Hakuna Matata - which is Swahili for everything is OK. Let me bring you up to speed.
This is a very long journal entry because it has been a while, AND because I found a cheap Internet connection. So, if you're really interested, you may want to print it out and read it when you have some time.
MALAWIAN THEATRE
Right after I sent my last journal entry, the guy working at the Internet cafˇ in Blantyre, Rawley, invited me to go to a play with him. At first I was a bit hesitant, because so often people glom onto me seeking money.
Nevertheless, I went and it was a great experience. First, Rawley wanted nothing from me other than to show me a local slice of Malawian culture. We took the mini-bus taxi to the French Cultural Center-yes, there is a French Cultural Center, but I'm not sure why.
Rawley paid my bus fare and got us into the play for half-price. The total for all this was less than $2, but that is a significant amount of money to a Malawian and demonstrated Rawley's hospitality.
The theatre was an outdoor amphitheatre, about 40 rows deep with concrete seats. This was another of the many African events I would attend in which I was the only 'mzungu' (white person). The audience was primarily neatly dressed, young adults, many of whom were students at the adjacent Polytechnic University.
Rawley walked us up to the very front row, since that was the only place there were seats available. Needless to say, I stood out a little bit--also because I was one of the few people in shorts, and my pale, thin legs made me that much more obvious. (I hadn't dressed that morning thinking I would attend a play.)
There were two plays on the topic of family planning. The event was sponsored by DANIDA, a Danish NGO (non-governmental organization) providing support for in Malawi. Malawi seems to have a plethora of NGOs providing various types of support, and the Danish seem to have a particular interest in Malawi.
Anyway, the first play was about a young woman attending college who could no longer afford the school fees. Her cousin told her to get a "sugar daddy" to pay for her schooling, but she refused to compromise herself, and managed to get a regular job. The cousin wound up getting AIDS from her sugar daddy.
Needless to say the plays were laced with moral lessons, but they were performed by a local group and were really well done. There was plenty of humor injected into the dialog making it fun to listen to rather than preachy.
The plays were in English, but there were many lines also in Chichewa, the local language, which Rawley translated.
The second play dealt with a very touchy subject -- incest. That these types of plays can be presented is a huge leap for Malawi which until 1994 was ruled by a dictator who would not allow the use of any contraceptives. Thus, although Malawi has a high AIDs awareness, they are late in dealing with it and have a 40%+ infection rate.
EXPLORING MALAWI
Obviously, there is so much to tell, so I'll just have to give the very, very short edition for now.
From Blantrye I took a day trip to Mulanje, which is a mountain in the southeastern part of the country. I think it was about 100km from Blantyre, I'm not sure since my speedometer broke on my first day in South Africa.
Anyway, the road was excellent, what a relief, but as always, it was lined with people walking and riding bicycles, goats and cattle grazing, and little kids charging to the side of the road to see the motorcycle.
Perhaps I should explain the curiosity that I am to Africans. First there is the appearance--I am riding a green motorcycle, covered in stickers, with bright yellow saddle bags, a bright orange waterproof case; I'm wearing a red jacket and wearing a helmet with painted flames.
This is quite the spectacle. In addition, my bike sits higher than any bike you will see in Africa, it is louder, and it moves faster than any motorcycle most Africans have seen.
Invariably, police who stop me ask me how fast the bike will go. Of course, the other foreign bikes, of which there are not that many, have big bikes too, faster than mine. But look of the KLR with the stickers and the brightly covered luggage seems to garner more attention. And, I am always waiving to people--police, train conducters, people working in the fields, children, storekeepers--and they almost always waive back. Children often excitedly waive to me first.
Once you are outside the cities and tourist spots, you will find that Africans are very warm, generous and hard-working. Every time I start an early morning ride, there are already people in the fields, planting, harvesting, and driving ox-drawn ploughs.
Again I digress. So the ride to Mulanji was a well-paved road through miles and miles (I can't always be metric) of fields of tea trees (bushes??). The bushes are about 2-3 feet (1 meter) tall, and there were workers picking the tea leaves and putting them in the bags they have slung over their backs.
