Craig, Anna and Naomi in the Ilala's galley
July 16, 2005
Shiplife
During then night we’d weighed anchor in a bay on the Mozambiquan shore and I’d woken up at the change in the ship’s gentle, swaying rhythm. Although all kinds of shouting and loading had apparently then ensued, I was cosseted from it all in my cosy little cabin and knew nothing of it, promptly falling back to sleep…unlike my buddies on deck, who were all kept awake for a couple of hours when immigration and customs operations were temporarily conducted in the bar.
Well rested, I was up for the sunrise as the dawn pushed easily through the flimsy curtains on my four portholes. From the front two, I could see the forecastle and endless blue stretching northwards. From the starboard side, I had uninterrupted views of the Mozambique shore and the encroaching foothills at the far side of the Great East African Rift Valley. Breakfast (included in the cabin rate) was good enough (lacking in size perhaps) and Wells was even able to procure some of the (now essential) Mzuzu coffee instead of the grotty, Nestle Ricoffy I found on the table.
The day passed in a slow, easy rhythm, punctuated occasionally by deafening blasts on the hooter as we arrived at a new port or fishing village. Fascinated parties of schoolchildren would come running aboard for school trips while we were anchored. Shiny-eyed, their palpable excitement and the continual loading and unloading of supplies made it easy to appreciate the significance of the boat to these people who have little other means of communication with the outside world.
The solid dug-out canoes that the locals kids and traders paddled expertly around the ship were a more charming version of the hawker boats plying their trade at the Vietnamese floating markets – if slightly more precarious. Dotting the shore, virtually the entire populations of each village seemed to turn out to see the boat, despite its weekly regularity. Younger children splashed gleefully in the surf and flashing sets of strong, white teeth caught the sunlight, in contrast to the ebon skin of their owners.
Back on the lake, the excellent food, copious beer and the continual, gentle throb of the engines had a soporific effect and we all lazed contentedly as we steamed ever north. The loading of an unexpected supply of cement and its subsequent delivery at an unscheduled stop meant that we were well behind schedule as night fell. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a look at the stunning, enormous (bigger than Winchester’s!) cathedral on Likhoma island as we arrived there several hours late and well into the night. Conscious of the fact that it was the last night on board, we stayed up a lot later, drinking, playing cards and shooting the breeze. In the morning, my shipmates would be disembarking at Nkhata Bay, while I stayed aboard for the final leg to Chilumba. I was looking forward to the prospect of striking out alone once again but was sad to be losing the company of my new-found friends and hoped we’d stay in touch.
Well rested, I was up for the sunrise as the dawn pushed easily through the flimsy curtains on my four portholes. From the front two, I could see the forecastle and endless blue stretching northwards. From the starboard side, I had uninterrupted views of the Mozambique shore and the encroaching foothills at the far side of the Great East African Rift Valley. Breakfast (included in the cabin rate) was good enough (lacking in size perhaps) and Wells was even able to procure some of the (now essential) Mzuzu coffee instead of the grotty, Nestle Ricoffy I found on the table.
The day passed in a slow, easy rhythm, punctuated occasionally by deafening blasts on the hooter as we arrived at a new port or fishing village. Fascinated parties of schoolchildren would come running aboard for school trips while we were anchored. Shiny-eyed, their palpable excitement and the continual loading and unloading of supplies made it easy to appreciate the significance of the boat to these people who have little other means of communication with the outside world.
The solid dug-out canoes that the locals kids and traders paddled expertly around the ship were a more charming version of the hawker boats plying their trade at the Vietnamese floating markets – if slightly more precarious. Dotting the shore, virtually the entire populations of each village seemed to turn out to see the boat, despite its weekly regularity. Younger children splashed gleefully in the surf and flashing sets of strong, white teeth caught the sunlight, in contrast to the ebon skin of their owners.
