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
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