Malawi hasn't turned out to be as cheap as we expected. Having said that we're still really enjoying it and we haven't even finsihed with some of the really cool parts yet. We'll update the page when we're done..........
Long version:
We had been waiting in great anticipation to get to Malawi. We had visions of a cheap, young person's paradise. But our entrance into Malawi came with a few surprises. Once we had gotten through the Zambian border we appraoched the Malawian border with great anticipation and excitement. Soon we were whipping out the yellow fever cards and passports and going through the motions. The Lonely Planet had prepared us for the U$9 third party insurance on our car.... You can imagine our surprise when it turned out to have increased quite significantly to U$27. Then only were we told about the so calles "toll fees" that we had to pay for the use of the road. This was only payable in U$ and Malawian Kwacha would not be accepted. Shock, horror when we learned that it would set us back another U$20 flat, thanx for coming! Spirits dampened and wallets lighter we made our way down the roads of Malawi that we had so dearly paid to use. But our heart soon felt lighter as the children waived and smiled when we drove past. Somehow Malawi seemed like a remarkably more pleasant country than what we had perceived Zambia to be. Soon we stopped to buy some sugarcane next to the road. Eventually we got to Lilongwe and stayed at a backpackers called Kiboko Backpackers. Here we met up with some really interesting people, mostly from the UK. Gary was a really naughty-but-nice guy who had his heart set on settling in RSA. We also met some folks who had taken their 9 year old out of school for a term to tour Africa for 4 months.
We were gobsmacked to learn that there were no VISA or MASTERCARD ATM's in Malawi where we could draw money... and when we wanted to purchase a sim card who could not pay by credit card either!!
The market in Lilongwe was something else. The vendors were selling their fresh produce while standing in a puddle of ..., as a sewerage pipe had broken. They stared amuzed at Daz's hair as we passed and bargained with Brett for a pocket calculator.
We ended up driving for a couple of hours to get to Cape Maclear. It turned out that the direct route to Monkey Bay was inaccessable as the road had been washed away (It was not to be the last time that we had to choose an alternate route due to this). The alternative route was badly corrugated and we were well shook up when we finally reached the tarred road at Monkey Bay... well after dark. Monkey Bay looked like a hole in the dark, so we decided to push through to Cape Maclear regardless of the time. The road was, once again, badly corrugated, with deep grooves where masses of water had eaten away at the road on its journey down the hill. It was very dark, even once we got to Cape Maclear, as the village has no electricity. To get to our camp, Fat Monkeys, we had to literally drive through the village. The locals rushed out to meet us, waiving and smiling and running next to the car (some kids were even hanging off the back of our car). We had hardly arrived and the beach boys were shouting deals into our windows, exchanging names and trying to get business for "tomorrow". "Boattrips, Guided walks, Fishing, Snorkelling, Feeding the fish eagles... Look, sir, nice bangles!" It was crazy! All we wanted to do was to get to our camp and pop a beer after a long, hard day!
We spent the day exploring the village, where first world met third. All the accommodation, as well as activity huts like Scuba Shack, were built amongst the huts of the people and their fishing nets. Here, the tourist learns how the people live and survive on a day- to -day basis and does not have the luxury of cutting off the outside world by sitting in his lodge or camp. The reality of the matter is that the people are extremely poor. They live off whatever they can get off the land, but had a flood this year, so the maize was ruined. Now they are dependant on their fishing... and the tourist. Happy, laughing children run and play in the sandy streets, shouting 'Hallo, what as you name" as you walk by. And if you take the time to stop and say 'hallo' back, they run to you, excited as children on Christmas morning to "chat". "Hallo, what as you name?", they ask, while standing in a straight line infront of us, each getting a good view of the new muzungu's (white people) in town. "Hallo. My name is Louise." "Lowis", they repeat. "What is your name?", loking at the first little girl in the row. "Jacqueline!", she says with a huge smile (a real Colgate smile!). "Jacqueline", I repeat, "..and what is your name?", looking at the second little girl. She was maller and happier (if this is possible) with her personality beaming from her bright little eyes, contrasted by her black skin. Her smile widened even more when I gave some attention to her and her arms started waiving feavourishly next to her side as she danced on tippy-toes. "My name...", she beamed, ".. my name is... Monica!!!", she cries with a burst of laughter to warm even the iciest heart. Ans so we worked our way through the line of children in front of us, but Monica..., what a child!!
