Malawi: Mangoes, Missionaries and Magic

The full update, as promised, made possible by virtue of my currently staying with some very nice family friends in Blantyre whose PC I'm using to write this. [But beware, it is necessarily a little long]. I have to say that in this regard it's a great change to be staying in someone's home rather in the usual travellers' accomodation.

As I mentioned in the last post, everything went perfectly to plan with the ferry from Mbamba Bay, which I reached after two days of hilly but pleasant cycling from Songea via a nice, if unremarkable, place called Mbinga. Arriving at Mbamba was a notable event because it was my first opportunity to view the Lake from ground level. It was also during this 111mile stretch that I realised that I was beginning to make my way out of Tanzania; as the churches began to outnumber the mosques and – for the first time since I started my trip – I saw people keeping pigs in addition to the usual chickens, cows and goats. After a day and a half of mostly lounging around I boarded the ferry on a Saturday afternoon, and it left only half-an-hour late; largely because whilst much is imported to this little village its primary export seemed to be empty bottles, so there wasn't too much to load in the way of cargo though there were a fair number of passengers.

The trip was as beautiful as various other accounts have said, with the blue Lake stretching ocean-like into the distance in the west and layers of hills and mountains towering over the eastern shoreline which were lit-up at the end of the day by a blood-red sunset and a golden yellow full moon. At the beginning in fact it was all too ocean-like, and I had trouble keeping my plate of stew and rice first on the table, and then in my stomach, as the boat (the MV Songea, apparently the biggest on the Lake) lurched from side to side in a strong wind. My already tiny cabin became even more so when I was joined in it by a tall young German man who had been visiting friends doing volunteer work at a Mission hospital in an isolated village called Liuli on the shore. We arrived at Itungi 'port' (two basic wooden shelters on a small sandy beach) at 7:30am the next day and whilst the Germans climbed onto a minibus going North to the town of Mbeya, I first offloaded and then packed my bike and set-off (after asking directions) to Matema Beach in order to take a couple of days rest, despite the fact that this meant a rather rough ride going away from the Malawian border. There I stayed at the Lutheran Mission right on the beach, did my first snorkelling in the Lake – seeing numerous, fabulously-coloured little fish – and went on a canoe trip to a small village called Ikponde, renowned for the pottery it produces (though I had missed the pottery market which happens on Saturdays). I eventually dragged myself away from the great sunsets and swimming – helped by the fact that my visa was expiring in a few days – and set-off for the Malawian town of Karonga via the Kaporo borderpost.

It was on this day that I realised the strangeness, not to say absurdity, of borders. Having cycled for almost two months through Kenya and Tanzania (very similar countries culturally and linguistically), in the space of less than 5kilometres the dominant religion and language changed, as did people's attitudes. Whilst the Tanzanian side was a little stressful with loads of money-changers chasing me around, and not taking 'No!' (or 'Hapana!') for an answer, the Malawian side was positively laid-back by comparison. It was only the next morning that I discovered why, and that I had erred in not changing money at the border. With still a fair amount of Tanzanian shillings left I had assumed, incorrectly as it turned out, that since the Tanzanian banks changed Malawian kwacha that the Malawian banks would change shillings. I only discovered my mistake when I went to the bank in Karonga the next morning, though only after making something of a fool of myself by hammering on the glass of the local National Bank of Malawi branch, which seemed to be opening over an hour late, only to discover that I had crossed a timezone without realising it and that they were opening on time… (I did apologise to the bank manager after I discovered my mistake whilst sitting waiting for the traveller's cheque rates to come through). In the end I had to take a taxi back to the border post where I was able to change my shillings formally at a recently opened small forex kiosk on the Malawian side that I was told about at the bank.

It has taken me a little while to adapt to Malawi and its people since then – in particular the hordes of children screaming 'Mzuuuunguuuu, helllloooo! Give me money!'; much worse than anything I'd had previously. It's a generalisation of course, but I have found that whilst Malawians are more 'friendly', it seems to be a more obsequious kind of friendliness, and I find that hard to relate to. Perhaps it comes from living under a dictator for some time after breaking free of colonial rule, the influence of vast numbers of missionaries and the too-friendly relationship with South African apartheid governments in the past. Furthermore, I have lost the 'upper hand' of being able to surprise people with my knowledge of their language (Swahili) and instead now have to get used to being linguistically more 'accessible' to others via their (admittedly rather poor) knowledge of English.

That said however, I have found Malawi attractive enough that I have been dawdling rather too much at the various lakeside towns, national parks and other attractions. It would have been possible to cycle through in three, or perhaps even two, weeks but in all I anticipate passing through the border with Mozambique slightly more than a month after arriving here.

From Karonga I gradually made my way down to Mzuzu, the largest town in central Malawi, whilst trying to refrain from taking too many diversions. I did however visit the small mission town of Livingstonia perched scenically high in the hills (in an attempt to avoid the missionaries' scourge of malaria), and took some back roads to and from Vwaza Marsh Game Reserve where I camped and cooked amongst hippo tracks and elephant dung. I discovered from some other travellers near Livingstonia that a local cyclist had been killed at Vwaza by an elephant a few days before I arrived and a man was apparently killed by a hippo the day I was there, but fortunately I didn't bump into any of these large beasts during the night in the unenclosed campsite, despite many disconcerting grunts and rustles around my tent.

The main roads in Malawi are pretty good, but only if you stick to them, which I didn't do until after Mzuzu when I followed the thrillingly fast tar road through the hills to the justifiably popular lakeside town of Nkhata Bay and thereafter decided to stick to the Lake shore, and tar road, all the way to its southernmost tip.