Even from the road, you can see many waterfalls on the face of the Mulanji mountain. Munlanji itself is not much of a town, but the real attraction is making the three-day hike up the mountain. I hiked up to a waterfall from Likhubula Forest where I got caught in a brief downpour. There worst part about that was dealing with the mud on the ride out of the forest.
GETTING MY GOAT
From Mulanji, I headed back towards Blantyre. From there I would head to Zomba which has a plateau that is another popular tourist stop. About 10km from Blantyre, I slowed down to pass through a village. I tend to go more slowly than other vehicles when passing through villages and towns out of an excess of caution.
After I passed the village I stared to pick up speed, especially because I had a Land Rover right on my tail. The road on either side dropped about 6 feet (2 meters) and a sharp angle.
As I hit about 80kph (50mph) [my best guess based on my rpms], up the the right side of the road appears a herd of goats. (Remember I am driving in the left lane.) I could tell they were going to cross, and goats don't listen to horns.
I knew I couldn't stop so a started to lean to the left, but the first goat was already across the road. I clipped the tail end of the second goat and went flying down the embankment. Two men who were walking on the road ran for their lives wide-eyed to avoid being hit by me. Down the embankment, I sailed into a 3-foot open ditch.
I thought for sure the bike and I were going to go end-over-end. Miraculously, the bike made it through the ditch, and after almost losing it, I rode it to a stop. I couldn't believe--I didn't go down. My Canadian friends would be proud.
I got off and looked at the bike. The front right panel next to the radiator was torn off, but the radiator was intact. The front fork covers were both torn, but the forks and frame looked OK. My right knee was banged up, but no blood. All in all, the bike and I were in fair shape.
I'm pretty sure the goat survived too. I wasn't able to match Jay's animal-splitting prowess :-)
A man in a truck stopped and asked if I was OK. After I told him I was, he asked me about paying for his goat! Let me assure you, those were NOT his goats. But, I kept cool. I knew that a goat costs about 800 kwacha ($10). I estimated the damage to my bike at $150 (12,000 kwacha). I told him I would offset the value of the goat and accept 11,200 kwacha since his goat was on the road and caused the accident.
Needless to say, that was the end of that conversation and I rode off.
ZOMBA
In Zomba the road winds through forest and some bush and is semi-paved. The main problem, as with most African roads, is the width of the road. Add to that, African drivers never seem to consider the possibility that someone might be coming from the opposite direction, so they are always squarely in the middle of the road!
At the top of the plateau is a fancy lodge which has a nice bar. You have to quench your thirst once in a while :-)
In Zomba, I was pleasantly surprised to find a place serving Cafe Lattes called Caboodle's. (I was having Latte withdrawal.) There I met Neville and Rosemary Bevis, an English couple living in Malawi. Neville excitedly approached me and started asking about my bike. He and Rosemary had ridden across Africa on a BMW in 1970!
I learned that they are running the Open Arms Infant Home in Blantyre. Open Arms basically takes babies from newborn to age three and takes care of them until they can be returned to a surviving parent or relative or turned over to an orphanage. They were in Zomba to pick a baby whose mother had died. The grandmother walked 46km with the baby on her back to deliver the child to the hospital in Zomba.
Neville and Rosemary invited me to stay with them in Blantye when I returned.
Also at Caboodle's, I met some American's who spotted my California license plate. They invited me to a Christmas party that evening! The party was put on at the house of Paul and Helen Jones and his wife. They work for Emmanuel International which assists local churches, the organization has about 10 people working in Zomba. (The Jones's also put me up for a night at their house.)
There was a great mix local and foreign children who performed Christmas carols, singing and playing recorders (those plastic flute-like devices that can be a bit hard on the ears :-)
The next night, I attended a small dinner party with Julie Mateer, a volunteer with Emmanuel International, and her sister, Kristy, and their parents, who were visiting from California. Julie's roommate, Suzanne, from Toronto, prepared pasta--ah pasta, how I have missed the food from home.
