[post written on December 17, 2009]
We arrived in Lilongwe, the capital city of Malawi, on 1 December. Lilongwe is a sprawling large city broken up into disparate neighborhoods, retail, and residential areas by clusters of forests, poor neighborhoods (shantytowns, for lack of a more appropriate term), and a large market. We were warned that some parts of the main road through the city (from ‘Old Town” to the “City Centre”) were dangerous to walk along at any time of day, and that at night should only go from place to place by taxi. These are the same warnings we received in Zambia. As in Zambia, we heeded these warnings (thinking why intentionally put ourselves into potentially dangerous situations?), but perhaps were a bit overprotective as we felt very safe the entire time (and that people in Lilongwe were more relaxed and less approached us less aggressively than in Zambia).
In Lilongwe, people bustle everywhere and the streets are filled with foot, bicycle and car traffic. The amount of car and minibus traffic on the roads was a surprise to us – we had been warned that there was a massive gasoline and diesel fuel crisis affecting the whole country, and to expect some difficulty getting transportation as a result. We didn’t have any troubles, but were told the bustling streets were much less busy than normal. The fuel shortage was obvious at every gas station in the city – dozens of people were lining up waiting for fuel for multiple days (those who were unable to offer extra money to wait only hours for fuel, that is). Minibus and taxi drivers were raising their fares to account for the inflated cost of ‘black market’ fuel being sold by industrious young men with gallon jugs on the streets. Fuel is the topic of conversation for everybody and the top story in the newspapers, with politicians offering (apparently empty) assurances that something is being done and the crisis will be solved in a matter of days. It was not resolved during our time in Malawi, and no one we talked to expects it to be before the end of January. (We are selfishly pleased the shortages did not hamper our travels.)
On the road from Lilongwe to Senga Bay, Malawi.
Despite the potential hiccup of how to keep commerce and transit system fueled, we easily found a mini-bus to Senga Bay, on Lake Malawi on 5 December. We were pleasantly surprised to find the mini-bus was filled reasonably (only 1 person per seat), so we did not feel like sardines in a can, and the roads were in great shape. As we headed East towards Lake Malawi, the landscape was rolling with lush vegetation and it seemed that every inch of farm-able land had some crop planted in it.
Along the highway, as well as nearly everywhere else we went in Malawi, most buildings were made of bricks. Though still quite small by (outrageous) American standards and with thatched roofs the homes we saw appeared much more substantial than many homes we had seen thus far in other countries. Communities we passed were making their own bricks, and the countryside was littered with piles of un-used bricks—grass sprouting from their tops. Agriculture was widespread with even the hillsides cultivated at least in part (we’re told this is in part because the Malawian government subsidizes fertilizer for such enterprise). Despite apparent signs of a strong economy, it is evident that Malawi still bears its impoverished legacy from the Banda dictatorship.
Lake Malawi (aka Lake Nyassa) is as long as Lake Michigan and is a fresh water destination for both domestic and international tourists visiting either Malawi and/or Mozambique (on the eastern shore of the lake). The lake is full of thousands of species of cichlid fishes which makes it a destination for SCUBA diving as well as general lounging (our activity of choice). The village around our hotel was completely oriented to the lake: laundry, ablutions, swimming and play all taking place in its waters or shores. We spent most of our days here relaxing in the peaceful shade of our guesthouse lawn, swimming in the lake, reading our books, and watching life on the lake. One of our favorite views was in the evening when fishermen headed out on their boats lit only by lanterns to earn their living - there was something magical to this scene.
Boats on beautiful Lake Malawi (Nyassa).
Sunset over Lake Malawi.
We heard of many more nooks and crannies of Lake Malawi that we wish we had time to explore and intend on coming back to visit. We could have easily spent a few months in Malawi alone exploring the mountains of the north, more of the beautiful lakeshore, as well as exploring the plateaus and mountains of the south. However, we wanted to make it to the coast of Mozambique in the next couple of weeks, so left Senga Bay on 7 December to head south towards Zomba where a friend of a friend lives.
Our morning began with a matola (back of a pick-up truck) ride as the first leg of our trip to Zomba. Public transit, as a rule, is crowded. The driver and money guy form the hub of the crew, but while waiting to get going a few touts are often employed to seek out passengers out and fill the “seats.” Matolas or mini-buses may fill up immediately or take an hour or two to fill and get going. There are two strategies one can take with public transit: (1) accept everyone is uncomfortable and share what space there is, or (2) get there early, stake out your territory and yield no ground. Usually, we try to employ the first strategy, but with this morning’s matola we went with the second and were glad of it. With space on the rail of the bed of the pick-up truck, we watched as nineteen more people scrambled into the bed. Three mothers had babies strapped to their backs. Three men were on the roof of the cab. Those standing in the center used other people as handholds to stay in the speeding vehicle. Amusingly, the money guy and driver switched jobs a 1km into the ride once we got going as the “driver” did not have a license, but did have a splinted wrist. Our journey ended was 1/2 km short of the bus station in Salima as there was reportedly a police road block up ahead, and (shockingly) we were overloaded. After this crowded start, our 2 mini-bus rides to Balaka and then Zomba seemed only reasonably packed (though slow due to stopping every few kilometers to drop people off/pick people up, and for one side-adventure to purchase fuel from the garage of a man in a village).
