No comparison

Travelling african style
Any pretension I may have held about being hardcore in my travelling, based on previous journeys, has been turned on its head after my latest flirtation with the African road. “African” I say without fear of over-generalising as the latest epic took 4 countries in its stride: Malawi, Mozambique, Zimbabwe and South Africa. 30 hours each way to use the typical term for distance measurement here, and that comprises a generous chunk for the sole purpose of negotiating border bureaucracies- or should I say idiosyncrasies! For those of you who still perceive distance in kilometres, then the grand figure of 1500 each way would be a rough ballpark figure!
Unwittingly, I started the journey with a self-inflicted hangover following England’s disappointing game with Algeria the night before. At 8.30am in Blantyre, a strange combination of moths (taking cover from the daylight), flies (trapped inside the bus and trying to escape), mosquitoes (from the nearby ditch) and butterflies (in my tummy, in apprehension of this unknown factor ahead) marked the start of this trip. An hour and a half later, after all procrastinations were done with, we were finally en route. I got a nice seat at the front and was pleased to have a friendly neighbour. Hardly 10minutes into the ride came my first and most dreaded challenge- the bus music/noise. Pure wailing Malawian gospel, absolutely identical, even the videos, which were being projected on a screen at the front. Unfortunately, changing seats so that I would be farther away from the epicentre of this cacophony was not an option, since each seat was specially endowed with its own speakers, with no individual volume or ‘off’ switch. Competitive inhibition was the only solution as of now, meaning that I would have to rely on my personal music to be blasted loud enough by my earphones to override the surrounding music. Every now and again, even through this, I could hear the bus noise and even worse, a certain high pitched beeping which could go on for an indeterminate length of time. At first I thought the sound system was defective, as is often the case in Malawi and that I would simply have to brace myself and suffer. But then I found out this was a speeding alarm, which indicated to the driver that he was going over 110 Kmph. Despite liking the idea in its concept, I was all too aware that, to the Malawian driver, such a deterrent would be as useful as Chambo steak to an edentulous! Noise encourages Malawians on the contrary! But prolonged exposure to an insult can ultimately condition one to it, and insofar as I can be conditioned to noise, I was. I sat at the back nonetheless on the way back, swapping toilet for beep, but still had a nice neighbour!

