African Overland Holiday...Part II

Round Two: Malawi - “No problem, no problem”

Things were off to a great start. At the border a nice gentleman helps us out with quick conversion rates between Zambia, Malawi, the USD and the South African Rand (yes, this trip was confusing 98% of the time). His name, Happy. Happy was very helpful and got a taxi with us at the border to Mchinji. It was nice traveling with Happy because no one tried to charge us more than what was the normal price because he knew better. Happy also got us on a mini bus to Lilongwe and once there asked the driver’s assistant to get us to the minibuses to Salima. This would be the nicest thing a stranger could do for us, as the Lilongwe bus “area” is chaos. Actually the Lilongwe bus “area” was about the size of a small Namibian city, completely foreign, no signs saying were to go just lots of buses and people. We get out and someone unzips my bag but Beads was there to slap their hand away and then we being our walk through the maze as everyone is starring at us, we are a little uncomfortable. Luckily the driver’s assistant gets us to a mini bus that’s almost full so we load up (incredibly uncomfortable-physically) and wait to leave. The few minutes we are waiting there Mach catches a guy slyly sneaking his hand into a Malawian’s purse as he distracts her with the blankets he’s selling. Yeah, my purse is moved to under my butt and my window is closed, oh Africa.

The drive to Salima is beautiful. Actually all the drives in Malawi are beautiful. It’s such a lush and green country with mountains, plateaus, farm areas; you can’t help but think it’s gorgeous, especially after spending a year in the desert savannahs of Namibia. When I first began planning our trip I was confused as to why Lonely Planet said it took so long to travel such short distances in Malawi, this mini bus explained it all. The speed limit in Malawi is 80kph (Namibia is 120kph) yet we were only at best going 60 and we HAD to stop at each village along the way. After reaching Salima, jumping on a bicycle taxi to find an ATM so we can finally have Malawian kwacha we are good to go. We got the first van (Namibian combi) we could find going to Senga Bay, twenty minutes later we had arrived. Side note: bicycle taxis…wow, fun yet a little terrifying. I’ve traveled everyway one can in Malawi!

When you pull up to Senga Bay it’s not the quintessential lake resort. I mean it’s a small, small village and not impressive and you can’t even see the lake. I honestly thought there was some mistake. Some of the locals convinced us to head over the Cool Runnings as the other places would be too expensive or too far, as it turns out they were right and we made camp (after and silly argument with the only other people camping over location, silliness really) at Cool Runnings. The weather during that time in December was not the best. Luckily it only rained during the night, we learned that our tents were not longer waterproof (the hard way) and the day lacked enough sun to actually make the water clear enough to see fish one foot from the surface of the water. We were a little disappointed but made the most of our time there touring the village for fresh fruits and vegetables, swimming out to fisherman’s boats, reading and eating the delicious (yet expensive) food served up at Cool Runnings.

One day we arranged for a trip to an island a mile off the shore to few the monitor lizards with the locals who had helped us find Cool Runnings. The water was a little choppy (not really) but JNaw had developed a newfound irrational fear of water (after the rafting incident) and began to freak out as we traveled to the island. I assured her that we were fine and if anything did happen I was a lifeguard and would swim her to shore, nothing helped and she continued to yell each time a wave touched the boat. The rest of us couldn’t help but laugh; we had no idea what the heck was going on. JNaw had grown up in Michigan, on lakes, this was a little funny. On the island we walked up, down and around. It was amazing and fun (for those of us with shoes on), totally different than the main land. When we finally saw one of these monitor lizards we all couldn’t help but laugh, the foot long lizard was nothing spectacular, oh well at least we were doing something.

A few days later Smash was set to meet us in Salima, having traveled from Livingstone by herself to meet us in time for Christmas (Zambia and Malawi were not as kind to her in the 24hours she had crossed both countries alone, she made great timing but had to sacrifice so much). I left Senga Bay hours before everyone else just in case she had good luck with rides, I didn’t want her to arrive in Salima and be alone. Good thing, as I get out of the van and white arm hanging out of another van passes and I yell “Smash!” after a tearful reunion we sit and wait for the others to show up hours later.

