reed mats are the only bedding available for the inhabitants. But the people always have a warm smile for any visitor. The devil finds work for idle hands though, and at night we had to stick to the lakefront strip as in the other areas we were likely to bump into young men who had too much chibuku or cachaca to drink, and were already quite threatening during the day. I met one such man who was trying to sell me some souvenir or other, yet was completely drunk already and it was only 1pm.

We left Cape McClear on the 5:30am matola which beeped its way through the village, packing us in like sardines, and then returning to do another circuit to squeeze in a few more. I think he didn’t leave until he had woken everyone in the village. There is no happy medium in African land transport. For the 30km transfer from Cape McClear to Monkey Bay, you either you own your own car (and travel with a mechanic for inevitable breakdowns), you pay $50 for someone to take you, or you take a chapa which costs $2 per person. We connected with a coach from National Bus Co. in Monkey Bay to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. I had to stand as I was the only man (the bus was at least 50% men) who seemed to think it appropriate to offer his seat to a woman carrying an infant. Despite the men being young, strong and healthy, there is obviously no tradition of chivalry in Malawian society. On the other hand, it made a pleasant change to stand, as at least I wasn’t cramped in the same position on a small seat for 4 hours.

Our first impressions of Lilongwe were not good. The bus station is full of more than the usual mix of touts, pushy taxi drivers, and beggars. Our hotel had arranged a pick-up (which never came) so we waited for over half an hour with all our stuff, which invited numerous, repetitive interruptions and annoyances. But this is generally the worst you will get in Africa … in daylight, and people are quite protective when anyone gets a little too insistent. When we did walk away into the town centre, we passed areas which were obviously no-go areas at night-time. In Africa, there are people everywhere by day, but at night “it’s a jungle out there!”. Power cuts and lack of street-lighting make you an easy target – you have to taxi everywhere, in some cases even if its only 200m down the street. But the taxi-drivers are fine and can be trusted. When we left Mamma Mia’s italian restaurant (which had espresso coffee – heaven!) we travelled with Amon, a soldier of God who doesn’t drink and doesn’t smoke, and although this kind of person would probably bore me after a while at home, in Africa, they’re my kind of guy!

We liked Amon and he offered us a good price to go to the tobacco auctions the next day, so we agreed. We had intended to use Lilongwe for two things – a place to get good bus connections north, and the place to see the Malawi Tobacco Auctions. Tobacco is Malawi’s most important cash crop, and accounts for more than half of the country’s export earnings. Lilongwe is the place where the growers come to sell their goods to dealers represnting the global tobacco industry heavyweights. The tobacco grown in Malawi is of the Burley variety, which is an important element in a blended cigarette – the burley is sweet, and balances the bitterness of the Virginia leaf grown elsewhere. The tobacco is brought to auction in 80kg to 100kg bags, and is rated by the auction floor staff. A good quality tobacco will fetch over $2.50 per kilo, and poorer quality around $2. This year, prices were down around $0.50 per kilo due to moves by Canada to ban the use of burley tobacco in cigarettes worldwide, as its sweetness attracts too many younger smokers.

The activity on the auction floor is frenetic. The sacks of tobacco are lined in rows, along which the auctioneer leads a line of buyers, all armed with pen and clipboard. Around them, barrow boys sprint for their lives, moving the sacks from the high stacks in the warehouse onto the auction floor, and then out onto the trucks. Crashes are common, proving perhaps that tobacco can cause harm in more ways than one. The smell of tobacco is heavy in the air, and its a great experience to see how things operate high up the supply chain in a controversial global industry.

We left the auctions and went back to the bus station, and boarded a bus for Mzuzu, the northern hub of Malawi. We arrived late in Mzuzu, and paid a local 50Kw ($.033) to guide us the 500m through the dark to our guesthouse. Mzuzu has nothing much to offer the visitor except connections to Nkatha Bay on the lake, or to Karonga and Songwe at the Tanzanian border. We were opting for the latter, as overland travel, touts and drunken souvenir-sellers had tarnished Ninfa’s Malawi dream of the country living up to its reputation as the Warm Heart of Africa.

So we had an early night and boarded the bus at 6am for Karonga with AXA coach company along with Juan, who was travelling as far as Dar es Salaam with us. AXA pride themselves on punctuality and reliability, but when we were still sitting in the bus depot at 7am, I was doubting this claim. I complained to the conductor about the delay, but to no avail. In fact the only thing that happened was that some passengers complained about me complaining, which I found very odd. In fact there are two rules about bus travel in Africa. One is that it is exceptional for a bus to depart at the stated departure time. The second is that arrival times are purely notional, overly optimistic and never reliable.