Back on the lake, the excellent food, copious beer and the continual, gentle throb of the engines had a soporific effect and we all lazed contentedly as we steamed ever north. The loading of an unexpected supply of cement and its subsequent delivery at an unscheduled stop meant that we were well behind schedule as night fell. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a look at the stunning, enormous (bigger than Winchester’s!) cathedral on Likhoma island as we arrived there several hours late and well into the night. Conscious of the fact that it was the last night on board, we stayed up a lot later, drinking, playing cards and shooting the breeze. In the morning, my shipmates would be disembarking at Nkhata Bay, while I stayed aboard for the final leg to Chilumba. I was looking forward to the prospect of striking out alone once again but was sad to be losing the company of my new-found friends and hoped we’d stay in touch.
July 15, 2005
MV Ilala
It was a beautiful, warm, sunny morning and I had no problem jumping out of bed at the prospect of more of Birgit’s fantastic food. I wasn’t disappointed by a delicious omelette, pancake with strawberries and plenty of Mzuzu coffee.
We rode down to the harbour in Birgit’s pick-up as she was dropping off some muffins to be sold behind the bar on the 1st Class deck. The water in the bay ranged from clear, bright turquoise to deep, blue opacity as it stretched towards the horizon, sparkling with the light of the sun. Sitting squat on this shimmering surface, the weathered bulk of the Ilala seemed slightly incongruous but I couldn’t help my growing excitement as I stepped aboard. As she waited, patiently moored to the pier, a hive of activity bustled around her as people and goods steadily filled her up – ugly or not, the Ilala was the focal point of anyone’s attention and I could sense a growing anticipation as she prepared to depart.
Out on deck, there were a few other mzungus hanging about and I got chatting to a girl from the Wirral called Anna. She’d been teaching in Malawi and, like me, was on a final travel-stint before heading home.
I waved goodbye to Birgit and went to inspect my quarters for the next three days. While nobody would congratulate Malawi Lake Services on the décor of the Owner’s Cabin, it was clean and snug and, most importantly, had its own private bathroom. With comfortable beds and a 240v 3-pin plug socket the place was a veritable palace and I was glad to have spent the extra dollars for the experience.
There was no way the boat was going to depart on time at 10am and I loafed around in the relative luxury and peace, reading a new book (Bryce Courtenay’s ‘The Power of One’), which had me gripped until we finally started to pull out of harbour. With a little thrill at the impending adventure, I went up on deck to watch our departure and to say hello to some of my fellow travellers.
As the Ilala slipped surprisingly gracefully away from her moorings and out onto the glassy, smooth surface of the lake, I knew I’d be enjoying the next 3 days a lot. On the starboard side as we steamed steadily northwards, we could see the cloud-topped mountains of Mozambique materializing through the haze. The sun was shining pleasantly and a slight headwind kept us cool as we settled down for a relaxing afternoon on deck. My companions were, surprisingly, almost exclusively English. First to grab my attention was another Yorkshireman – Craig from Huddersfield, who also turned out to be 28 and had recently packed in his job to come travelling. He was sharp and extremely funny and after one good conversation I knew he’d make excellent company during the long quiet hours aboard. He was talking to a Liverpudlian policeman, Dave, who happened to be travelling with Anna and her teaching colleague, Naomi from Wigan. Craig was travelling with Ludo (the first decent Frenchman I’ve met anywhere in the world!) and completing the group sailing from Monkey Bay were to Cambridge lasses, Emily and Charlotte, who were coming to the end of their gap years, having travelled to many of the same countries I’d visited.
All in, it was a good bunch: nobody taking themselves too seriously, plenty of friendly banter and everyone happy to chill and leave one another to our own devices when required.
During the long pleasant afternoon as we sailed to Chipoka, we soaked up the rays and marvelled at the beautiful scenery and relaxing atmosphere. Lunch was excellent (beef stew and mash) and there was plenty of Carlsberg available at the reasonable price of 70 kwacha (30p). Time seemed to pass perfectly – neither too quickly, nor too slowly – and we were all in a happy mellow mood as the sun sank into Malawi, throwing a million glittering stars across the lake.
Wells (our Steward) attended us excellently and informed us promptly when dinner was served at 7pm. A filling and tasty bean stew was just what I needed after a hard day’s loafing and beer-quaffing and I was soon back out on deck, enjoying the cool, night-breeze and gazing at the starry sky.