In Mozambique
Another unexpected inconvenience along the way turned out to be a mal-functioning AC or one cranked up sadistiscally by the driver, on pretence that it would keep him awake. I couldn’t argue with that one! This kept the entire bus shiveringly awake on the way down. On the way back though, probably from the aforementioned overuse, AC did not function at all and sweaty came to replace cold and dry. All the same, the latter was more comfortable as one can always open the air hatches.
Our first border crossing would be that between Malawi and Mozambique at the Mwanza/Tete immigration point. That was the scene for one great big- and expensive- surprise to me. My Mauritian passport would be categorically declined. Indeed I ought to consider myself lucky not to have ended up behind bars, as having two passports is considered illegal here. So I was forced to go on my British passport, which attracted the plump sum of ~$25 each way. Might not seem so much, but in the context of VSO wages, you will see that the cumulative effect of those payments (4 times in total only for transit visas) amounted to roughly what I had saved by opting for the road instead of simply flying down to South Africa. All this for that glamorous passport which I had to wait 12 years to get in England and which I’ve never had to use in Europe! To think that the Mauritian passport used to be my worst nightmare whenever it came to travelling in Europe, thanks to the ultimo of travel deterrents- Schengen Visa- , and now it’s that same passport I wish I had entered Malawi with! Too late. But I’ll be philosophical about it. I might have lost out in this situation (from oversight mostly) but in all fairness, I don’t think any European/Muzungu is in the right to moan about being imposed this charge. Not even at the slowness of processing the visa in actual fact. My bitter experience in Europe has had one single positive effect, which is to give me the opportunity to compare the way an African is treated by the usual European immigration system with the converse scenario. To get a Schengen visa in the past, I had normally to apply to the country’s embassy which I would be visiting first, at least a month in advance. This would have to be done over the phone at the premium rate of £1-£1.50 per minute, each call lasting around 2ominutes. During this call, it would be highly advisable for you to have your detailed agenda at the ready, where you have minimised any commitments for the ensuing month, as the time and date you are allocated are purely random. If you happen to be busy on the date given to you, then you have to keep the call ticking till a more acceptable one is offered you. Once you have the appointment, you have to also make the travel to the single place in England or Scotland (even though they can turn you down if you’re based in England, albeit next to the Scottish border) where they process these visas, early enough in the morning, so as not to miss your chance. There are usually loads of people there on the same desperate mission as you. I remember once queuing outside the French consulate in London from 5am, only to get to the counter at 10am. Once you’ve tackled this appointment hurdle, comes the more thorny issue- the right documents. Not only do you have to produce a return ticket (with no guarantee of even being allowed to travel) but you need a formal invitation letter from the town hall office of your host, or a hotel reservation. This invitation letter usually takes your host about a month to process, at least 2 trips to that office and 30Euro at least. Consider yourself lucky to have got those, you also need a travel insurance, a letter from your employer (job contracts don’t count) and proof of finances (bank statements don’t count). Financially, excluding your plane ticket, the whole process can set you back £150-£250. Damn that £1 Ryanair fare! Meanwhile, in Mozambique/Zimbabwe/Malawi, despite the greater threat historically posed by a European on these soils, it took us less than 1 hour to have the whole lot done and an upfront payment of $20- $30 (~£15- £20). On one occasion, it did take 2 hours but that’s because the English traveller ahead of me was visibly infuriated by the process and decided to get confrontational with the immigration officer. Consequently, everyone with a foreign passport was punished.
Border crossings constituted one dreary, heart-sinking moment of the bus journey. Each crossing required a visit to both countries’ immigration offices to have your passport stamped. Leaving was usually swifter than entering a country, naturally! Except, of course, if one of your fellow passengers decided to overstay his keep in the exiting country. Dealing with this situation is very crafty. Bribes are eminently du jour and they are not negotiated in any direct way at all. There’s no asking price here. The offender simply leaves a note in a page in his passport. The officer actively searches the passport for it, and if discontent with the amount presented, grumpily hands the passport back. A few minutes later, the offender, after having scrounged for some extra dosh, presents the cash in a similar way, and this strange bargain can go on a number of times until the passport is finally cleared or singularly dismissed. Somehow, in the latter case, the offending individual then simply vanishes into ether and the bus decides to leave him/her behind. Next thing you know, maybe 5Km or even 50Km into the next country, the person will reappear at some road junction and hop back on the bus. This s/he might not be allowed to do, in which case they will appear at the final station, again inexplicably, and collect their luggage there! The most remarkable example for me was a woman who sneaked past the Zimbabwe/South Africa border with her baby and was refused back on the bus, but somehow beat us to it at the terminus!
My experience of the borders was nowhere near as exciting but worth a mention. When leaving Malawi, one is allowed a maximum of Mk3000 and I had around 6000. So I had to spend the excess (in fact more like the whole lot) on wooden artefacts around there, only to find myself burdened with this extra weight, which I intended to leave with the Mauritian connection in South Africa.
One way bridge
Going through Mozambique, an additional delay declared itself, in the form of a single lane crossing across what is apparently the longest bridge in Africa- not the widest that’s sure! If you happen to be that first person to be held back after a batch has been let through, then I’m afraid you might as well take a little nap or get your Sudoku out. They rotate hourly here!
We're in Zim
In Zimbabwe, the immigration officers were exceptionally efficient and, on a personal basis, not adverse to foreigners at all. However, the intimidating presence of Robert Mugabe was distinctly manifest in the picture frame hanging behind them on the wall. That man decided that British travellers ought to pay the same numerical amount as others (Europeans/ Americans) except that the amount would be in pounds rather than dollars! Once again, I shot myself in the foot by using my British passport. There was also a strange incident of a stranded bag hanging on a tree outside the immigration office, that left all of us somewhat insecure. The bag -lady’s handbag- looked like it might have been left there deliberately, possibly to lure curious fingers hence, warranting an arrest, or, heaven forbid, waiting to tick down to a boom! At the South African border, my luggage got searched along with a number of other passengers’. Interestingly, I was made to go and register my wooden curios, while the guy next to me had all varieties of fish and vegetables stuffed neatly between his trousers and shirts and sailed through! The way back across the borders blended into a fuzzy dream for me, having exhausted myself to the limit in South Africa. All I remember was that the Mozambican immigration guy recognised me as the ‘Mauritius one’ and, on the other side, I (unethically!) used my status of (male) doctor needing to get back to work, to speed my baggage check through so I didn’t have to wait for all the luggage on the bus to be individually checked until we got to mine. This is what normally constitutes the longest delay in the whole return trip and I was in no mood for it. Malawians are renowned for their ability to shop till the last mm2, for absolute nothings most of the time, when travelling back (a bit like Mauritians used to do in the past/?still). I made a list of such improbable items crowding the interior of the bus and racks: large crisp packets, large pop bottles, oranges, bags, oil, biscuits etc.. I decided to alight here rather and make my own way back on Malawian public transport. This, I delayed till the next morning as a very important appointment was also waiting for me in Mwanza just as I cleared customs- the Germany v England game.
More on the South African world cup next....