In Livingstonia I stayed in the 'Stone House', a national monument with magnificent views over the mountains and Lake, but with the downside of unhelpful but ever-present staff and schoolchildren trooping through on school outings. It was a strange place, an anachronism really, with its monuments to European missionaries; eucalyptus, pine and jacaranda trees; tiny run-down 'groceries' (which sell biscuits, soap and the like but no fresh produce of any sort) and very small market (about 5 stalls selling the ubiquitous tomatoes, onions, beans, etc.). Here I met some Irish church people out for a few weeks on one of a number of visits to build various facilities for the local community. I was a little disconcerted walking with one woman when a young girl passed us and said 'Give me banana' (we had just bought some at the market) and she said 'You want a banana? Okay, here you go.' The girl gave a slightly smug smile to the other children around us who had not asked. I was unable to hide my shock and disapproval. Why? Because when you've been mobbed by kids day after day saying 'Give me money/sweets/food/…' you think to yourself, 'This is really weird, because surely this kind of thing doesn't work on anyone so why do people keep doing it?' Now I knew. Well-meaning do-gooders from Europe can make an entire generation into beggars.

And this is what I really want to write about. The travelling has actually been a lot of fun, with great scenery, good places to stay (that are very affordable if you have a tent) as I've resort-hopped down the Lake, and many interesting other travellers and good roads – only the hot weather has been a little trying. But I think too much for this kind of superficial pleasantry to entertain me for long. Malawi is one of the poorest countries in Africa, indeed the world, and if you are at all interested in development you have to look around and ask 'Why?' Until I travel through the last, southern, part of the country – the most densely populated and reportedly famine-hit – these comments will be preliminary but I think they are unlikely to be invalidated.

From soon after Karonga I noticed four interesting things: lots of mangoes; lots of churches and missionaries; many, individual, aid projects; and lots of dry land near to plentiful water. In Mzuzu I stayed at a CCAP (seemingly the largest Malawian church group) guesthouse. On the wall at the entrance were a number of rules of residence including number 7 along the lines of: 'No magic powers to be used on the premises'; a reminder of the still very 'primitive' beliefs that mingle here with the many variations of Christianity. I also witnessed the amusing sight of some American missionaries interacting with their Malawian counterparts and showing off their latest palmtop computer, on which you can do Google-type searches of phrases in the various books of the Bible; no doubt a critical tool for uplifting the impoverished masses. So that's the first thing; Christianity is everywhere here – every tiny community has a church of some sort.

Mangoes, at this time anyway, are as plentiful. All the way along there have been mangoes everywhere for sale, lying on the road and hanging in the trees. In the northern and central parts they were not even allowed to ripen before being picked; this is in part a cultural thing (a lot of people prefer green mangoes) but seems to be also analogous to the development of Malawi's people - not given the opportunity to develop to their full potential by virtue of a lack of money and educational opportunities. Even further south, where ripe mangoes are available, there is no sign of any processed mango products: dried fruit or juice for instance. An expatriate running a backpackers/guesthouse in another popular place on the Lake called Senga Bay told me how she was planning on starting a mango-drying project, after piloting it with her staff last year resulted in enough preserved mango that they and their families had not finished it before the new season arrived. Despite the plentiful crop of mangoes, many areas are clearly suffering from a lack of water for the land and crops. The disconcerting thing about this is that many such areas are right near to the Lake or small rivers. And at various places all the way along the road are signs for different aid-funded projects by different donors; a laboratory here (even though the powerlines merely bypass the school), an irrigation scheme there, a road-upgrading initiative somewhere else.

No doubt your frame of mind will determine how you interpret these things, but to me the case is clear-cut. Almost all of the many volunteers – medical students, teachers, doctors – and aid workers I have met (especially the former) have expressed serious reservations as to the long-term benefit their presence is imparting to the country and its people. It is hard to disagree. Malawi is a beautiful country with good people that seems to suffer from having no seaport, very little in the way of value-adding industries and perhaps most importantly a, now ingrained, excessive reliance on outside assistance.

Enough said.

I should also mention that from Senga Bay to Zomba, the ex-administrative capital, I cycled with the Dutch couple I mentioned previously who are on holiday cycling around Malawi for a few weeks. It has been nice to have some company, and has made dealing with annoyances much easier. My Afrikaans has returned to a reasonably good level, and they are quite pleasant people. That said, they cycle a little too fast for my liking (only stopping for their Coca Cola fix) and start very early – good for the heat, but bad for me since I, packing-up on my own plus doing half-an-hour of stretching, take rather longer to get going in the morning. I may seem them again here in Blantyre but from here they are heading back up north to Lilongwe so we will not cycle together again.

In a couple of days – after sorting out a number of things here - I'm going to be heading south towards the least-used of the borderposts with Mozambique, primarily because I want to pass the Elephant Marsh (very good birdwatching apparently) on the Malawian side, and Vila de Sena (the longest railway bridge in Africa at 3.7km's long) on the Mozambican side. Likely difficulties are currency, which I'll probably have to change on the black market; temperatures, which apparently peak above 40C in some areas; and language, since most people in Mozambique speak only Portuguese or a local Bantu language. Given that southern Tanzania was quite taxing perhaps it's just as well I've taken it fairly easy over the last few weeks.

I hope the next update will be from 'the town where i was born' (that's also a line in the Beatles song 'Yellow Submarine'); Beira on the Mozambican coast.