I'm Always Happiest When I'm Learning

I pass through the border with my free visa stamped into my passport. I ride on. The countryside is busy. There’s plenty of villages and people about. Malawi is home to nearly fourteen million people and is just a faction of the size of Zambia. I realise that cycling here will be made easy with the availability of towns and villages to supply food and accommodation, but I know I’m going to miss the sheer nothingness of Zambia. I push on to Mchinji. Its only about ten or so kilometres away and I know Alice is there and I’m looking forward to seeing her and having some company. She’s the last mzungu I had a conversation with almost three weeks ago.

I pull into town and find a hotel. It’s a massive sprawling concrete place. I walk into the huge reception area. There’s no furniture around just a large mural of the big five (Lions, Elephants, Rhinoceros, Buffalo and Leopards) painted on the walk. I didn't even think Malawi had “the big five”. The manager appears and walks me down endless corridors to a room. He shows me a large concrete room with a single bed and a dirty table in it. He almost looks embarrassed about the state of the hotel. I appear to be the only guest in the whole place.

“Its one thousand five hundred a night” But he stops himself. “But that includes breakfast and now the restaurant is closed, so one thousand will be fine”. He looks sad about the fact the restaurant is shut and the hotel is a dump. He’s wearing a suit and appears like he really wants to be running a busy, functioning hotel. I ask whether other muzungu’s are staying at the hotel but I’m told no. I don’t know where Alice is staying, all I know is that she is working in the hospital here for a few months. I clean myself up go for a walk around town. I hear great things about Malawi - its cheap and beautiful and the people are great. That’s what I’d heard from other backpackers. Mchinji doesn't quite live up to this reputation. It appears to be your average East African town. Its dusty and dirty with little signs of affluence. I struggle to find anywhere decent to eat, and at seven bucks a night my hotel isn’t good value. I head to the only other hotel in town, a much more up market place than mine and have lunch. I ask if any muzungu's are staying here. No I’m told but all the muzungu’s stay at a guest house a few kilometres out of town. I’m feeling lazy so I take a bicycle taxi there.

I love the bicycle taxi's. Its an idea which I think I should try to introduce to the western world. The Africa model is much simpler than its counterparts in India and SE Asia. There is a big padded seat fixed onto the carrying rack over the back wheel which has little rests for your feet so they don't have to dandle. It would weigh half of a Indian style rickshaw and although it can only carry one passenger I think its simplicity wins out over other models. If it didn't cost so much to send one home I would.

I arrive at the for mentioned guest house and ask about muzungu’s. Yes there's lots of Mzungu's staying here, and later that day Alice appears. Its good to see a friend. We head out that night with all the other muzungu's working at the hospital and a local guy named Jimmy. Jimmy sports a London accent and a story to tell. He's planning to walk from Cape Town to Cairo. We chat about travel and his journey. He thinks it will take him two and half years. Cycling is one thing but walking! Jimmy wants to raise awareness about Africa and wants full publicity for the trip. Its interesting to hear. Jimmy's girlfriend is Spanish, she met him in Barcelona. He was busking in the underground and she walked past. “And I think, I like this rasta guy” she tells me. I like their story. Their both musician's and we all sit around and listen to them play. Jimmy sings something that has a profound affect on me. It feels like a massive revelation. “I'm happiest when I'm learning.” The line really touches me. Its seems he hit the nail right on the head. Maybe that's why I like traveling so much, because I'm learning.

I only plan to stay a night or two but I can't really be motivated so a couple of nights turns into a few more. I like all the people here, but I really don't belong in their academic world. It seems so unreal. Alice is working in the hospital as a trainee doctor which seems beneficial, but a couple of the others are doing Phd's on sociological issue's and all just seems a bit, a bit, well...bollocks. I ask questions about what they're researching but only get academic reposes to seemly straight questions. One of the girls refuses to take the local bus because she thinks its dangerous. It probably is, but surely to try to help and understand people you need to at least try to see how they live. A couple of the others seem more concerned about which hotels to stay in when they go to Lilongwe. I speak to John the project coordinator. He's a nice guy and I like his attitude. I ask why Malawi is such I popular country for NGO's.

“Because its nice” he tells me.
“Really?” I ask.
“Of course. People might not admit it. But lets face it. No matter what you do here, you can still goto the lake at the weekend and drink beer and eat pizza”.
“And that's why people come here?”.
“Well they not in the Central African Republic, or Sudan or Chad are they?”.

Maybe I'm just jealous as my trip has no meaning accept to myself. None of the group are particularly self righteous so I don't know why I find it so obnoxious. Maybe its because of my own academic failings. School never really was my thing. Sure I'd love to learn, and from that I could be in Africa doing something even just the slightest bit positive. But I'm not, I'm just riding around aimlessly, just observing, just passing through.

