A taste of freedom

Yesterday sucked.

Having spent the night eavesdropping for updates on the political unrest, we wereuncertain whether or not it would be safe to leave the lodge, let alone the country. We waited around until 9am to 1) see what the riot situation in Mzuzu was like and 2) potentially catch a lift with some people going that way. Turned out they'd decided to avoid the city, what with 5 people having been killed there on the 20th.
So, we missed the marginally more reliable buses, which leave at around 6am. It took us hours to get to Mzuzu. We were originally planning to make it all the way over the Malawi-Tanzania border and as far as Aringa. The minibus stopped so often that it took twice as long as the 4 hours it's meant to take, meaning that we pulled up to a nowhere town an hour from the Malawi border after the sun had set. It's very unsafe to walk the streets as a couple of Mzungus at night. We had no idea where in the town we were, no map as we'd not expected to stop there, and no way of orienting ourselves as there were no streelights or names roads. There was nothing for it but to ask strangers on the bus if they knew how to get to a hotel we'd picked at random for the handful named in the guide. Luckily a friendly guy from the bus ensured that the bus stopped at a convenient place for us to walk to our 'hotel' (I use the word generously. Apparantly a clean room would have costed more) and even walked us there. This was a god-send as it's pretty threatening walking around with everyone squinting through the unlit blackness at you struggling to walk on an unpaved road with everything you posses on your back.

Hotel was scabby as anything, but I did try nsima for the first time. This is an African staple and most closely resembles wallpaper paste. It's a tasteless rubbery blob designed to be rolled between the fingers and dipped in whatever sauce is to hand. It bounces almost as well as a rubber ball - I couldn't resist playing with my food! The meal was eaten in the dark as the 'restaurant' didn't have any lightbulbs, and possibly no electricity either judging from the temperature of the meal.

Despite my despair at having to sacrifice another day to contorting into a too-small seat on a dirty crowded smelly bus, we rose with the sun at 6am and headed to the bus station. We didn't make it there, instead getting picked up by a passing minibus that was going to the border. The border is shambolic and chaotic, and renowned for scammers, touts and theives. People are by far the most aggressive here that we've seen in Malawi, but this is still managable if you're used to the treatment you get in, say, Egypt, Morrocco or even South East Asian cities. We got our exit Malawian visas stamped without issue (despite the officer trying to find a flaw with our watertight visas in order to charge us an extra "fee"), but then had to walk across a long bridge for about ten minutes to get to the Tanzanian side, fending off money changing touts along the way, who are infamous for giving you fake notes and miscounting using sleights of hand. We'd been warned that the Tanzanian officials were corrupt and often detained tourists, either insisting outright on bribes or that the amount is different to the one stated on the forms. Nick had had the presence of mind to go to the Tanzanian embassy in London before the trip to pick up visas ($50 each) in advance, so there was little anyone could do to stop us going on our way. However, the nearest town is a 2km walk, and it's a choice between carrying luggage in the heat while batting away taxi drivers left, right and center, or paying a ridiculous amount for the short drive. We opted for the latter, and got to the bus station safely.

GOOD GOD this was an unpleasant experience. We were mobbed by bus touts trying to get us to come on their buses. They will lie through the back teeth about how long the bus takes, where it stops and when it is leaving, and it's literally impossible to get a genuine word out of anyone. Typically, they'll try to take your bags off you to put it in their bus, forcing you to go with them, so it's imperative to keep a tight grip and make sure they don't drag you by the arm. Funfunfun. It took us about half an hour to make a decision on the route and bus to take, during which time we weren't left alone for a second, even when we tried to retreat into a cafe. I was in tears with frustration by this point, which is unlike me, but after the bus journeys we'd done and the prospect of three more days of them looming ahead, I was seriously stressed and questioning why we'd come to Africa.