Our trip through the village led us to a house in the middle, covered with posters on AIDS and health care. We met Irit and Netta inside. They are two Isreali's who have taken initiative and have started a welfare clinic to serve the community of Cape Maclear. They provide food, education, basic health care, etc. They do not get any government funding and rely on muzungu's passing through to help. They care for and visit people with AIDS, they teach the children to say 'Hallo,what is your name', they speak the language and love the children.
They introduced us to Memory, a nine year old girl. She had developed a severe TB of the stomach and looked as if she were nine months pregnant. She is an orphan and the family who were looking after her thought that she was just fat... so they didn't feed her. Hust one more example of the intense need for education in rural Africa.
And then there was the sixteen year old who was dying from AIDS. She had scurbies and developed a vaginal infections. Not knowing whether she could ask for help, she left it and the infections spread right throughout her abdomen, untill everything had literally rotted away. Only then did she contact Irit for help, but it was too late and now she is lying around... waiting to die. These are the hard realities of life in rural Africa.
Our days were filled with lazing around and reading. We also took a trip out to a nearby island for some snorkelling. Two guys "lowed" (Malawians seldom say their "r's"!) us out to the island. The sand was clean, the water crystal clear and the sun was hot and bright. We could see fishies all along the way and had a whale of a time chatting to our two new friends. Once there, we could hardly believe how clear the water was, not needing to snorkel to see the fish. The water was lovely and the day was well spent. Lunch was lake tigerfish, kapenta, rice and relish. Then we went to feed the fish eagles. That was an experience. They came so close that we could hear the wind rusteling through their feathers as they swooped in to collect the fish. Their calls, a rich and exotic sound, gave us goosebumps.
We had met an Israeli couple in Lilongwe, Nadav and Adi, who were also staying at Fat Monkeys, and spent some very pleasant evenings chatting next to the campfire.
Brett's folks flew in to join us. It was fantastic to see some familiar faces again. We were extremely excited to receive our"lucky packets" sent from the folks at home. We even got chocolates and rusks!!! Rene' and Dereck (Brett's folks) treated us to our first real first world meal in a long time and we even had a bottle of wine! (They spoilt us rotten in the week that they visited... Brett even had an upset tummy from not being used to food more extravagant than rice and..well,... rice!).
We decided to take Rene' and Dereck for an outing in our car,to the Mangochie market. What an experience it must have been for them! We had been to many markets along our trip, both good and bad, so were quite comfortable with the local ways.
The market had a fresh food section, like most of them do. Here they sell both dried and wet fish. The flies are something terrible and well, the smell is enough to block your sinusses for a week! The folks seemed to take some strain here and really had a hard time making light of the conditions. Only then did I realise how far we had come. The uncomfortable tourist in a strange market with strange smells,... that was us a few months ago. Now we are different. In all three our opinions, Mangochie market was by far the best and cleanest market that we have been to and we loved walking through it, looking at the fresh goods. We were delighted at the friendly smiles of the people, stopped to chat to them about the different fish that were on sale (and completely forgott about the smell!) and marvelled at thow clean it was (except for the flies, which they couldn't help for). "Thanks, I'm impressed, can we go now?", Dereck grinned... and I couldn't help but smile to myself.
"Muzungu", or white person, is what we are called by the locals. In this resepct, one also gets local prices and muzungu prices for goods at the market. We pride ourselves in mixing with the locals and finding out what they pay for certain goods and then mocking the vendors when they try and charge us "muzungu" prices. We even feel local and laugh at other "muzungu's" (complete with camera around the neck) and call them muzungu. Incredible how we have become "snobbish" in the local sense... not even seeing ourselves as muzungu's anymore!
Daz's braids have also helped with making us more approachable by the locals and they have chilled a bit on the sales talk. This is not true, however, when bargaining for muzungu goods, like custom made Toyota models! As Daz was negotiating on a price, Lou spent some time "chatting " to the local kids. Mostly the chatting consisted of the continuous waving and shouting "Hallo" to and fro. Then it became a game of asking names and shaking each child's hand when they replied.
We invited Dereck and Rene' over for dinner, the camping style! Of course, being Africa, we couldn't find fresh meat (other than that sold by the local butcher under the tree with the carcass hanging from its branches), so they had to settle for bullybeef-potjie and an attempt at a fire made milktart (which came out quite well).