Afterwards, we had the famous Mateer sugar cookies, and we were in the Christmas spirit.
I forgot to mention, that it was in Malawi that I first started seeing mosques. There has long been a strong Muslim presence in eastern Africa -- Kenya and Tanzania, but it is pushing southward. It was in Zomba that I first heard the amplified prayers emanating from a mosque both at sundown and sunset.
BACK IN BLANTYRE
If you are still with me, you realize that I am not very good at condensing stories. In Blantyre, I stayed with Neville and Rosemary at the Open Arms Infant Home. Their daughter, Emma, had just finished university in England and was spending a few months helping run the place.
Open Arms had 38 babies there at the time. The highlights of the stay included:
* babysitting - you cannot hold one of these babies without feeling compassion for the plight of Africa
* riding with Neville -- he has a BMW R850R, and we swapped bikes. Rode in the POURING RAIN
* shopping in an African meat market -- this will make you a vegetarian
* buying a goat in the village for the Christmas dinner--I missed the slaughter, but saw it being skinned and gutted.
Blantyre to Nanchengwa Lodge (Mangochi, Malawi)
After waiting for over a week for Adam and Dotan to return, and not having any word from them, I decided to head north. I rode to Nanchengwa Lodge which is near Mangochi along the western shore of Lake Malawi.
The road went from decent asphalt to potholes, to dirt. Luckily, it wasn't raining, so the mud factor was avoided. I caught my first glimpse of Lake Malawi on Christmas Eve.
The road basically parallels the shore of the lake about a kilometer away with an occasional sign for a lodge on the lake shore.
I shared my Christmas with some Canadians, English, German, Dutch, and Malawian people. The owners of the lodge, Ron and Cherry Long, prepared a very nice dinner which we ate overlooking Lake Malawi. Dinner included stuffing--something I had been thinking about since my Thanksgiving in South Africa!
Thus, amongst rain, failing computers, intermittent phones, and occasional power outages, we managed to have a very nice Christmas.
On Boxing day, while playing frisbee, I ran as hard as I could into a boat on the beach (not intentionally of course), and smashed my left knee. I'll spare the gory details, but three weeks later it still hurts.
The next day, I somehow let out that I knew a thing or two about Volkswagens, and the next thing I knew, I was up to my elbows in grease helping two Dutch guys work on a beater Bug they bought in Johannesburg.
After that, I worked on the Long's computer, for which they gave me a complimentary night's stay.
SAVE THE CHILDREN IN LILONGWE, MALAWI
From Nanchengwe I rode to Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi.
After I arrived, I chanced upon the local office of Save the Children. As with the office in Xai-Xai, Mozambique, this one was not listed on their web site.
It was Dec. 27, and most people were on holiday, but I found two dedicated women in the office working on program plans for the next year. The office was impressive in that it was clear that a lot of work was being done. In addition, the furniture was functional but not extravagant. I had heard too many stories, and had seen some examples of how the funds for some NGOs went first for eloborate offices, and fancy cars. This did not appear to be the case here.
I spoke for about 40 minutes with Chifundo Kachiza, a local Malawian woman who had previously worked as a nurse. She was now managing STC's community outreach programs for AIDs awareness and prevention. I was very impressed. She was dedicated to here job and to helping her people. And she was realistic. She talked to me about the difference between having condoms widely available versus widely used--that knowing actual patterns of use is difficult.
In turn, I told the women about the Moonrides, about Jason and the other riders, and about our visits to other STC centers in Central and South America. They thanked me for the support and I encouraged them in their work and wished them a Happy New Year.
Other Lilongwe highlights include:
* Being pushed through a river by 10 little boys. No kidding, the bike engine was submerged and it was all we could do to get the bike out of the mud.
* Going to a local concert -- groups from Congo (Zaire), local dance groups, and Lucias Banda (Malawi's top artist). Dances included: gulewankule, mbwiza, and chopa. Jahto, a Malawian singer who worked at the place I stayed, took me to this show with his girlfriend. We had a great time and he taught me a lot about the local music and dance.