We decided on a bus and paid the guy who'd been most persistent and least rude. The bus left fairly promptly, only to stop for an hour and a half ten minutes down the road. Great start. We then found out that it wasn't a direct bus, and that we'd have to change in the middle of nowhere. This bus had less leg room than others, which was compounded by the 35 people compressed into a 20 seater bus. It was meant to take four hours, but with the addition of an hour's wait for the change, it ended up taking 8. Two of those hours were in the dark. We'd been warned off travelling in the dark as accidents are frequent, and in testimony to this we saw an overturned lorry on the way, and another that had sporadically spilled its cargo of grain sacks all over the road.

We had not been able to eat or go to the toilet all day. Actually that's not quite true: we had a few biscuits.

Tired, irritable, frustrated and with cramps in our legs, we arrived in Iringa, a day behind schedule. Ten or so taxi drivers sprinted over when they saw the bus pull in at around 9.30pm, and these were by far the most aggressive of the lot, trying to physically manhandle me and cut me off from Nick. Bastards. We'd planned a hotel right next to the bus station so fortunately had the liberty of ignoring all the little s**ts. That's were I'm currently writing from, tucked up in bed, after the lovelylovelylovely front desk man brought us up some tea and toast. He will be getting a big tip for that small act of kindness.

On a side note, there has been one redeeming feature of this hellish bus travel. Tanzanians are far less friendly than Malawians, and speak very little if any English. They aren't disposed towards Mzungu, and one old lady refused to get in a bus with us earlier becasue she thought the white devils were going to kill her. We had to coax her in, smiling and reassuring her that we were unlikely to lynch her. However, if you attempt a few words of kiswahili, Tanzanians automatically open up, racing away at 100mph with a torrent of dialogue you have no chance of understanding. The few who speak English will usually do their best to offer information and assistance. Overland travel is also a great way to see the scenery and level of development of the country, but that's worth of a post all in its own right.

Sweetly serenaded by the street sounds below, shouting women and screeching cars, I bid you goodnight.

I came to Malawi on the strength of one girl's recommendation. She said it had been her favourite place to come to in Africa, because the people are so friendly and the lake is beautiful. Knowing as little as I did about Africa, this passionate recommendation of what was, in my mind, a threatening continent was enough to prick my ears up and make me go out of my way to find out the truth for myself. They call Malawi 'the warm heart of Africa', and it was this that I wanted to discover. She'd spoken to me of enduring smiles on the faces of everyone you pass, of constant greetings and the friendliest demeanour of any country she'd been to.

The reality has been a lot less glossy, but we've needed to scratch the surface to realise this. We spent yesterday travelling by road from Lilongwe, the sleepy capital of Malawi, to Nkhata Bay, an even sleepier little backwater nestled between hills and Lake. The third biggest lake in Africa, it dominates the geography of the country. Getting here was no mean feat. Did you read a few posts ago when I was talking about things running to 'Africa time'? It's becoming more and more prevalent as we journey further north. The attitude is so completely opposed to the one we commonly hold in Europe. There, people are busy, they have things to do, many tasks to fit into their day, they have to be in control of what is going on and always aware of the time. A delay of an hour is a serious inconvinience. Here, delays are not even a reason to raise an eyebrow. Rather, they are expected. In fact, it seems as if pretty much anything is expected and accomodated. There's a much stronger belief in fate, and the attitude that 'what will be will be' pervades. People don't seem to have the same sense of control of their own lives, and simply have faith that what is meant to happen is the what will happen. This has a certain element of charm to it... except when you're trying to get anywhere, find out information, order food, get directions. People are far more concerned with having a nice conversation and appeasing you than they are with providing you with what you require. For example, we were told a bus left at 6am and took 5 hours by numerous locals and bus company officials. Talking to others travellers who had done the same journey, we weren't expecting the bus to leave untilat least 7.30, and for it to take more like 8 hours. We turned up at 6.45am to be sure of a seat; the coach rep told us the coach would leave any minute; it left at 8.40 and we arrived some time around 5pm. There were about 90 people on a 70 seater bus, along with 7 large sacks of grain, 1 chicken being tortured by a small girl, 1 dog in a cardboard box, and one woman coughing in front of us with what was probably TB.

