Lukwe

Susan, Jan and I all caught the same minibus in the morning to take us to the M1 (main north-south road). Here we parted ways – they to head north to the border and I south to Livingstonia. On my first trip to Malawi, we’d heard a lot about Livingstonia but, like the Ilala, there had not been time for us to investigate. It seemed fitting after my long-awaited cruise on the lake, that I should now also be visiting a place that played such an integral role in Malawi’s 20th century history.
I arrived at Chitimba just before 8am and wandered over to the turn-off for Livingstonia. Presently, I got chatting to a man who had been waiting there since 6am with no sign of a pick-up or bus heading up the steep escarpment road. I reasoned that it was probably a good thing that he’d been waiting 2 hours – surely it was all the more likely that somebody would turn up soon….right? Right?!! How wrong can a man be?
At 12.45, after nearly 5 hours of (surprisingly patient) waiting, I decided that if I wanted to make it up to Livingstonia that evening, I’d better start walking pretty sharpish. With my daypack full, I hadn’t really been expecting to hike but with no other obvious options presenting themselves, I shouldered my pack and slung the daypack across my chest, papoose-style.
The gradient was steep but the footing was solid on the dry ground and I soon found a good rhythm as I began to grind the hill down. Along the way, I met several groups of labourers, engaged in rudimentary repairs to the rutted, rocky surface. It became evident that this was a scheduled repair job and that this was probably the explanation for the dearth of traffic. The only two vehicles we’d seen while I was still waiting at the bottom had been a pair of 4x4’s driven by two white couples (i.e. with 3 free seats in the back of each), who had driven imperiously past despite our attempts to flag them down. Now I don’t believe anybody should feel obliged to give lifts on any occasion. However, in rural areas like this, where traffic is scarce – and particularly given that Livingstonia is a popular destination on account of the David George Memorial Hospital – there almost a given understanding that those with space should offer lifts to those in need.
About one hour into my climb and probably about half way up the hill, the third vehicle of the day came roaring and bouncing up the track behind me. Obviously, by this time, I was ‘glowing’ with the effects of my efforts but the driver gladly allowed me to hop on the flat-bed at the back of his pick-up, where I discovered my conversation partner of earlier on, whose 8 hour wait had eventually been rewarded. I quickly learnt that a braced crouch is more comfortable than a wheel-arch seat – particularly when the road resembles an assault course for Challenger tanks. Our pilot was obviously a seasoned pro and didn’t have any qualms about getting airborne. He balked not the slightest at the most jarring of ridges, happily sending the contents of the flatbed a foot in the air, before neatly slotting back into place in time to catch our increasingly-bruised nether-parts.
I was grateful for the ride, which saved me another hour of heavy, uphill slog but was glad to jump off at the turn-off for Lukwe Eco Camp. I couldn’t remember whether it had been recommended by Carlijn or Neville but I was expecting great views and good food. I was not disappointed on either count and as I contemplatively sat on the smooth wooden throne of the composting toilet, I stared across the treetops to the rolling uplands of the Nyika plateau and knew I’d landed on my feet yet again. The same magnificent views could also be had from the steaming, hot shower and, after a fine lunch of thick corn chowder and delicious home-baked bread, I went happily to work on the task of pitching my tent for the first time in 9 months.
Later, as the sun set behind the plateau, I listened intently to the beautiful sound of silence. After a while, I became aware of the faint roar of Manchewe Falls (some 2km away!) and I knew I’d found the perfect spot. As night fell I was surrounded by a chorus of crickets and the faint whispering of a gentle zephyr through the trees. Robert (the excellent Camp Manager) woke me from a dreamy repose at 7pm to sit down to a vegetable hotpot on a veritable mountain of rice. After a cold Kuche Kuche around the glowing embers of the camp fire, I walked back through the moonlit glade to my tent and bedded down for a deep, restful sleep.