* Lilongwe Hotel Bar, Local Band - Jahto sings, I dance, and Israeli guy sits in on drums. I don't have time to tell this story right now :-)
* Don Brioni's Bistro!! This is a great Italian restaurant in Old Town Lilongwe owned by an English man and his Malawian wife. They LOVE salsa music and she had me giving her dance lessons while I was waiting for me meal. Best of all, they accept VISA.
* National Soccer (Football) Championship. The best $0.40 I ever spent!!
On Dec. 30, Jason's birthday, I decided to "go African". I attended the championship game between Civo (from Lilongwe) and MDC (from Blantyre) -- these are rival towns and rival teams. I wanted to experience the game as a local African would.
First, I walked to the game (3km). Then, rather than stay in the VIP section which is covered and cost $4, I sat in the stands (about 90% of the stadium), which are not covered and cost $0.40.
It was blistering hot, and the stands were solid concrete baking in the sun. My anglo anatomy combined with a North American lower tolerance for discomfort made for a long afternoon. The stands were filled with a sea of colorful ubrellas used for shade. I had none and was getting parched. I had wanted to "rough it", but next time I too would have an umbrella :-)
The game included:
* Cheerleaders doing sexy dances
* Acrobats before the game
* Drummers in the stands, and masked men doing the "gulewankule" dance (pronounced GOO LEE WAN COO LEE)
* groups of roving boys singing and cheering
* people being pelted by corn husks if they were standing and blocking others' view -- it was pretty lighthearted though -- nobody got really angry.
* a live band in the covered stands
I had a piece of roasted corn for 8 cents, and a foul, pink drink called Mahewu -- it has the color of Pepto Bismol, the texture of liquified grits, and the taste of ... ? But since, once again, I was absolutely the only mzungu in the entire place, I was being observed. I wanted to make a good impression and forced myself to drink most of the bottle.
The crowd was really well-behaved. The fans for each team were interspersed throughout the stadium. The stadium was absolutely packed with rowdy, singing, dancing, drumming, drinking soccer fans. Yet, I did not see a single fight. I think the rest of the soccer world could take some cues from these Malawians.
After the match, I went onto the field with everyone else as they rushed near the stage and danced to the music. Many people wanted to jump up with me, since I was such an oddity at the event. I was arm-in-arm dancing with some Malawian guys, when I heard the crack of batons and felt the push of humanity against me.
The police were dispersing the crowd, and I was right in the thick of things. Everyone pushed and ran as fast as they possibly could for the other side of the stadium. These batons were not administering justice, but rather delivering blows to anyone in their reach.
With my frisbee in hand, I scrambled onto the fence at the opposite side of the field, it collapsed and I fell to the ground. Quickly, I scurried over the fallen fence and up into the stands, where several of us were looking at each other as we gasped for breath. We just burst out laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.
Soon everyone, except me, was rushing back onto the field and the whole scene repeated itself. I'm not sure what we did wrong -- perhaps they just didn't want the crowd to get too large or unruly. But it seemed a pretty harsh way to manage the fans.
Lilongwe --> Nkhata Bay --> Karonga
The rainy season was now in full swing for Malawi, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. I hadn't heard from Adam and Dotan and I was having trouble finding an Internet connection.
So, I decided to head north, thinking I might go to Tanzania where they were now in the "short" rainy season.
From Lilongwe I headed to Nkhata Bay which is a popular, yet less visited, stop for travellers in Malawi. There are all types of activites, Scuba, snorkeling, kayaking, hiking, and there are several nice lodges.
Many of the Peace Corps workers were in Nkhata to celebrate the New Year, so I was lucky to find a place to stay--a spot on the floor of the owner's chalet in a place called Mayoka Lodge.
I spent the first half of the evening hanging out with Americans and Europeans, and the late night helping DJ at a local Malawi club that went strong right up until sunrise. Hello new millenium (for the second time)!