After a day of overlanding, we arrived in Nkhata bay, which we had been informed was one of the prettiest towns lining the shores of the lake. In honesty, the town itself isn't much to shout about, but the cool shimmering expanse of azure blue water that stretches away from the mediocre beaches makes the trip worthwhile. It really is beautiful, and somewhat eerie to see a volume of water that would normally be rippling with waves resting calmly, waiting for fishermen in dugout canoes to carve curves in the glassy surface.

Not a bad metaphor for the country itself.

We splashed out a little budget wise and opted for Mayoka Village, a little way out of town with lovely views over the lake and its own private beach and canoes. Our hut was on a hill next to the lake and led down to another little beach, lovely to watch the sunset from. A relaxed beach bar with pool tab;e and big sofas completes a friendly, traveller friendly vibe, with plenty of diversity among the punters and locals also frequenting the bar. After having conked out on the night of our arrival we rose for breakfast, and were given a hand-drawn map of the area to guide us on a walk we fancied doing, up the hill and around a few villages, to get a feel for what the country was like away from the beaten track (if any path in Malawi can be called a beaten track!).

As soon as we left the lodge, everyone we passed greeted us with 'Jambo mzungu! Habari? [Hello white man! How are you?]'. One little boy ran the entire way up a very steep hill with us trying to speak to us in English, although he couldn't really understand, and for a while was adament he had seen a lion as big as a car (following the habit of agreeing when you don't understand), before telling us a few minutes later that he had never seen a lion. As we passed schools, hoardes of children rushed out, all chanting 'Mzungu'. People on distant hills repeated the cry. Wherever our faces were seen, the cry greeted them: seeing a white person was clearly an event. The braver children tried out their English; the audacious demanded gifts, but there were very few of these (cheeky children, not gifts!). Proud people, we rarely encountered begging - I'm hassled more on my way home from work than I was in Africa. There was one notable exception, and that occured on this walk: the first time we walked past the school, the children were content to come out and gawp at us as we passed. On the way back, however, we were virtually mobbed by the same kids, demanding pens and money, swarming around us and tugging at our clothes. What had initiated such a marked change in such a short period? An American traveller coming by ten minutes after us, basking in the glow of his own benevolence as he personally handed out biros to the children. What an idiot. Not a bad sentiment, but totally misplaced in execution. Whilst I'm sure he loved his five minutes as a God, he should have discretely given the pens to the person in charge of the school, rather than teaching these children that passing white people can be milked for profit.

Rant over! It was a pleasant walk, and after a few hours we returned to take a canoe out on the lake. Also pleasant. Very peaceful and still, few other people, and we saw a pink nosed otter which was an unexpected treat. The really interesting part of the trip came when in the evening, when we went ot chill out in the bar and wait the obligatory 90 mins that all food orders take in Africa. We'd heard rumours earlier in the day that there had been riots in the towns, with seven deaths, and that the road from Malawi into Tanzania (which we needed to take), was closed due to an overturned burning truck being used as a road block. With no access to internet, tv or radio, we were relying on the people around us to figure out what was going on. I struck up a conversation with a girl who seemed particularly well informed - an American PHD student studying the sociological effects of aids - who explained to me that the rioting was in protest against an autocratic government who had knowingly caused the fuel crisis by neglecting to assign any money in the budget for petrol. The government had also just expelled the British ambassador for negative comments against the prime minister. Malawi has a reputation as one of the most politically stable countries on the continent, so all this came as something of a suprise. As the evening went on, I carried on chatting with the PHD student (Laura), who introduced me to her Malawian fiance, Special (yes, that really is his name). She spoke to us of the negative reactions their relationship provoked from both families, and from most places they went. He spoke to me of the anger that he felt towards the government's continued mismanagement, a perspective that was reinforced by the other members of his family who were also at the bar. As the night went on and tongues loosened, debates ensued on whether a milatary coup was a positive thing, and how long they should give the current government to step down before that happened. It was an unusual experience to hear the folks who were normally so unconcerned about anything engaged in heated political argument.

