Makin' up for lost time...

This latest blog has been a work in progress since Wed. 16 April, and as the loyal M 'n M readers (how do ya like that new shortened-version??? Perhaps a bit cliche? Comments welcome!!) will soon find out, its manuscript-style length can attest to the fact that I've been adding on for the past couple of days, and certainly making up for the last 3 lost days.

I won't give more excuses, but the fact that it did start on Wed. shows that I did my best to get caught up on the now 2-week-old lake stories, while also updating readers on events of this past week. Updates include:

1) Yes, I did start teaching at Chanco on Thursday and Friday, but due to my busy schedule as I wrap up my fellowship while furiously marking papers at Domasi College, I'll only teach for 4 weeks, and the two courses will be combined. The result is that I'll be in the classroom 3 hours/week (instead of 6), and I'll finish on May 9 (instead of later in the month). This was a compromise, but one I can live with.

2) Penga managed to pull out some stitches Wed. night, causing some panic yesterday (Thurs.) morning, as I called the vet in a bit of a state, worried all her innards would drop to the floor. Luckily, my panic was unjustified, as she seems to be healing o.k. (despite my failed efforts to put a bandage on it, as well as a collar to try to restrain her from biting her wound). She's a pretty strong-willed, energetic little kitty, and luckily hasn't managed to remove more stitches, so we think she'll be o.k. I'm pretty certain, however, that the vet thinks I'm a bit crazy. That's o.k. He's not the first to think so, and certainly not likely to be the last.

3) I've decided to limit my adventures this weekend, and just stay put and get some work done, after the week away up north, and last Saturday on the lake with my aerobics group. I'll hopefully also have time to get this blog up to date with pictures, especially the elephants at Vwaza Marsh, and maybe the day at the lake as well. Wish me luck!

OK, so the rest is the original post I started at home on Wed. evening and finally completed today. Enjoy!


Hello, again. I’m now back from the trauma of having Penga spayed, as well as dealing with the reality of having to start teaching again, just after having finished a term, and facing piles of marking. Not that I’m completely over the trauma yet, but now it’s manageable enough to enter another posting on the blog.

I’d actually planned to get this one up last night (Wed. 16 April), but alas, the internet connection was not cooperating, so I’m here writing this one at home on Wed. evening, hoping to get it up on Thursday. If that happens, the two or so loyal, faithful Malawi ‘n Me readers will be the first to know.

So, today was more or less a typical ‘my life in Malawi’ day. I spent much of it trying to get ready for the class I’d planned to meet for the first time this afternoon, typing up syllabi, class rosters, yadda yadda yadda, only to find out in the midst of it all that the head of my department wants to meet with me prior to my first meeting with the class to discuss how we’ll work out the schedule. So, for that reason, I needed to postpone my first meeting with them until tomorrow (Thurs.)afternoon.

This new development freed me up to continue working on some of the things I needed to do to prepare, but despite all my good intentions, including 2 visits to the computer lab (one of 2 places on campus where I can print something), I still had difficulty getting my documents printed due to a paper jam that could not be resolved. Luckily, I got enough done to be almost ready for tomorrow’s class—that is, if I can meet with the dept. head prior to it… ya, there are 2 other meetings in the morning. This is how it seems to work at Chancellor College. The strike was over last week. The Deans then decided to start classes with first-years this week. Soon afterwards, the administration set up several meetings which conflict with class times. Hence, not many classes are meeting, anyway.

The moral of this story is: My four weeks of teaching just turned into three weeks. Perhaps this will dwindle more, considering how things tend to go over there. I’ll keep ya posted.

As you also know by now, Penga went under the knife on Monday afternoon, at the same time that I attended the meeting wherein it was decided that I would teach the first few weeks of two first-year courses at Chanco. I literally left the meeting at around 4 p.m. to pick her up (her surgery was at 2 p.m.). Of course, she was really ‘out of it’, but other than that, she seemed o.k. She slept most of the night, and in the morning, still seemed a bit weak. I was of course paying attention to whether she was pulling on her stitches, and observed that she was bleeding a bit from the stitched-up area.

