My trip to Malawi had started out very encouragingly. After having such an incredible day diving in Tofo, I knew that any additional dives would pale in comparison. Also, after spending so many days in the sun, I needed a break from the beach. My friends had just started dive courses and were expecting to be in Tofo for at least four more days. I decided to head out on my own for Malawi.
Although I did almost no advance planning, I got off the ferry that connects Tofo/Imhubwane to the mainland of Mozambique literally seconds before the “luxury” bus to Inchope pulled up. There was only one seat left, and I got it. I was thrilled that I would not have to spend the day Chapa* hopping. I arrived in Inchope right before dusk and a friendly traveler helped me find a short chapa from there to Chimoio, where I caught another, larger chapa to Tete. The chapa operator was happy to take my money at 8 in the evening, neglecting to tell me that the bus would not be leaving until 3 a.m. So instead of going to get dinner or finding a place to relax, I sat/slept on the bus until it left. This was, by far, one of the worst chapa experiences I had, had to date. It was even fuller than usual with no leg room whatsoever—my legs were scrunched on top of a bag of oranges--and there were two very vocal locals that kept screaming at the operator because of the bad conditions, making it impossible to sleep on this unusually long chapa ride. From Tete, I was able to take another crammed chapa to the border of Malawi.
Note to other travelers: the money changers at this border have reprogrammed their calculators to come up with vastly lower numbers. Do not trust their calculators! I had figured out the exchange rate beforehand and was conducting the change right next to the border guards so I only lost a few dollars, but Kaitlin was swindled out of around $100 when they came through a few days later. This was really sad because we have had such positive experiences with really honest people up until this scam. Maybe we would have caught on earlier if we had not let our guard down so much.
From the Malawi border, I met a really nice guy who was heading the same direction as me and who helped me find another bus and another friend to help me on the next bus (from Blantyre to Liwonde). This was such an incredibly positive experience. At one point, I had an entire bus concerned about my welfare, helping me get good prices for my Fanta and locating a hotel close to the road so that I did not have to walk around in the dark. The people in Malawi are so jovial. One elderly man, who commutes several hours from Zomba each day to sell vegetables in Blantyre and who then walks another hour from the bus stop to his home, told me that he would like to invite me to his home to have strawberries with his family. It was an incredibly generous invitation given his obviously unfortunate circumstances. I wish that I could have accepted.
After 37 hours in buses, I was dead tired and willing to sleep anywhere. It was a good thing because the room I stayed at in Liwonde was pretty bad. It was stifling hot with no fan and there was no mosquito net so I was forced to cover myself in blankets. I was so exhausted I barely noticed.
The next morning, I checked out as soon as I had a chance to take a cold shower and headed to the very upscale Hippo Lodge to see if I could arrange a boat safari into the Liwonde National Park. I was disheartened when I heard that it cost $100 for an hour—way out of my backpacker’s budget—but a very friendly group from the Netherlands invited me to join their boat and, because they had already rented the whole boat, I only had to pay $30 for four hours. The ride was very beautiful. There were hippos everywhere! It was so great to see them from this perspective. My favorite part was when a completely submerged hippo would surface directly next to the boat as we passed. We also saw a bunch of thirsty elephants going for a splash.
Back at the hotel, I asked about buses to Nkhata Bay, my next destination. I was told that there was a “direct” bus that left 4 times a day and that it took five hours to get there. I was a bit skeptical about how long it would take to get there—it seemed much further away on the map—so I decided to take the next bus at two, which would give me plenty of time to get there before it got too late even if it took a couple of extra hours. I was reassured by the bus attendant (someone you would assume would know), who told me that the trip would take four hours. I arrived in Nkhata Bay at 11:30 p.m. Now, this was not the first time that I’ve arrived in a town well past dark, but my usual solutions—1. Ask a person who is getting off the bus at the same place where to go or 2. Catch a taxi to my location—were not available. No one else got off the bus in Nkhata and there were not taxis, or other cars, in sight. In fact, the only life on the street was a street sweeper and a group of homeless men cooking their dinners over a campstove.
I was tempted to stay on the bus to the next town and get a hotel there, but I did not know if I would be in any better shtte there. Perhaps in any other country, I would have been in trouble. But here, in Malawi, where the people are exceptionally kind, the street sweeper and homeless group immediately came to my rescue. I told them where I was headed and, after they unsuccessfully tried to locate a taxi, the streetsweeper and a young boy agreed to walk me to Mayoka Village, which they claimed was 15 km away. Fifteen minutes later (apparently African time also applies to distances), I arrived exhausted, but chastened.
Before I traveled to Africa, I had a friend tell me that Africans don’t value life. He was trying to dissuade me from the trip because he claimed it was too dangerous. He explained that because death was so common in Africa, Africans are hardened people who don’t value life the same way that other cultures do. I’m not sure why I believed this person. His reasoning made sense, I thought, and he had traveled quite a bit. But it was contrary to all of my other traveling experiences, which had shown me that for the most part people everywhere are good people.
I am happy to report that my friend was very wrong. In fact, I think the fact that so many of the people here have witnessed so much death and other horrific experiences makes them value life more. They do not take it for granted. Africa has been an amazingly easy country to travel in with, on a whole, beautiful, kind, honest people. I have rarely, if ever, felt in danger of physical harm or theft. I am so glad that I have had so many opportunities to dispel the preconceived notions I had about Africa.
*In most of Africa there are minivans called various things: chapas, minibuses, matutus, etc. Although their names change from country to country, the formula is basically the same. They are old Toyota minivans that have had benches added so that there are four benches which should hold four people each, the end seat in all but the last row is a foldable seat that lifts up so that you can get back to the last row. In Kenya, the matutus have big funny lettering on their front, referencing rappers or other popular figures such as “Notorious,” “Nasty,” or “Slim Shady,” or quoting the bible. From a marketing standpoint, I think “God Blesses” is a much more attractive option than “Nasty.” Even though the seats have been re-fitted to hold up to 16 people, the number of people crammed in regularly exceeds 20, with people standing hunched over the benches. If there is any luggage, it is crammed under the seats so there is generally limited leg room, especially in the last row. It is not uncommon to have live chickens clucking from beneath your feet.
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