Mzuzu (The Big City)

Before we begin this story, we would like to let everyone know that the search for the ground coffee was successful, and we (even Ryan) is now sipping some very good local Chipunga coffee on the front porch. The sun is still low, there are some nice cool breezes drifting by, and life is good. I never thought I would comfortably wake up before 7am, but moments like this make it easy.

On Friday, we wore our matching outfits to school and get many smiles. You can really tell when someone likes something because you get that high-five handshake. We learned later that this is very much a thing, to dress conservatively all week and then on Friday, wear your vibrant African patterns. Sasha is stuck in a dress or skirt all the time, so she will wear them more often. She is beginning to like the long skirts, they are very nice for the heat and catch every breeze, although it makes walking over rocky and dirt covered ground carrying textbooks and lab supplies very difficult. If you fall, you are the talk of the school so there are high stakes. The other female teachers have beautiful handmade dresses they wear as well, although they often have a more closely fitting style so it seems less suited to the heat. There are students that grow up on the island that are able to wear a full suit jacket while we just sweat in our short sleeve shirts, and it is very stylish to wear a wool beanie which is just unthinkable. We gather gossip on which boat to take as well, deciding on the “Laman” that leaves early Saturday. A few teachers said it was fine on a calm day, a few swore never to take it again. Lets roll those dice!

Friday evening we walk down to the beach past ‘town’, and we pass our first Mzungu (foreign person, usually just referring to white person) and stop to chat. Her name is Lucy, she is from London, and they are living near the nice hotel on the island. We exchange phone numbers, and she tells us of other Mzungus and how they will often get together. She has been taking Chichewa lessons, and can still not make heads or tails of it. We also learned of the one band on the island, they have 7 songs that we will hear many times. She also invites us to a fundraiser they are doing that evening. Unfortunately, we have been looking forward to the famed Mango Drift (Hotel) pizza on the other side of the island and have to decline.

We go back to the Bishops house and pack for our hour long hike with waterbottles and flashlights and set out. We found a sketched map of the island on another hotels web page, and follow that trail, ignoring Google maps. We pass many villages, each one featuring a mob of children that want to shake our hand or fistbump. They are very cute and do slow us down, but we have a goal. Just past the village that had a large and noisy flour-milling machine, we take a left and see an older white couple bikes. “Ahh, Mango Drift must be close!” “yes, just half an hour more”. We follow bike tracks and are very impressed with their prowess, coming across a large rocky hill that they had to carry bikes down. We crest it, cheered on by the goats tied up along the path, and see our first view of the beach we guess is Mango Drift. The sun sky is beginning to turn a beautiful pink, and we charge on across a very skinny path. We almost missed a rock painted with an arrow to Mango Drift, and walked down to a lovely beach bar. People are playing volleyball, a couple is modeling on the beach, and some men drinking beer tell us pizza is only for lunch, and dinner is only at 7. It is beef stew, and we must tell them by 3PM which we have missed by 2 hours. We nervously asked if there was any food at all available, and they put our name down for dinner. We start talking to Jacob, an orchestra conductor from New Jersey. He was fired 15 months ago with $15,000 in savings, and has been traveling the world ever since. He started in China, and met a middle aged man doing the same, and now they are biking through Africa together. We traded tips on booking cheap flights, and he told us about Andrew. We had heard rumor of Andrew before, he is a millionaire that lives on Likoma island. Some people say he is harmful to Malawi, some people say he is fantastic, and most people say he is crazy. When asked for a description people just say “ah, you will know Andrew when you see him”.

Jacob told us to ask to see his ball, and refused to give more information. He also passed on some plastic flowers and shorts that an innkeeper had given him that Andrew had left at an inn on the mainland. His mystery continues. We met another middle-aged man who was an election consultant, and flew from the UK to different African countries to advise on a safe election process. It is a lot of fun getting to know all of these people they have all led such interesting lives. In any topic you bring up, someone has a story of how it is different in a remote country you have not heard of, or a dangerous country that you have. If you have made it to Likoma you have probably traveled just about everything else first. We hired a car with Jacob that turned out to be the ambulance back to the bishops house. As we bumped along Jacob told us that once the year is done, we must stay traveling in Africa as there is so much to see and most places are very difficult to get to. The ride was a whopping 7000 MWK ($12) Cheap by ambulance ride standards, but crazy expensive by Likoma prices. It cost the same to ride to the boat, ride the boat all day, and hire a shared taxi to Mzuzu. It was a nice evening and a welcome break from the bishops quiet house and our early bedtimes.

