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Published: September 13th 2006
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Hand Made and Legal
Andy looks pleased with his new yellow shiny (legal) number plate and prepares to sail through police roadblocks with the wind in his rapidly growing beard and a car full of solar equipment for the Kaliya Youth Group. Day 1 - 6th September - The Road to Blantyre
Getting me up and out of the house at 6am isn’t usually that easy, but today I was on a mission. . . .Pick up Mr Chiumia, drive 8 or 9 hours to Blantyre, appeal to the Technical Director of the MRA for the customs duty on our shipments to be waived, get a letter from him, drive to Blantyre airport and pick up my DHL parcel, drive on to Lilongwe airport, pick up the rest of the gear, drive back to Nkhata Bay, unload the gear and have a nice cup of tea. . .couldn’t be easier.
The drive down the lakeshore was long and tiring with constant worries about running out of fuel (no fuel gauge in the car) but, with two international volunteers heading for Monkey Bay, Mr Chiumia, Gilberts wife Linda and their 2 year old daughter Lucy (that's Gilberts daughter, not Linda and Mr Chiumia's love child) for company, the hours flew by. So did the wildlife and farm animals.
Now I’m a fish eating vegetarian and recently came up with a slightly shaky and revised justification for now eating fish that, if I could kill it myself, then I’ll eat it (although I’m not really sure how I’d do in a wrestling match with a yellowfin tuna - I'm really missing Sushi already). Well, two dead chickens, one badly grazed goat and one very lucky dog later, I think I need to add “. . .with my own bare hands”.
Then there were the police roadblocks. . . lots of them. Although generally harmless, the police on these road blocks are generally badly paid and extremely bored and just love leaning into teh window for a chat.
We were fine until we got close to Blantyre - generally just waved through with no real problems - when we finally ran into a traffic policeman with attitude. We were already late for our meeting with the MRA and now had a puffed up policeman circling our car looking for problems (didn't really have to look very far). The tax was OK, my licence was OK but, as he came round to the front again, a smile appeared on his face - he had spotted the hand painted wooden number plate tied onto the bull bars with fuse wire.
“Where is your number plate? That is a serious offence you know . . . “ (I can think of worse offences). I assured him that I would have a proper one made in Blantyre and that we had to get to the MRA and . . . . . He cut me off. “I must keep your licence and you will appear in court in Blantyre - no on-the-spot fines now in Malawi you know”. Bugger !
But Mr Chiumia put his hands together in prayer and a plea for sense and reason, flashed his rosary beads, grasped his slightly bling crucifix and . . .it worked. We got through. Then there was the customs roadblock. . .
Fifteen minutes down the road we ran into another roadblock. Customs - in the middle of Malawi, and hundreds of kilometres from the nearest border crossing. Not having a car full of bootleg DVDs, fags or booze, I thought we’d sail through (flashbacks of Max and Paddie dressed as priests worried me though).
“This is a South African registered vehicle - where are your import papers?” Bugger, BUGGER !
Again Mr Chiumia waved his magic bling and were let through with a warning but very very delayed. We phoned the MRA. Our man had gone home and we fixed a meeting for 7.30 the next morning.
As I settled in to my mosquito ridden cell in a ex-state rest house, my mind swam with a heaving road and suicidal goats.
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kimbo
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weirdy beardy
loving the beard, bro.. but where is your sunhat? hmmm ? remember you're a ginger xxx