We took a drive back to Cape Maclear to show the folks where we had been. As we drove into the village, the children started shouting "e-sweetie" with upturned palms . This was a bit disillusioning as they had not done this before and we loved them for it. Oh well, once again the tourists passing by have made their mark in rural Africa!
Brett took his folks for a look around the village, while Daz and Lou went to see what the difference between a salt and fresh water dive was. Apart from the cichliads (which can be seen while snorkelling), the aqua life wasn't great. But what was truely amazing were the enormous rock formations and huge granite boulders lining the floor of the lake. Sunset over the lake was truely spectacular, as always at Cape Maclear, but we hurried along for another tasty meal at Club Makokola.
Our days were filled with chores (like washing our car for the 3rd time this trip...) and arranging for gifts to be made, to be sent home. Although the prices had been agreed on when we placed the orders and most had already been paid (or deposits given), still the vendors asked for more money, pens or sweets on collection. These guys just never let up bargaining and I was starting to loose my cool. They would hardly stop short from taking our car (for which we got an offer of 4 000 Pounds..!!!!!!!) "Please, Boss...swop me for the jerry cans.." Honestly!
And so we finally got to wrap the presents, each one with a letter and sent them home with Dereck and Rene'. We had a last, lovely dinner together and felt really dissappointed that the end of the week had snuck up on us so very quickly. Dereck was complaining of gout from "too much tomatoes", so they said thier goodbyes and were soon in the air, off to Johannesburg.
The drive to Zomba took us about two and a half hours. One could really fell a change in the temperature as we left the lake area. Soon it was quite cool. After reaching Zomba town we decided to head for the plateau... it was on;y 8km's afterall!The drive took us up a steep, windy single lane road. The skies, darkened by ominous looking clouds, made way for a forest cover of pine trees and forest fern with monkey vine keeping it all bound together in athick green cover. The road had been badly corodedand large, sharp roxks were licking at our tires as we inched our way up the steep, slippery slopes. The last 5km's took a good hour and a half to fifnish. We passed over a tgich black trail in the road. Killer ants!! The area where our tires had broken thier everflowint stream, had immediately been filles again with intimidatingly large bodies, moving in some sort of choregraphes dance across the road. I think of my sis-in -law who had visited the area 3 yrs ago and know that the Zomba that I will remember will not even feintly resemble the one she does!
We crossed under an area where pine trees had fallen over the road and were being held up by trees on the opposite side of the road (making whinching unecessary). Still the everpresent rocks teased our nerves as we manouvered over their blade-like surfaces. Then, coming round a corner, suddenly there it was! The forest had made way for rolling hills with golden grass waiving in the wind...and in front of us: the entrance to our camp. Yet nobody was to be found in or around the campsite, so we let ourselves in and set up camp The weather was getting more misrable by the second and a thick mist had appeared from nowhere. Soon our tents were up and we were having curry-soya and rice.
From somewhere in the dark a really drunk man came staggering into our camp. He introduced himself as Chipi, the caretaker, and bid us welcome and God bless in the same breath, while apologising profusely for not being there to welcome us. He eventually took his leave and we were left to settle in, with the rain and mist creeping wvwr closer, never ceasing.
We woke to even heavier rain and mist, now totally engulphing our camp. Our tents had been drenched during night and we were stiff and cold. This was enough to confine us to our tents for the rest of the day. The rain and mist got worse, not satisfied at totally absorbing the campsite and wanting to enter our tents too. Even our sleeping bags were moist and Brett's tent had a huge puddle of water in the entrance. The day dragged on... And so did the night, but we managed, somehow, to get a fire going with wet wood and all.
Our drive down the mountain was once again an experience, after packing up our wet tents and heading for what we hoped to be better weather further down the mountain. The rain had created some mud pools and the corrosion seemed even worse. But we enjoyed the drive... and the view!!!!
The weather wasn't much better in Zomba town, but a warm cuppacino went down a treat before we hit the road to Blantyre. Why Lilongwe is the capital city of Malawi I do not understand, as Blantyre is way bigger and has everything one needs. We ended up at the backpacker's mecca, Doogles, and settled in to some civilised living.... for a while at least!!
Lilongwe
Cape Maclear
Inkopolo Lodge
Zomba Plateau
Blantyre
Average petrol cost: R6.90 / litre
Average cost of camping: R30 pppn