Learning to slow down

Neither of us are bothered by giggles emanating from the dunes. Cocooned in the moment, Anisia’s thumb has found her mouth. I look down at this little package with her spiral jets of hair and nut brown skin. Her yellow top now a faded lemon is ripped and streaked with dust; her skirt – just a piece of material. She's tiny in my arms, the tell-tale pot belly poking out. I can only guess at her age. 4 I think.

Leaning my head back against the warm sand, I watch a pair of cormorants diving lazily into the lake. They seem no more inclined to speed up the world than we are.

It wasn’t like this 5 days ago. Gung ho, 6 of us had set off from Cape Maclear intent on kayaking 280kms up Lake Malawi to Likoma. Easy we thought. 3 hours in, I'd vomited and was exhausted.

The next morning, aching all over, I dreaded more paddling. My mind was in overdrive and yet the days dragged painfully on...until today. The soft splash of the paddles in the calm, clear water has become soothing in its rhythm. I drink from the lake. The fishermen cast their nets for Chambo. It feels good.

A wizened face with a gappy grin appears in view. He holds up a large cat fish, scales glinting. We buy it for supper and he prepares his net. It's a precarious feat - balancing on an unstable dugout whilst casting.

“Why doesn’t anyone have a sail boat?” I ask Gathii, our guide. "They would be able to catch more fish.” Patiently he explains that the Chichewa don’t want to be different. “Odd” I say. Wasn’t it human nature to want to get ahead? “No. We don’t want to compete against each other. This way there’s no jealousy.”

We pull up on an empty beach. Soon little eyes appear over the dunes and the noises of life reach us from unseen villages. We cook our fish, bake fresh bread in the embers and feast like kings.

As the fish eagles settle and darkness creeps in, I sit quietly. "Anisia, Anisia.” It's time for her to go. She looks up at me and smiles; slips off my lap and disappears into the darkness.