Scratching the Surface

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		a		The tribal and/or language groups that straddle many of Africa’s European-made borders can often make one side of no man’s land feel much the same as the other, but when we crossed into Malawi we knew we were in another country. The frenetic trading towns of Southern Tanzania gave way to subsistence farming villages with no mains water or electricity. At the same time, the lodges and campsites had the hot showers, flush toilets and cold beer we had come to expect of southern Africa. We did our first freshwater diving at the lake resort of Nkhata Bay, and there we also found the easy nature and warm heart that Malawians often boast about. After the gold chains and homegrown hip-hop of Tanzania, suddenly we were in the Caribbean: beach reggae, Rasta hats and marijuana. Even the hawkers selling ethnic knick-knackery do so with good humour and are so relaxed that just chatting to the travellers seems enough reward (and effort) for the day. We have worked out that this change in tone is in some way influenced by the Ethiopian church which had such a great influence on Malawians, especially around independence time. With a little historical licence, you can jump from Ethiopianism to Marcus Garvey to Haile Selassie to Rastafarianism to Bob Marley. And, unlike other beach resort countries in the world, these guys play more reggae than Bob Marley’s greatest hits. Over the next two weeks we met a host of ex-pats whom, unlike in some countries we have visited, were generous and friendly and had more going for them than just being white. From Mick, the affable Aussie rock-climber who runs the ‘Mushroom Farm’, to Janey and Tom, the energetic English overlanders now running a camp in Lilongwe, all had a great impression on us and all seemed to be investing real time and effort into Malawi. Two weeks before the Lake of Stars festival at Chintheche beach our friend, Pat Dacey, traveller and all round Idler, came out to meet us for a brief stint in the drivers seat. And so commenced a breakneck tour of Malawi (and a bit of Zambia). And…we drove from Lilongwe to the Zambian border and up a dusty road to South Luangwa National Park for G&Ts at Flatdogs campsite and giraffes and monkeys and hippos and elephants between us and the tents and so we were late for the Walking Safari and driving back through Malawi to distant Mount Mulanje for hiking to mountain huts with porters and The Wheelhouse in Senga Bay for snake charmers and Pat’s first view of Lake Malawi and up to the Mushroom Farm for abseiling and climbing and Livingstonia and Nyika Plateau for horse-riding and finding a phone signal and the long drive down to the Chintheche Inn for the Lake of Stars Music Festival. (See the Pat medley for photos!) The festival setting was beautiful – white sand beaches, green lawns and aqua lake. How refreshing to be at a festival with no fear of mud setting in! We set up camp and spent our mornings dozing under the awning or body-surfing in the lake when the waves were high – a better hangover cure than falafels at Glastonbury. Entertainment-wise the festival was fairly low-key, lacking the stalls or surreal ‘extras’ you get at festivals at home and, for us, with an overly high DJ:live act ratio. Still, we managed to dance until the early hours of every morning (aided by our box of red wine) and thoroughly enjoyed Lucius Banda (the big Malawi act) and his bootylicious dancers. After months on the road this was a great blow-out for me and Jackie and we hope Pat had a suitably climactic (!) end to his holiday. And all this dastardly fun is in part down to Patrick himself. Not once did he complain that we were always camping, or not drinking enough or eating only tomatoes and pasta. Top work! Even the residents of Lilongwe wanted ‘Paddy’ as their friend after watching the big fool, as he would have it: ‘exercising his cartwheel demon’ in Harry’s beach bar at three o’clock in the morning. And after all of this, we drove him back to the airport, said our goodbyes and then sat in the car wondering what to do next. Where shall we go now? Where are we? Why are we here? This feeling of emptiness grew stronger and our usual bickering gave way to more comical slapping and shouting. With this existential crisis in danger of enveloping us, we went back into the bar at Mabuya camp to talk overlanding with Janey and Tom. Within an hour there were photos and maps and suddenly we were awake and into the future. There was talk of offering the local chiefs bags of sugar and salt for an overnight stay in villages a hundred years from modern Angola, old French ballrooms in tiny Gabon towns and endless convents with endless nuns (a particular favourite). The next day we were back in the car and off to Zambia. Photos The Mushroom Farm The Pat Medley Con enjoys the Festival Janey, Tom, Alf and the yellow mog www.bigyellowmog.com
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