The five of us finally all together decide to take the local Axa bus to Nkata Bay, it leaves at like 10pm and arrives at 4am but we are hopeful. After sitting there for awhile and wondering if there will be any room on this bus a man kindly offers to take us to Nkotakota, half way to Nkata Bay, not knowing any different we take it. We probably pay double what you should but we feel good about our decision because we have a seat and we will have a place to stay tonight, not on a bus, and it’s JNaw’s birthday. In Nkotakota we go to the only place recommended by Lonely Planet (not sure if they ever visited this place and if so it’s been years ago). Another side note, this is when we no longer trust Lonely Planet, they’ve gotten everything wrong in Zambia and Malawi and we’re done with it for the rest of our time in Malawi, locals advice only, yeah, we are real trusting/stupid. JNaw and I get a room, splurging for her birthday. Our room is well, special. Our visitors are cockroaches, spiders and other things. The bed nets have holes so large a small child could get in and the bathroom doorframe was so low I couldn’t help but painfully smack my head into it twice (JNaw once). This was high class. The “restaurant” had a strong Mexican fiesta theme meets the Serengeti, it was also high class and the food was nothing to write home about. JNaw celebrated the day of her birth with a Sprite, the food looked that enticing (I’m a little sarcastic if you didn’t know).

The next morning we began our kilometer walk to the main road to get a bus to Nkata Bay. This guy Stephen I guess had found out where we were heading from a morning conversation with Beads and showed up on our walk with a van offering to drive us to Nkata Bay within the hour. It was really difficult for all of us to decide what to do, it was a legit van with a legit driver and we would probably find him on the main road had we made it there but the fact that he came looking for us made us skeptical. After getting him down to a price that seemed semi-acceptable to us we agree and load up. In the van (which was standing room only, seriously a 15 passenger van was holding 25-30 “easily” at any given moment) told Mach and I that there was no way this van was going to Nkata Bay. He said the driver isn’t allowed to go past a certain point and well he’s not going to Nkata Bay. Awesome. Mach and I prepare for what’s ahead. In the first town we get to (a third of the way to Nkata Bay) Stephen tells us “the breaks are bad and we must take it into the garage, so we can’t take you the whole way.” Hm, well ok, the breaks were fine for stopping us from ridiculously fast speeds to get people along the way, but whatever, kindly give us our money back and we will find other transportation. “Oh, no problem, no problem, see I gave you a large discount and that’s how much it actually costs to here, so I cannot give your money back, “ declares Stephen. “Oh no, no, no Stephen, there is a big problem,” declares the rest of us.

For about 45 minutes we have a heated discussion about returning our money. Stephens first offer of returning like a fifth of what we paid to him to take us a third of the way was unacceptable to us. I got a map out showed him how far we went and showed him the math and showed him the amount of money we WOULD be receiving back from him. Logic was lost on him so we tried another tactic, we refused to get out of the van. After awhile he came back ready for round 18 of negotiations. I simply stated that we would require said amount back or we will not be leaving. He kept trying to say we must come to a fair price and I kept saying, “sir, this is fair, why are you trying to steal from us, that is not right, it is very wrong.” There were many, many more silly debates on right and wrong, good business, the breaks, etc. We were not getting anywhere so I had to pull the J-card, “Sir, it is the season of Jesus are you are trying to steal from us. How can you do such a thing? Jesus and Allah (in case he was Muslim) are watching and they are not happy, you are not right and you know it.” Stephen looked at me and chuckled and left the car. My friends just laughed and said I can’t believe you just said that, what? It’s a Christian country isn’t it? After sometime Stephen returns with said amount and we gladly get out of the car which is now surrounded by minivan drivers, ugh. We run across the street and decide to wait for the Axa bus no matter how long it takes. Magically all the minivans seem to all be going to Nkata Bay as they all change their windshield signs to say so, uh-uh, not falling for it.

Luckily waiting for the Axa bus turned out to be shorter than we expected as it came two hours early. We jump on (not caring that we have no seats) and happily pay the extremely low price the Axa charges. On the bus we meet a Zimbabwean who runs the information center in Nkata Bay. He hooks us up with a free taxi to his recommended lodge (it was one of two places I had already decided we would stay at) and we once again set up camp. Thrilled to have this day over we just enjoy the lake, finally. We’ve made it to Nkata Bay, together and healthy, who cares about all the rest.