We stayed up for a while chatting but soon the others were feeling the chill and decided to get into their sleeping bags and bed down for the night after finding likely spots on the deck. Much as the excitement and novelty of camping out appealed to me, I was more than happy to return to the snug comfort of my cabin – leaving the proles to their sore backs and cold ears. Laid on my warm comfortable bed, I was soon lulled to sleep by the gentle roll of the ship and slept a deep, smug sleep.
We rode down to the harbour in Birgit’s pick-up as she was dropping off some muffins to be sold behind the bar on the 1st Class deck. The water in the bay ranged from clear, bright turquoise to deep, blue opacity as it stretched towards the horizon, sparkling with the light of the sun. Sitting squat on this shimmering surface, the weathered bulk of the Ilala seemed slightly incongruous but I couldn’t help my growing excitement as I stepped aboard. As she waited, patiently moored to the pier, a hive of activity bustled around her as people and goods steadily filled her up – ugly or not, the Ilala was the focal point of anyone’s attention and I could sense a growing anticipation as she prepared to depart.
Out on deck, there were a few other mzungus hanging about and I got chatting to a girl from the Wirral called Anna. She’d been teaching in Malawi and, like me, was on a final travel-stint before heading home.
I waved goodbye to Birgit and went to inspect my quarters for the next three days. While nobody would congratulate Malawi Lake Services on the décor of the Owner’s Cabin, it was clean and snug and, most importantly, had its own private bathroom. With comfortable beds and a 240v 3-pin plug socket the place was a veritable palace and I was glad to have spent the extra dollars for the experience.
There was no way the boat was going to depart on time at 10am and I loafed around in the relative luxury and peace, reading a new book (Bryce Courtenay’s ‘The Power of One’), which had me gripped until we finally started to pull out of harbour. With a little thrill at the impending adventure, I went up on deck to watch our departure and to say hello to some of my fellow travellers.
As the Ilala slipped surprisingly gracefully away from her moorings and out onto the glassy, smooth surface of the lake, I knew I’d be enjoying the next 3 days a lot. On the starboard side as we steamed steadily northwards, we could see the cloud-topped mountains of Mozambique materializing through the haze. The sun was shining pleasantly and a slight headwind kept us cool as we settled down for a relaxing afternoon on deck. My companions were, surprisingly, almost exclusively English. First to grab my attention was another Yorkshireman – Craig from Huddersfield, who also turned out to be 28 and had recently packed in his job to come travelling. He was sharp and extremely funny and after one good conversation I knew he’d make excellent company during the long quiet hours aboard. He was talking to a Liverpudlian policeman, Dave, who happened to be travelling with Anna and her teaching colleague, Naomi from Wigan. Craig was travelling with Ludo (the first decent Frenchman I’ve met anywhere in the world!) and completing the group sailing from Monkey Bay were to Cambridge lasses, Emily and Charlotte, who were coming to the end of their gap years, having travelled to many of the same countries I’d visited.
All in, it was a good bunch: nobody taking themselves too seriously, plenty of friendly banter and everyone happy to chill and leave one another to our own devices when required.
During the long pleasant afternoon as we sailed to Chipoka, we soaked up the rays and marvelled at the beautiful scenery and relaxing atmosphere. Lunch was excellent (beef stew and mash) and there was plenty of Carlsberg available at the reasonable price of 70 kwacha (30p). Time seemed to pass perfectly – neither too quickly, nor too slowly – and we were all in a happy mellow mood as the sun sank into Malawi, throwing a million glittering stars across the lake.
Wells (our Steward) attended us excellently and informed us promptly when dinner was served at 7pm. A filling and tasty bean stew was just what I needed after a hard day’s loafing and beer-quaffing and I was soon back out on deck, enjoying the cool, night-breeze and gazing at the starry sky.
