Lake of Stars

I wonder how many blogs from Malawi are presently bearing the same title as mine. I don’t wish to make mine long, for want of avoiding cliche but I couldn’t not mention it. Lake of Stars is probably the muzungu highlight of the year in Malawi. It is a music and art festival that takes place in the breathtaking setting of the Mangochi lakeshore. It is a 2-3 day escape, where you meet all your best friends, get irrevocably wasted, swim in the lake all day, watch new acts from Malawi and abroad and sleep rough in a tent, only to resume the same routine the next day... and if you’re made of that more resilient stuff, yet another day after that! It’s a convenient way to reset one’s clock here in Malawi. And that’s what I did.
Campsite
With Shiraz

I came to this festival slightly underwhelmed as inferred from my intro. Consequently, I left absolutely fulfilled, thrilled, tantalised! The strictly muzungu slash priviledged Malawian entourage did little to spoil that. I found the escape I sought in the acts on offer. They had spoken word, theatre and even nice paintings to complement the music. The line up on that front was exceptional. My being downbeat from the outset was largely attributable to my unfounded expectation of unending gospel or rap music that’s so mainstream in Malawi. Yet what came out at the lake was of a completely different order. Besides the international acts, which I list for my keen music-researching lot, even the Malawian music was highly original. Look out for Dan Lu and Peter Mawanga. Even the one gospel act I saw almost moved me to tears. It was a band of under-priviledged orphans from a school called Jacaranda and they honestly sung like real pros.
Jacaranda- the band

Worthy of mention is a particular protest concert that was set not far from the festival venue by the two main contemporary Malawian performers. They were apparently not made good enough offers. Instead, both Lucius Banda and the Black Missionaries played away and gathered their own crowds.

The most impressive numbers overall included the Zimbabwean enfant prodige Oliver Mtukudzi. He treated us to a real delight of jazz fused with regional beats on his first big show after coming back from an injury. Then there was Ivorian Aly Keita, who played an impressive xylophone held on delicately shaped claypots. The visual impact of an act like that one really potentiates the joys administered to one’s sense of sound. On that same note (okay not literally in musical parlance) there was a drumming band from Burundi, who performed on a level I don’t think can be achieved outside of African soil. If the drum could be made an electric instrument, then that would be one way. The electricity is what the music would generate, not consume! Mark down South African Nomfusi also, who produced some magical moments out there for us, not least for her Pata Pata version, which got me stomping way too early! We also had some brilliant British artists by the names of Tinashe (can’t help being a bit narcissic about that name being such a close anagram of mine), African Boy (UK via Nigeria- again awesome) and wait for it... The Noisettes. Oh dear! If I ever expected some glamour at that festival I never expected it to be on that scale. Maybe I was biased because I was desperate to find one thing the British did better than the Dutch who beat us shamefully at a football challenge, but even without that reason, I reckon they are one of the coolest live acts I’ve seen. Nothing pretentious, nothing absurdly fashion orientated or sexualised for that matter, but pure original movement in keeping with a love for the music. Yes, I loved it and I’ve ordered my CD of the full album already. The festival has achieved its one main objective (after money)... it has generated new fans.
Burundi Drummers
Aly Keita

Broken Down Ntcheu

I used to think for months that things weren’t as bad as one might have expected in my rural part of Africa in terms of utilities. In fact the weekly or bi-weekly 2hour power cuts have almost become an integral part of my routine, which I see as a sign of austerity. I even plan my meals around it. Same goes for the water cuts, which have the added bonus of instilling some discipline in me. Nothing’s for granted. I plan my bucket fills in such a way that neither the filter nor the spare pail ever runs dry. Meanwhile bottles of filtered water are being filled daily to avert a sudden unannounced stoppage. And also there’s always a spare supply for that most unwelcome situation when there’s no water after I’ve come back from a big footie game! So... all along the supply may have been erratic but cope-able.
Broken Down House
Jacaranda- the tree

Lately though, that routine has taken a sudden twist from austere to desperate! For some reason best known to the water board, only our cluster of 8-10 houses in the whole of Ntcheu has been put on load-sharing scheme. What that translates into, in practical terms, is no running water during any of the essential hours of day. If we’re lucky, we’ll get some water at lunch, which will have provide for all our accumulated washing- that is of pots, clothes and bodies. Otherwise our only chance is during the ungodly hours of 3-6am. Since my night guard actually seizes this opportunity to water the plants, we have a situation whereby my plants are getting better watered than myself! And this has been going on for close to 4 weeks. Soon I fear no-one will want to get within a 10m radius of me for my bodily odours. Thankfully, I have strategic friends in the regions where water is still flowing like it’s coming from a biblical fountain, who will grant me some charity showers.
Moving from that most nagging of inconveniences, I opted to apply myself to work and not get overly bitter- but also from lack of choice, with the number of projects I have on the go. Having invested a third of my monthly salary on the purchase of a shiny new dongle to browse the internet at my leisure in my own time, I decided to make some headway on my work in the evenings after that necessary cuppa and shower (however I manage to procure it!). Yet when I try plugging in, I get one of two messages- “there is no network” or “your connection has been terminated”! Why??? I couldn’t begin to speculate! Yet some 3-4 weeks ago, things started off really nicely with my new gadget, where some of you will even remember skype calls courtesy of the dongle. So now the only time I have to complete my email based assignments is in between those ward round and operating hours in the hospital, that is at lunch time, or after work. Highly exhausting I can tell you, especially when the midday heat crushes you to a compulsion for having a siesta. As a result, I’m also not being able to find the time to storm the water board office with my grievances because that would take up my lunch hour! Things are starting to sound like conspiracy already!

