Broken down Blantyre

Some themes are recurrent in Malawi and right now it’s a déjà vu of Ntcheu’s period of gloom. Except that it appears to be even worse, despite it being the ‘fast-moving’ city of Malawi. When we first landed here, we were staying at a friend’s house on the fringe of the posh quarters. Thus we were shielded from the bitter reality to which more ordinary Blantyre residents are accustomed. Now we’ve moved into an “average” neighbourhood, we’re finding out for ourselves what this entails. 3-4 times weekly water shortages (in the midst a very wet rainy season) and about the same frequency of power cuts (hydroelectric for most of it) appear to be the norm simply. It’s not that we’ve moved into a poor area or anything. That would be the townships strewn around the city. We’re still in a relatively affluent part of town, out of necessity (proximity to work and town for non-car owners, safety, peace), just not one of the posh parts. Of course we’re finding ways of getting around these (like writing blogs when power’s out, or having power naps). We’re just surprised by the differences in facilities that exist from one postcode to another. Of course the posher the area the less frequently these inconveniences arise. This is in exchange for higher utility bills per unit consumption apparently. But there are some other parts which are far from being posh where similar priviledges also exist. I’ve tried to grapple with that for a while now and I’m told it’s only because when you live in a less wealthy quarter, your area consumes less out of hardship/austerity and the ones who can afford the facilities can do so for longer before the area’s quota is eaten up. The alternative explanation has been one linked in a direction of inverse proportionality with the distance from a prominent politician/civil servant’s house. Another unfortunate feature that hasn’t changed much since Ntcheu, you might have guessed by now, is.. correct! The noise! Having had a 2 week honeymoon in Hanna’s house, albeit makeshift, we’ve now moved up on a hill, where it appears that every night the music from bars at least 1Km away get windswept up to our living room. And we can usually tell which direction the wind is blowing based on this alone! My ability to survive this for another year (not tested yet!) is entirely dependent on the quality of this noise. Whereas in Ntcheu the music tended to drift downwards, hence transmitting the bass beat mostly, here the windswept melodies tend to have a more ‘voice-like’ waveform. Not to imply that it is not distracting in its own rights, but just that little bit less. What doesn’t upset me in the least, on the other hand is the Muezzin from the nearby mosques, which is simply music to my ears...

So it’s been 6 weeks since we moved to Blantyre, and 4 weeks in our present house. The fact that I’m only updating this on here now is an indication of how hectic things have been since the move. This move alone was an epic, involving an intra-city move for all our loose luggage as well as a return trip to Ntcheu (3 hours each way) to pick up our furniture... all in the same day. But, with it, came a clearer definition of our respective roles at work. In stark contrast with Ntcheu where I was a bit of my own boss, setting up my routine of activities in order to meet my placement objectives, in an established unit like Queen’s, things are already in place and I kind of have to work my objectives around them. Despite this there is a lot of leeway and I have been able to integrate some of my extra VSO objectives in my schedule, very much centred on upgrading the standard of care in the districts. Apart from work, which is rapidly filling virtual blogs on a daily basis in my mind here, the other perks of moving to Blantyre have also started to become manifest. None of them are really about the upgrade of our standard of living to match the place, and indeed we have been trying as much as possible to uphold our Ntcheu tempo. Every visit to Ntcheu in fact is a massive perk from living in Blantyre, simply because it turns out it’s still not too far and the return visits abound with social interactions, where everyone I know there welcomes me back, as if I’ve been sorely missed for years. It’s a testimony to how positive a time I actually had over there, which I sometimes failed to acknowledge. But back to Blantyre, the exploration on foot and minibus of its various nooks and crannies have proved to be a real discovery. Perhaps more ground could have been covered by car, but that tends to then take you away from the city you live in. Feet, on the other hand (funny English twist- similar to left is the right way!), have opened up a meshwork of footpaths and shortcuts, with their vantage points and chance encounters, which I couldn’t have dreamt to discover from behind wheels. And smells too, but then these are balanced by an equally ubiquitous scattering of scents. With the rainy season animating this soil and atmosphere with an ant-like drone of natural activity, the results surround us in every way. Besides the incredibly lush vegetation and undergrowth that makes you feel like you’re in some kind of a hobbit-land at times, the temptation to respond to invitations from the close up world residing within is irresistible. The relentless buzz of insect life, bird life and funny-indescript-creature life that operate herein are all but fascinating. My personal chart topper happened last week, when we got drawn out of the house by what we thought was a horny cat announcing their readiness to mate atop the compound walls. To my utter joy and surprise, it turned out to be an amazing hornbill instead, perched on one of our trees.