Now, the Americans out there will understand my panicked reaction, which was to call the vet, letting him know that she was bleeding. The Malawians, however, might think I’m a bit nuts for fussing over a cat. They don’t understand how we can treat our animals like our babies. But we do. I can’t explain exactly why, but we’re nuts for our pets back home. In my case, maybe it’s partly because I don’t have any children. I’m not sure, but I’ve always been very attached to my pets, and yesterday I worried all day about Penga as she recovered from somewhat major surgery.

The vet did recommend that I take her in so he could look at the stitches, but when I did, he just took a look from outside the office, trimmed one of the longer ‘tails’ from a stitch so she wouldn’t tug it, and said, “Oh, that’s fine. Her muscles will bleed a little, but it’s not serious.” “Really?” I said, further questioning his professional opinion, “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure,” he assertively responded, clearly annoyed at my Mzungu panic over a little cat. Like I said, we’re just like that. Can’t help it.

So, the other Mzungu pet lovers out there will be happy to hear that though she continued to bleed a bit in the afternoon (I even had Deliwe watching her because I was invigilating/proctoring another exam), by nightfall yesterday (Tues.), Penga was almost back to normal, eating a bit, walking almost normally, and meowing faintly.

Today, she seems to be generally back to her usual active, loud, hungry self. Whew! To me, the stitches still look a little more ‘open’ than I’d like, but I didn’t see any evidence of bleeding, so that’s good. They also seem to be intact, as it doesn’t appear that she’s bitten any off (by other major fear).

So, with those two sources of stress this week more or less out of the way (but continuing), I suppose it’s time to reminisce a bit about the rest of our lake tour, now about 2 weeks ago.

As you probably have noticed by now, I did post a few pix this past weekend of the trip back south down the lakeshore, including our last two stops on our way back home: Nkhotakhota and Salima. Unfortunately, I still can’t seem to get the pictures into the correct order, so they might just have to stay that way, unless I can find the 20-something blogger gurus to save me from the stress of trying to figure it out all by my little Generation (Jen) X self… oh, the horror!

In any case, if you’ve had a chance to peruse the pix (Ya, the elephant ones are coming—I know, I know… but look at my ordeal this week, and you know why it’s taking so long... patience, patience…) Maybe if you’re good, you’ll get to see a VIDEO this time! OK, don’t hold your breath, but I’ll try… need one of those millennial kids… Anyone out there wanna help a poor JenX figure out how to use a computer? I’m pretty good… even learned DOS back in the day… can you say that? Do you even know what DOS is? Ya, I thought not… so there! You punks! But help me anyway, ok?? pretty please?????

Ya, like that pathetic psychotic plea’s gonna work… Ya never know…

OK, so I’ll get on with it now. After leaving our bamboo hut at the lovely, but beachless Nkhata Bay, we headed south down the fabulous M5 highway along the lake. This highway, by the way, seems to be the best-kept secret in Malawi. Since coming here, I thought there were only two types of roads: 1) Dirt/rocky/bumpy, or 2) narrow, pot-hole-ridden tarmac (i.e. ‘paved’ for the ‘Yanks’). Oh, no, not so. There’s also the M5. Forgive me for saying this, for it will sound a bit ethno/culture/nation-centric (ya, I made that term up, as you can imagine), but the M5 is like an American highway! Wide, nicely paved, smooth, no potholes, and with lines painted on it! You know, the middle lines? Haven’t seen those in awhile. And the ones at the side? Nope. Almost never here. But this road-- Ah… it was almost TOO good. In fact, it surpassed most American roads because not only was it in beautiful condition, but there was virtually NO traffic on it, either human or machine! It was beautiful. Magical. Unreal.

