Well, I did it. I am successfully writing from Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi, self-labeled "the warm heart of Africa". Luckily for you guys (or unluckily? I dunno- depends on how much you like my writing style) my journey was frought with blog material.
Thursday morning- for the third day in a row, I rose at 4am, repacked my things, and ventured into the heavy, chicken-scented air, down to the bus station. I more than half-expected that they would once again announce no bus. Another corner of me expected Shabbani to jump out of the shadows and start rubbing my neck again. Much to my relief, they told me the bus was on its way- a bit late, but it would leave this morning, myself aboard.
A quick thought that came to me while I waited- it's been the same everywhere I've gone in Africa, except for South Africa, which has its share of caucasians. But I think I now know what it feels like to be a cute puppy in a country of dog-fanciers. That's what it's like being a young white female in Africa. As I sat at the station, I was snapped at, whistled at, clucked at, "Hello, Madam"-ed, "How are you"-ed, and "You are beautiful"-ed, all delivered as though they expected that they could lure me forward to get my ears scratched.
The bus arrived. Rickety, but real. Soon after I got on and found a seat, I knew that the trip was not going to be fun. Tradespeople had stuffed the bottom compartments with their wares, so all the real luggage was piled in the back seats, stuffed above, under and around the seats, and in cluttering the center aisle. The bus itself was moving at no impressive speed- every other vehicle on the road passed us, and my neighbor was a large woman who took up more than her fair share of the seat. Our first rest stop was on a nondescript roadside, no toilets in view.
The highlight of the trip happened early- we saw a herd of elephants chilling in the shade and in a stream right next to the road! A little farther down, giraffe and zebra were clustered under a stand of trees, and yet a little farther, a few antelopes. That was truly amazing.
It started going downhill when, just around sunset, the truck stopped. For two hours, the drivers tinkered with the innards of the bus, while the passengers grew increasingly restless. Dripping sweat, hungry, and dehydrated, I was jumping out of my skin with silent irritation, but there was no one to vent to, because everyone around me was speaking Swahili or Chechewa(sp?). Finally, we got moving again- but only for a few hours. As the engine stopped yet again, in total darkness, and no repair sounds resumed, I gave up hope of knowing what was up, and fell asleep.
Woke around dawn, and could finally see the closed gate in front of the bus. We'd reached the border, which didn't open until seven. It was there that I learned about illegal money changers. I didn't know it was illegal when he approached me- I thought it was the accepted way of changing money, especially since he came onto the bus itself to do business. But when he handed me the Malawian money (Kwacha), the large woman next to me snatched it from my hand, counted it, and demanded that he give me more. It started a long argument that came to involve all the women surrounding us. The man became very angry, and went as though to strike one woman- at which we all rose up and started yelling- a guard came and made the man leave. At that point, everyone told me the money changers were illegal crooks. Lesson learned. I thanked them for defending me.
As I went through customs, I wound up joining forces with David and Helen, two separately traveling Ugandans. The official language in Uganda is English, so finally I had someone to talk to- Helen was quite an empowered woman for Africa, and I had a fascinating day listening to her debate different issues with David, such as the King of Swaziland's multiple wives. Davis had taken this bus route many times before, where Helen was a first-timer, like myself. Also like me, she had been told the journey would last 24 hours. David informed us, and indeed all the veteran tradespeople who regularly went this way seemed to accept, that it would take at least fifty. He told us that even if they customs people started going through all the luggage and merchandise first thing in the morning (which they wouldn't), there was nothing anyone could say to make the bus leave the border before 5pm. "But... what do we do all day?" Helen and I asked, astounded. David shrugged.
And he was right. We sat around all day, chatting, sighing, and watching while the merchandise inspectors were completely unproductive. Helen and I were wondering exactly who all this wasted time benefited. Like me, Helen had been stranded in Dar es Salaam for three days before they let her on a bus. We were both ready to demand four days of our lives back. 5:30 came, and no one had even started re-loading the bus, which was reported to take at least two hours. 7:00. Sun was down, still nothing. Everyone was complaining now- even the veterans said it had never taken this long. Rumors were flying about as to why it should be, but who knew what to believe? Around 9 or so, they got moving. Then the rain started, accompanied by lightning and thunder. The lights went out, and they were packing with the help of flashlights, which took even longer. Really, if someone had planned for everything to go wrong at once, they couldn't have done better. Wrapped in my huge sweater, I fell asleep until David told me it was time to put my bags back on board. We got moving after 1am- that means we were at the border around 24 hours. Multiple police roadblocks and several more engine breakdowns slowed us up, but finally at 1:30 in the afternoon we reached Lilongwe.
The friend that Helen was visiting took me to a place where I could go online and call my contact at the forest reserve. I was exhausted, greasy, I had a dehydration headache with accompanying skull-relocation residual pain, and all I'd eaten that day besides some mini-bananas at dawn was a hanfdul of raw peanuts. So when the contact numbers didn't work, you'll pardon me for some panic. What the hell now?
All I could think of was email. I know their system doesn't always work, depending on weather, and I'm also not sure how long the drive is. I figured I'd be in Lilongwe at least one night. So That's where I am, at a hotel in Lilongwe, waiting for Thuma's email to function so they can come and find me. I'm back to wasting time. On the bright side, it's a nice hotel and all the stories I've heard about friendly people in Malawi seem to be true so far. For the sake of my wallet and my drive for company, I hope they come for me soon.
Traveling alone has a lot of perks- you do what you want when you want, being alone forces you to overcome your shyness, and it opens up more opportunities to meet new and interesting people you wouldn't normally spend time with. But until this trip I've spent four months or more in one place, and had time to develop friendships. The next time I try this one-month-per-location thing, I want a friend along.
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