We stayed up for a while chatting but soon the others were feeling the chill and decided to get into their sleeping bags and bed down for the night after finding likely spots on the deck. Much as the excitement and novelty of camping out appealed to me, I was more than happy to return to the snug comfort of my cabin – leaving the proles to their sore backs and cold ears. Laid on my warm comfortable bed, I was soon lulled to sleep by the gentle roll of the ship and slept a deep, smug sleep.
July 14, 2005
Birgit
After getting up early to see Andrew and the Dutch girls off, I took it easy with a few cups of Mzuzu coffee and a couple of banana sandwiches. Part of me regretted sending the remainder of the Banoffee Pie up to Open Arms with Andrew but I knew I’d only have made myself sick trying to scoff it down for breakfast and concluded that I was better off without.
I packed my kit up and was pleased to see that only my food gear and my stove would be in my daypack and that even with my camping gear, I’d still be travelling pretty light. Aware that it would be my last chance for a while, I went down to the internet café to check my e-mail and add one final update on the blog. Finally, it was time to set out for Monkey Bay, where I would be able to deliver on a promise I’d made to myself 12 years earlier. The MV Ilala, chugging steadily up and down Lake Malawi for many years is a national institution as well as an important lifeline to the many villagers who live spread around the isolated shores of the lake in both Malawi and Mozambique. A trip on the Ilala is supposed to be the quintessential Malawi travel experience and on our first visit we’d not had time to take the boat. It’s something I’d been looking forward to immensely ever since I’d booked my tickets to Malawi…and I certainly wasn’t going to allow the prospect of the long, tiring journey to Monkey Bay put me off.
Long and tiring it certainly was: from waiting 15 minutes at the side of the dusty main road for a minibus to Limbe’s bus depot to the tortuous final hour-and-a-half from Mangochi to Monkey Bay. In between, of course, the familiar sights of Zomba and Liwonde brought back some good memories and the infectious good nature and colourful beauty of Malawi and her people meant that a smile was rarely far from my lips. Having said that, the ramshackle, disintegrating heap of a minibus that completed (just!) the final leg of the journey from Mangochi was the worst ride I’d taken anywhere in the world. Each jarring pothole and extra, crammed-in passenger contributed to a general fatigue and almost total loss of humour by the time we arrived. I was ripe for a charm offensive and a cheeky chap named Lance had little trouble persuading me to let him show me around and find me somewhere to stay. Of course, I was wise to the fact that he’d be hoping to make some money out of me – either by selling me something (jewellery and carvings it turned out) or by taking me to a favoured guesthouse – however, I was too knackered to care.
Njobvu (means elephant) Backpackers was a stone’s throw from where the bus stopped and turned out to be a homely and welcoming little place run by a German lady named Birgit. The room and shared bathroom were basic but spotless and I quickly warmed to Birgit’s no-nonsense manner. Without even bothering to check out any other places, I took a room at less that half the rate I’d been paying in Blantyre.
After settling in I took a little trip to the petrol station where, after a frantic SMS conversation with Uncle Al back in Harrogate, I was able to fill my fuel bottle with paraffin for my stove.
Back at Njobvu, I tucked into a manly portion of Birgit’s excellent spaghetti Bolognese (very like my Mum’s) and got chatting to this remarkable woman about her work in Malawi. She’d moved to Australia with her husband and children in the 80’s but after the break-up of her marriage (and her children long-since grown up), she felt able to realise to a long-held ambition to help the people of Africa. She put her nursing job on hold and travelled through southern Africa wondering where her efforts would have the most effect. Eventually she found Malawi and – like so many others – felt that she had found ‘home’. Three years ago she settled in Monkey Bay and decided to start trying to help local orphans realise the unaffordable dream of secondary education.