So there we were, on the lovely M5, cruising along, back into the rubber-tree forest. Remember that? We’d gone through at least half of it after passing Nkhata Bay the day before. Of course, there was something there we’d remembered from that day. Something made of rubber. Something we wanted to buy. Large, rubber balls. I know, you thought it was something else. Just shows where your minds are (heh heh). Ya, there are these people, primarily young men and boys, bouncing these really interesting rubber balls along the road in the forest, so Deliwe and I thought we’d stop and buy a couple on our way back through for Pacharo and Noel (Harold’s sons), and Deliwe’s nephews. So, we stopped and bought two of the balls, which looked very interesting… almost as if they were made of several rubber bands.

Well, this purchase proved to be a bit of a risk, as well as a waste of money. More on that later.

We continued along this heavenly highway for about three more hours (if memory serves) to Nkhotakhota. I’d already done a bit of research on where to stay in our little guidebook, and had Deliwe read a bit of the text back to me as a reminder. We actually had to go about 10 miles past the town to find the turnoff to the resorts by the lake. Which, of course, we did. Mostly without incident. The only problem we had is that the signs to the place I’d intended to check out were not as visible as the signs to the ‘Sany Beach Lodge’ (which I think is intended to read ‘Sunny Beach,’ though I never did verify this rumor with the staff.)

Oh, yeah, and another incident, I almost forgot... There was a police barricade (these are typical on Malawian highways) on the way, featuring several signs related to curbing the problem of deforestation, mostly due to the charcoal-making trade, as well as illegal firewood cutting (as wood is a primary fuel source for cooking/heating in the villages). Of course, being such a tree-hugger, I was happy to see such efforts being made to address this issue.

Little did I know that I'd done something earlier on that might have contributed to a certain aspect of this problem. Remember the rubber balls we bought back in the rubber tree forest as we left Nkhata Bay? Well, apparently the sale and purchase of said balls is illegal. And, not only that, but there are signs posted everywhere indicating the name of the rubber company that owns the tree plantations, with a small warning (too small for me, obviously) painted in red, discouraging travellers from buying the balls, as they are made from stolen rubber. When questioned by the policeman about this, I was too distraught about my terrible mistake to ask whether trees are cut down in the process of making these balls, but I'm guessing that they are. AAAHH! I felt horrible. I even offered to let him take the balls, but he said it was ok, as it was obviously the first time I'd purchased them. Perhaps the fact that they were sitting in the back seat proved my innocence and ignorance of what I'd done. I certainly did not try to hide my crime.

Having said all of that, anyone in Malawi tempted to purchase these, obviously avoid it for the above reason, but also they are not worth buying, as it turns out they are filled with air (I thought it was all made of rubber--duh!), and both balls punctured broke within a few hours, went flat, and unfortunately the fun was over quickly. I guess Deliwe and I learned our lesson, and also had the question answered as to why the vendors would suddenly appear out of a 'hiding place' in the forest before coming out to bounce their tempting rubber balls at the side of the road... we couldn't resist!! (he he...)

We went ahead and took a look at Sany Beach, then tried to walk up the beach to see the other places, but decided we were just too tired to keep going, and were also pretty sure those places might be on the pricey side, so we stayed put at Sany/Sunny Beach.

It was a fabulous place, actually. They had chalets right on the beach, a beautiful bar with a natural, rocky terrace overlooking the lake, and a fabulous open-air restaurant. All the things one looks for in a beach-side resort, but at only MK2,000 (about 17 bucks) /night… for a chalet! This was heaven. Forget about the M5. This was the place I could wake up to after dying.

So, due to exhaustion after the drive and hunger after an early breakfast of bananas and biscuits at our bamboo lodge, we decided to leave the car unpacked, make an order with the kitchen, and then get some drinks at the bar.

Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention. Deliwe and I were the ONLY guests at this place. We had it all at our disposal. Well, all that was there… there was no bread in the Kitchen, and no ‘greens’ at the bar. “What’s a green?”, you mzungus back home are asking, right? No, it’s not a little leprechaun or some exotic Malawian cocktail. It’s Carlsberg lager. Ya, not so exciting. Have I forgotten to mention that somehow the Danes have the corner on the beer market here? I have yet to find out the history of that one, but yeah. Most of the time, when you go out for a beer in Malawi, besides the local Malawian ‘Kuche Kuche’ (--ya, cute name, eh? It means something like sunrise, because it’s a bit weak, so you can drink it til sunrise and still work the next day, so the locals claim), you have only 3 other choices (if you can call them that): Carlsberg green, brown (amber), or stout. Ya, it gets old really fast, especially for those of us who are not Carlsberg fanatics (i.e. me). But, I can adapt, especially when it’s beer. I’m from Wisconsin, and I’m half German—‘nuff said.

OK, back to the story. This bar had only Carlsberg Stout. While my little sis Heather the stout lover (who also went to a college of the same name, but I digress) would’ve had much rejoicing over this, I, on the other hand, am not a big stout fanatic. Nevertheless, we were on the beach, and it was beer. And it was cold. So, who cares? I also remembered the Malawi Gin, which I hadn’t tasted in awhile, so since I wasn’t planning on driving anywhere for awhile, I indulged in one or two of those, and then had a couple of stouts, which of course I paid for later with a massive headache that had me in bed by 7 p.m. Ya, I’m getting old, methinks…

So basically, we hung out on the rocks outside the lovely bar, met up with some local kids who thought Deliwe was a goddess because she wore trousers and seemed so worldly coming from the south with this alien Mzungu lady. She even gave some advice to one of the girls to really study hard in school, especially English, or she’d never be able to work for a Mzungu (heh heh). I suppose that’s good advice, no matter the motivation.

I, on the other hand, coaxed a couple of boys into ‘skipping rocks’ with me on the water. This was something we used to do as kids while visiting my German grandmother in southern Wisconsin back in the day. She never had toys or games at her house, so we’d skip rocks in the river across the lakes, for hours, or days, or millennia, as it often seemed. Having a little rock skippin contest with the boys proved a couple of things to me… their skill proved this must be a universal pastime for bored kids (or kids with few resources), and that my skills had certainly diminished over time (or maybe they never were as good as I’d thought). I never got more than 3 skips on one throw, but the boys had 4 or 5 a couple of times. Too bad this isn’t an Olympic sport, eh?

In the midst of our fun times with the kids (including some pushing around on the tree swing outside the bar), Deliwe and I started realizing how long it’d been since we’d ordered dinner. It was actually a late lunch when we ordered it at around 2 p.m. It was now nearing 5 p.m. and we still hadn’t been served. AAAH! No wonder I was feeling weak and dizzy. Luckily, just as I’d started to ask Richard, the cook/waiter from Zimbabwe (his father’s from Malawi, so he came here a few months ago in the midst of the Mugabe-spurred economic crisis which began much earlier) about the food, it was just about to be served.

This brings me to another side-note (wow, I’ve had lotsa those today). For those of you considering a visit to Malawi, keep in mind that there is virtually no such thing as fast-food here. I think I may have mentioned in an earlier posting that McDonald’s does not exist here (Hallelujah! They haven’t infested EVERY culture in the world—yet…). When you order food at any restaurant—large or small, cheap or expensive—expect to wait a good 20-30 minutes for your food. Even breakfast at hotels can take awhile (usually 10-15 mins.) In a way, this is a refreshing thing, but can be a hassle if you’re on a lunch break with little time to spare. Of course, for tourists, that’s not a concern.

Almost always, though, you’ll find the meal is more than worth the wait. This was definitely the case that evening, as we had a fabulous meal of kampango from the braii (grill), rice, and salad. Very well-worth the wait, I must say. And very, very welcome after too much sun n alcohol in the system.