In Nkhata Bay, I decided that Tanzania was my next stop. I was now pretty comfortable travelling on my own in Africa, and figured I could sort out any difficulties I had with the bike -- the pressing issue now was finding a new back tire.
So, from Nkhata Bay I headed to Karonga, the last major town before the Malawi/Tanzania border. Along the way it was mostly bush and the road sucked--big potholes everywhere, then some dirt, mud, and sand along with the usual assortment of road hazards.
I was now in the north where Chichewa was not the dominant language, but rather Tumbuka and Tonga. There are so many tribes and languages in Africa, that in a certain sense, the colonial languages serve as a unifying force for some nations.
I spent the evening playing darts with a group of Malawian men. Pretty much the same rules as in the US. I won some and lost some and it was as comfortable as could be. After a while I bought everyone a round of drinks--and the nice thing was, no one had asked me for anything.
TANZANIA
Crossing out of Malawi and into Tanzania took less than an hour and was downright pleasant. I changed some money on the Malawian side -- I have learned my lesson: a) always have an idea of what the fair exhange rate is, b) NEVER enter a country without at least $50 of their currency.
One of the young men with whom I was dealing asked me if I thought the Tupac Shakur (spelling?), the rap artist, was really dead. Clearly he didn't want to believe it was so. I hated to disappoint him, but I responded that many people said that Bob Marley was still alive, but if so, you would think he would have appeared by now.
Everywhere I have been in Africa so far, there are people who are heavily into Reggae, still Bob Marley is immensely popular. In addition, Hip-hop and R&B from America are very popular.
[A note about the use of the term "America". I have on occasion, been scolded by some of my Latino friends for referring to the US as America because Mexico and the Central and South American countries are also part of the "Americas". I agree with them. But almost every time I tell an African that I am from the United States, I get a puzzled look, especially in the rural areas. Then when I say, "America", they smile knowingly and say, "Ah America, Bill Clinton."]
The scenery in Tanzania was beautiful--lush rolling hills of bush and small trees. The road was smooth pavement and a little wider than in Malawi.
Not far after entering the country, I pulled over where there was a tiny open air market of a few vendors offering their wares. This wasn't really a market for tourists, just locals. No one spoke English -- just Swahili. And no one was selling food, other than some vegetables. But after some sign language, a gentlemen led me to a shed where a woman opened a red plastic box and sold me a cold Coca Cola for 25 cents!
Imagine this, in remote Africa, in a Swahili-speaking community, you will find a cold Coke before you will find bottled water! This was not the first time I observed this. When Dotan, Adam, and I were riding through the Gorongosa valley of Mozambique and the knarled dirt road, we came upon a tiny village, and what did we see but a Coca-Cola truck making a delivery. I'm not sure how I feel about Coke's success, but if I wanted to learn how to market and distribute a food product worldwide, I would go to them for advice.
As I drank my cold Coke, I saw for the first time a Masai warrior--slender, angular, black, with elaborate jewelry around his ears, and his sagging, stretched ear lobes. As all Masai do, he was carrying his ever-present spear, and when I waved hello, he smiled and waved back without breaking his stride.
After riding a while, I spotted a gas station, and even though I had plenty of fuel, I make it a habit of filling up anytime I have used more than a quarter of a tank. You never know when the next gas station will be and whether it will have gas.
When I pulled into the gravel drive of the station I almost ran over a new type of road hazard--a six-foot long (2 meter) lizard. No kidding. And to top it off, they didn't have any gas.
I continued on through Tanzania to Iringa, a small, quaint town on a hill with bustling markets and a shoe-shine on every corner. The view from the road up to Iringa was stunning, overlooking a lush valley, and I wondered why the tour books did not make much mention of this city.
In Iringa I stayed at the Hurama Baptist Conference Center. The Center was apparently built for conferences of Missionaries and as a guest house for travellers. I must say it was a welcome oasis, and in true American tradition it had great toilets and a HOT shower -- you would be amazed at what a luxury these things feel like after being on the road for a while.