This wasn't the only thing that made our stay memorable. The final feature is one of the memories of Africa that most helps me to make sense of what was a confusing holiday, evoking contrary reactions in me that I'm still not entirely comfortable with.

I was troubled by the balance of business and property ownership within the countries we went to. There was a very obvious racial divide and I can't recall a single deviation from it. Mayoka Bay, however, was set up as a co-operative by a South African man (Gary) who had become so troubled by and frustrated with the attitudes that had endured beyond the apartheid that he had emigrated to Malawi, bought some land by the lake and set up the lodge as an equal profit-share enterprise, where everybody who worked there,be they cook, cleaner or himself, had a stake in the profits. He treated the staff like family, and had given a chance to Special, who had been down on his luck before he met Gary. Sadly, Gary has a serious drinking problem, but what is even more touching than his sentiments in setting up the enterprise is the attitude of the staff towards him. They are patient with him and do their best to look after him, ensuring he always gets home safely (carrying him on the night we were there), and wearing t-shirts emblazoned with slogans like 'enough is enough', 'you can stop', and 'we still love you'.

We are not perfect. We do shitty things to each other. But we are also capable of great kindness and compassion, and this was the truest example of both sides of the coin that I experienced on the entire trip.

I'd been groggily drifting in and out of consciousness for most of the night. Despite being totally isolated from anything even approaching a town, this had not been a quiet evening. As the sun set, the hippos that had kept their distance during the day became bolder and wandered into camp. It's not safe to walk around after dark, rangers with torches guide you back to your tent lest you unwittingly blunder into several tons of angry quadruped, be it an elephant or a hippo. Not only do these animals come closer at night, they also become far more vocal, and whist I'd like to think that the hippos were trying to sing us to sleep, they won't be winning Pop Idol any time soon.

The alarm went off as the sun was starting to peer over the horizon, creating dancing patterns of light on the half-evaporated river outside. Letting out a low moan, I curled tighter into a ball, and savoured the few minutes I had left in the cosy, comforting bed before having to brave the chilly morning air for our first safari experience. Our safari party consisted of a guide called Robert, who had been at Flatdogs for 9 years, two elderly English women and their Dutch mother in law. A somewhat odd mix demographically, you certainly wouldn't find us all at the pub together! The sun was still low in the sky but climbing fast as we set out, and we'd been in the park for about ten minutes before we had out first, and arguably most exciting experience.

Slowing for Robbie to talk about a couple of bushbuck we'd driven past, we heard a commotion coming from a troop of baboons a few hundred meters behind us. Pausing in what he was saying, Robbie seemed unusually interested in this, and knocked the jeep into reverse gear, lurching us back along the road he'd just driven down. We broke away from the tarmac road onto an unmade track running through the scrub, and bumped along hurridly in time to see a few gazelle bounding through the bushes. Rushing in the opposite direction to their flight, we caught the holy grail of safari experiences: an ever-elusive leopard casually strolling into the undergrowth. We had little time to marvel at how beautiful it was, powerful muscels flexing under an immaculate pelt, before it melted into the bush.

This was a real high that was hard to follow. Leopards are far more common in Luangwa than there are in most parks, and lions are also frequently spotted, but there are no cheetah here. While I was keen to see the other animals, its the cats that really do it for me, so I was hoping for lions later in the day. The landscapes in Luangwa are beautifully varied, and this is one of the best times of year for seeing game. The long rains have passed and it's the dry season. The verdant greens of sprouting trees and long grasses have fallen back into a mellow golden brown of dried stalks, and there is relatively little to obscure animal sightings. Patches of green can be found along with a higher concentration of animals around the ponds and puddles of riverbeds and marshes that have yet to evaporate. It was around these watering holes that we spotted hippos, crocodiles, monkeys, baboons, a squirrel or two. The knee-high grasses seemed to be favoured by the antelope such as impala, bushbuck, waterbuck, greater kudu and zebra. It wasn't until we ventured onto the more open plains that we saw a leggy giraffe in the distance, suprisingly difficult to spot despite its height. Incidentally, did you know that a group of giraffe is called a 'tower'? Isn't that lovely? There are other good group names too: an obstenance of buffalo, a rank of impala (due to their heirarchical social structure) and my favourite, a dazzle of zebra. I was in seventh heaven with my 300mm zoom lens, purchased especially for the trip, shooting the big five for my photographic trophies. In actuality it will be difficult to get the big five as rhino are non-existant in Luangwa, and difficult to spot in Ngorongoro, our other safari destination.

