Malawi and the burning question

I'm Mad.

She's Mad-onna.

Do you think I should also adopt a little black Malawian baby?

Last evening in Zambia was gorgeous. The hue of the red dirt road and red mud brick houses on the hillside blended and went soft in the late afternoon sun. The dust cloud hanging over the road was like a loom illuminated by soft rays, sihouetting cyclists and pedestrians streaming home to villages.

Since heading east from Lusaka, the countryside has got greener. Malawi is lots greener still. More trees. And lots more people than we've been used to. and, there's hills and mountains. from the border to nation's capital, Lilongwe, set a new record I believe: 35 in a Hi-Ace van. The stabbing discomfort of a knee cap of the person opposite jammed into my shin receded to a numbing pins and needles, dead leg. For once I was pleased we came aqcross a police road check, where we alight and they check papers. Of course mzungu get special ums-and-ahs as they exaggeratedly inspect our passports. At least I had the chance to re-position my poor legs.

Lilongwe to Monkey Bay, next Day, was another traveling test. Again Theroux's words rang in my brain (ie. Africa is whwre people come to wait). After three hours farting around we set off in the most decrepit bus I have ever traveled in anywhere in the world - and that's starting to say something. The last 45km was a most corrugated and dusty of roads, and seemed more like 550km. Mind you, the tar road prior wasn't the flashest. The 200km trip took six hours. I now have absolutely no idea what the term 'Express Bus' means anymore.

Shouldn't complain. Deb and I had the two-person seat to ourselves which makes a difference not sharing with another two. The roof flexed the whole way, buckling under the load roped above. Reading travel stories of chickens etc on buses seems so cliche (we had turkeys tied to our packs on the roof in Guatemala). Yeah, of course, there's livestock, as well as a stack of produce. On this bus there were tomatoes for, well ... Africa. (there, I had to use it!). And a joker had a tray on the back seat with fifty day old chickens. Up front, a woman had the obligatory rooster tucked onto her lap, and baby strapped to her back. That's another thing; how placid kids are. Bubs strapped to their mum's back by scarves, swung hither-thither without a sign of a grumble.

A read of the local papers is quite refreshing. There's the usual muggings, robberies, jealous wives in polygamous marriages, and road carnage. But the corruption takes on new excitement. Over a lovely capuccino in Lilongwe, I savoured The Guardian and this charming story:

'The country's corruption busting body, the Anti Corruption Body (ACB) [what does the Australian Cricket Board make of that one?], has commenced indiscreet (sic) inquiries at Mzuzu City Assembly following an anonymous letter and other forged documents the bureau got regarding the siphoning of K48,000 from the Assembly's coffers last month.' [There's 100 Milawian Kwacha to NZ$1. That's 480 bucks the ACB is investigating. Deb and I had just withdrawn more from the ATM.]

Next day, and The Daily Times reported ' Republican Party Leader in Parliament, David Faiti, yesterday appeared in Court on allegations that last year he stole bricks worth K40,000 (NZ$400)' '... the minister is alleged to have used the bricks for building a bathroom, a tiolet, and a chicken kraal.' He's alleged to have stolen 20,000 bricks - thats two cents kiwi a brick! Don't laugh. This was a page one newsbreaker.

The Daily Times continued the Zambia story of the corrupt ex-president. 'Zambia will seize funds and properties belonging to ex-president Chiluba and his associates if they fail to pay back funds siphoned from the Treasury, a minister said.' ' There are properties which were frozen in London and other countries. '[his] wife is scheduled to be tried for corruption in July for allegedly buying properties with stolen stste funds.

I'm fascinated by the flotilla of white Land Rovers driven around by NGOs and charities, and can't help but wonder if the projects are outcomes driven. It seems these bodies confront socio-economic problems of the regions and address them as welfare problems. It's bigger. There's an abundance of news stories and roadside billboards advertising the billions of euro pumped in by the EU, in a piece of conscience cleansing. Thabo Mbeki writes: 'we expect that those who are a thousand times wealthier than we are will not seek to help us Africans by rendering us less capable of standing on on our own feet.'

Lake Malawi travel, departing Monkey Bay, on the good ship Ilila, was gorgeous. Nothing flash (understatement), but charming. It felt very colonial. A cabin; drinking Kuche Kuche beers (The pride of Malawi. You might say Koochie Koochie Koo, but I just say Kuche Kuche yah-yah, yah-yah. And it's only 70cNZ a 500ml bottle!) on the shaded top deck, at an enjoyably sloww rate of knots. Yeah, tired but ship-shape, as they say around boats. On a lake a quarter the size of Malawi, on water without a ripple, on windless sun-drenched days, and dotted with just the most picturesque islands. And best sunsets yet, and that is saying something. It's Africa, but could well as have been heaven.

We spend as much time along the eastern, Mozambique, coast as Malawi, pulling into ports on both sides. We've been close to the Nozambique borders on a number of occassions, but many have been near 'wasteland' areas: ones still being cleared of landmines and where there is nothing to see and travel is near impossible. yet there are Indian ocean coastal areas that other travelers have raved about. Ah well, another time. The lake ports will have to suffice.

There was 7-8 mzungu aboard Ilila (numerous locals down below, as is the way). as time passes introductions are made as we share the same deck space. A woman sits alone for some time. I say hello and next thing she is as happy as ... she has a couple of people to speak Spanish with for a change. Not for the first time, we explain the rules of Yahtzee in Spanish.

It is just enthralling pulling into port and watching African life in a snapshot. Not far from jetties, or anchor spots, clothes are washed in the lake and in seperate areas men and women wash themselves. Kids rark around just anywhere, everywhere. And the activity that awaits the ferry. These stops are but villages; the Ilila's arrival an event. It's a big lake. Fourth biggest in Africa. Should you turn your back on the near shore, looking away and it seems like you are at sea. The far shore is a distant horizon.

At the moment Malawians appear happy enough, all things considered. It's warm after the rain season. Produce is everywhere. But they have no tradition of preserving, or so it seems. In months to come, they will again face famine.

Malawi, like a long line of other African states, has a history of an independance leader taking over power and then applying stringent controls and protection of self interests. Hastings Kamuzu banda declared himself 'president for life'. He made significant changes, but ruled with an iron fist: no long hair for men, no trousers for women. Political prisons were a growth industry as human rights abuse flourished, and freedom of speech and print forgotten. when voted out Banda was acquited of several murder charges.

Once off the ferry I feel displaced. Things have accumulated and appear now as one. We spend days at a series of lakeside villages: Nkahta bay, Chitheche, Chiluhba, and upon the escarpment at Livingstonia. We are well into the tropics. Beautiful small bays with mango trees to the water; palm trees line the white sand beaches (yes!) and we snorkel amongst freshwater tropical fish. And we're in a landlocked African country. Odd.

With shutter windows flung open during the night (and sleeping beneath mosquito nets), the morning sun streams into our little bungalow on stilts over the water. The suns rays reflect way, way across the lake, shining as it edges across the tops of far off mountains. That's Tanzania.

And it's where we will cross into in a couple of days. And then, another train adventure.

Know when is enough.

Max
aka Mad.