In any case, we made it to Karonga a couple of hours behind schedule, and had to organise transport to the border, about 30 minutes drive away. At the bus station in Karonga, there are loads of taxis offering transport to the Songwe border crossing for 600 Kw per person. But on further investigation, it became clear that this price was only available on the basis of the car carrying 5 passengers plus luggage and driver. Our other option was a chapa which would be cheaper but no less crowded, so we eventually struck a deal to hire a whole car for the three of us for a total price of 2,000Kw, only 200Kw (1euro) more expensive. The 30 minutes in the beat-up old Toyota Camry were easily the most blissful moments of African transport we have enjoyed since our rental car in South Africa.

We got dropped off at the border, and completed our customs and immigration formalities. When we got to the other side, we purchased our Tanzanian visas. Tanzanian single-entry three-month visas are priced at $50 for all but two nationalities – the USA (as expected) and Ireland (???) both of whom pay $100. Well, I didn’t really have any option, but I’m still wondering what Ireland did to Tanzania to merit this.

The border crossing also turned out to be costly for another traveller who attempted to change money with some of the black market money changers on the bridge that separates the Malawi and Tanzanian offices. It seems that instead of changing his money, they basically crowded around him and ran off with his money instead. There’s a lot of shady characters at this border crossing, so fellow travellers should exercise more caution than usual. The problem is that there is no bureau de change at the border, so you will inevitably have to change money on the black market. We were advised by the police (yes!) to do so in some of the businesses further down the road, which we did, albeit at a terrible rate.

Our last stop was Mbeya, which was two-hours from Songwe. This time we took a chapa (or dalla dalla as they’re known in Tanzania) which only had one passenger per seat for half the trip – more luxury! We arrived just after dark in Mbeya, bought our bus tickets for the following morning to Dar es Salaam, and booked into a hotel to get some well-needed rest before our estimated 12 hour journey the next day.

So that’s it for Malawi. Next post will bring you a digest of some amusing Malawian news stories, and after that some accounts of our first impressions of Tanzania.

We are in Cape McClear on the Southern Shores of Lake Malawi. Malawi was in my top 5 list to visit. I had heard and read so much about the beautiful lake and that its inhabitants were the friendliest people on earth. To add to that, while in Mozambique, some people told us that Malawi was cheaper, more beautiful, safer and more developed. So we decided to rush out of Mozambique to spend more days in Malawi before we head North to catch up with the Great Migration of the Wildebeest & Co.

Now we regret speeding out of Mozambique because as of now it seemed friendlier, safer, more advanced, food was better, prices are the same and yes Lake Malawi is pretty but can’t compare to the Mozambican coast. As it has turned out the places were I’ve had very high expectations, such as Mongolia and Malawi, have not met my expectations, whereas places where I expected nothing of have been wonderful surprises. From now on I shall not expect much and be pleasantly surprised instead. This is not to say that Malawi is not beautiful and that we are not having a great time because we are.

We arrived at the Mozambican border on the craziest chapa ride yet. Border formalities were very simple and after getting our exit stamp we took a taxi through the 7 km of No Man’s Land. For Mozambique both Tony and I had to obtain visas (70 and 60 Euros); fortunately for Malawi I was the only one requiring a visa as they charge a steep 90 Euro fee. Quickly clearing immigration we looked for transport to carry us to our destination of the night, the old capital and commercial city of Blantyre.

New country, same form of transportation: a beat-up white minivan. Tony asked the driver how many people he would fit in per row and we got really excited when he answered that the maximum the police allowed were three. We were liking Malawi so far. Well, as it turns out they put in the van even more people than in Mozambique, as they know the tricks of their trade. They know where the police checkpoints are so they turn before them and get people out of the van, these people walk to a point past the checkpoint and then get in the van again. Our first ride in Malawi was worse than the worst one in Mozambique. Not only were we overcrowded, but the van was almost breaking down, so we were inhaling all the fumes, driving at 20 km/h and praying that it wouldn’t completely breakdown as night had fallen on us.

Luckily we arrived in Blantyre. We checked into the most popular hotel for travelers, but checked out 30 minutes later as it seemed pretty sketchy. We were warned not to walk anywhere in Blantyre and that if we needed to go to the ATM (200 meters away) we should take a taxi. While waiting for our taxi Tony met a fellow Irishman at the bar who recommended we go to a new hotel a bit away from the town. We followed his advice and it was an expensive option, but we were tired and in need of comfort so we took it and even stayed for 2 nights.