Each November she returns to Australia for 3 months to earn her personal expenses for the year. During these trips she gives talks to church groups and visits Australian families to encourage them to sponsor a Malawian kid through four years of secondary school. After three years, having developed excellent relationships with the local chiefs and persuaded the local populace to take their own part in this important community project, she now provides funds for 65 children to attend secondary school and is ready to instigate stage two. Stage two will involve the construction and running of a boarding house for the many orphans who have nowhere to stay when they come from the far reaches of Monkey Bay’s enormous catchment area. As with Open Arms, Birgit’s ‘Back to School’ project focuses on Malawi’s massive orphan problem. Over 10% of the country’s population consists of orphaned children – a problem exacerbated by the growing AIDS problem and compounded by the continuing menace of malaria. The strain of looking after these orphans has become to great for extended families – many of which have been bereft of all their male members. Often a grandmother in her 60’s or 70’s (no mean feat in this country!) finds herself with the orphaned offspring of several children and, understandably, is unable to cope – let alone provide for a healthy 12-18 yr old while they go to school instead of working. Without a secondary education, these children will never be able to break free of the poverty trap and contribute to their community…and it is this important issue that Birgit is tackling with ‘Back to School’
I was full of admiration and respect for what this formidable woman had managed to achieve – at a grass roots level and for the people who need it most. More importantly, I could see that she wasn’t giving without regard: the local community had been involved with the boarding house project (making the bricks and clearing the land themselves) and the kids involved in her scheme had a strict set of rules to abide by to ensure that they took on the responsibility for schooling themselves. It had been possible to see elsewhere in Malawi (and in Nepal and Cambodia) the detrimental effect of large charities and NGOs donating large sums of money without regard for the end result. In a word ‘corruption’ is what is destroying these countries, which are already amongst the poorest in the world. Throwing money into the void won’t help the people who need help the most – it will just make the corrupt middlemen all the richer. Although I’d already made commitments to help with other projects on my travels (Samata School and Open Arms), I promised Birgit that I’d try and do something for her too. If there were more people in the world with her guts and determination, trying to do something to help others help themselves, I know the world would be better place for everyone.
That evening she drove me out to a place owned by a South-African friend of hers, Kathleen. Bathed in a warm halo of light and looking for all the world like some sacred relic, there stood the smoothest, flattest pool table I’d seen since leaving home. We spent a couple of hours shooting a few racks, drinking Kuche Kuche and chatting. It wasn’t exactly Cream @ Amnesia but was just the kind of relaxing evening I needed after my long journey and by the time I got back to Njobvu, I was chilled out and relaxed enough to fall easily asleep and dream of my long-awaited boat-trip.
I packed my kit up and was pleased to see that only my food gear and my stove would be in my daypack and that even with my camping gear, I’d still be travelling pretty light. Aware that it would be my last chance for a while, I went down to the internet café to check my e-mail and add one final update on the blog. Finally, it was time to set out for Monkey Bay, where I would be able to deliver on a promise I’d made to myself 12 years earlier. The MV Ilala, chugging steadily up and down Lake Malawi for many years is a national institution as well as an important lifeline to the many villagers who live spread around the isolated shores of the lake in both Malawi and Mozambique. A trip on the Ilala is supposed to be the quintessential Malawi travel experience and on our first visit we’d not had time to take the boat. It’s something I’d been looking forward to immensely ever since I’d booked my tickets to Malawi…and I certainly wasn’t going to allow the prospect of the long, tiring journey to Monkey Bay put me off.
Long and tiring it certainly was: from waiting 15 minutes at the side of the dusty main road for a minibus to Limbe’s bus depot to the tortuous final hour-and-a-half from Mangochi to Monkey Bay. In between, of course, the familiar sights of Zomba and Liwonde brought back some good memories and the infectious good nature and colourful beauty of Malawi and her people meant that a smile was rarely far from my lips. Having said that, the ramshackle, disintegrating heap of a minibus that completed (just!) the final leg of the journey from Mangochi was the worst ride I’d taken anywhere in the world. Each jarring pothole and extra, crammed-in passenger contributed to a general fatigue and almost total loss of humour by the time we arrived. I was ripe for a charm offensive and a cheeky chap named Lance had little trouble persuading me to let him show me around and find me somewhere to stay. Of course, I was wise to the fact that he’d be hoping to make some money out of me – either by selling me something (jewellery and carvings it turned out) or by taking me to a favoured guesthouse – however, I was too knackered to care.