After dinner, Deliwe decided to play with the kids a bit more on the swing, while I went back to the room to change into my swimsuit and jump in. Shortly after I went in, Deliwe joined me, and then the kids. One thing about swimming here that seemed much different from the south, however, was the force of the water. The waves here were much larger, faster, and a bit ominous. Since Deliwe is not a strong swimmer, I just warned her to be careful, and taught her a bit about body surfing, etc. She seemed ok, and we had a great time in the water, until it got a bit dark, and one of the girls in the group of kids warned us that the crocodiles come out after dark. Crocodiles? Really? Though I though this seemed like rough waters for crocs, I wasn’t about to chance it, and out I ran, straight to the wooden hammock I’d spotted earlier that day. I relaxed for a bit, while Deliwe played with one of the rubber balls with the kids on the beach.

Soon, I started to feel a headache coming on, and then it was time to go in. I took a short shower, scrubbing off the sand and pebbles that collected inside my swimsuit during the body-surfing… I had no idea how much stuff had gotten in there! I imagine the fact that my suit has gotten roomier since I’ve lost some poundage was a contributing factor, so I’m not complaining. Ya, that turned out to be s a much-needed shower.

As I mentioned before, the gin/stout-induced headache came on strong, so I took some drugs, and headed for bed at around 7 p.m. Even earlier that Deliwe, which had to be a first. I suppose the fact that the electricity there runs off a generator and the place had limited gas (ya, many things were limited, which is either the result or cause of the lack of guests—maybe both), so we weren’t sure how long we’d have electricity, anyway.

Since we were right on the beach, listening to the waves crashing in, it really felt like we weren’t missing anything, anyway, so it was a good night to sleep early, and be up for sunrise. Ya, the proof’s in the pics at left. I, Jen X, was up at SUNRISE in MALAWI (around 4 a.m.) Even I myself couldn’t believe it, and still really don’t. Could be a first and a last. But I did it. Check it off the list. You know, that one of stuff I need to do before leaving this earth. Done.

So, as you can see from the pictures posted at left, I took a good deal of sunrise photos before Deliwe even opened her eyes to the new day. Another first for me, as I rarely beat her in the waking up early competition…

The rest of the morning was rather typical. Shower, breakfast, a few more photos, and off we went. I wanted to see the famous mission church where the Scottish Anglican Missionary David Livingstone first negotiated with the Jumbe tribal chief on 10 Sept. 1863 (finally found the dates again in my guidebook) under a magnificent fig tree (still standing—see evidence at left) to end the slave trade which shipped people across Lake Malawi from Nkhotakhota. Unfortunately, Livingstone was unsuccessful in this attempt, and Nkhotakhota remained the largest slave market on Lake Malawi (founded in the early 19th century by the half-Arab Jumbe tribe, which ruled Nkhotakhota for several generations). From Nkhotakhota, as many as 20,000 slaves were shipped every year across the lake to Kilwa Kivinje on the coast of Tanzania. There, they were sold in the slave markets on the east coast of Africa (Zanzibar was one of the biggest), at that time ruled by the Omani Arabs --(Again, all according to my ‘Bradt’ Guidebook on Malawi—the only one dedicated to Malawi, as far as I know…).

It wasn’t actually until several years later, in 1890, when British Commissioner Harry Johnston persuaded the ageing Jumbe chief to sign a treaty ending the slave trade in exchange for British protection (also according to the book, almost word-for-word).

Of course, with such a history, I had to visit the mission and see the big fig tree and all. The mission was actually built in 1894, and is also the burial place of Chauncy Maples, the first bishop of the Anglican mission on Likoma Island, established in 1886. Likoma island is in the middle of Lake Malawi, and a great place to visit, I'm told, but not as easy to get to as I'd hoped. This was (and still is) one of the most famous missions in Malawi. Unfortunately, the demise of Chauncy Maples was quite sad, as he was drowned in a shipwreck on the lake during stormy weather while returning to the island from the 'mainland' coast in Salima in 1895, actually just around the time he was consecrated as bishop on the island.

So, all these historical sites are pictured at left, maybe in order, or maybe not, depending whether I can rearrange the photos successfully after finishing this post. Wish me luck!

After finishing our little trip back to the town of Nkhotakhota (also featuring a ride for one of the Sani Bay Lodge managers who needed to buy fuel for the truck and generator-- a sidenote worth mentioning..), we headed south to Salima.

