Zipping up to Zanzibar

We left Nkahata bay feeling sufficiently rejuvenated after a week of lazing in our bungalow hammocks while the water lapped at the rocks beneath us. The feeling didn't last long and soon we were crammed into an overflowing minivan, Juho’s knees wedged up below his chin and buckets of smelly fish sloshing beneath our feet. We travelled north with a British/Spanish family Alfonso and Valarie around my parents age and Martin a little older than me. By nightfall we had reached our destination; The Mushroom Farm, perched high on a mountain side, the chalets and campsites teetering on the side of the cliff and the rift valley and Lake Malawi stretched out below us.

 A couple of hours hike further up the hill was the old mission town of Livingstonia , an incredible isolated colonial town, established in the 1800s as a mission base to escape the malaria of the lakeside. Only one very rocky, steep mountain road leads here and very few vehicles travel on it, the only regular one being the Livingstonia ambulance, which ferries people and goods up and down the track. I hate to think how long someone would have to wait if they actually had a medical emergency. After a few days hiking around the countryside, visiting waterfalls and whatnot and marvelling at the views, we had no choice but to hike back down the rocky mountain as no cars appeared to making a trip that day. With our heavy backpacks pressing down on top of us, we arrived covered in sweat and dying of dehydration in the strong midday sun. Once down we gulped down ice cold sprites and pushed on north to the Tanzanian border.

Arriving in Tanzania was something else entirely, after the friendly, relaxed vibe of backwater Malawi we found ourselves being dragged from the bus in Mbeya and pulled in every direction. We spent the night in a flea bag hotel/nightclub with our newly acquired Canadian friend Helen, and an impossible rude and annoying German, (whose name we have chosen to forget). Luck was on our side for once and we scored the last carriage on the 24 hour train to Dar es Salaam. Now this is a train journey that I highly recommend should you get the chance. Opting for first class we spent the evening and following day gazing out of the window as we rolled through villages, countryside and national park. After nearly two months of horrifically overcrowded buses and minivans, stuffed with buckets of smelly fish, live chickens and kids vomiting up cake on our shoulders, to say we were glad to be on a train is an understatement. The train makes this trip from Zambia all the way to Dar Es Salaam just twice a week, and in the sleepy villages and countryside, locals gathered to wave and watch the train go past. Closer to Dar Es Salaam we wound through National park and we craned our necks to catch glimpses of Warthogs, Monkeys, and Gazelles.Congested Dar Es Salaam was a rude awakening after the tranquillity of our train journey. Pulling out of the train station in a cab we were pulled over by officials who ordered us out of the cab and explained that the man driving the cab was known for robbing tourist passengers by gunpoint. Needless to say, by sun up the next day, we were happily on our way to Zanzibar. 

Ah Zanzibar, the very name conjures up the scent of spice, and the vision of palm fringed beaches and ancient bazaars winding down cobbled streets. Surprisingly it maintains that charm even today, despite the hordes of tourists ambling down the laneways of Stone Town, expensive cameras slung carelessly across their shoulders just begging to be pinched. In Stone Town we spent the afternoon in a back alley having some shoes cobbled for me after my flip flops broke. The old man sketched my foot and then began fashioning bits of leather together, while his grandchildren, adorable dressed in bright dresses and white headscarf’s, giggled and took turns poking Juho and pulling faces at us. We returned in the evening to find a beautiful pair of leather sandals, perfectly sculpted to my feet for the bargain price of $12. A couple of hours north of Stonetown, In Nungwi, the Dow building centre of Zanzibar we are enjoying our last sighting of the beach for some time. Blinding white sand, aquamarine water and fresh seafood, I am certain that we will dream of this when we are shivering our way through the harsh Finnish winter.

Zanzibarilla viikon lungittelun jalkee lahettiin jalleen kohti pohjoista. Bussilla Dar Es Salaamista Momboon josta jatko bussilla Lusothoon. Taa on jossain ylangoilla oleva mesta josa on mukavan viileeta. Loydettiin taas Helen taalta ja lahettiin porukalla hakee 3kilsan paasta jostain pappilasta munkkien tekemaa juustoa ja viinia. Oli ihan ok settia. Ei mitaan erikoista euroopan mittarilla, mutta ku ei ollu juustoa saanu pariin kuukauteen nii oli hyvaa. Jhania vahan kyseenalaisti, etta onkohan oikeen jarkevaa syoda juustoa.. Niinhan siina kavi, etta Jhania ja Helen oksenteli ja pasko koko yon ja tama paiva menee sangyn pohjalla. Eipa ollu jarkevaa syoda juustoo. Mun super mahaa ei paljoa kiinnosta onko siela paskaa juustoo vai ei nii joudun sitte toimimaan orjana ja tuomaan mita tytot kaskee. Kuluuhan se aika nainkin.

Dhows heading out to fish on Zanzibar.

Shoe shop, Stonetown style.

The real gold of Malawi

Juho and I have spent many lazy days on Lake Malawi. Cape Maclear at the southern end of the lake was filled with local life, and despite being “one of Africa’s legendary backpacker hangouts”, we often felt like the only Muzungos (whities) there. The lake plays such a pivotal role in everyday life for locals, it is where their dinner comes from, where they wash their clothes, where their drinking, cooking and washing water comes from, and where the kiddies spend endless hours playing. Everywhere we went kids called out greetings, followed us, clutched our hands and wanted to play. Malawians are notoriously friendlily, and evidently this starts at a young age. Being the well worn travellers that we are it is hard to get used to the fact that many Malawians just want to chat without a catch, although if they are carrying a sheaf of paintings, it’s easier to return the greeting and keep on walking.

Deciding to break up our trip to the northern end of the lake, I picked a place at random form the map ‘Nkhotakota’’, thinking there we would find another cosy lakeside bungalow or lodge to stay a night or two. What we found was a dusty, market town devoid of any other Muzungos. We stayed in an awesomely cheap and tacky roadside motel with faded pink façade, and drank some beer in a local dive bar, much to the delight of the drunken locals gathered there.

Transport in Malawi, especially around the lake, is painfully slow, and we waited at least 5 hours in the hot sun for our bus the following day, nobody knew when the bus was due to arrive, like all transport, it just turns up when it does.

Nkhata bay on the far north of the lake has a completely different feel to the southern end, green and lush with deep water and rocky headlands. We are staying in what is without a doubt the nicest place we have stayed on our entire trip thus far. Mayoka Village, an eco-lodge complete with organic vegie garden and composting toilet. Our bungalow sits on a rocky headland right on the water, our four poster bed, draped with mosquito net, faces the lake and we catch a glimpse of sunrise each morning before dozing off for a few more hours. The lodge provides free boat trips, use of their canoes and snorkelling gear and we are making the most of it. I feel this may be our holiday within our African journey. Staying within this idyllic bubble it is easy to forget that Malawi has a much bleaker side, the life expectancy here is a mere 43 years, largely due to Aids (12%) and malaria. We visited an isolated beach yesterday and all the kids from the local village swarmed onto the beach. Most of these kids had bloated bellies, reflecting the statistics that around half the population are chronically malnourished. They fought over the empty water bottles we had, a scene not unlike that in “The Gods Must Be Crazy”. Many people argue that foreign aid has done more to harm countries like Malawi that help, creating dependency, apathy and a lack of self sufficiency. I am trying to keep an open mind at this stage, but it is a topic I would like to research further during our grand African Safari.[1]

---

[1] Safari is a Swahili word meaning Journey.