These past 3 week have been very fast-paced, which is out of the norm for us and so these posts will come all at once. We met Andrew, the crazy millionaire. He invited us and Cassidy to dinner, while we waited for her electrician boyfriend to arrive and fix the solar power. We happily drove over, and came to a paradise. Recycled materials and old fishing boats were used to a beautiful affect making everything from the bar to seats. He himself is like someone out of a story, with blue eyes, a British accent, and a rugged way of looking at the world. We returned the shorts his daughter had left in a hotel on the mainland (given to us by a backpacker in Mango Drift), and he slammed down a large box of snorkels and flippers and told us to have at it while he finished work. It became clear he must feed the fish, or something, as there were many thousands that swarmed us. It was the most diverse set we have seen yet on the island as well! He gave us a tour of his garden and the one his son had planned out. He has a collection of mango tree sprouts that he plans to plant along the road to town, to make it shady and full of food. Right now, it is miles long and in direct sunlight with the occasional Baobob tree. There was also a little family of pigs, and he picked up a piglet. The pigs went from calm to frantic as soon as the piglet was picked up. They squealed and one of the dogs jumped up to try and bite at it.
Widge Woosley was staying there as well, and it was excellent to meet her. She introduced us to Nandi who is the local who helps run all off the ruby cup education and distribution on the island and we talked shop. We had a beer and watched the sun set off a beautiful outcropping of rocks, and waited in the balcony off the honeymoon suite for dinner. You could wake up, and walk straight out to the balcony and see no one else around. A very expensive and perfect place for a honeymoon.
Dinner was very rare steak, salad (with ACTUAL lettuce), and potato wedges that did not drip in oil. Sasha almost cried a little. We listened to their stories of collecting the old boats, the legal issues with Kaya Mawa, and how lifejackets are optional in wooden boats. We walked halfway home when the truck found us, and we stood off the back dodging tree branches all the way home. Our bellies full of good food and excited to have finally met the mysterious Andrew.
In the next few days the three of us traveled to Ulisa bay, another lodge on the island. Cassidy and Sasha bonded over singing Girl scout songs, amused by which words have changed as the songs travel through the country while Ryan responsibly planned his classes. Andrew had emphatically suggested as well we visit Aslack, who is a carpenter who made a fantastic tiny chapel with a rope bridge leading to it. We asked directions and someone from the hotel, also named Andrew, showed us to his place. We walk by mangoes the size of our GMO mangoes back home (the ones we usually see on our side of the island are around the size of your fist), through women drying fish, and to a sandy garden. An old white man with a beard down his chest is working on carving something. “who are you” he aggressively asks. We inform him we’re friends of Andrews, who suggested we come visit his tiny chapel. “did you stay at his place?!?” no, we just had dinner with him. Can we see the chapel? After a little more rather awkward conversation he replied unenthusiastically: “its open.”
We go explore a chapel that is no more than 5 feet long, with beautiful wood carvings and buttresses. There are carved shelves, and a beautiful cross. No rope bridge, however. As we come out we tell him the chapel is beautiful and his response “you know I am quite irritated. This is not a tourist destination. It is private property. You are not even friends with Andrew, you just had dinner.” We are surprised and apologetic, promising not to bother him again. We didn’t leave on a very good foot, but we have seen him around town before. Maybe we can catch him in a more neutral setting where we can apologize again for intruding. The culture of Malawi demands that you just drop in on people, with no warning so it was odd and somewhat refreshing to get a different response. We left and ate some huge mangoes, and when we told Andrew of Aslacks response, he just laughed. Was it a prank?
We stopped feeding Mtombe our leftovers, as the insects are getting bad again. A camel spider (the one that runs extremely fast and looks like your worst nightmare) ran onto her and she did not even flinch. Instead of going for our insect infestation, however, she caught one of the geckos that looks like it would glow in the dark. Once she killed it, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. In its belly were 2 large eggs the size of its head, which is probably why our huntress could catch it. Unfortunately she didn’t seem to interested in actually eating the critter. By morning it had been disassembled and carried away by our resident armies of ants.
Everything online and every other person says there are no crocodiles on Likoma – they were killed a few years ago after eating one too many children. Cassidys neighbor swore they do come by sometimes, and when we didn’t believe her, she promised to call when it came again. Sasha and Cassidy had finished swimming in the lake for the day, and were headed back to town and we got a phone call, the one we have been waiting for. “CROCODILE!!!” We sprinted down to the lake, attracting a lot of attention. White people running has a way of attracting many many curious eyes and a small mob of children in tow. Once we got to the water, we could not see anything and a swarm of boys that had found us shouted and laughed, surely scaring away any dangerous reptile. A few swore that was it over there, that line bobbing up and down. After much study we decided that was false and offered MK200 for anyone to swim out and grab the stick. They demanded 200,000MK so no one swam. This was lucky, as soon after as the sun was setting we saw it! About 5ft long, a people-nibbler more than people-eater but still thrilling. People threw rocks and it sunk away, with no more than a smudgy line in our memories.
Ticket to Anywhere 