After four hours of morning drive we arrived back and camp, and spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around camp. The animal watching didn't stop. After a little while frazzling myself in the sun I decided a dip in the pool was in order. Dipping my toes in the water I squeeled: it was freezing. Each new inch submerged evinced another eek from me, but eventually I was fully in the water and doing lengths in a vain pretence at trying to get some excercise. After chugging away for 15 mins or so Nick, in a rather suprised voice, pointed out to me that there was an elephant about ten meters away, stripping branches from a tree. It's amazing how quiet they are on their big, padded feet, especially when your ears are half under water!

At four pm we set off on our night drive, which would be two hours of daylight, a beer by the river as the sun set, and another two hours of night time. The first half was fairly similar to the morning, although we added a few new animals to the catalogue of those we'd seen, including a warthog and a few different types of bird. My *ahem* 'twitchy' boyfriend was most excited about these. As the hours ticked my spirits were beginning to fall. It didn't look like we were going to see the lions that I'd been most looking forward to, which was casting a glum shadow over my previously chirpy mood. Of course, trying to predict the whims of wild animals is much like trying to predcit the weather (well, in Britain anyway - we've barely seen a cloud since we've been here!), and just after sunset we were turned on to the location of a pack of lions by the lights of three trucks that had spotted them. Hastening to the scene we were given the pleasure of gazing at seven lions lazily lolling about in the grass, totally nonchalant and indifferent to the presence of the trucks. Much like celebrities who get used to being snapped by the paprazzi, these animals had simply learned to ignore the presence of lesser beings, and rolled around as if we weren't even there, barely bothering to lift a paw. I was absolutely elated, completely overjoyed, out came the camera and I snapped away with the biggest grin on my face. Night time photos are much more difficult, but I got a few good ones! Once I'd satiated myself and was satisfied that the cats weren't going to do anything more energetic than swat at flies, I consented to allowing the guides to drive away.

The rest of the drive was fairly uneventful, and the most interesting thing was probably a blinding stupid rabbit who refused to get off of the path our vehicle was following, and insisted on running along in front of us for several minutes, freezing in terror whenever we turned the lights on. It didn't matter to me though; I'd seen what I'd came for, and retired to bed practically purring.

Ooooooohgod, there's a frog in the tent, right on the bathroom door handle. And a scorpion spider. And god knows what else. Monkeys meters away. A hippo about 30 meters away. It's bellowing noisily. Earlier there was an elephant in the camp.

This may not be the best night's sleep I've ever had.

So, we arrived in South Luangwa a day ahead of schedule! We'd originally anicipated two days' worth of bus journeys to travel this far north, but after a LOT of planning, phone calls and googling we managed to land ourselves a flight to Lusaka and a flight to Mfuwe for $50 each. Well worth it to avoid the hellish buses! The trouble was that these were standby flights which can only be booked in person at the airport 3 hours before the flight leaves - this made getting a connection incredibly tricky as we'd be on the first flight during the booking time for the second! But, after much faffing about and trying to convey what exactly we wanted to do, we managed to get it all sorted. We used Proflight, which is an absolute Jekyll and Hyde of a company: it's impossible to book online or even look up a ticket; the phone support gives misinformation; and they won't tell you about the standby flight deal unless you already know about it. When we got to the Proflight office at the airport, the staff were nowhere to be seen, and we had to ask airport security to go and find them for us. However, once we'd finally managed to explain the details of the trip we wanted, things ran incredibly smoothly. Both flights arrived early, we had no problems with baggage (although I was watching it like a hawk), and as long as you're not expecting BA standards and a bit of turbulence endemic to smaller aircraft doen't bother you, there's nothing to get upset about.