Now, to bring a timely ending to this story, I'll just give a few tidbits about our trip to Salima, specifically the beachfront of Senga Bay:

1) As usual, we did have some trouble finding the hotel where we wanted to stay ('Red Zebra Lodge'), were mis-directed by a few people (including a soldier at one point... ), but still found the place we originally wanted to go, but no rooms were available, so we headed to another place our guidebook recommended, giving a ride to one of the staff at the first place who lived in the area of the 2nd hotel, called 'Caroline's'. Luckily, they had rooms available, but nothing self-contained. I had to compromise my VERY STRONG desire for my own bathroom and HOT SHOWER (had not had one since lilongwe--remember the 'Malawian bath' at Gillo's house and the cold shower at Nkhotakhota?) for a shared bathroom, but which did have an all-day hot shower, a very rare commodity at lake hotels in Malawi.

2) Shortly after arriving at the lodge and heading for the beach (a very nice, mostly empty beach, with strong waves/tides much like Nkhotakhota), we discovered the place had been largely taken over by a huge group (about 20 or so) of very young Brits, mostly women, incredibly similar to those we ran into during our last stay at Liwonde National Park (see prior posting from mid-March for the gory details). Could it be the same people? (As you may recall, it was a group of 17 years-or-so-aged British kids on a 3-month stay, placed all over Malawi as experimental primary school teachers with no actual teaching experience...). The group we'd run into at Liwonde had all gotten together from the different regions of Malawi, and this situation appeared quite similar, as it was graced with at least one giddy, screaming girl reunion on the night we arrived.

Now, if you are a young, white woman in your 20's, please take what I'm about to say with a grain of salt. I'm somewhat convinced that at least part of it is my age talking. Someday you're likely to understand. Wait about 10 years or so, you'll see what I mean. These days, for me, young women (whether British or American), ironically white, blonde women (yes, not unlike myself in appearance--but younger, of course), all look and sound the same to me--same hair, same face, same clothes, same personality, same, same, same-- it's almost like the 'Millenial' generation (as we so lovingly call them) were cloned in a lab somewhere (at least the caucasian females) rather than conceived the traditional way. So, after seeing this group, I never could quite figure out if they were the same as the Liwonde group, but they might as well have been. Just as loud, just as large a group, just as invasive (especially during breakfast) as the other group had been. They literally 'took over' the place. Luckily, we weren't kept up all night this time, as they did seem to end their partying a bit early (at least the ones staying in the room near ours, and sharing the bathroom with us... AARGH! One almost walked in on me, as I imagine knocking was just too much trouble for her.) Sorry if this sounds nasty, mean, and bitter, but I have no tolerance for inconsideration and rudeness, regardless of age, cloning, or any other possible factor. Plus, after having an entire place to ourselves the night before, Deliwe and I were definitely spoiled and intolerant of other travellers, especially loud rude ones.

3) In our plight to escape the hourde of young travellers, we attempted to find another place to hang out by hiking up the beach at around 8 p.m., but to no avail. No other resorts seemed to have a bar, or any type of lounge where we could just hang out. Ya, weird. Caroline's was it. So, after our stroll under the beautiful, starry, Malawi sky, we strolled back in, windblown and weary, but with just enough energy to order one more drink and sneak back up to our balcony (ya, the room had a nice back balcony-- a definite asset) and escape the sound of the chatter of young, drunk females. This, for me, was probably the highlight of my stay at Senga Bay, along with watching the sunset on the outside seating area at sunset. To their credit, the group of kids stayed in the bar most of the time in the evening, so we did enjoy a peaceful Malawi sunset on the beach with a couple of greens... AAAAHHH.

So, with that, I'll conclude possibly the longest M 'n M post so far (with the possible exception of the first one chronicling my first couple of weeks here), leaving you with the anticipation of new pictures to come (and maybe even video!) this weekend. As always, Tiwonana mawa!