Njobvu (means elephant) Backpackers was a stone’s throw from where the bus stopped and turned out to be a homely and welcoming little place run by a German lady named Birgit. The room and shared bathroom were basic but spotless and I quickly warmed to Birgit’s no-nonsense manner. Without even bothering to check out any other places, I took a room at less that half the rate I’d been paying in Blantyre.
After settling in I took a little trip to the petrol station where, after a frantic SMS conversation with Uncle Al back in Harrogate, I was able to fill my fuel bottle with paraffin for my stove.
Back at Njobvu, I tucked into a manly portion of Birgit’s excellent spaghetti Bolognese (very like my Mum’s) and got chatting to this remarkable woman about her work in Malawi. She’d moved to Australia with her husband and children in the 80’s but after the break-up of her marriage (and her children long-since grown up), she felt able to realise to a long-held ambition to help the people of Africa. She put her nursing job on hold and travelled through southern Africa wondering where her efforts would have the most effect. Eventually she found Malawi and – like so many others – felt that she had found ‘home’. Three years ago she settled in Monkey Bay and decided to start trying to help local orphans realise the unaffordable dream of secondary education.
Each November she returns to Australia for 3 months to earn her personal expenses for the year. During these trips she gives talks to church groups and visits Australian families to encourage them to sponsor a Malawian kid through four years of secondary school. After three years, having developed excellent relationships with the local chiefs and persuaded the local populace to take their own part in this important community project, she now provides funds for 65 children to attend secondary school and is ready to instigate stage two. Stage two will involve the construction and running of a boarding house for the many orphans who have nowhere to stay when they come from the far reaches of Monkey Bay’s enormous catchment area. As with Open Arms, Birgit’s ‘Back to School’ project focuses on Malawi’s massive orphan problem. Over 10% of the country’s population consists of orphaned children – a problem exacerbated by the growing AIDS problem and compounded by the continuing menace of malaria. The strain of looking after these orphans has become to great for extended families – many of which have been bereft of all their male members. Often a grandmother in her 60’s or 70’s (no mean feat in this country!) finds herself with the orphaned offspring of several children and, understandably, is unable to cope – let alone provide for a healthy 12-18 yr old while they go to school instead of working. Without a secondary education, these children will never be able to break free of the poverty trap and contribute to their community…and it is this important issue that Birgit is tackling with ‘Back to School’
I was full of admiration and respect for what this formidable woman had managed to achieve – at a grass roots level and for the people who need it most. More importantly, I could see that she wasn’t giving without regard: the local community had been involved with the boarding house project (making the bricks and clearing the land themselves) and the kids involved in her scheme had a strict set of rules to abide by to ensure that they took on the responsibility for schooling themselves. It had been possible to see elsewhere in Malawi (and in Nepal and Cambodia) the detrimental effect of large charities and NGOs donating large sums of money without regard for the end result. In a word ‘corruption’ is what is destroying these countries, which are already amongst the poorest in the world. Throwing money into the void won’t help the people who need help the most – it will just make the corrupt middlemen all the richer. Although I’d already made commitments to help with other projects on my travels (Samata School and Open Arms), I promised Birgit that I’d try and do something for her too. If there were more people in the world with her guts and determination, trying to do something to help others help themselves, I know the world would be better place for everyone.
That evening she drove me out to a place owned by a South-African friend of hers, Kathleen. Bathed in a warm halo of light and looking for all the world like some sacred relic, there stood the smoothest, flattest pool table I’d seen since leaving home. We spent a couple of hours shooting a few racks, drinking Kuche Kuche and chatting. It wasn’t exactly Cream @ Amnesia but was just the kind of relaxing evening I needed after my long journey and by the time I got back to Njobvu, I was chilled out and relaxed enough to fall easily asleep and dream of my long-awaited boat-trip.
July 13, 2005
Dinner Party
On my final day in Blantyre, I had only two plans: to get the blog updated and to cook a leaving meal for my buddies at Kabula Lodge. I've always loved making food (blatantly because I like eating it so much!) and it was always one of my greatest pleasures back at home to invite friends over and make something special. The menu for the evening would consist of a starter of Bruschetta made by Karin and Saskia, Beef casserole followed by Banoffee Pie by me, beer supplied by Andrew and Vodka & Tonic supplied by Akpongo.