The next day Tony in need of a haircut walked into town escorted by Precious, the hotel manager, who refused to let him walk alone in town. I chilled for the day watching the U.S.A. TV channel E Entertainment, to catch up on celebrity gossip.

Malawians have interesting names. So far we have met Precious, Friday, Innocence, Promise, and Freedom. There is evident Irish influence in this country as Patrick is a very popular name. Some locals even speak the Irish slang, so it is quite entertaining listening to them speak. As we have seen there is quite a lot of Irish Aid and NGO’s in Malawi. In Cape McClear the health clinic is Irish, founded by the family of an Irish young guy who drowned there.

We left Blantyre headed for Cape McClear. Although the distances in Malawi are not long, we had to make three transfers and wait for each bus to fill up. We arrived in Monkey Bay, a small town, from where we had to get the last transfer to Cape McClear. It was dark already and to our fortune we decided against continuing onto Cape McClear and opted for spending the night in Monkey Bay. During the last bus ride we met Chifundo, a local, who was the first person to display the famous characteristic of the Malawians: their friendliness. He guided us to a nice place to stay and recommended that we should not talk to the other locals as they try to take advantage of tourists. The 30 minute walk at dark through the wilderness with all our belongings on us were tense moment as other locals decided to join us. The place we stayed was in the lake shore in the middle of a traditional village and as we went by the locals would yell: “mzungu” which we would later learn that it literally means “whites”. For the rest of the trip in Africa we will keep on hearing it. I find it quite funny, but Tony gets annoyed as he sees it as racism, something he strongly opposes.

We woke up next morning to walk the lake-shore and watch the villagers come back from the early morning fishing activities. The lake on Monkey Bay seemed more like a sea as it has a very wide white sandy beach and quite a movement of waves and winds. Chifundo came back to say goodbye and gave Tony his photograph with his address so that they would write to each other.

We then continued our journey into Cape McClear and confirmed we had been wise not to venture to do this journey at night. No more minivans, the only transport available was a matola, a truck with an open flat bed at the back, who beeps his horn through the town announcing the departure and doesn’t leave until there is not a single bit of space left. Unfortunately we could not take a picture of us in it because you have to see it to believe it. We were piled with boxes of salt, vegetables, vegetable buckets, luggage, etc. along with about 20 locals. We had to sit on long bamboo sticks that some passenger was carrying. After an hour of waiting to fill up and an hour of travel we arrived in Cape McClear. We traveled through a bumpy dirt road in the mountains. At one point some of the luggage fell off the truck.

It is not easy to get to Cape McClear therefore it retains some peace and charm due to its isolation. The one annoying factor is some of the male population who are evidently drunk all day and harass tourists through town. We found a very nice and comfortable lodge on the lake front where we have spent lazy days in the hammocks, garden and terrace. We took a kayak out to an island and did some snorkeling. I can say that it is not comparable to what you see in the ocean but it was fun seeing all the colorful cichlids as it reminded me of my childhood; my brother and I were obsessed with aquariums growing up so it was nice to see all the fish we had, in their natural habitat.

Unfortunately the food here is not as good as in Mozambique. There is not much local cuisine on offer, the most common dish is hamburgers. We always try to consume as much local meals and beverages as possible. While in Mozambique we tried the very sweet and strong “rum”. Besides the normal types of beer, Malawi has a peculiar brew: Chibuko. It is a sort of beer labeled “International” in its 1 liter milk carton style. It does not indicate the amount of alcohol, as it all depends on how long it’s been fermenting in the carton, the more inflated, the higher the alcohol content. It looks like pancake batter with some chunky bits and its taste I’d rather not describe. I had just a few sips, Tony was braver and had almost ½ liter. Then he gave the rest of it to the watchman at our hotel, who was already happily holding his hands out before Tony spoke a word. Happy Days!

The best part of it all is our walks through town. The little kids here are adorable. They run up to you and grab your hands and go on the walk with you. They do this authentically with no hidden intentions. We are not surprised in Madonna’s interest in adopting Malawian kids. I’ve seen many tourists scold them and hide their hands in their pockets so the kids won’t grab them, that is sad. Tony also plays football with them. As of now we have quite a big number of groupies waiting for us everyday and I am very famous in town as they all yell my name as I go by. Tony has collected more addresses from the older boys to keep in touch. Once in Cape McClear, Malawi has started to look up. Tomorrow we depart to Lilongwe, the capital.