I ventured out to a local pub for dinner where I had a cat mewing at my feet asking me for food, and where, after serving me, my waitress sat down next to me and asked me to buy her a beer. Only in Africa.
From Iringa, I was headed to Dar es Salaam, about 550km away. For the first time on the trip, I was feeling pretty sick--I caught a cold of all things. A little coffee and toast and I was down the road.
I headed down a mountain pass that would have been downright fun to ride except that, it started to rain, the asphalt was buckled (apparently from too many overloaded trucks) and there were overloaded trucks on the road :-)
The rain cleared up and I stopped in a little town just before the national park. (I can't remember the name). There a man named Henry bought me a Coke and told me he had visited New Orleans and Chicago (he had seen the two cities I have not). He was one of the few people I met in Tanzania who spoke English well, and he helped me learn some more Swahili phrases.
Just before I left, I met the type of person you don't see to often in Africa, someone who is old. People have hard lives here and they simply don't live that long. But this man greeted my with an iron handshake telling me his name was Joseph. He was 81 years old and had fought for the British in Burma in the second world war!
He then told me that his son was going to the U.S. to study. I asked if he meant his grandson. No, his 26-year-old son, told me. So you fathered him when you were 55, I asked? Yes, he smiled proudly.
The next stretch of road greeted me with a large sign indicated that I was entering a national park and to "BEWARE OF WILD ANIMALS". Having been in Kruger National Park (in a closed vehicle), I knew that the animals were not afraid to walk across the road. And the bush was thick here.
So, instead little goats, I had be ready for buffalo, elephant, and giraffe!
Soon I spotted some antelope, which meant lions wouldn't be far away. Come on KLR, I know I've been rough on you, but don't quit now!
I saw some elephant and a giraffe, but thankfully, no lions or chetah.
But the scariest thing I have seen on a Tanzanian road is a Tanzanian bus driver. Whereas the Malawian busses are smaller and in constant need of repair, there are many big, powerful, fast busses in Tanzania. And they are driven with a vengeance.
In Mexico, a bus driver would pass a truck on a flat stretch of road despite seeing me coming his way, and forcing me to the far edge of the road. The Tanzanians go one better. The busses pass big trucks while approaching the top of hill over which they cannot see. I witnessed the aftermath of a bus accident that day!
I saw busses FLYING around corners, tilted to one side, their inside wheels looking as they were about to lift off the ground. On this front I have no pride. When a big bus bears down on me while I'm doing 75 mph (112 kph) I let him by.
And as seems to always the case, the finish is never easy. After crossing Tanzania on virtually flawly roads, the last 6 miles (10km) was a tangled, confused mish-mash of roads under construction with various dusty detours. Once I got through the construction mess, I found myself entering Dar es Salaam during the 5pm rush hour. I had never seen so many mini-van taxis before in my life--and just as agressive as the big bus drivers.
Eventually, I found the safe haven at the Safari Inn in the center of town, just off of Libya street. ($10/night - a little more pricey than the remote places.)
Dar es Salaam is a very interesting mix of African Muslims, Arabs, African Christians, Muslim Indians, Hindu Indians, Masai, and others. A total mish-mash of religions, cultures, and races. I spent yesterday wandering the city shopping for toiletries, bike parts, stickers, you-name-it!
Right now, I'm nursing a cold, but should have it kicked soon.
The bike looks good, the people are friendly, the adventure continues!
Next stop, ZANZIBAR
Jim
P.S. In Dar es Salaam, Internet connectivity is good. After that I don't know. I appreciate all the email and will do my best to answer it (and to get some photos up.)
P.P.S. I finally heard from Adam and Dotan. They got stuck in the bush without gas for 4 days, but finally made it to Pemba. The should be returning to Malawi soon, and who knows, we may be reunited in Zambia or Victoria Falls!
P.P.P.S. Apparently Hakuna Matata was used in the Lion King movie. I never saw it--I know practically nothing about my own pop culture :-)