I had a successful morning in the internet cafe and, after starting the process on the banoffee pie (making the base from melted butter and crushed Ginger nut biscuits and putting the condensed milk in the pan of water to slowly turn into toffee), I made one last visit to the home. I drove Johnam out to get the chicken feed for the chicken farm and then came back and made one final farewell to the staff, volunteers and children. I wasn't too sad as I knew I'd be back in a month to say goodbye properly - but I was a little jealous to be leaving everyone with those adorable kids. I also got a chance to say goodbye to Sally Ellis, whose delivery of my camping kit was going to make the next month such an enjoyable experience.
So, back at Kabula Lodge, I cracked into the beer and got stuck into the cooking. Fairly low maintenance food, apart from the vegetable prep and the cream whipping so I had plenty of time to relax and get drunk with my housemates.
The Bruschetta was delicious and, not long after, the casserole was finally ready. Appreciative noises and very little leftover told the story of satisfied customers and then it was time for the event of the evening: the unleashing of Banoffee Pie on an unsuspecting public. To say they were blown away would be a major understatement and I was pretty delighted myself...it really was BLOODY DELICIOUS...and like a little bit of home in Africa.
The night continued with plenty of booze and I really enjoyed this final chance to yak with my friends. In the morning I'd be off on my road trip and only Saskia would be still around when I got back.
Of all of them, I guess I'll miss Akpongo the most - late evening chats over coffee and custard creams is the secret to a good friendship I think. However, all of them have become firm friends and we'll definitely be keeping in touch by e-mail.
I was a little drunk by the time I staggered to bed and I knew in the morning I'd be packing with a hangover for the umpteenth time on this trip. Ah, well...c'est la vie...
I had a successful morning in the internet cafe and, after starting the process on the banoffee pie (making the base from melted butter and crushed Ginger nut biscuits and putting the condensed milk in the pan of water to slowly turn into toffee), I made one last visit to the home. I drove Johnam out to get the chicken feed for the chicken farm and then came back and made one final farewell to the staff, volunteers and children. I wasn't too sad as I knew I'd be back in a month to say goodbye properly - but I was a little jealous to be leaving everyone with those adorable kids. I also got a chance to say goodbye to Sally Ellis, whose delivery of my camping kit was going to make the next month such an enjoyable experience.
So, back at Kabula Lodge, I cracked into the beer and got stuck into the cooking. Fairly low maintenance food, apart from the vegetable prep and the cream whipping so I had plenty of time to relax and get drunk with my housemates.
The Bruschetta was delicious and, not long after, the casserole was finally ready. Appreciative noises and very little leftover told the story of satisfied customers and then it was time for the event of the evening: the unleashing of Banoffee Pie on an unsuspecting public. To say they were blown away would be a major understatement and I was pretty delighted myself...it really was BLOODY DELICIOUS...and like a little bit of home in Africa.
The night continued with plenty of booze and I really enjoyed this final chance to yak with my friends. In the morning I'd be off on my road trip and only Saskia would be still around when I got back.
Of all of them, I guess I'll miss Akpongo the most - late evening chats over coffee and custard creams is the secret to a good friendship I think. However, all of them have become firm friends and we'll definitely be keeping in touch by e-mail.
I was a little drunk by the time I staggered to bed and I knew in the morning I'd be packing with a hangover for the umpteenth time on this trip. Ah, well...c'est la vie...
July 11, 2005
Welcomed with Open Arms
When the bus pulled into the driveway at the Home in the morning, Mrs. Phiri led a few of the mothers outside to sing their welcome to the students and teachers. Their beautiful harmonies and the carefree abandon with which they stepped and clapped soon had the students joining in and it was a special moment of two cultures meeting and extending the hands of friendship.
