Malawi

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It was 8 months ago, back in Cape Town, that I last had a haircut, so I was due.

The bus station barber in Blantyre was lacking in refinements such as scissors but did have the attachments for his trimmer.

I settled for a number 2 all over and went from hippie to squaddy in a few short minutes.

I generously tipped the barber to bring his fee up to 25p and then waited patiently until Linda had stopped laughing (4 days).


Blantyre is a small and unremarkable city, setting the tone for most places in this country which also tend to be small and unremarkable. The exceptions are the touristic centres which are serene and beautiful.

Malawi is exceptional though because of the easy warmth and friendliness of the people, who were always pleased to see us and pass the time of day.

Blantyre had an ATM and I ascertained that there were only 6 in the country that would accept international cards, 5 of which were in the south. I therefore had to amass cash before we went to any outlying areas.

In the first week or so I took every opportunity to visit an ATM until I had collected several hundred quid. Since the value of the largest note here is about £2.50, I ended up with a multi-inch wad to worry about.


From Blantyre we went south to Mulanje at the base of the country's biggest mountain (3000m) where we wandered around the perimeter of the tea plantations wondering where all the workers were.

We then went north to Zomba where a cheery guide led us to various viewpoints from the plateau to look down over the town and surrounding area. Our taxi driver arrived looking like death. "I've got malaria" he sighed.


Our first lakeside stop was at Cape Maclear where we booked into the first place we came to (at £2.50 a night) and immediately regretted it. Further along the the shore we found a typical backpackers, Fat Monkeys, at £4 a night, and transferred ourselves.

Lake Malawi is the 3rd largest lake in Africa and the 12th largest in the world.

It is long and thin like the country, being 575 km long and only 85 km at its widest point. The whole country is only 900 km long and up to 160 km wide.

Cape Maclear was named by David Livingstone in 1861 after a friend of his, and Scottish Christians set up their first mission here in 1875 (abandoned due to malaria in 1881).

Today it is a long stretch of beach fronted by 6 or 7 lodges amongst a local population of 16000 in huts and houses. Along the shore people are washing themselves or their clothes or taking out canoes for fishing.

There are also lots of young men hoping to make a living out of tourists by selling paintings, carvings, jewellery etc or barbecuing fish and rice on the beach. The odds are not good. One guy we spoke to reckoned there were 40 beach boys for each tourist.

In the past there was lots of hassle, which had a counter-productive effect as visitors stopped coming but they realised their mistake and now, though we got lots of offers,we didn't feel hassled at all.


This is one of the poorest countries in the world and although everyone that we met seemed adequately fed and clothed they were clearly lacking money for fertiliser and education (secondary school costs £6 per term).

We did our bit by buying paintings, carvings and jewellery and joining a couple of lads for barbecued fish instead of eating in the lodge.

One night we went to a local mans house for dinner. Shakespear had a small compound consisting of 2 mud brick huts surrounded bt bamboo fencing.

"This is the kitchen" he said, indicating the smaller hut which was empty except for a small pit gouged in the earthen floor where they place the sticks for a fire.

In the other hut I was pleased to see a narrow bed along with a table and 2 chairs (primary school size) and a calender on the wall.

His sister-in-law had prepared the the fish and maize pap and we sat on a straw mat and ate the minimum we could without giving offence by the wan light of a kerosene lamp. The pap was gritty and we guessed (correctly) that the 7 household kids were reliant on what we left for their dinners. We distributed lots of pop and sweets and had a very enjoyable evening.


As English is so well spoken here, and the people are so friendly it is easier than in most countries to find out what life is like behind the scenes for really poor people.

For example, Shakespear is the only adult male in a household including his mother, sister, sister-in-law and about 7 kids. Each of their partners had died of malaria.

There is little chance of formal employment so Shakespear roams the shoreline hoping to get £2 from a tourist for a fish supper.

He has a field ("Of course, everyone owns a field"), but it is only fertile during the rainy season unless he can afford some fertiliser, which he can't. The rains have been poor here for the last few years.

I find it particularly African that no-one has figured a way of transferring water a couple of hundred yards from the lake to the fields.

