Mission: Malawi

It was still dark when we loaded our belongings into the taxi, conducted a final bleary-eyed review of the essential items, and set off for the bus station. Arriving in time to catch an earlier bus, we squeezed our way on board, crammed our bags into any remaining spaces, and, settling into our seats, eagerly awaited the beginning of our journey to the Lake of Stars music festival in Malawi.

The driver must have known we were music lovers because he wasted no time in putting on his vast collection of gospel hits, sung in auto-tuned Nyanje with elaborate synth accompaniment. As it was very early and most people looked ready to doze off, he made sure to set the volume somewhere between ear-splitting and mind-numbing to prevent anyone from missing out. So, from 5:45 in the morning to about 9, our thoughts, dreams, even our very existence, was fully pervaded by these soulful serenades. At our first pit-stop somewhere in the mountains of central Zambia, we finally got a reprieve, allowing our brains a chance to reform to their original shape. But even after starting out again the music remained paused. We wondered; could we be so lucky? But it was merely an opportunity for some sermonizing from a fellow passenger. So while enjoying our complementary pineapple Fantas, we dutifully learned about thieves and good shepherds, though I find it hard to recall how they were related. In an abrupt and concerning turn of events, the entertainment following the preacher was Wrong Turn 3: Left for Dead, a gratuitously violent movie involving murderous cannibal hillbillies and concluding with the death of every character in the film. Fully over-stimulated by this point, we spent the remainder of the trip in a confused catatonic state, and were all too happy when the bus rolled into our final destination: Chipata. We stayed the night in this border town with a friend, collected two more compatriots from the airport in the morning, then in a hired van, the five of us set out for Malawi.

Immediate impressions of Malawi found many similarities with Zambia, but that’s not surprising considering the permeable, flexible borders and shared heritage. Quickly, the landscape opened up. Rolling green plains were strewn with immense rock formations jutting out in angular ways like sinking ships. We passed through the capital, Lilongwe, and though it was hard to explain why, we could definitely feel we were in a different country. In a few hours we drew close to the mountains and began ascending into their heights. Through them we traced a twisting and meandering route, peppered with hair-pin turns, the kind at the end of which you find you’ve been unconsciously holding your breath. At last, we made it to the other side and could see massive Lake Malawi stretched across the horizon.

The festival was held directly on the lake, so both our campsite and the stage area were on the beach. After sorting out some logistical problems due to the lack of cell service, we were able to set up camp before nightfall and made it to the first night of music. In the morning, we were awoken by sunrise and, climbing out of our tents, were struck by the view. Amongst palms of different varieties and heights, colorful tents dotted the beach like blooming exotic flowers, rain flies fluttering in the cool breeze coming off the water. 

(The campsite)

Ringing the expansive lake, implied ghosts of purple mountains could be seen through mist.  During the day, even in the morning, the heat was intense. Luckily, this was one of those rare African lakes that are swimmable- you risk a couple parasites but at least there are few crocodiles. We divided our days between swimming, lounging and eating. The most active we got was either climbing a nearby hill or the dancing in the sand all night (actually pretty tiring). 

(From the hill: stage can been seen on beach through trees on center right)

The second night was the musical highlight of the trip, and the best of the best had to have been Freshlyground, a South African group. I’ve been hearing of them for years but had missed many chances to see them live. I guess they’ve reached a pretty high level of fame by this point; last year they recorded WakaWaka with Shakira for the World Cup. When they played that as an encore (sans Shakira) the whole beach was just a moving mass of happy faces. We had one more day and night to soak in all the beauty of the lake, the happy music and the friendly people before having to say goodbye. Early Monday morning we climbed, exhausted but happy, into our van and started back the way we came.

In our short journey we saw a beautiful face of Malawi, but we also got a glimpse of another side of the country. It is currently undergoing both political and economic upheaval as the ruling party dukes it out with both foreign governments and unhappy citizens. 40% of Malawi’s budget comes from foreign aid, and the UK is the primary contributor. However, after a row over alleged mishandling of government money and authority (read: shiny new jet for the president), diplomatic relations with Britain have crumbled. The British high commissioner was expelled and in retaliation, Britain, followed by others, froze much of its aid. A lack of foreign exchange has inhibited the purchasing of fuel to the point where, “fuel stations are just for decoration here,” as our driver put it. The rare station that has gas also has long lines of cars. Lack of fuel and new austerity measures have sparked deadly riots around the country.

Even in our brief travels across the country we felt the effects of these problems. Running out of gas on our way home, we spent almost an hour in Lilongwe looking for somewhere to refill. With all the uncertainty and scarcity of fuel, it was surprising to see the roads still jammed with cars. In the end we had to drive all the way to a bootlegger’s house to get 5 liters out of a water jug. I’m certain we burned more than that searching for it. Our journey was complicated further by another particularly ugly side-effect of the country’s woes. All along the roads we had to contend with an ever present, ever greedy, Malawian police force. We must have gone through over a dozen “checkpoints” over the course of the trip, sometimes as close as five minutes apart. Probably unpaid by the government, their salaries are made up by “fines” collected at these stops. Time and time again we were stopped and payment was unrelentingly demanded. It passed the point of reasonable; even our calm driver was pushed to extreme agitation. We finally limped our way back into Zambia, and I couldn’t suppress a smile as the friendly customs agent stamped my passport: it was a spectacular trip, but it was good to be home.