Mozambique

Friday 4th March 2016 – Neil kindly gave us a lift to Tete bus station in the back of his pickup and from there we took a minibus to Moatize. A second minibus took us to the border at Zobue. After getting an exit stamp and changing our remaining Mozambiquan Meticals for Malawian Kwacha we took a motorbike the 5km of no mans land to the Malawian border post, a ride that Alysa loved and I found terrifying. We knew that as of Jan 2016 British citizens needed a visa to enter Malawi but we thought it would be easy enough to get one at the border. We were in for a shock. The border official asked if we had visas. We said we didn’t and he told us we needed to have obtained a visa from an embassy. We showed him our hotel bookings and bank statement (both visa requirements) but to little effect. After a while he said he would talk to his boss, which sounded positive. After a couple of minutes we were ushered into the chief officials cool air conditioned office. He made it very clear we had flouted the rules. Trying our best to look repentant and not much fancying a return trip to Maputo we asked if there was anything he could do to help us. After a fair amount of brow mopping and circumlocution it became clear that a little palm greasing was required. After we had coughed up a couple of hundred dollars and all our Kwachas the official announced he would talk to his boss but couldn’t promise anything. About 15 seconds later he returned, informed us his boss had agreed and soon both our passports contained a lovely Malawian visa valid for 30 days. After having been cleaned out at the Malawian border post we were happy to find an atm a few yards down the road and were soon returned to solvency. We found a bus bound for Blantyre, Malawi’s second largest city and while we waited for the passengers to get through customs we had lunch at a little shack called Ruby’s restaurant. Ruby, a jolly matriarch with impeccable English took us under her wing. Alysa had a delicious plate of vegetables and rice with a huge cup of black tea and I tried the chicken with nsima (a bit like mashed potato but with the texture of semolina). The bus to Blantyre was a bit of a party bus and the young Malawian passengers were returning from a holiday in South Africa. As we neared Blantyre that Friday evening everyone began boogieing in their seats to the music and we happily joined in. Arriving in Blantyre we walked the 100 or so yards from the bus station to Doogles Backpackers. The groups of pale Scottish teenagers hanging out at the bar seemed incongruent to the location. We later learned they were all volunteers working throughout Malawi who meet up at Doogles a few times a year for a bit of R & R. Altruism seems to come at a price; in addition to the £3.5k fee the volunteer organisation charges for a place the volunteers then have to pay for all costs (flights, visas, accommodation, food etc).

Saturday 5th March 2016 – After breakfast we went into Blantyre to get some money. The maximum you can withdraw per day in Malawi is 40,000 Malawian Kwachas (about 38 quid) so we were forced to use multiple bank cards to fund our decadent western lifestyle. The shops in Blantyre represent a vibrant economy, in some ways reminiscent of ones in England 40 years ago. They are almost all independent stores, with dingy, cramped interiors; hardware supplies, cloth, motor spares, electrical parts, shoe repairs, clothes repairs, electrical repairs etc. Everything is geared around repairing and recycling rather than discarding and replacing. A cracked phone screen can be cheaply repaired, old flip flops become floats for fishing nets etc. Malawi is a poor country but the people are happy, much happier than those in the UK. Maybe we were happier 40 years ago too. That evening we watched Leicester City continue their remarkable season, beating Watford to go 5 points clear in the Premiership.

Sunday 6th March 2016 – Intent on reaching the shores of Lake Malawi we took a dilapidated taxi to Limbe bus station just outside Blantyre. The first thirty minutes of the minibus journey from Limbe to Monkey Bay was almost civilised, each passenger having their own seat. At Monkey Bay lads on motorbikes waited eagerly to whisk new arrivals the 18km to Cape McClear for the princely sum of £1.20 per person. So, with our backpacks strapped securely to the back we clung on (actually I clung on, Alysa held on gracefully) as we sped down the dusty road, hot air blowing in our faces until, exhilarated we arrived at Fat Monkeys hostel. We had time for a romantic sunset walk along the shore of Lake Malawi. Fishermen were mending their nets and drying the fish they had caught. The women were washing their clothes and crockery in the lake. Sometimes small children playing on the beach would run over and walk for a few hundred yards holding our hands before reluctantly saying goodbye and running home. By 8pm we were alone in the bar so after leaving Mothers Day messages we fired up the speaker and swayed to our favourite songs late into the night.