I head to the capital Lilongwe, and start drinking. The campsite where I'm staying is really nice and the English couple who run the place don't seem to mind me slumped at the bar all night drinking gin and being miserable. Lilongwe is a strange place. Its almost an improper capital city. The capital moved from Zomba it Lilongwe in 1974, but only in name. The government has only in recent years relocated here and the economic capital is still Blantyre to the south. It not a bad place, but there's not much going on and I quickly realise I need to leave. I should be heading south to Cape Town but I've been told the nicest place on the Lake is in the North. I think about leaving my stuff in Lilongwe and taking the bus there. I don't really feel like cycling but as the road passes over the mountains I think it will be a good ride and decide to cycle, hoping this will lift my depleted spirits.

I push out of Lilongwe on a cool morning. The city ends quickly and I'm soon surrounded by rolling hills of farm land. Its a quieter road than expected but still busy enough to have half decent sized towns along the way, where I stop for food and lodging. The days pass by. Its takes a few days for the mountains to appear. The countryside is starting to become sparsely populated, as villages and people become fewer and fewer. I'm at the end of a long day when I pull into Chikangawa. The ares is beautiful and completely covered in pine forest. I'm told that its one of the biggest forest plantations in Africa. I pull into the few huts that seem to mark the dot on the map. I ask about about a guest house and I'm told its further back up the road. There's really very little around. I'd imagined from the map that it would be a town let alone barely a village. I start cycling back up the hill I've just come down. I'd only pasted the guest house by a kilometer but something about going back on yourself is annoying. I cycle up to the large concrete building. I see the sign, Chikangawa Forestry Commission Guest House. Its a quite a place. I guy comes out and says hi and that yes its government guest house but I can stay there no problem. The place reminds me of an old YHA in the UK. Its more the sort of place you stay on a school trip than in tropical Africa. Another thing about tropical Africa, its suddenly very very cold. As my body cools off I realise that its bloody freezing. Everyones wrapped up in scarf's and jumpers and wearing gloves. The hotel guy comes back and says he'll light the tank for hot water. I put on my thermal underwear and climb into to bed. I have almost no warm clothes with me and am glad I didn't throw out my thermals. I lie in bed feeling crippled by the cold. I'm guessing I could be fifteen hundred meters above sea level. I lie there for about an hour, I've seem the size of the water tank and the fire underneath it and know it will take a while to heat up. As I seem to be the only guest I have a very long and wonderfully hot shower. Its the first time I'd washed in a few days and it feels good to be clean. I cook dinner in the guest house kitchen and head straight to bed.

I'm drinking tea and chatting to a guy in a small hut on the side of the road the next morning. He's waiting for a lift to Mzuzu and I comment about how little traffic there is on the road. He tells me its because people don't live in this area, they live to the west of here . I look at my map and see that theres plenty of dots and back roads shown maybe fifty kilmotres to the west. So why does the main road go through here I ask? For the tourists I'm told. My friend goes on to to tell me that the road was built in the late nineties and although it would be much better if it was fifty kilometres further west it was built going straight over the mountains to look good for the tourists traveling through. We go on to talk about politics. I ask how Malawi is. “Stable”, he tells me. And previously? “Well since independence we have some problems. Dr Banda was an intelligent man and a good leader but unfortunately a dictator...(Banda ran the country from independence in 1961 to 1994)...but Muluzi (1994-2004) was much worse”. “He was not a dictator but not a good leader. He made many many mistakes. He wants the free market but the price of fertilizer went up ten times and we have famine just a few years ago.” The word famine hits me. “And we have this famine because the government sells the crops the year before and keep the money for themselves” And now I ask? “Well now we have Bingu (I'd seen photo's of him up in every state owned building) and now the price of fertilizer is state controlled and things are ok.” My friend works for the forestry commission and I ask him if he likes it. “My job is good, but it is too cold, far too cold here. I come from the lake, there it is nice, the weather is warm”. I agree it is far too cold here. I wish my friend good luck and head off.

I arrive in Mzuzu later that day but its still no warmer. I find the Mzuzuzoozoo guest house and take a dorm bed deciding its too cold to camp. I venture out for dinner and then go and have a beer in a local bar. I'm befriended by a few locals who insist on buying me a drink. “You can not drink alone”. They insist I join them. Its a Friday night and they've all had a hard week at work they tell me. A plate of chicken giblets is brought out and passed around. A great bar snack I'm told. Politely refusing food is one of the most difficult things to do it any country in the world. I make excuses and luckily they don't push it. They buy more beer although they haven't finished the one's they're drinking. They all have a few beers lined up unopened on the bar and when they're ready for another they get the barman to swap it for a cold one. I simply don't get. I try to buy a round but they refuse so I wish them well and head back to the guest house.