About Malawi

The anticlimax set in rather quickly following Janet’s departure 3 weeks ago, her last week culminating in a crowning finale as we got to watch Lucius Banda in concert (second time for me) right next door to Ntcheu, i.e. his home town Balaka! This was made even more symbolic by the fact that most of our roadtrip had been animated almost entirely by him singing on the only player we had in the car- a cassette player, with the only cassettes available to buy here being local Malawian or Zambian music. It would be unfair to isolate lack of choice as the reason for listening to him though, as he is really good. Interestingly, he is also running for president it seems. Unfortunately, his party aren’t really showing much of an interest, while the current president has brutally sidelined him in response to a song on his latest album, where he indulges in a rather defamatory soliloquy on the president’s unpopular politics. Hence not only does the album get banned from airing on Malawian radio, but the entire artist’s work. To his relief, that doesn’t stop him being played all day (and night) all over Malawi on CD (...and tape)!
That sets the scene nicely for me to talk a little about politics for the first time here. Yes, it takes less than a week here to crack that one, but has taken 4 months to put in words. We have what is officially a democratically elected president in multi-party style election. Except that around the time of the elections, he, Bingu wa Mutharika, has quasi-monopoly of the media and the country’s resources. He is in his second term now, and won the last elections in December with an overwhelming majority. Since then, he has imposed himself in somewhat more of a dominant style and has been pushing for some changes that never really seemed to have any public consent. For one he is planning on changing the Malawian flag to one that suits his own eccentric taste- a move that will cost a small fortune to the economy, without any economic benefit as far as anyone can see it. Rumour has it the flags are already here in containers, while awaiting for the final bill to be passed. Secondly, as in many African countries, the president tends to affirm his authority by displaying pictures of him looking imposing in every office in every town. He is also on billboards everywhere boasting about some achievement or other. Whether this serves as a reminder to everyone that he is there watching you or mere propaganda I can’t tell. But what I can predict is that soon these pictures (must number thousands) will all have to be taken down and replaced with new ones, because, he has just been awarded some dubious professorship in China. He now boasts the title of Prof in front of the already present, Ngwazi Right Honorable President Dr... Ngwazi in fact being an appellation the former leader/dictator Dr Hastings Banda used to connect himself more to his people. Bingu now likes to compare himself with this still very popular past leader (remembered by many guide books for banning long hair for men, or skirts for women, or worse even the song Cecilia from S&G!). Bingu, of course, is also famous for the latest gay marriage saga that even made it to the European news. In a 180 move, highly likely to have been motivated by a strong pressure from the UN chief, Bingu pardoned the gay couple, who a week later had been sentenced to the severest possible term- 14 years IHL. The ensuing week, he declared publicly that for such “evil acts”, the law rightly punishes but God forgives! Speaking of marriage, Bingu too made the news this year at the grand age of 75, when he decided to get engaged on Valentine’s day and remarried in April. He hosted a royal banquet, paid by the state of course, with more than 5000 guests, and turned up in a flashing new Limo. All the papers had messages for each of the two events posted in them for the happy couple, most of them being from government offices and parastatals! The TV channel at that time, played similar reels of repetitive messages as much as they did actual programmes. Meanwhile, special glossy magazines were printed and distributed to remind people (in case they lived under a massive rock that only allowed glossy mags in) of that holy union. Let me not get too carried away with this bleak analysis because I might get expelled from the country soon. In his defence though, from talking to a few Malawian friends, a lot of positive changes have been made since Bingu’s arrival (“his predecessor was essentially a shameless thief who would even circulate counterfeit money in the country”), especially the quality of the roads. But when you ride a motorcade of 15 shiny 4x4s everytime you travel, if you’re not in your state-purchased private jet, you want your ride to be a smooth one!
Besides politics, one other item that’s featured prominently on the agenda here has been football. Of course there’s the world cup, but personally, I’ve also managed to join the hospital team lately and am finally back to weekly matches. Last time I was doing that goes back to more than 10 years ago and it feels great. As for the world cup, I shall save that for the next time, when I have fresh news from the hosting nation itself. Pepani!