The next morning we cleaned the house, packed our bags and headed to the ferry dock (more of a general area on the beach where you wait for the ferry) it was supposed to leave by 9 AM and we were able to take a smaller boat and climb on board by 8:30. At around 8:45 we received a very helpful text from a friend on the island reminding us to bring enough food and water for the whole day. We did a quick calculation and decided our one small water bottle probably wasn’t going to cut it. Ryan ran back while Sasha tried to save a spot and watch the things. He unlocked the front door, unlocked the bedroom door, turned on the light, grabbed a few goodies and handfuls of granola bars (A very valuable commodity here, we have seen none for sale), locked the bedroom door, locked the front door, unlocked the front door, unlocked the bedroom door, turned off the light, locked the bedroom door, locked the front door, and ran all the way back in 25 minutes. Sasha was less successful in saving a spot, a family had sat down next to her and children just kept coming. People started sitting on the floor, and within a few minutes we slowly set off just a few minutes behind schedule. Men were jumping in rowboats and chasing us down, rowing as hard as they could. We stopped to wait a little ways off the island. We kept waiting for the boat to speed up, but nope that was the speed. A little over an hour went by and we stopped at the next door island, Chizimulu. More people got on, including men selling drinks and a woman selling homemade donut-like things. Our coworker makes them as well, it is only flour, milk, yeast, egg, a little sugar maybe, and then boiled and fried. We shared one for 50MWK ($.069), and it was so good we had to buy another. We planned to save it for later and ended up eating it before we left the bay. Finally we were properly underway, before we stopped at the other side of Chizimulu. The head teacher for a school there got on, and sat next to us telling us the wonders of the school on Chizimulu and that we should leave LIkoma to come work for him. It sounds like a true struggle to keep staff at either of the islands, as the educated who can leave do, and it’s a long way from the mainland. Very slowly the island faded from sight, and all we could see was endless blue. We got our blanket to put our heads on and tried to sleep. An 8 hour ride in the sun later we arrived in Nkhata bay. We jumped onto the dock and a man with a rasta beanie offered us a ride to Mzuzu for 2000MWK. We bargained him to 1500 each, and then sat in his car while he hunted for a full taxi. It is a narrow road out of the boat dock, and a small market with all sizes of fish, and many tomatoes had popped up on either side. Parked cars lined one side, and a semi truck tried to come down the other side. Our taxi driver just pushed the mirrors in, and it came within inches. Soon we had one person a seat and we headed off. There was a separate driver, and the rasta hat man sat next to Sasha in the back. He kept shouting out the window we were going to Mzuzu and we prayed no one else was.

No such luck. A man around 7 ft tall became the third person in the two-seater very back, and a fourth joined Sasha in the center. The rasta hat man left and we started speeding to Mzuzu. Someone got out in a small town a few miles out, but another car pulled over and a large couple got out. We were back to four in the middle, Sasha with her face against the glass, and Ryan now with our plastic bin shoved in his face and a man between him and the driver. We pulled over for gas, and a cross eyed girl held her hand out asking for money. Everyone shook their heads and she came around to Sasha side. She pointed at the lollipop the man next to her clutched with his phone. He handed it over and she left without a word. The sun started setting, and we drove another hour. He let us out at the Mzuzu gas station. We headed for the legendary Joys Place, a hostel run by a Korean woman and her American husband. After walking down an unlit dirt road, we come to a gate painted with a large flower and “Joys Place”, we hear merriment inside and try knocking. We peer through and see people laughing and talking inside. We knock and shout, then begin to brainstorm some solutions. A girl with a colorful mickey mouse outfit emerges from the dark, reaches between the gates, and unlocks it. She welcomes us in and walks us to the bar. It turns out the inn is full, they are both hosting a Japanese festival and an event for Peace Corps where volunteers a year in guide volunteers 3 months into training around Mzuzu. Our mickey mouse outfit texts a nearby innkeeper, telling us it is closed but she is staying there so maybe? The American offered a spot to set up our tent and called the same innkeeper who did not pick up but who always picks up for him, and then we walked over to the inn just to make really sure. It was a 5 minute walk but in the dark with dogs running around. We knock on the gate with the blue “U” and the “closed” sign just past the church as directed, and hear barking. We wait a few minutes and as we reach out to knock again the door swings in and a man with cataracts around. We ask for a room and he shuffles away to find the innkeeper. Soon a large white man appears, and expertly catches a dog that tried to lunge out. He welcomes us, introduces himself as Andrae, and says its 20,000MWK for the room. We put our things down and have our first warm shower since arriving in Likoma 2 weeks ago and prepare to find dinner. The doorman had a big grin when we approached this time, gave us fistbumps with hands hidden in socks, and confirmed he was there all night. We set out for Joys again, this time knowing how to let ourselves in. We inhale a delicious General Joys Chicken and a black noodle both full of vegetables and spices that taste like home. Admittedly, anything that didn’t taste like beans, egg, or tomato would taste like home.

