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Published: September 13th 2006
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I am a count and I love to count
Andy convincing the MRA that we have not hidden a Landrover discovery between the layers of solar modules. Day 3 - 8th September - Patience Wearing Very Thin Up and away before the Kiboko overlanders awoke and a breakfast stop with Manasseh’s (Mr Chiumia and me were getting to know each other much better by now) daughter in a ragged suburb of Lilongwe.
We rocked up to the Air Cargo depot at 8.30 and were immediately surrounded by clearing agents trying to get our business. A bit of negotiation and the promise of a big fat bonus of they could get the stuff in duty free later and we had secured the services of a guy called “Newstyle”.
MRA wanted to inspect the goods to be sure that the batteries shown on the shipping papers weren’t actually there (we bought them locally in Blantyre). I pointed out that 12 batteries alone would weigh 240kg and that the whole pallet only weighed 190kg but they wanted to be sure (Caption competition for the cstoms inspection photo. . )
They miscounted a few things and so, well, we err. . miscounted on the declaration slighty. They also thought everything was in Euros so I kept quiet thinking that it was actually going quite well. Then we met
Where it all happens
Our clearing agent, having just realised that his "duty free" bonus was long gone, does his best to calculate our duty on a calculator with no numbers on the buttons. the MRA station manager - "Mr what what what A B C D”
Yet another lecture about what we should have done and how he “couldn’t undermine the Technical Director (even though he could) what what what what what” or “make exceptions A B C D E what what what@. Finally a promise that, with a Certificate of Origin, we could get our duty payment down to 5%!((MISSING)smallprint. . . plus 17.5%!s(MISSING)urtax. . . . so that’s 22.5%!t(MISSING)hen ?)
Frantic calls to the solarcentury office in the UK and fast fax work by Kahya had the paperwork on his desk within the hour. Was Mr what-what-what happy ? He held it up by one corner as if it was a piece of soiled toilet paper and shook his head. “This is not a Malawi import Certificate of Origin form 18” he sneered. Annticipating a heft bill, I decided to head to the bank and see how much money I could prize from the wall from my bank account and credit card.
Not enough ! ! !. Risking my bank and credit cards getting swallowed and being left cashless for the remaining 5 and a half months of my trip, I managed to get 100,000 kwacha out of the wall (about 400 quid) - still 40,000 kwacha short. The bank couldn’t phone for VISA authorisation as their phone was broken. I gave them my mobile and instantly lost $5 of credit on the National Bank guy listening to Kenyan hold music before getting cut off and was then finally told by the clearing agent that the MRA would not release the goods with only part payment.
It can’t get any worse than this, I thought, as I had a bit of a rant at the bank teller and stormed off for a walk around the very small terminal trying to keep cool. I really felt like crying.
Back in Mr What What What’s office the paperwork was still concerning him but, “at great personal risk to myself” he decided to let it go. 3pm and there was light at the end of the tunnel. “I get hold of enough money”, I offered gingerly. “Your clearing agent will pay and you will owe them”, he decreed.
Newstyle looked nervous. His duty free bonus had long since evaporated and now he was being asked to lend me about 40,000 kwacha with his boss out of town and no security. I offered him my blood but he didn't see the irony.
4pm - Two hours to darkness - paperwork still being processed
4.30pm - Paperwork still being processed
4.45pm - We get our hands on the goods after negotiating the storage charges down by at least a half.
5pm - One hour to darkness and the four hour drive home finally begins (not including half hourly stops to refill the cooling system). We're smiling, the goods are in the back and we're heading for Mzuzu in a. . . . Nissan (it WILL happen some time even if I have to hire a bloody Isuzu !)
6pm - I turn the lights (or rather. . light) on and car starts to splutter. Shit - we’re running out of fuel I thought. . .
6.05pm We kangaroo hop into the only 24hr petrol station between Lilongwe and Mzuzu, the engine dies completely and the lights go out. I look at Manasseh, he looks at me - we know we’re going to spending another night away from Nkhata Bay and both know only too well how many pairs of pants we packed for what was supposed to be a two day trip.
There’s a motel just 150m away and a good mechanic in town (how lucky are WE ?!) so we pile the gear into a clapped out matola, stack it up in my motel room and wait for sunrise.
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