On our arrival in Zomba we attempted to get in touch with the friend of a friend we were coming to visit, but found out from a co-worker that she had been in a car accident and was in the hospital. We were super worried about her, but didn‘t know which hospital she was in or how to check on her or anything. [Editor’s note: The story of her adventures in medical care is another good one for another day (we eventually caught up with her in Nairobi, Kenya), but suffice to say that she is doing fine and healing well.]
Based on our friends’ description of and love for Zomba, we decided to stay for a few days anyhow and take in the beautiful scenery. On one day we took a wonderful hike from the center of town up to the plateau which offered us magnificent views of the town and surrounding hills - a really magnificent way to spend a day. We really just enjoyed being in Zomba, and in particular how friendly nearly all of the local people we met were and how comfortable we felt walking in and around this town. We must return here someday.
Sights along the road from Senga Bay to Zomba, Malawi.
A side street (above) and a more main street (below) in Zomba, Malawi.
Rich cutting our mango snack on the way down from hiking up the Zomba Plateau.
Some of the beautiful flowers we spotted along our plateau walk.
Our day getting from here to Cuamba, Mozambique was a long one: it started with a sweaty (yes, even at 7am) 15 minute walk to bus station through the market streets to find a minibus going our direction. When we arrived there, we were told the minibus would pick up 5km from where we were, so reluctantly hopped onto the back of bicycle taxis (which rode past where we walked) and across bridge to a half-full minibus heading our way. Once all seats were fully occupied (and then some), the bus made its way up the winding pass to the town on the Malawi side of the border. The immigration agent asked us how we liked George W. Bush as he stamped us out of Malawi, and was glad to hear we prefer President Obama. He also told us that despite what the bike taxi guys might tell us, the Mozambique border post was only 1km away - easily walk-able even on the dusty road in the scorching heat. The bicycle taxi drivers made a solid effort to get our fare, but we insisted we wanted to walk. Though some of the mob that swarmed us upon leaving the immigration building turned away in search of other passengers, several more persistent bicycle drivers flanked us for at least half the distance, essentially herding us with their bikes. At some point turning down their offers for a ride became an issue of principle (especially since it was more than hot enough to have wanted to just hop on the back of a bike). We eventually crossed some point-of-no-return and were left to trudge along to the sketchy Mozambican border post alone. To our dismay, there was little transport waiting on the Mozambique side to help us get the 10km to the town of Mandimba where we were told we could find a minibus onward. Fortunately a massive flat-bed delivery truck came by going our way and was willing to let ride in the cab to the ’bus station’ in Mandimba - a smattering of 3-sided vendors lining a two-lane wide area, and a gaggle of other people waiting under a tree for a minibus.
Eventually we all (all 24 of us plus 2 on the roof) piled into the one minibus - fortunately the big bags were all loaded on top of the vehicle (this was the first time we’d seen the roof used for bag transport on our travels). We made it about 15 minutes out of town before stopping on the side of the road, then returning to town: it turns out our driver didn’t have the correct permits to travel to Cuamba. We began to wonder whether we’d be able to find a place to sleep that night. Finally the ‘papers’ (bribes, we think) were sorted out and we got on the road again. We were pretty appalled at the difference in the infrastructure and living conditions (as viewed from the road) from just across the border in Malawi. Compared to the many signs advertising the work of the government and NGOs and obvious road and building construction efforts, the situation in Mozambique looked desolate. The road was bumpy and dusty and the temperatures sweltering. Six hours later, when we all piled out of the minibus on the outskirts of town as more ‘papers’ were sorted out before we were finally taken into town, Carissa emerged with salt stains on her damp pants.
One of the beautiful views of mountains and rural homes on the train from Cuamba to Mandimba, Mozambique.
Carissa on the train.
The train chugging along.
Once in Cuamba we were able to purchase tickets for the next days’ train to Nampula, Mozambique. Our mission to find a guesthouse or open bank was a little more tiresome, but eventually we found a place. The next morning we rolled out of our mosquito-netted beds and out the door by 4am as we were told to arrive early for the 5:30 train. We scrambled into our 6-person 2nd class cabin where we spent the next 12 hours ambling through the beautiful countryside. Our cabin-mates were friendly and hilarious Mozambicans (one a Columbian transplant) who took every opportunity to purchase discount-priced goods at villages we stopped at along the tracks. The Colombian-Mozambican woman purchased several grocery-bags stuffed with 2 types of mangoes, onions, 2 types of garlic, potatoes, and bananas (and rejected green beans at multiple locations for being too dry). We weren’t sure how she’d carry all these bags out upon arrival, but she managed to pass them through the train window to our other cabin-mates who were waiting outside; how she got them home from there we don’t know.
We spent only 2 nights in Nampula reorganizing ourselves before heading off to the beautiful Ilha de Mozambique (see post titled Ilha).
Spot on coverage of a land we've called home for the past 7 years. Enjoy the travels. I'm a bit envious, though I suppose we live somewhere "exotic" (seems less and less so the longer you live somewhere I suppose). Cheers.
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