There were a few well-spoken words but the main event was to take place inside where there was to be the official presentation of the medicines and other items that the school’s donations had helped to purchase. On the back veranda, with all the Open Arms children in attendance – mostly sat in the laps of the rapt students and lapping up the extra attention – the combined night and day shifts of the mothers sang beautifully to reiterate their warm welcome and express their gratitude to the party for their support. Rose went on to make the most moving speech with her lilting Malawian accent – in simple, heartfelt words explaining just how vital the support of Ashville College and other donors is to the important work of Open Arms. Several of the students were moved to tears and I myself remembered what we’d seen in Moses’ village the previous week and felt the powerful truth of what she was saying. It was an emotional moment and one I’m sure will be indelibly imprinted on the minds of these youngsters from the UK – it certainly was on mine.
As well as the important medicines and medical equipment provided by Ashville’s fund-raising efforts, there was a laptop computer which was being given to a local pathologist, in recognition of his sterling efforts on behalf of Open Arms. Ever since he’d set up his professional medical diagnostic lab, it had performed countless blood tests for the babies at Open Arms…and had refused to charge the Home a single penny. After five years of this generous help, Neville and the trustees had been only too happy to repay him with a decent computer to improve the running of the business.
The students then spent the morning being given a tour of the Home, meeting the kids and mothers and the other staff and really getting to grips with the daily needs and the true aims of the place. Many of them were clearly touched by the realities of the situation and the experience they’ll have over the next week or so will no doubt shape many important views and opinions in their developing minds.
Later they went off to Kumanda village – site of the feeding station and nursery that they were part-funding and had come to lend a hand in building. It had been fascinating to see how they’d reacted to the experience from an external perspective and I was proud that people from my school were here and helping to make a difference.
While their involvement with Open Arms was just beginning, mine – for the time being at least – was coming to an end. I’d have one more day, the following day, to be with the kids, before my much anticipated trip around the rest of Malawi. It would be tough to tear myself away from the place…but the prospect of being alone and on the road is a powerful draw for me and I knew I’d be smiling as the boat pulled out of Monkey Bay on Friday.
There were a few well-spoken words but the main event was to take place inside where there was to be the official presentation of the medicines and other items that the school’s donations had helped to purchase. On the back veranda, with all the Open Arms children in attendance – mostly sat in the laps of the rapt students and lapping up the extra attention – the combined night and day shifts of the mothers sang beautifully to reiterate their warm welcome and express their gratitude to the party for their support. Rose went on to make the most moving speech with her lilting Malawian accent – in simple, heartfelt words explaining just how vital the support of Ashville College and other donors is to the important work of Open Arms. Several of the students were moved to tears and I myself remembered what we’d seen in Moses’ village the previous week and felt the powerful truth of what she was saying. It was an emotional moment and one I’m sure will be indelibly imprinted on the minds of these youngsters from the UK – it certainly was on mine.
As well as the important medicines and medical equipment provided by Ashville’s fund-raising efforts, there was a laptop computer which was being given to a local pathologist, in recognition of his sterling efforts on behalf of Open Arms. Ever since he’d set up his professional medical diagnostic lab, it had performed countless blood tests for the babies at Open Arms…and had refused to charge the Home a single penny. After five years of this generous help, Neville and the trustees had been only too happy to repay him with a decent computer to improve the running of the business.
The students then spent the morning being given a tour of the Home, meeting the kids and mothers and the other staff and really getting to grips with the daily needs and the true aims of the place. Many of them were clearly touched by the realities of the situation and the experience they’ll have over the next week or so will no doubt shape many important views and opinions in their developing minds.
Later they went off to Kumanda village – site of the feeding station and nursery that they were part-funding and had come to lend a hand in building. It had been fascinating to see how they’d reacted to the experience from an external perspective and I was proud that people from my school were here and helping to make a difference.
While their involvement with Open Arms was just beginning, mine – for the time being at least – was coming to an end. I’d have one more day, the following day, to be with the kids, before my much anticipated trip around the rest of Malawi. It would be tough to tear myself away from the place…but the prospect of being alone and on the road is a powerful draw for me and I knew I’d be smiling as the boat pulled out of Monkey Bay on Friday.
July 10, 2005
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