And indeed it must be, when you combine my two predicaments with the situation at work that’s currently prevailing. In line with the Malawian government’s highly efficient supply chain and integrity among the directorship of the medical stores (who are absolutely not stealing any medical supplies to sell at inflated prices in their own little private businesses), our hospital has been without some of the most indispensable materials for any healthcare-providing establishment to continue to operate. Yet we are somehow scraping along. I always liked to use the following example to illustrate the ludicrousness of dogged capitalism to people: there are three items that one is guaranteed to find in the farthest severest places on Earth- that is Coca-Cola, Beer and Paracetamol (as if those were the three most essential requirements for human survival!). This month, I believe, even capitalism has been challenged in our hospital! In addition to Paracetamol, the following items have also gone OS (out of stock!): all but 2 or 3 antibiotics, plaster tape, traction tape, plaster of Paris (now back IS), Xray reagents, latex examination gloves, cleaning alcohol/iodine solutions, facemasks to name but the orthopaedic side of things. I wouldn’t like to think what the other departments are enduring, but I’m sure it’s heartbreaking.

To stay on a great subject matter, since it’s been mentioned, I shall digress slightly to give you an update on the headlines here. Do you remember the saga regarding the new flag? Well it is now in full deployment across the whole country, having bypassed any sensible consultation worthy of consideration. And you know what? It’s even illegal to be seen flying the old flag anymore. What’s worse is that the cost of acquiring the new flag has to be borne by the actual requester. As if that was not enough financial squabbling, another all-time favourite ubiquitous display item has now undergone a subtle modification. Instead of reading His Excellency Ngwazi Dr BWM under his grimacing effigy, the text now has to read His Excellency Ngwazi Professor BWM! All because some eastern Chinese university has recognised him as deserving of the honour for his economic achievements! And what a one that will be when, just like with the flag, every office in the country will have to pay for a new portrait to be hung on their walls, or else be subjected to a fine and, more damaging even, political alienation. What a circus! It is said that the long awaited Nsanje inland port will be inaugurated this weekend. That will be a major achievement for Malawi’s trade and international links. But that’s only if it does not find itself thwarted by some jealous Mozambican government too eager to cash in on their neighbours. But praise be given where it be due! For this, well done HENPBWM!
New Flag

I now conclude by pleading you not to feel too sorry for me, as, let’s face it, it could still be worse. Ntcheu, for all intents and purposes, is broken down, but life goes on. Food gets on the plate- warm-, showers are had some way or the other and the mood is generally upbeat (especially from Uncle B after 10pm!). Did I mention to you also that by some strange twist of logic, our electricity supply has been remarkably good in the last 4weeks? In fact I shouldn’t tempt fate, as even as I write this (no kidding), there’s been 2 brief blackouts, which can only be a hint that the customary 2hour one isn’t far away. But then I guess, I am having the real African experience I sought out here- unlike my city dwelling friends, with their barricaded houses and hot showers! I simply wouldn’t trade...


anyone for mango archery?

Little Things so Malawian

I can’t think of a single story to focus this one on. So I shall regale you with my favourite ones of late.