We chatted with an African man who said many people think he looks African American, and a newbie half- Guatamalan Peace Corps member called Simon who the African man keeps saying looks like a terrorist. Simon responds that he is a global citizen and would rather give in his American passport to obey laws of different lands and travel anywhere. After dinner and a cold cider, we were ready to head home and many of the guests were headed to “France”, the biggest club in town. We walked back, knocked, and although we waited patiently the doorman did not come. So we just opened the door and walked in. There he was on the other side, still with a big grin. We wrap the huge light pink mosquito net around the bed with thick pillows, and fall asleep right away.

The next morning we see our mickey mouse outfit girl, this morning with a tye dye dress, sitting at the bar and Andrae bustling around the kitchen. Her name was Lucy and she was a year into Peace Corps. He made us some proper Cappuccinos (our first non-instant coffee), I ask where the machine came from, it looks difficult to get. He explains that it really was not hard at all, it is just who you know. He just happened to have a good relationship with a guy in South Africa who put it on a truck for him, and three weeks later it was there. He offered some handsome muffins with berries picked that very morning, and a fat glass of heavy pulp orange juice. There we sit for the next few hours as he talks of his happy and independent life in Mzuzu. He controls everything about his block of land, and the large gate keeps the corrupt government, rude people, and anything else out. He shows off his $100 smartphone that can do absolutely anything and do it well, and then shows us to the back and his tough vending-machine sized orange juice squeezer. The elements that do the squeezing are solid metal and difficult to hold. He traded his android S7 for it. We learn about the people here, how wherever he walks he sees many good people and good friends, and anyone rude he can leave behind. Lucy told us about how the federal government came by and casually interviewed PC (Peace corps) members about smoking weed. The two who smoked every day stayed silent, and the seven that had tried it once at a party off-site 6 months ago were sent home. Locals think it makes you crazy, and that coffee as well will make you crazy. And unlike in the States, they have a place for you in an asylum where crazy people are never heard from again. His wife came in to listen. If someone does accept a coffee, they will put heaping spoonfuls of sugar. They would even be just as happy with a bit of water and a bucket of sugar. If you wear sunglasses you are hiding from god, so that makes you dishonest.

We hear more stories of Andrew, who was accused of taking children and selling their teeth. We joke that we have seen those teeth, nobody would want them there are too many cavities. He tells us there are many dentists around, but usually they just pull teeth if you have a toothache. His waitress who worked there less than a year had 4 less teeth when she quit.

We ask why the place is closed, and he explains that in his 5 years of being here, he spent the first bit selling this hotel as hard as he could, and it was busy all the time. He had worked and managed in many large hotels “In the Western World”. There may be 40 people for dinner, and he needed the staff to help. If a group of 10 drunkards came in, he had to help them. He broke even. Recently he has been “Closed” only hosting those he already knows. He is not even on google maps, we checked. In his past month of business this way, he has made more than he did of two years working very hard.

We ask for fabric recommendations, and his wife tells us where to go but beware the Mzungu price. It is always exactly double what the locals pay. If they ask anymore, just leave. Otherwise, haggle them down a little. But not too much, its true you are Mzungu and you have miles more money than anyone else. He often just pays the higher price. He’s got places to be, and that shopkeeper has all day to haggle. It is when gas and water companies do the same that there is trouble. He lays out the city for us- there are 3 round abouts to worry about and everything else is near one of those.

We get his whatsapp info, and continue on to Joys place (only 7000MWK each per night) we stash our bags and then head to the boarding school to meet the former Likoma students Enoch and Clement. An hours walk in the sun. It was not too hot for us now, Mzuzu is far higher than Likoma, but when we first left Australia we may not have made it. Once we leave the “city”, which just means away from the roundabouts, children begin waving and calling us Mzungu again. We walk up a long road, and ask a lady how to get to the boarding school. She points to a broken down blue fence, and we knock on it for awhile. We’ve knocked on more broken down ones and found doormen, this should be no different. Soon a neighbor comes and says “No one has used that door in years, you must go around” in the clearest accent yet. She gave us complicated directions, and seeing our blank looks, offers to walk us there. She shouts to her nearby mother, and we go on our way. She had just finished highschool and is now applying to many different scholarships. We tell her we have loved Malawi and she just asks why. She wants to get out badly. Her father has a friend who manages scholarships in the states, and she hopes she can go there, or to the UK, or really anywhere else but it is expensive. She opens a gate that looks far more used, and a young gate keeper is sitting in his hut watching. We tell him we are looking for students and he just shrugs. She continues with us past kids playing on the playground. Some boys walk by. She asks if they know Enoch and they run quickly back where they came. We see them emerging and we wish her luck on the scholarships. We sit with the boys in the shade and they tell us everything is going alright, and yes they are studying. They cannot leave this compound, not even for church, because someone escaped a few weeks ago. We show them photos of their classmates, and they tell us their friends. Of course, it is the 2 with the next highest grades in the class. His mother is in the hospital, and we offer to bring a note which he refuses. They did promise we could wear sunglasses on Likoma, and no one will think you are hiding from God.