We make new friends with the staff and Happy Coconut and Sober, two local artists who sell their paintings at the shore, oh good times. Sometimes when we tell each other our stories of our travels we think “that’s not real”, but then we have to laugh cause really most of this a person could not make up, it’s so absurd it can only be true. So Happy Coconut wins for our favorite African name, mind you we have real friends named Speechless and Somebody in Namibia, but Happy Coconut? Awesome!

Christmas Eve we walk into town (which is not an easy walk, Nkata Bay is spread out and really hilly), use the Internet (to feel normal) and eat a buffet at Njaya (where we are staying) while enjoying a local performance of drums and dancing. Really, watching five starving Peace Corps volunteers at a buffet is probably the most disgusting animalistic display but we don’t care and just go for it. After like three minutes we can’t eat anymore, our stomachs have shrunk from the lack of food. One of the workers comes by and asks if we surrender. What? Do you surrender? Yes, we all agree, we surrender, he then grabs Mach’s goat and says, “I never surrender goat!” It was hilarious.

That night was hard. It was Christmas Eve and we were so far from home, from anything resembling home, with stomach problems that wouldn’t leave us until we returned to Namibia and as the rain began to fall I thought, ugh, I should be in Merced (my California home), in a nice bed, in a warm house-without a care in the world, this was really a different Christmas.

Christmas day we walked around with everyone else saying “Happy Christmas” to each person we saw. We walked over to Mayoka Village for their Christmas games and buffet. I went swimming and made friends with some volunteers from Norway as we sat on a jumping dock off shore. After playing some silly board games with each other dinner was served. Once again we were the first in the line, stacked our plates sky high, began to shovel it into our mouths and only ate a little, so disappointing. That evening we got a special Christmas present as our families called us, oh a moment of normalcy.

The next morning we took our time and packed up our stuff to head to Mzuzu to catch the bus heading to Dar es Salaam. The walk from Njaya to the village center at noon was NOT EASY. I thought I was hiking the Rockies, in India or something similar. My face is so sweaty that my glasses won’t stay on my face so I do it without being able to see…anything. As we get into town I see an Axa bus, drop my stuff, tell Smash to watch it and run to the bus. It’s going to Mzuzu, half the price the minivans are charging, yes, something is going our way! Although we have to stand for a good portion of this ride it’s totally worth it to not mess with anyone trying to take our money or whatever. The Axa will get you to your destination, somehow and for a discounted price and that’s all we needed.

The Mzuzu bus station is bigger than Salima’s but like 1/20 of Lilongwe so we are really relieved. Bicycle taxi again to get money to by our tickets to Dar, which luckily there is a bus coming that night. The bus is set to get there at 12:30am and arrive in Dar es Salaam midnight the next night. Ugh, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there but we’d rather get on the road as we were set to meet Mach’s friend at the Dar airport in a few days and did not want to be late. It begins to get late and there are some really classy people in this bus station. We finally wise up and move from the waiting area of the bus station (in the middle of the bus station) to against the booking office (elevated position), we are not alone in waiting so we are hopeful.

10pm everyone begins to fall asleep except me. I’ve volunteered to watch us and our stuff (not really volunteered but decided to since everyone else was asleep and we were after all in a dim lit African bus station). The others slept as much as they could between the interruptions of drunken men yelling “SISTER, SITER” at Smash trying to confess their love for her. How did she always get picked I still have no idea. At 1am I became delirious, but still awake. At 4am I asked Beads to watch our stuff (he fell asleep) and I knocked out until 5:30am when the sun came up and the bus station was open for business again and crawling with people. The booking office assured us the bus was on it’s way. We had already paid, really what could we do but wait. “The bus will be here at 10,” “12”, “ok, it hasn’t left Lilongwe yet.” At this point we are negotiating a refund and looking for other ways to get there.