Public Transport...again!
As if by some rare coincidence, there I was using public transport again in Malawi! This time I was heading to Senga Bay as an invited doctor at the peer meeting of the VSO Health Prevention team. The overall journey was split between a sneaky lift from Marieke traveling to Lilongwe starting at 5am, an uneventful minibus journey to the town of Salima and a most unconventional matola (open back pick up truck) ride for the last 25Km where no other form of public transport exists. I was courteously fetched from the minibus depot by an obliging “matola agent” and reluctantly climbed aboard this least favourite mode of transportation of mine. I was carrying my usual backpack and a wheelie suitcase (with broken wheels). I left the suitcase in the luggage corner of the matola and waited for it to fill up. By then I had already been on the road some 5hours and began dozing off. As our final passenger was finally clambering aboard, I suddenly felt the vehicle jerk forward at full speed, almost catapulting that dear man out on the dirt path. No sooner had it bolted forward than the matola then also stopped abruptly. It occurred to me then that the driver was attempting a runner from a policeman who’d noticed he was not licensed to drive this vehicle. Amidst all this confusion, another matola then just appeared in front of us. Without sparing a thought, we all dashed towards it to secure a decent and safe corner for our bums. Happy to have made it, I sat half-dozing off again. Ten minutes later, I turned round and suddenly realised- my suitcase was no longer with me! In my torpor, I’d run off without it. I exclaimed this to the “conductor” who, by the way, was stood at the back of this pickup barely holding on to another standing friend of his and a passenger. Within a second, he got the driver to stop, jumped out and made me follow him to the other side of the road. There, right there where we stopped, as if it had been placed by a magic hand, happened to be an empty matola, all but idle. We negotiated a quick ride back to the set-off point, which necessitated a fuel refill (from a canister that simply appeared!) and a serious push from 10 strong men to get it started. We found the driver at the police station, who told us he’d left the bag with someone at the starting point. We rushed there, only to find out that the next driver, seeing that we hadn’t come back for the bag, had set off in my original direction again to try and catch up with me! So we inevitably crossed each other at some point. At that point, my conductor friend, myself and another willing benefactor had to find another matola to get my destination. We managed to hail down this bigger truck, which was absolutely packed to the brim, spilling from all sides. You wouldn’t think it could accommodate even an extra chicken on board. Yet all 3 of us got in there somehow. I had strictly the amount of floor space to fit a pair of size10 shoes, my conductor friend had to squeeze his body against a sponge mattress while holding on to a passenger, and the 3rd guy, well, he just sat atop the driver’s cabin! Once in Senga Bay, we went straight to where the driver was meant to have left my bag, and guess what? He’d set off in the other direction again, meaning we’d intersected one more time! Thankfully he wasn’t going far and soon turned around to bring the said bag! Oh, could I believe it! Everything was still in there, intact! Of course, all involved parties were expecting a (thoroughly deserved) tip from me and when I asked how much would be reasonable, I was shocked how low they wanted. I remunerated them fairly and made sure they realised what a special people they are. Malawians. The magnificent people of the warm heart of Africa!
Seconds before- the bag in front's mine!

Mbewa
The next day would see another epic cross country drive to get us to a birthday party in Blantyre. Well, one little fact about these road trips is that along the way, there’re usually boys selling all sorts of delicacies to travellers. Among the most special items are little cooked birds, and –wait for it- mice! Yes 5 of them, boiled, with all the hair on, and squeezed between 2 little sticks. Since we were going to a barbeque (Braai here), one of us had the brilliant idea of bringing a little surprise meat for our hosts. Our present was of course duly laughed at and left to rot in a corner. Unsuspectingly, as we were getting ready to go out, one of the guests spotted the mice and decided to request a bid from everyone present for him to eat one. By the time we realised he was serious and not really drunk, the bidding price had been brought down by a competitor, and before we knew it, none other than birthday girl herself stepped in and said she’d do it for even cheaper. We have videos to prove the act that followed. On it you can see some of us turning our heads away unable to face this spectacle. But there she was digging her gnashers in this hairy crispy beast, tail and head -with teeth- included. She finished it in 3 mouthfuls and you could hear the crunching from the other end of the veranda. To me she had accomplished a landmark achievement. She had proved that even muzungus can eat that most avoided of all foods in Malawi: Mbewa (Chichewa for mice). Maximum respect!


A shuffle
Well if it seemed that there were not enough snakes to eat up all the mice along the road to Blantyre, things looked slightly different in Ntcheu! Maybe I forgot to mention that I came across one such friendly little companion outside my very own house a few months ago. 20cm long, all black and unmistakable! I remember running to the gate, forgetting to push the house door shut as I darted off. To date, I ask myself whether it got in somehow, but I prefer to entertain the thought that it was actually leaving the house when I saw it, heading to its own home! Since then, well, that little phobia has been partly tamed in my mind and I sometimes even get curios about what they look like, especially when patients come it with all those bites. Today, Trish and I decided to venture up ‘Mount Ntcheu Telephone Mast’ –which shall now be know by its official name: Kirkirenje (a local twist on Kirk’s range!)- in the scorching sun. We set off early enough to avoid the worst of the rays and added a few scenic detours to the route. On this new territory I casually joked about the possibility of encountering our own Mamba or something. It was not some two hours later, towards the end that I suddenly heard a shuffle in front of me and saw only the posterior half of it disappear in a flash to the right. My walking stick had almost skewered a snake. I have no idea how long it was, but it had a chunky brown tail. Somewhat wobbly legged I got back home not sure if excited or terrified would describe my emotional state better. I’ll decide on that one on my next hike...

The scenic route