Roadtrip / honeymoon

This week we took to the Malawian roads. This was also the first time I got to properly drive around Malawi (omitting that sedate and carpeted drive from when I picked Janet up from the airport). This time we had an altogether different mix of terrain, landscape and weather. I think this must be the longest drive I’ve ever done in my life, taking in at least a half of Malawi’s vertical diameter and combining high alpine plateaux with basking lakeshore escapes! Each day in this last week has been so rich in stimuli, interactions and discoveries that an individual page is what’s really needed for each. We shall endeavour to relate them to you each as a paragraph instead, which is going to be no mean feat.

Lilongwe Market
This will surely qualify as the first leg of our epic odyssey, even though Lilongwe was only intended as a practical stopover before springing up North. The decision to go and explore the market came almost naturally as we finished our overwhelming supermarket raid to stock up for the journey and felt in need of an antidote. Even though I’d already explored this market twice before, I never tire of going back there to be completely captured by the buzz of human activity and the profusion of colours, smells and sights. A kick to the senses really. From the meticulously stacked displays of fruits and vegetables at one end to completely dispersed messes of clothes and paraphernalia, we meandered along countless aisles, which revealed the true expanse of this deceivingly enormous market. The skill of bargaining quickly turns into an art here, and to any poker enthusiast I strongly recommend a visit sometime. Not even getting your shoes shined comes without some element of it! Having negotiated that little exchange, we proceeded to a systematic exploration of the specialist sections of the market and that took us along the traditional medicine quarters (be aware that taking photos on the sly might set you back a good few Kwachas!), the food “pavilion” where not a single part of an animal gets wasted except for bone maybe (by that of course I mean the inedible cortical part, not the marrow!.. and then again, I stare at my necklace pendant wondering which bone went into making it!), the tailoring&repairs, the kitchenware, the hardware and the megaphone-animated flea market style clothes areas. The market is such a beautifully organised mess that it is bound to lure you back any time you’re in Lilongwe. All the more so if you have a sense of adventure and decide to cross the flimsily erected paying bridges across the river that divides it in two (surprisingly it was not us getting paid for risking our lives on it but the astute architects of these totally uninspiring pontoons).

