The Rainy Season Begins yet the Country Runs Dry

A Malawian National Newspaper Press Release dated 11/15/11:

"Periodic shutdowns and rationalization of production for the bottling plant and the brewery.  Carlsburg Malawi would like to inform all valued costumers and consumers that our factories in Lilongwe, Blantyre and Mzuzu will experience periodic shutdown of production occasioned by unavailability of imported raw materials like concentrates, Carbon Dioxide, crowns, malt for beer and glass bottles due to erratic availability of foreign exchange.

As a result, it has now become necessary for Carlsburg Malawi Ltd. to rationalize its production program.  The management of Carlsburg appreciates the efforts and support rendered by Commercial Banks, the Monetary Authority, Carlsburg A/S and Press Corporation Limited to manage the challenges posed by foreign exchange shortages.  However, despite all these efforts, if the situation does not improve, including normalization of fuel supplies to ensure availability of diesel for our delivery and distribution trucks, supply of product will become more problematic during the festive season.

The management of Carlsburg wishes to apologize for any inconvenience caused."

-Abel T. Chanje.

Translation= Shortages of beer and gin are eminent.

We work hard with the expectation to play hard.  This 'inconvenience' looks to pose a problem of grand proportion for the masses.  Who is it that I speak to about turning water into wine? 

Palibe Petrol

Sometimes when you look back on hardship, the situation, at one point dire and difficult now seems manageable and relatively painless.  It is as if the passing of time has cast a warm rosy picture on your memory easing up the seriousness of the circumstances.  I have heard many times that those with the heart of a champion, particularly adventurers who summit extreme mountains, maintain that their last climb was challenging but not the ultimate test of will.  This mentality gives them the motivation and resolve to climb the next great peak even when their previous experience was gut wrenchingly grueling and physically demanding beyond what they thought humanly possible.    

So that I remember the vivid reality of the current hardship occurring in Malawi I want to reflect upon the situation here and now and document the gritty details.  In short, the industry of Malawi does not produce enough goods for export, minimizing the amount of foreign currency they receive.  With a shortage of foreign currency Malawi has limited buying power outside of their borders restricting the government’s ability to purchase everything from fuel to various necessities from overseas.  This has caused a crisis of growing proportion.  At the gas station cars line up bumper-to-bumper in haphazard rows, colorful jerry cans of assorted sizes hold the place of men waiting to fill them, crowds swell in hopes to get their hands on fuel to either fill their empty tanks or sell the surplus on the black market where prices are grossly inflated.  Gas guzzling trucks, motorcycles, even the occasional ambulance wait for hours on end without proceeding through the line.  The period of waiting and hoping begins long before the fuel tankers have even filled the underground reservoirs of the station.  A rumor or hot tip has led masses of cars to different station locations and there the games begin.  Wait, hope, wonder, sweat, become aggravated, infuriated, get lucky or go home empty handed.   

My Solution 

On many levels this process is sad.  I use the word sad because it seems appropriate.  For one, Malawians have come to accept this crisis without murmurs of civil demonstration or marches on the capital.  The government, in early July, quelled any plans for future protest by shooting live rounds into demonstrating crowds and killing 12 people in Mzuzu, four in Lilongwe and three in Blantyre.  The second reason for my use of the word sad is because while thousands of citizens wait in long lines hoping for fuel, the economy of Malawi is unable to progress and slows down to a crawl.  Trucks cannot make their deliveries, construction workers cannot get to their job sights, the business and industry sector, though only a small fraction of the economy, cannot support entrepreneurs and new business, ambulances cannot travel to emergency situations, mini bus drivers lose time and money, farmers cannot produce and the ripple affect causes increased prices for everything from bananas to baskets distressing even the most remote villager and malnourished child. 

The situation here is bound to get worse before it gets better.  As a relatively wealthy and able ex-patriot living here I have the economic means to keep the crisis at a comfortable distance from my own life but I am unable to shoulder the burden for my fellow brothers and sisters.  It is not a proud time nor is it a pleasant time to realize all of these things after reflecting on them.  I often ask myself if Malawi has the means to ameliorate their situation.  I am hopeful that they can and will but am often uninspired by the corrupted efforts of some of their complacent politicians taking away the voice of the people.  News from the ‘Occupy’ Movement happening simultaneously in the US has made headlines here in Africa.  Images of protesters voicing their concern and demanding change on Wall Street and in corporate America has made me look at both situations and compare both versions of democracy.  In one picture on the web an American man holds up a sign in front of a corporate building, “Sorry for the inconvenience, we are trying to change the world here.”  If only Malawians could raise those signs, speak up and be the impetus for their own change.  I somehow doubt that news of the crisis here in Malawi has made headlines across the ocean but it does not mean people here are not suffering.  I can only hope that the solution looms somewhere on the near horizon.  I also hope I don’t get expelled from the country for writing this.  Others have...       

A Piece of Land Surrounded by Water

We headed north even with the knowledge that there was no fuel at the pumps and we would have to hunt down jerry cans of gas on the black market to get back home.  During the 5+  hour journey from Lilongwe to Nkhata Bay the 20-liter jerry can in the back of our car had been heating up to a low simmer.  Once we arrived and went to manually fill up the empty tank I discovered all too late that the fuel had expanded and was waiting to send a forceful spray of gasoline all over my face once the lid was opened.  My first toxic fuel shower!  Campisi thoughtfully wiped my face with 1 ply toilet paper we had laying around in the back of the car and we moved on.  We had survived the poorly paved roads with various hazards including oblivious goats, car chasing dogs, overloaded bicycles, drunk villagers, matola trucks full of locals and cows pulling wide and cumbersome carts of maize so a little fuel to the face seemed a piece of cake.

