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.
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