Donija Nkhoma

On Sunday, we did our first drive section to a community project called the Donija Nkhoma village. Thanks to my expert co-pilot, we experienced our first emotional moment when, at 110Km remaining to the destination, I was informed it was only 11Km away. Imagine my joy (read heartsink¬) after I discovered the stranded zero! Donija Project is essentially a close up look into the way traditional Malawian communities are organised, by staying and eating with them in their houses in the village. We had a fascinating guided tour around the different nuclei of the village to see how all these things come together- the nsima, the mudbrick or wooden houses, the ingenuous water supply and the wicker pens for cattle and corn. We also visited a fishpool constructed by the villagers miles away from the nearest lake, and learnt about the role of cattle as dowry! We were treated to a true delight of a traditional dance, where the women could best be described as yodelling, while the chief dancer gyrated and shook in his soft-drink-bottle-metal-cap-studded outfit at a speed my eyes could not fix. The sound was an eclectic bojangle beat.

Vwaza Marsh

After a very comfortable hospitality with some VSO friends in Rumphi (amazing food, courtesy of Marianne!), Vwaza was our next stop and first taste of a nature reserve. The road north form Rumphi becomes a dirt road for 100s of miles further, and really tested the car and Ash! The car resembled a pile of red dust by the end of this portion of the route and amazingly still has all its bits attached (which goes for us too!). Its original blue also proved to be the perfect lure for the millions of Tse-Tse flies colonising the marsh, which would come tick-ticking loudly at the windows in desperation for some human blood. Hence all windows up in the stifling afternoon heat while we attempted a mini-drive safari of the place.
Vwaza is a marsh surrounding a lake, where we stayed in a wooden hut on sticks, overlooking the lake. We were treated to the amazing sites of the park and got within arse-slapping distance of elephants (which Ash was very suspicious of their potential as man squashers [thanks to Janet’s white bait of a shirt!], though luckily we escaped unscathed). Also on the tick list numbered an entire herd of impalas, bushbucks, kudus, baboons, hippos and so many birds I couldn’t begin to name them (but there was a wicked Ibis couple in there).
A cook was at our service that evening, who conjured up some wonders out of our very sophisticated tinned offerings. As the night, its silence and crazy sounds closed in around us, we enjoyed the delight that be our candle-lit hut in total outside darkness and the sweet hiss of Malawi Gin with sprite.

Nyika Plateau- nature walk
Nyika rightly deserves the title of our ‘piece de resistance’ for this trip. It was, after all, the ultimate destination around which we constructed this sumptuous itinerary. Nyika is Malawi’s first and largest National Park, most parts of which are still inaccessible today, but to the most diligent and researched explorer. The motor-able route up put our dare-devil off-roading in Vwaza to shame, with the car threatening to skid off the road at least twice and forcing a maximum speed of 40Kmph on us.



Once you get to the plateau, you are immediately enveloped by a magical feeling of escaping to another world. In all truth, for Ash, it strictly represented the first time since in Malawi, where he felt altogether free from noise (Vwaza was a close contender, except that, of all days, ours was when the village gathered for a very rare mourning ritual on the edge of the park). In Nyika however, there prevails that silence which magnifies every other natural sound to its absolute sweetest (little wood insects, rustling leaves, water streaming etc). The setting is one akin to the highlands of Scotland, with one slight difference: inamongst the bracken (and seasonal orchids), there’d lay a herd of zebras (my favourite) or bucks or Roan antelopes staring at you with that quizzical face that says “friend or foe?!”. We managed to get close to the animals (including an elusive scrub hare just for Ash) on the first afternoon with the help of a local (black) guide by the name of White. It was an absolute treat to be able to not just see but also learn about so many species of animals, birds (herons, buzzards, bustards, cisticolas etc) and plants in one single day. And that made our day. Or maybe was it the delicious concoction created by our dedicated chalet keeper-cum-chef, Moses, who performed what can only be described as alchemy on the sweaty ingredients we’d be dragging along from Lilongwe. In this season, at this altitude (2000m), even in Malawi it gets pretty chilly. What better way to feel smug then than by a local firewood fireside with some more of that Malawian gin and real tonic before hitting a perfectly manicured bed...