To no surprise our booking was ‘lost’ but that only meant a free upgrade to a cozy little cottage overlooking the lake with en suite shower and toilet.  Perfect.  Karen, Campisi and I settled in and let the waters of Lake Malawi wash off the sweat, dirt, diesel and stress that had been accumulating on our skin and in our chests.  The next day we were off to Likoma Island, a 6-hour boat journey away on the infamous Ilala Ferry that maneuvers around Lake Malawi between Mozambiquen and Malawian ports.  The ferry ride itself was to be one of the highlights of our adventure, more specifically the loading and unloading of all its passengers and contents.  Picture a nice and orderly procession of people moving politely on and off a dilapidated three-story ferry to a smaller taxiing boat in a highly organized fashion with pleases and thank yous being exchanged.  Now forget all that because this process was absolute chaos and savage madness. 

We had the luxury of staying on the top deck of the boat with enough space for walking but once we had to unload we were met by bags of cement being floated over the top of our heads, women with babies carrying boxes of chickens too wide to pass through the narrow hallways, coolers full of who knows what, backpacks jabbing you in the chin clattering your jaw and various people forcing their way through the mob with sour body odor and bony elbows.   The crowd’s steadfast and confident attitude pushing its way forward was surprising to me seeing as half of the people on board could not swim and despite the rising waters around them they continued to take risks and throw themselves and their belongings on board.  We arrived safely on the beach by some small miracle and the help from random strangers.

Sunset over the island plus a few beers gave us a pleasant head change and sunk us quickly into relaxation mode and into bed.  The next morning we awoke to bright sunshine and clear blue waters with nothing to do but swim and play.  I took my ‘zero responsibilities’ seriously by swimming, eating, napping, eating, drinking and moving at a pace likened to that of a sleepy sloth- A nice reprieve from the constant flow of work, never ending ideas for new initiatives I want to tackle, workshop presentations, support groups, assignments and clients.  The biggest problem we had during our time on the island was when the electricity would fail and we were forced to drink partially cold beers and shower in the dark. 

On a day when we were particularly motivated we took a small wooden boat to an island the size of the Walnut Heights Elementary School Auditorium, a stones throw away from the shores of Mozambique.  The group went snorkeling while I took my first opportunity to scuba dive in the deep waters around the island.  Hundreds of different varieties of fish, sheer rock drop-offs into the blue abyss below and a rock carving that looked vaguely like a hamburger estimated to have been carved 2,000 years earlier by natives asking for protection from the Lake Gods.  My first weight free, freshwater dive was great despite the absence of corals and plant life of any kind.  Being in the silent depths of the water with silvery iridescent bubbles rising up around me and floating to the surface is so peaceful.    

That night we treated ourselves to dinner at one of Malawi’s high-end destination lodges: Kaya Mawa.  Starting off with a basil and mozzarella fritatta, followed by a peanut and coconut curried pork accompanied by snap peas and basmati rice and to finish a vanilla, lemon custard served warm from the oven with a sprig of mint.  It is possible that only two or three of the words I used to describe our dinner exist in the Chechewa language and it is also possible that there are only two to three chefs in this whole country that can prepare it.  The meal, on the sandy beach of Lake Malawi, under the stars in the light of glowing lanterns and candles was wonderful.  It was a celebratory last meal on the island and the wine served in oversized wine glasses gave us a happy high that continued on until morning as we prepared to leave.  In the reality of ‘Malawi Time’ it was not until late that night that the Ilala arrived into the Bay of Likoma.  Pants rolled up and bags in hand we moved steadily down the beach until it was time to make a mad dash for one of the small ferrying boats in the shallow waters.

People from every direction swarmed the boat like twenty-one-year-old drinkers raiding a bar for the first legal time.  The pushing and shoving created a feverish atmosphere.  People hurled themselves over the sides overcrowding the boat and prohibiting the 15 horse powered engine from moving outside of the shell shaped cove.  I tried to tell people that bricks don’t float but no one bothered to listen because their bags of fish were going to make it on the Ilala come hell or high water.  Sticking together tightly our group of mazungus formed a united front and stormed the small wooden boat as one.  Granted there was no electricity in the town to literally shine a light on this scene but it will remain in my memory a brightly colored comedy.  A story of teamwork and struggle that included fish scales cutting my bare feet and grease from hot blaring engines smearing my legs.  What a moment. 

On the top deck of the ferry we slept like babies up until the time our sleeping pills wore off and the blazing hot sun stripped away the darkness and left us sweating in the midday sun.  The boat trip was only the first leg of our arduous travel back to Lilongwe.   Afterward we had to hunt for fuel on the black market with a price inflated to four times its value at the pump.  I didn’t have gas splash up my nose and onto my face so paying the high prices for the essentials seemed like a good idea.  On Likoma Campisi got her first glimpse of the beauty of Malawi and the very next week she would have the opportunity to see the beauty of the people I work with in the Dzaleka Refugee Camp.