Busing to Blantyre

Nathaniel’s organization has been waiting, literally since April, for Malawi’s National Fortification Alliance meeting to take place. Transatlantic trips have been taken and weddings have been missed (not by Nathaniel, luckily) in the name of attending this meeting, which has been continually postponed and rescheduled. Finally, the meeting is happening today! My current classification as housewife means I’m able to travel along, so here I am in Blantyre while Nathaniel conferences it up. : )

Our car is still tied up in paperwork hassles, so our plans to “self-drive” as they call it here were stymied…thank god! As we discovered on the bus ride, the roads are good here, by African standards, but they are still narrow, with some stretches of dirt, lots of foot and bike traffic (even along the major highway) and multiple police check-points. Probably best not to challenge ourselves to navigate all that at the same time that we get used to driving on the left.

We hop on the bus Wednesday afternoon in a large, dusty parking lot that is, as promised “between the Metro Cash and Carry and the Pacific Hotel in City Center”. The bus route takes us south through areas of Lilongwe that are clearly the equivalent of Roxbury and Dorchester – huge, bustling neighborhoods where rich white people rarely go. Most amazing is the Lilongwe “Ikea” – a lengthy street packed with furniture, coffin and metal window bar manufacturing sheds, with said items arrayed for sale out front. Finally we discover where Malawians actually buy their furniture! Looks like we’ve figured out where we’ll be taking our truck Saturday when we furnish our new place.

Leaving the city proper, we travel through village after village – perhaps not surprising as Malawi is one of the most densely populated countries in Africa. I am struck by the extent to which local custom and skill results in a variance of architecture from village to village – homemade “fired” bricks exposed with thatched roofs vs unfired bricks plastered with metal roofs, grass fences vs. brick walls vs. living yucca field borders. Popping vividly out of even the smallest, poorest looking villages are fuchsia colored “Zain” buildings – we’re impressed by how much pink paint the cell phone and wireless company has employed in the name of advertising.

The “people don’t go out at night” rule doesn’t seem to apply to the country in the same way. As night falls, traffic remains brisk. People and goats congregate in front of tea houses and grocery shops. We pass through one incredible market with stall upon stall lining the road, each lit by guttering torches and packed with people. The bus also makes multiple stops (despite promises of direct transit). Some are seemingly related to the police check points, which we are mystified by – the guide book claims they rarely ask for bribes and they seem to just wave people on at each point. The driver re-boards at one with a large bag of potatoes, at another a floppy cabbage but does not seem to have actually spoken with the guards. Produce perk? Pee breaks?

And again, I am struck by the incredible power of globalization. Once it’s fully dark, the bus stewardess pops in a copy of Tyler Perry’s Medea Goes to Jail – one of his darker, raunchier and more violent films – which doesn’t seem to bother the supposedly conservative Malawian population on the bus in the least. Varsha, it’s true – it wouldn’t be the way you remembered it at all. 

Sweet Caroline

The pace of life is much slower here. Almost nothing goes on after dark and most of Lilongwe shuts down on Sundays. Add to that the fact that we’re still waiting to sort out the paperwork on our car and the distances between commercial areas are lengthy, dusty and not lighted in any way (read: tough to get place on foot) and you’ve got a recipe for some sitting home in the evenings.

Nathaniel and I, after a year of big changes and a hectic pace, are having a tough time getting into the slower rhythm. (It’s a good thing that we have some practice sitting on a sailboat for eight hours with nothing to do but read and stare at the waves or we’d really be climbing the walls.)

 After a busy day Saturday of visiting the market – tomatoes, beans and salt fish were abundant – and getting to know Old Town, we spent Sunday trying to get into the spirit of slower living. First, some lounging around at Annie’s Lodge, which has been our home away from home while we wait for our new house to be ready October 1^st (more on the house in subsequent posts!). Of course, Nathaniel managed to squeezle a little work in there mid-day, but we won’t count that against him ;)

Next, a walk over to an expat owned compound of shops and eateries – one of the few areas open on the day of rest and thankfully within walking distance. We’re sitting on a patio eating tasty fare with two Malawian musicians singing softly and accompanying themselves on acoustic guitars. At first they’re playing local music, but suddenly, something makes us prick up our ears. We’re already feeling a little homesick after missing out on our usual Sunday pancake breakfast and what are they playing? A light, acoustic version of Sweet Caroline!

Of course, when you dig into the story behind Sweet Caroline and the Red Sox, you realize that it was nothing more than a smart play by some sort of advertising exec who’d had good luck with the song in another stadium earlier in her career. Nonetheless, we’ve been extra-partial to the song since we heard Dave Matthews belt out an incredible rendition in Fenway Park a few summers ago and hearing it now really rings some “Oh! Boston, we miss you!” bells. We’re forced to console ourselves with a chocolate torte for dessert.