We were picked up at the airport by a rep from our campsite, Flatdogs. I'm so so impressed with the place! It's not cheap at around a hundred dollars a night for a tent, but it's worth it. This a proper safari-style tent, complete with thatched roof, cement floor and bathroom with hot running water. The tent opens onto a balcony which is right next to a river, where there are hippos, tons of birds and a crocodile or two. When we arrived at camp there were a few species of antelope and an elephant milling around as if it were a guest. I never thought we'd be this close to the wildlife! We grabbed a drink in time for sunset and hit the hay, as we were to rise before the sun the next day for an early morning game drive, starting at 6 am.

Owwww my head, gogogo, shooooower ohGOD all the campers can see in through the window NEVERMIND gogogogo try to eat scrambled egg from Nicky, jump on bus BREAAAATH!

Aaaand head to Victoria Falls! One of the seven wonders of the natural world. A few miles outside of Livingstone town lies the "smoke that thunders". Visible from the plane on the way into the town, the experience of the falls varies greatly depending on the season. The surroundings themselves are a modest affair. Suffice it to say that it's a smallish park that costs $20 to get into, and which has a couple of pleasant cliff-top walks that afford good views of the falls. There's one that will take you up to the edge of the opposite ledge to the water, you'll get soaked to the bone doing this if you don't hire raincoats for a dollar at the head of the path. It's a worthwhile investment! The views you'll get will depend entirely on the time of year you go. If you're there in dry season you'll get a great view of the cliffs over which the water tumbles (particularly from the Zimbabwe side, I'm told), but if you're there in wet season the spray from the tremendous amounts of water that cascade over the edge will be so thick that you'll barely see your hand in front of your face, let alone the tirade of water that's causing the spectacle. Luckily we were there in between seasons, when there's enough water to make it impressive but not enough to obscure the view. WIN :D There's a walk down to the bottom of the falls which shows you the 'boiling pot', a swirling mass of water which has a sub-tropical microclimate that bizarely incorporates white sandy beaches and palm trees. Don't expect a Bahama-like paradise, but if you're up for a moderate walk it's pretty interesting to see.

Afternoon changing camps from Jolly Boys to Fawlty Towers, which was much nicer, African owned (pretty much everywhere so far has been European owned), and in the evevning provided us with a glimpse into the lives of the Zambian teenagers who hung out there, we headed on to the best activity in Livingstone. The town has been set up to take money from willing tourists, and this was no exception, but IMHO it really was worth shelling out for. The activity was afternoon tea on David Livingstone's island. A speedboat whisks you away from the Royal Livingstone Hotel, one of the nicest hotels in the area, to the island from which the town's namesake first witnessed the world's longest curtain of water. An excellently exexcuted excursion, the trip had knowledgable and curteous guides who explained the history of the island before leading you by the hand - literally, it's fairly dangerous! - to the edge of the falls. Standing on the edge, watching the water cascade below you and being drenched by the spray is exhilerating, and justifiably ranks amoung the best showers I've ever had! The walk is done barefoot due to the mud you have to walk through to get to the falls, not to mention the water itself, and there's a pretty uncomfortable moment at the end when the guide washes your feet for you in warm water. The falls walk is followed by an afternoon tea, which tries very hard to be British but amusingly falls short: no clotted cream with the scones!? Coffee instead of tea?! How terribly uncivilised! We followed this by a sneaky drink while the sun set at the Royal Livingstone, and headed back to Fawlty Towers to watch the local girls mimicking the latest music video dance moves on MTV while we ordered a take-out pizza.