In tune with this theme of green, another prominent perk of our last weeks has been the slow conversion of vegetable garden and flower patch to some new colours and flavours. Hardly a fortnight on and we can already see the buds creeping in from under their thatch bed. No fertilisers. “No nothing” as they say here! Except for some good old compost and those magic rays that irrigate it with energy when it’s not the rain quenching its thirst.

It’s becoming clear that the tone of my appreciation of Blantyre is evolving fast towards the positive end of the spectrum. This was predictable in truth. Anyone leaving a simple place where they had set home and worked hard to establish themselves, approaches a new, more developed place with a good dose of cynicism. There are certainly elements of it that maintain my cynicism, like the pretentiousness of some social groups and their casual disdain for the ‘simple folk’. Yet I’ve now fairly confidently established that these groups are thankfully a minority. The other hazards of the crowded city have also not gone unnoticed, like the crazy driving, especially from minibuses that goes on here. I almost got shoved in a water-logged ditch by a 4x4 that simply drove on the other day, but now I’ve learned that the simplest to avoid these unpleasant interactions is to just walk in a different way. Let the danger pass, avoid confrontation and then proceed! But this few-bad-seeds flavour is very soon overcome by the general sweetness of most people here. I’m really starting to see how this affable charm of Malawian people pervades across the whole land, spanning village and city alike.

This brings me to a concluding anecdote, which is Janet’s current favourite dullness-breaker. Having shunned the high spec techno bars for a quiet after-work week washer on Friday, I approached my colleague for him to take me to one of the local pubs. Now what I had in mind was itself quite a busy, happening place, frequently mostly by Malawians. But my friend thought that maybe a more traditional drinking place might be better. So we ended up in this small block by a market place, with a succession of tiny little pubs. The one we walked in was aptly called ‘the sitting room’. And it was exactly that! You have a line of 4-5 chairs on either side, such that you were always facing someone. Hence conversation flowed freely. The people were so welcoming and interested in us (not in a nosy way) that we overstayed our planned 1 hour by at least another 2. A few drinks and games of pool later, we decided to make our way back. As we pulled up the hill to my house, the vehicle suddenly puffed to a stop. Classic empty tank scenario! Quite interestingly, people tend to fill up by small amounts frequently here instead of getting a full tank once in a while- which given the unpredictability of fuel pumps is quite a sensible thing to do. So there we go, Janet and I are outside the house and our friend needs to get back somehow. Not the least upset, he sets off on what would be at least a 2 mile walk in that direction to fetch the gas. I stop him and call my usual taxi driver (Bekelesi) instead, who promises to be there within 5 mins. Sure enough a vehicle appears in that time, with 2 other people inside. I chant my appreciation out drunkenly to him “Ah Bekelesi, always so reliable!” and negotiate a price for the small fuel errand. Thankfully I got on to a bargaining exchange with him which delays proceedings slightly. By the time we’re finished and agreed on a price, hey lo! round the corner appears an identical vehicle with just the driver. Before I even have time to turn my head to find out who that might be, the first vehicle had vanished in a smoke. The real Bekelesi was here for us and Janet was writhing on the floor with laughter pains. My bemused friend quite relievedly invokes God for sparing him a nasty denouement of one of the best nights in Blantyre.

Lessons learnt: 1. Have a system for recognising your driver even in the dark. Lesson 2. Know his number plate by heart! Lesson 3. Make sure you have enough fuel when heading out at night!


In the House


Improvised outdoor cooking


Minibusing it


Hornbill in the garden


Limbe Market