Nyika Plateau- cycle ride/ village walk
Day 2 up Nyika was pedal powered along a myriad of paths and viewpoints onto vistas of the order only gleaned at on 'Planet Earth' or the like on TV. My position as the pack leader entitled me to the honour of approaching the animals first along the trip, often seconds only before they would rush back t o “security”, away from my trailing bike partners. White was again very useful in his local insight, even though that did not suffice to bring out the elands for us. Having exhausted ourselves to smithereens, we opted for the lazy stroll in the afternoon, which took us to the well kept secret that be the workers’ village on the plateau. That proved to be a great cultural extra (which we’re always keen on here) and also such excitements as crossing a derelict wooden bridge and balancing our bodyweights on some felled pine trunks near our chalet. This you need to picture as an amazing cabin warmed by an enormous central hearth and almost fully wood fuelled, including hot water (delight!)! Large windows let in plenty of light and gave us views out into the dense conifers to the back and into the small valley with its dams in front of us. As you guessed, dinner was consumed by the warm fireside, as prepared by Moses, and this time he managed to make us some bread and a perfect stir fry out of the fresh ingredients he sampled from a high up garden.
For two days, Nyika produced what would be best described as a little piece of heaven for us.


Nkhata Bay
From alpine silence and cool to humid lake-bound bustle, the transition could not have been starker. But then again a Malawian road trip wouldn’t be complete without including at least one stop at the lake. As it is clear to me by now, each bit of the lake has got its own personal character and charm. Far from the tranquil repose of Mangochi, or the posh resort of Cape Mcclear, Nkhata bay’s distinct appeal lies in its cliff-perched villas flanked by lush green wilderness. Once you’ve eliminated the thought that crocodiles might lurk somewhere in that water, it becomes one of the best for snorkelling haunts I’ve seen so far. You can really get close to those cyclet fish (which are unique for the propensity at evolution and rapid selection) and swim long distances without having to worry about tides or currents. If you’re lucky you’ll find a parked boat which you can climb and dive from... Simply ecstatic!

Senga Bay
In search of a more sandy version of the Lakeshore, the next day found us trekking another 350Km or so to Senga Bay, which is otherwise known as the capital’s swimming pool. This is where all these executives and short stay tourists rush to for a quick chance to immerse into Malawi’s biggest gem. However, partly owing to my state of sheer exhaustion and partly from a less than optimal choice of lakeside to stay at, Senga Bay will probably not remain etched in our hearts and minds as the preceding 6 days will. As for tranquillity, it certainly surpassed our expectations and we were glad to have a peaceful last night of a truly amazing holiday, recapping and recharging our batteries.

Lilongwe to Ntcheu- Public Transport2
Taking hitch hikers en route had become customary for us by now and the last leg of our journey was no exception. It was a reluctant reminder to us that our time of enjoying this luxury (lift offering) was also coming close to an end. The keys of the hired car would be handed over soon and we would become the ones either hitching or screeching and squeezing aboard a bus back to Ntcheu. This was precisely what happened after we managed to dodge past the horde of would-be porters to our bus. There we sat relieved that the bus was already full and ready to depart. Or so we thought. I was sat on the engine box at the front (my backside being guarded from smothering to an ash [!!] merely by an aptly placed wet towel from the morning’s swim!) and Janet on the steps. In the next 10 minutes the bus managed to fit another 10 or so passengers and within 10 miles of Lilongwe, it made this unexpected stop, where one person boarded together with their life’s belongings, followed, to our disbelief, by another, and another... until a miraculous 15 other passengers (less kids) found a space to stand somewhere aboard this bus. I don’t know how we managed to breathe after that. I think that if a preacher had joined us at this time, I would have stood up and preached back something about existentialism or some unintelligible metaphysical subject just to get it off my chest. Thankfully, the drive was quick, the music not deafening (thanks to my premier position next to the driver, hence controls) and the sun-setting scenery over the mountains of Dedza and Ntcheu an absolute treat for at least two exhausted contemplators.