blundering-around-in-Africa

A loud trumpet and power is out – the wires pulled off the roof. Back in elephant country! Outside at the moment a family of five with two small babies – well, small by elephant standards. There is a cheeky young chap visiting the campsite who is stealing sausages from the Barbie and has broken a couple of car windows to get at the fruit. We have just returned after a month in Malawi. Dollars on legs, they call tourists in Vietnam. “Madam, you were not speeding,” the obnoxious young policeman told me, “but I’m charging you $30 for discourteous driving. And Sir, do not beat your wife up for her offence.” Joe of the Jungle needed to be restrained from assaulting him with his solar topee, while Jane suppressed acidic feminine retorts and laid out the dollars which were destined for who knows where and even managed a “thank you, officer”. Fortunately he was the only Malawian policeman we encountered who knew how to use roadblocks, the others only needing to know how much we liked their country, and in the main Malawians are quite charming and welcoming. Malawi is poor compared to Botswana and even Zambia with an ever-expanding population and decimated natural resources. A fully-grown tree is a rarity leaving a barren landscape of mangoes and ancient baobabs, the trees that are there are very heavily ‘pruned’ often leaving a stump with a few leaves. On the road down the mountains and into the cities the woodmen come in on bicycles precariously laden with meter high bundles of firewood. A future with no fuel, building materials or shade. In the forestry reserve beautiful forests of teak and cedar. We climbed up to Mulanje plateau – a beautiful 3 days walking and staying in the forest huts. Beautiful high forest and grassland with clear streams and waterfalls and colourful mountain flowers. Glorious clear nights in full moon, lighting the mountain with an ethereal light. Our young porters who made the 2000m climb possible had run the walk in a matter of hours but Jane and Joe of the Jungle were more like Jane and Joe of the Geriatric Ward by the time we reached the bottom. Happy moments around the camp fire with the young guys singing songs in Chichewa and telling us folk tales. “Give me Kwacha”, “Look in my shop”, “I show you the lake / shortcut / fish eagles”. Avoiding the ‘beach boys’ at the beach we decided to explore the Mozambique side of the lake and found ourselves at Malindi Mission where Livingston once sat contemplating the lake, at the time he was working to stop the slave trade. The lake before metric days known as the calendar lake is 365 miles long and 52 miles wide, 2300 feet at its deepest part of the great African Rift Valley. In Malindi the people live by fishing in that timeless way that has remained unchanged over the centuries. At night the horizon is lit by hundreds of lanterns creating a city of lights across the lake. The mokoros push the fish into the shore and in the very early morning the silence is broken by a cacophany of voices as the fish are hauled into shore to be set on bamboo racks to be salted and dried . The traditional food for Malawians and Zambians is nsima – finely ground mais porridge and dried fish (not on the cordon-bleu menu at Flatdogs!). The lakeside is the home of the Yao people who have been Muslims since the time of the Swahili-Arab slave traders. Marieke, the young doctor running the hospital in the mission had performed 150 circumcisions that week and in the village we had come across crowds singing and dancing celebrating the initiations while the young boys themselves far from dancing walked wide legged with grimaces on their faces. Joe went to the village and bought fresh Chambo which he grilled by the beach and shared under the stars with Marieke, Mario and Fred, watching the magic of lights flickering out on the lake like hundreds of candles. Last night Kate and Marcus slept in the campsite on a platform 5 m up a tree. They were rudely awakened by thuds down below. One Tusk spying a Danish family packing up to leave had taken a fancy to the pate they had carried preciously overland from Europe, crushed their eski and eaten it plastic container and all. Marcus got some good photographic evidence but unfortunately the police handcuffs were a trifle small. Greetings to you all. I shall update on life in Flatdogs when I log on again, elephants permitting.