Also interesting, I came across the current annual Malawian income tax bands - approximated into Sterling by me:

1st £25 - tax free
next £15 - 16% tax
up to £500 - 30% tax
above £500 - 35% tax


We went on a boat trip with another beach boy (though they are up to 40 years old) to a nearby island where we had the inevitable fish barbecue and I went snorkeling in the lake, which was akin to swimming around in a tropical fish tank.

My next bit of planning was ruined by the weekly lake ferry being 6 hours late departing from Monkey Bay, which meant we arrived at our transit stop well after dark and didn't fancy it.

Instead we stayed on the deck overnight (no sleep) and got off at the next stop, Nkotakota.

There was no jetty and we had to approach the shore by launch which was still at waist deep when it stopped. I was just wondering what to do next when some local lads grabbed our bags and hoisted them to the edge and grabbed a small boat for us (for which I had to pay handsomely later).

We were dismayed to find that Nkotakota was actually 4 km inland but the boys were happy to carry our bags there on their heads for a small consideration.

This was actually quite interesting as we walked through numerous homesteads all full of happy people waving and saying hello.

We instantly recognised Nkotakota as the sort of town which consists of one dusty road and a few shops and stalls, and headed straight for the minibus stand to continue on to Nkhata Bay.

Described as "tropical" and "lush" in the guidebooks, Nkhata Bay has a selection of lodges dotted along the lakeshore where it is possible to stay without ever needing to venture to the outside world.

We had our own chalet, with a sunken bath, overlooking the lake for £10 a night (reduced to £5 after we had stayed a few weeks). Five weeks disappeared here though apart from the occasional boat or snorkeling excursion we did little apart from reading and playing scrabble (and having baths).

The big inconvenience here was that the only banks and internet were in the regional centre of Mzuzu, a 2 hour journey away. On the first 2 trips there the ATM was not working. On the verge of running out of cash I did an over the counter visa withdrawal which took only 20 minutes. (In some countries you can waste a day in the banks).

Staying around for a while we became familiar with some of the locals and one, Boston, invited us to his house for Sunday lunch.

As he is employed as a chef (£25/month) he is more affluent than Shakespear. With his wife and baby daughter he rents a spartan room in a brick house with electricity and running water for £4/month.

He has used a curtain to divide the room into a bedroom and sitting room into which he has squeezed a small sofa and chairs. Cooking takes place in the yard where pots are supported by bricks over a small fire.

Linda helped his wife, Katie, to prepare the maize pap which we had for lunch with red beans.


We went on Safari to Vwaza Marsh Nature Reserve.

As soon as we arrived we witnessed a fight between 2 elephants about 100 yards from the campsite. Then we had to take shelter in the gents toilets as the Herd came very close.

The elephants here are particularly wild and visitors are not allowed to venture into the park on foot without an armed ranger.

On one occasion we came upon a lone bull elephant who was in no mood to share his territory. He came trumpeting towards us until it was clear that we were in retreat. The adrenalin surge from that lasted all morning.

We stayed 3 nights here in a simple grass hut and our guide, Bright, refused to let us lift a finger while he knocked up excellent meals from 2 pans on a barbie. Each morning we would breakfast on the small veranda while families of elephant lumbered across the pasture in front of us to their feeding grounds.

Before returning to Nkhata Bay we joined up with some other tourists and their guide, Kelvin, and went to the hilltop mission of Livingstonia, where the Cape Maclear missionaries finally ended up. It as a tough journey to get there, even in a Land Rover 4x4.

I felt sorry for the locals as they walked along the side of the road in their Sunday best only to be encased in the horrendous dust cloud billowing from our wake.


When we got back Kelvin had a disagreement with his boss and lost his job. As he had become one of our best friends I offered to sponsor him through college, so he is now studying motor mechanics at Mzuzu polytechnic.

We went to dinner at Brights place. His house has no water or electricity (rent:£2.50/month), so we all squeezed around the single candle in his nice sitting room (with antimacassars!) for rice and fried chicken.

Everyone we had met turned out for Linda's birthday, where she was presented with a cake and made to stand on the bar and give a speech and when we left, a few days later, it was hugs and handshakes all round.

We were planning our return trip to Malawi long before we had left.

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