The guest house is full. Full of mzungu's all sitting around a roaring fire. They're all expats living around the area and as its Friday have met up for drinks. They all friendly and it nice to chat. There's a retired British couple who kind of remind me of my parents. They're moved to Malawi and grow organic veges on a piece of land outside of town. There's a couple of Canadian missionaries talking to a huge Zimbabwean ex-farmer. He tells of losing his farm but of his love for Zimbabwe and the Zimbabwean people. There's a bunch of smartly dressed middle aged business looking types and three blond haired Finns sit in the corner looking shy. I sit and chat to an Irish homeopath, Liz is a nice girl and lives up to here national stereotype - and the beers flows. I here a bit of the Zimbabweans conversation, “There is no different in worshiping your God than the Greeks worshiping Zeus”. I don't hear what he says next but the Canadians don't seem happy. They get up suddenly, wish everyone goodnight and promptly leave.

The night goes on, its pushing 1am and the Zimbabwean is ready to leave. A young English guy asks how he's getting home. “Driving” He replies. The English guys horrified. The Zimbabwean has drunk an entire bottle of brandy and is now on his umpteenth beer. The English guy is really concerned about him driving and tells him to spend the night here. The English guys getting quiet upset about this and looking for support. He asks me and Liz for help. “Its fine mate, everyone does it” is Liz's response. The Zimbabwean starts to speak. He a beast of man with a huge handle bar mustache and skin which shows the scars of life under the African sun. “My brother he lives in Australia, he moved there when we lost our farm. He gets caught drink driving and goes to court and the judge asks him what he has to say in his defense and he says, “I am African I have been drink driving for forty years. Its only you stupid Australians you don't know how to drink and drive”. The judge didn't like that and he got banned from driving”. We all think this is hilarious. Zim guy gets up and staggers out. It weird how much being in Africa has changed my perception. I've never drunk drove at home, nor has anyone I know. I think it s a deeply selfish, irresponsible and awful thing to do. Whilst here I think nothing of getting into car with someone who is not just over the limit but often really quite pissed.

I'm feel really rough the next day and although I plan to leave I not sure how. Liz hands me a beer at 11am, the confirmation I won't be leaving. We take a walk around the market and go and eat chicken and chips in a dodgey restaurant. The evening is spent much like the night before. The Canadians come back and don't mention anything about he previous night. The fire roars, the drinks flow and I stagger to bed in the early hours of the next morning.

I'm cruising down through the mountains to the lake. The sun is setting and its really is a stunningly beautiful place. I can feel the warmth of the air piecing my body as I drop further down to the lake. I cycle on and on. The road winds up but mainly down and with every inch of descent it gets warmer and warmer. Its a relief to have the cold wiped from my body. I can see a large groups of people ahead. As I get closer I see a mini bus parked at the side of the road. I slow down and push through the large crowd standing around the mini bus. I wonder what everyone is looking at and turn and see a body lying on the ground. I cycle on. I wonder whether the person was okay, and whether I should stop. But there's nothing I could do, I don't even know basic first aid. I then I think that maybe the person was actually dead! Its a strange thought. I cycle on.

I arrive at Nkhata Bay and head to the legendary (on Malawian backpackers circles) Mayoka Village Lodge. I'd been guaranteed that its a really nice place to stay and there would definitely be no overland trucks tours staying there. I pitch my tent and stare at the lake. I'm happy its warm but not since Zambia have I felt okay. I'm feeling lost. I drink a small bottle of gin and head to the bar.


Five months previous. February 07.

I'm in Uganda staying in Kampala. I get an e-mail from Jess, she's been in a bus crash in Tanzania. She's okay but the crash was nasty. People were hurt. The other bus was on its side. Its chaos. A guys face was cut up badly and covered in blood, she helped him clean his face up, but then realised she had small cuts all over her own hands which were now covered in his blood. She washed them and washed them, but now she's terrified of HIV. I go white reading the e-mail. I panic but try to send her a reassuring e-mail telling her the rate of infection this way would be very very small, but really its just bullshit to make her feel better. I'm so scared I can feel it in ever piece of my body. I walk outside where Kari is sitting and tell her what's happened. She gives me a hug and tears form in my eyes. I ask a few people who know about HIV and they ask whether she'd taken antiretrovirals. I don't understand. I'm told that if you take massive doses of certain antiretrovirals within hours of being exposed to HIV then they will kill the virus and you'll be okay. But she hadn't taken them. I don't think Jess knew about this. I'm suddenly faced will the very real consequences of HIV first hand. I see HIV and AIDS awareness posters each and everyday. I hear stories from people about their dead relatives, I meet NGO's working within the field, but never until now has it actually effected me. All this time in Africa but never had it ever seemed so real. Myself and Jess had made no commitment to ever see each other again, but the crash has changed something. I e-mail her back and tell her I think I'm in love with her.