We leave without ever talking to an adult, and headed straight for our Indian restaurant. We shamelessly ordered the pizza. Which, although sparse on toppings, was also delicious. We make it back to Joys, and collapse into our beds. Once we brave the common room, we talk with Steven from New Jersey who is here on a grant to work collecting data in the Lake while working on a novel. The novel is about 3 fish he and his father took care of, one from Lake Malawi, one from China, one from Vietnam. The grant lets him spend time in each. Simon from New Mexico (whose single mother is from Guatamala) is the last PC and laments of his nearby village that cost the same to get to as Likoma as a bus goes once every few days, and it goes 25km down a dirt road. No one we met this entire time had visited Likoma, but Simon did promise he wanted to. He is an environment volunteer, so if we need a garden he may be able to come out for a few days on the PC dime. We eat dinner as the sun sets, and the innkeeper (or rather, her husband) tells us of his research. He has been keeping track of the lake for the past 8 years. We ask how its doing, he shrugs and says it is fine. Could be better. The fact people always are throwing litter in the lake, and the beaches are covered in trash, has little affect on the waters health. There are corporations dumping toxins which is a larger issue. There is overfishing, but not in the same way as in the ocean. There are not enough fish to get some serious trawlers in, anything caught is by hardworking men in carved canoes. And luckily, the fish they are after are not the same that are of interest to limnologists. He runs internships to spread the word about Lake Malawi, which overall is still pristine.

We learned even more about the culture. If there is a funeral, no one will invite you but you must go, and bring your wallet. Simon advised 500 MWK (as PC told him), the innkeeper told him that was fine for a local but he was being a cheap Mzungu, and to splurge the 2000 MWK ($3). This is the replacement for Life insurance. Same for weddings, you bring money. It is a community welfare, to make sure everyone does alright.
As Simon and Sasha argued the finer points of a Queen Bees sting, a French couple arrived. They had spent the month travelling Malawi and Zambia, swearing we must go as well. We asked for their craziest stories so far. They had rented a camper with a tent up top, and were woken by an elephant eating leaves just feet away. It stayed for two hours, forcing her to pee out the window on the other side. They had hiked along the mountains near Livingstonia, and stayed in the school grounds of different villages.

Simon donated a few movies and many audiobooks, (a very hot commodity), and then we as well went to bed. The next day we set out for the bank, and pulled out an uncomfortable amount in their tiny bills. There are no ATMs on the island so we needed to stock up for the next few months. On the plus side we never thought we would be walking around with one million in our pockets at such a young age! We started to run out of space. Then went shopping, where we got around two thirds of our list and many goodies. Our cards did not work so we had to pay cash, then pull out more money. We lugged it all back to Joys and organized while she called us a taxi. A private one this time. He picked us up and we were comfortably on our way.

The Illala was not at the dock when we arrived so we found a local restaurant and ordered some food and drink to pass the time. Sasha asked where to buy zippers, and the waiter was quick to offer to buy it for us if we gave him the kwacha, but she just asked for directions. She picked her way through the venders selling millions of tiny fish, used headphones, and tomatoes. They were far cheaper than the prices at the grocery store and seemed about the same quality. She bought some zippers, then wove her way through piles of clothing on the ground which is how people here buy clothes. The boat finally arrived. We got on at around 3 and left the dock at around midnight. We passed the time asking the employees when they thought we were going to leave (always an hour from the current time) and chatting with other passengers. We met a woman from France, Ju lie, who had been teaching for several weeks in an extremely remote part of the country and was taking a scenic route home. We didn’t have the luxury of a cabin this time and slept on the deck of the boat in first class. Sasha slept upright in a chair wrapped in the warm blanket we brought, Ryan and Ju Lie in the fabrics we bought in Mzuzu on the ground. The wind was up and although it was less crowded than before, we still had to wait to file into the boats to take us ashore. We made it back to Likoma the next morning just in time to miss most of our classes for the day.