The booking office assured us that they would get us to Dar es Salaam, and well at this point we shouldn’t trust ANYONE but we do just for entertainment almost. So after an argument, JNaw and myself wanted to take the money and find our own way but Beads trusted the booking company we follow, what the hell do we have to lose anyway, right? The pile us and a nice Malawian family (father works as teacher in Tanzania) in a minivan and we head to the border. We have to get to the border before it closes where a bus is “for sure” waiting for us to take us to Dar. No, problem, no problem, everyone assures us there is no problem. Clearly, there is always a problem when people say this to us.

The ride to the border is by far the most beautiful piece of land we’ve driven through yet. We are travel through a gorgeous mountain rain that butts up against the lake, it’s breathe taking, but I’ve lost my breathe for another reason, we are going to die. Our minibus driver was driving safe and just doing fine, I mean we were making good timing, we only had like an hour or so left until Karonga (I’m great with geography and maps) and he decides to become reckless. He’s driving insanely fast, yes we are still in the mountains, passing on turns, I’m in shock. When the roads levels around Livingstonia he speeds up as if he’s trying to hit all the village people going about their daily life. At this point I can’t take it and I begin telling him to slow down, I’m on the verge of tears. Finally I tell the booking agent who’s accompanying us that either he tells the driver to slow down or I get out and he gives me my money back. The driver reluctantly slows down, a little.

At the first chance JNaw and I switch seats so I can’t see the road, she knows I can’t handle reckless driving; I lose it regularly in Namibia. She begins to tell the driver to slow down. It’s getting old. There is no reason for him to be driving like this, we have enough time and no one wants to die. Eventually he listens to the booking agent and slows down, we’ve arrived in Karonga. Karonga is 45km from the border so all of us are confused when we pull into the bus depot rather than continuing to the border, oh no problem, no problem.

We sit in the bus depot for about 20 minutes, that’s 20 minutes we really don’t have to spare; the border is closing. The problem is I guess the driver agreed to drive all of us for 1000MK (Malawian kwacha). When we arrived in Karonga and other drivers saw that there was Mzungus (white people/foreign people) they decided 1000MK wasn’t enough and convinced the driver not to take us. After some arguing, even the teacher with us is getting angry, we drive off. We drive off to around the corner to a petrol station where we pull off and the driver and the booking agent begin yelling at each other. Eight taxi drivers surround our minivan, crap, there’s no way out. Our problem is that we gave our money to the booking agent and he’s getting us to Dar, we have no money and no room for negotiation and we can’t go anywhere without that guy. Taxi drivers are trying to convince us to get out, pointless really. They begin taking our bags so we fight for them back. As many times as we explained we have no money, that booking agent is paying for us, they didn’t understand. At this point we are more scared for our safety than the border closing. At one point the driver tries to drive off without our booking agent, as if he could drive us somewhere between here and the border and either demand the money from us or take our stuff. Luckily I was kinda out of the car already cause JNaw saw they were trapping us in the car and she pushed me out my door although it didn’t really open. So I’m standing half in and half out of the car as the driver takes off. Everyone starts yelling and the taxi drivers try to push me in the car and I hit the driver (I was behind him) and stay firmly out of the minivan (thank goodness I’m not a small girl or those taxi drivers could have successfully pushed me back in the van). After about 30 more minutes of arguing the booking agent, on the verge of tears (he has no extra money either) gets in the car and we head to the border leaving the taxi drivers at the petrol station. All of us are thinking get us the f@#$ out of this country. We get to the border, it’s open (not really), we successfully get out of Zambia and walk to Tanzania, and they’re closing. They are kind enough to stay open for us and let us use their toilets, I will forever be grateful to the men working at that border post, they have no idea what hell they saved us if we had to return to Karonga for the night.

So we are walking across the border looking for the bus that is suppose to be waiting for us to take us to Dar. Our friend will be arriving at the airport in less than 30hours…where is it, where is this bus that will take us away from the hell we’ve just been through…where is our refuge…

***Just to clarify, I don’t think I can ever put into writing how terrifying this (and the others to soon follow) transport was. I’m not irrational, our safety was in danger, we should’ve flown.


***I also apologize for never proof reading or editing these things at all, I suck at writing, sorry.