Mayoka Village is nice and I spend my days swimming and chilling out. I meet really nice people, and although the place is very much a dancing on the bar till 4am, kind of place, its nice and friendly and people are decent. But I drink too much, everyone wants to party but I want this to start this at 1pm. I push it off till 4pm and then start on my gin. I'm just so nervous about Jess.

Three months has passed since the crash and Jessie's had a HIV test. She tells me she'll get the results in a few days. There's a three month wait from the time of possible infection till you can have a test and find out. Its been a long three months. I've spoken to Jess a few times on the phone and we'd agreed to try to carry on our relationship. She'd said she'd come to see me in the UK when I get back from the trip - which I'm hoping will be fairly soon. I'm amazed but very happy that we've made a commitment to the relationship but now it seems I just miss her more. My hands are shaking as I try to open up the e-mail from her. I know it will contain her test results. The internet connection is shitty and its taking five minutes just to open one page. It opens and I read it. Its negative. She's fine. Its all okay. I'm smiling, I'm happy.

My final night in Nkata bay and I'm still up dancing when the sun comes up. I sit and share a joint and watch the sunrise over Mozambique. Its a beautiful place. Its beautiful when life is just about swimming and relaxing and dancing and drinking till the morning. Its a beautiful place when you can forget about all the things happening to all the people around you.

I get a lift back to Lilongwe and stay a few more days. I speak to Jess and she tells me she's bought a ticket to Cape Town for 31st July. It takes a while to register. She's coming to Africa to see me! Wow, I think. We arrange to meet in Maputo, Mozambique on the 4th August. Its about two thousand kilometres away but I reassure her I'll be there. We have logistical things to think about. She wants to cycle. She needs a bike and some panniers. I send her a list of stuff to buy. She hires a bike and gets a lift pass and goes mountain biking for a day. Its the first time she'd been on a bicycle since she was a little kid. She said she likes it. I tell her there no ski lifts to take you up to the top of mountains in Africa. I'm very excited but considerably nervous.

I leave Lilongwe and cycle across the mountains to Blantyre. Its hard going. I've been too abusive to my body recently and I struggle with all the climbs. The mountains are beautiful. I see sprawling open scenery for miles. Its cold and rugged, not the the tropics of the lake, or the pine forests of the North. Everywhere seems brown. Dark and burn. I like its baroness and its desolation, it makes me feel small and happy. The days are long and I'm super tired.

I'm about forty kilometres out of Blantyre and decide to call it a day. I pull into truck stop town. Its just a string of bars for about a hundred metres catering to all the truck drivers passing through. They all look equally dim but I head to the best looking place and ask about a room. I'm taken through the bar and out the back. Its more farm yard than guest house with a dozen or so goats milling about. Theres a few women washing clothes and chatting away. I follow the young girl from the bar as she takes me to a room and knocks on the door. The door opens and a half dressed girl walks out. She's buttoning up her blouse and her tits are hanging out, but she doesn't turn away nor look embarrassed. The girl looks ill. She incredibly thin and looks awful. I'm assuming she's a prostitute and doesn't look well at all. I avert my eyes as the she walks me to a room. Its more like a cow shed but at $1.50 a night I'm not complaining. I have a wash and head to the bar. I sit out the front on a plastic chair and have a beer. A young guy starts chatting to me. I ask about food, but he tells me its too late for food as everywhere is shut. Its not dark yet and I'm very surprised by this. He saids he'll get one of the hotel girls to cook for me. I very hungry and very grateful. We sit and chat as I wait for my food. The sick looking prostitute girl walks past.
“We call her....” I don't catch the word. “Because she has the disease...”. He's still talking. I'm processing his words. He's saying she has AIDS, so people give her a nickname! I just nod. He doesn't say this in a serious way nor does he make a joke of it. Its just matter of fact. The hotel girl comes back with some dodgy chicken and rice. I thank her, eat up and head to bed. I think about the sick girl, but I don't really know what to think.

I'm in Blantyre early the next morning. I send more e-mails to Jess and we work out all the logistics of the trip. Most of me can't really believe it happening. Its an easy day from Blantyre to the Mozambique border but from the border to Maputo I estimate 1500 kilometers and ten days to do it in. I've enjoyed my time in Malawi but feel that I never got to know much of country. Its one of the few countries in Africa to be united by one language, Chichewa, but I don't learn a single word of it. I see more “traditional medicine” shops than I have in any country in Africa, but I never learn anything about this. Malawian have a reputation for being friendly and relaxed, which they are, but I don't think I really appreciate this either. I was just too caught up in my own world. I'm stamped out of the Malawi and into Mozambique the country where I'm finally going to meet up with my holiday romance.


Jimmy's Cape Town to Cairo walk - http://www.dubbinhood.org/

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