There’s actually some great jazz at Chameleon’s (a bar across the compound) in the late afternoon. They’ve got rows of lounge chairs out on the lawn and the place slowly fills with an eclectic group of expats, backpackers, families and hip Malawians. Everyone hangs around and enjoys the group’s low groove over Carlsberg Greens and Malawi Gin and tonics. I suppose it’s possible we could get used to this…

PS. Probably fewer posts once I start working, but we figured it didn't hurt to keep everyone posted (ha ha) while we have the time and the internet!

First Impressions

I visited Malawi once before (back in August) so this I suppose the title is technically a bit of a misnomer, but a week of meetings hardly counts. Besides, one looks through different eyes when trying to think of a place as home. In any case, enough people have asked that I thought I’d mention a few of the sensations I’m already coming to associate with our new home. (Home. There that word is again. Part of the trick of making something fully real, you see, is repetition – so I’m practicing.)

The smell of burning grass. It’s unclear why, but every morning there seems to be someone burning grass or leaves somewhere near our lodging. Patches of blackened earth checker the roadside in mysterious, ever-shifting patterns as I walk to work. Perhaps controlled burns help prevent wildfires? Some sort of secret Malawian landscaping technique? I’m sure we’ll unravel the mystery eventually, but I suspect the smoky, slightly sweet smell will be lodged in my brain for a long time.

The sound of bamboo in the breeze. The combination of clatter, creak, and rustle it makes swaying in the wind is unlike that of any other tree. It’s a bit like what I imagine wind in the rigging of old sailing ships sounded like; not one voice but a chorus, a complicated, many-parted thing that still somehow conveys unity, the sense of belonging to a single entity.

The hazy purple of the sky at dusk. As we’re currently in the dry season, the reddish dust of Malawi is everywhere. Combine that with the burning grass and the exhaust of the rattletrap minibuses that ply the capitol’s roads, and the haze is enough that the dying light slides slowly from the traditional orange and red to a unique purple. The evening light gives everything a storybook quality; traditional, old as memory, but at the same time land of the imagination, where anything is possible.

Every home has its defining characteristics: trademark colors, creaks, and smells. We’ll see whether these sensations remain standouts once we move into our house (signed the lease on a 3BR Friday), but they are what’s struck me in the first week.

Our First 36 Hours in Malawi

We arrive in Lilongwe mid-day, bleary eyed after rockin’, late night good-byes and 2.5 days of travel. The transfer in Ethiopia was tight and somewhat hilarious and we are buoyed by the fact that, nonetheless, our motley crew of baggage (two roll-aboards, one larger suitcase and a hiking pack) has arrived safely. The customs official takes one look at the shoes that explode out of my mini roll-aboard when I open it, decides he has seen enough of our luggage and waves us on. We’re officially temporary residents of Malawi!

Cruising down the road to Lilongwe the weather is perfect; seventy-five degrees and sunny with a nice breeze to ruffle the hair. Trees are blooming wildly with purple and pink flowers and there is an impressive foot and bicycle traffic back and forth to the airport in addition to the steady stream of Toyotas.

In true Hooks form, Nathaniel and I get busy right away, hitching a mini bus to Old Town to obtain a cell phone, water, snacks and dinner. The contrast between the conservative clothes (button-down shirts, no skirts above the knee) and the American hip-hop blaring on the mini bus stereo is a striking reminder of the changes taking place here and world over. The excursion is a success despite the fact that the currency conversion (152 kwacha to 1 dollar) makes shopping a continual mental challenge and that buying anything takes an impressive stack of 500 kwacha bills. Wait until we get to pay the rent (35,000 – 175,000 kwacha)!

I have a moment of funny happiness while squeezed into a mini bus on the way home. We’re packed so tightly that I’m leaning half-way out the window with the bus crier smushed, standing, between Nathaniel and I. There’s something about the communal attitude towards travel in this and other countries – so different from the American “get out of my space” griping – that just restores a little bit of my faith in humanity.

Despite the high-pitched beeping of the back-up generator, jet lag prompts a twelve hour crash out, which is interrupted only by a midnight mosquito massacre that results when one slips inside the bednet and makes the mistake of buzzing in Nathaniel’s ear.

Wednesday morning, after a fortifying British breakfast (post-colonialism, right…) Nathaniel heads off to work while I brave the “top up” table and follow up on some apartment / house / car leads. A Serbian documentary film-maker takes us out for a spin in his Toyota Rav3. His enthusiasm for the vehicle (made pre ’97 when Toyota let the Rav become a “soft, city car”) and testimony that it’s great for off-roading make the sell. Of course we still need to figure out how to navigate the Malawian equivalent of the DMV and actually complete the transaction through Dusan’s friend, since our illustrious car salesman and his wife need the car to get dropped at the airport tomorrow, but no worries, right?

The question of the day: deal with the drama of roommates or try outfitting an empty three bedroom house?