Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The Parents Continued


Sorry,
Definitely the boldest part of my itinerary for my parents was my ambition to have us reach Likoma Island, a beautiful island plopped right in the middle of Lake Malawi and perhaps my favorite destination in Malawi. Unfortunately, the ferry to Likoma (a hulking, century-old beast that I have braved twice before) finally realized her old age earlier this year and has been undergoing some severe elective surgery. But the inhabitants of the islands are not completely stranded; there are still two much smaller ferries sending supplies out to them and bringing back the wares for sale of the islanders.

So after two days at Nkhata Bay (during which I was calling the boat captains every hour to get updates—as usual there is no fixed schedule because it is Malawi), my parents and I embarked from a sandy beachfront carrying our luggage on our heads out to a double decker “ferry” which was just an empty cargo bay and then a top deck with a big tarp and benches along the sides. We were lucky to be only three of a couple of passengers, saving my parents the real African experience of being packed like actual sardines into a boat made to carry sardines. It took about five hours and because of some vicious winds, it often felt like we were going to tip over. But we made it. Kind of. The ferry was only going to Chizimulu Island, the smaller sister island of Likoma. When we arrived at the little remote outpost, immediately it became apparent where we were staying: someone of lighter skin began wildly waving at us and hopped into a run-down rowboat to start making his way out to us, the whole time tenaciously bailing out the bottom of the rowboat with a coffee mug while his compatriot paddled with a single oar against the strong waves. After some serious finagling, my parents and I were able to crawl off the ferry, clinging to the side of it like sort of action movie. We made it through the bumpy waves and to Chizimulu where our Japanese rescuer, Aki, informed us we were to stay with him at the “only” lodging on the island, Wakwenda Retreat. We had no problem with it. Everyone was very doting and we were the only ones there. They cooked us meals, bowed before and after every interaction: a taste of Japan in the middle of a lake, in the middle of Sub-Saharan Africa.

From the looks of the place, it was constructed to accommodate some sort of spring break group tour. The bar was built into the side of an enormous boulder on the water with party platforms, an enormous central bar and a series of amusements broken by the rough waters and time: a hot tub, waterslide and luge, for example. The owner, who was not Japanese, but rather a strange old British dude, who clearly was washed up. He had been on this one little island in the middle of Lake Malawi for 18 years with a population of less then 2000 people. He had had girlfriends come and all of them go and his days were brightened by us to an extent I cannot communicate. Note to self: do not stay here for 18 years.

After a hot and quiet sleep, we awoke to pancakes and a promise of onward voyage. We made it to Likoma the next morning in classic Malawian fashion: we were able to negotiate for a fishing boat to take us the 12 kilometers and drop us at our intended location. However, because of the winds, waves and general shoddiness of the boat, we were forced to delay our scheduled morning retreat for after lunch. Then we all crowded into a dinghy with a simple engine on the back of it and made a rather dubious crossing, accompanied at the last second by a woman with an enormous umbrella (for the sun) and her two children. Throughout the trip, my father, who was sitting next to her, found himself pushed closer and closer to the side of the dinghy by her umbrella and we were lucky at the end to get off at the island before she pushed him off.

We did get to enjoy 24 hours at Likoma Island, one of my favorite spots in Malawi. We enjoyed the beach, solitude and our wonderful, hilarious South African hotel manager, who kept telling stories about when he was an “extremely obese, like a-pizza-in-between-meals-obese” high schooler. He also had an interesting take on modern racial dynamics in South Africa and stories of life as a crewman on Saudi Yachts. We even got a tour around the $1000/night exclusive resort on the island also owned by our proprietors. Not worth it.

Then we got to splurge and took an unreal (and extremely bumpy) plane ride back to Lilongwe and then on to South Luangwa in Zambia. It was both fascinating and a little saddening to see this country that I have learned summed-up in two one-hour plane rides. But the lake does look magnificent from a couple-thousand feet up, even if we were getting tossed around like a kid kicking a hamster ball.

Highlights of South Luangwa: HONEY BADGER! Leopards, Lions, Elephants, Giraffes and baby giraffes, tons of hippos and crocodiles. We stayed in a beautiful place on the river overlooking the activities of burping hippos, crocs and elephants straying down for a trip out of the sun. It was a really magnificent safari location, with everything extremely accessible. We even got to go on a walking safari and at night we had hippos and elephants pounding around outside our little house. We also hung out with a strange Dutch woman who looked exactly Gary Busey—literally exactly like Gary Busey, I have pictures.

Three days there and then we moved back to Lilongwe with a long overland sedan ride through a very rough ride. They told me the road wasn’t bad. Sorry Mom and Dad.

We made it back to Lilongwe and then that evening after going out to our last fancy dinner and listening to some live music, I prepped myself to stay up until the early morning to pick up our newest company arrival, Everett from the airport: at the 2AM arrival from Nairobi. Noah and I went to the casino to wait it out. But promptly either lost our designated funds or won enough to not go back. So we decided to just head to the airport 30 minutes outside of town and wait there. Little did we know, we would arrive to one of the more bizarre situations for a raucous party night. All the waiting relatives, friends and taxi drivers awaiting the 2AM plane had congregated on the outer balcony of the very basic and very small Lilongwe airport in seats overlooking the runway to wait for the plane. They had also taken liberal advantage of the bar located there, and when we arrived around 1AM we were by far and away the only sober people there (again everyone had to drive 30 minutes back into town). So we waited with the local drunkards for our buddy to get in and then just 8 hours later I put my parents on there plane and that was that. They had a great time. But I’m pretty sure I wore them out. I have been in Africa far too long and forgot what a normal vacation is like.

I know this was a long one. I’ve got an amusing one to catch you up to the latest next time.

Walter Cromwell,
Esteban

The Parents Continued


Sorry,
Definitely the boldest part of my itinerary for my parents was my ambition to have us reach Likoma Island, a beautiful island plopped right in the middle of Lake Malawi and perhaps my favorite destination in Malawi. Unfortunately, the ferry to Likoma (a hulking, century-old beast that I have braved twice before) finally realized her old age earlier this year and has been undergoing some severe elective surgery. But the inhabitants of the islands are not completely stranded; there are still two much smaller ferries sending supplies out to them and bringing back the wares for sale of the islanders.

So after two days at Nkhata Bay (during which I was calling the boat captains every hour to get updates—as usual there is no fixed schedule because it is Malawi), my parents and I embarked from a sandy beachfront carrying our luggage on our heads out to a double decker “ferry” which was just an empty cargo bay and then a top deck with a big tarp and benches along the sides. We were lucky to be only three of a couple of passengers, saving my parents the real African experience of being packed like actual sardines into a boat made to carry sardines. It took about five hours and because of some vicious winds, it often felt like we were going to tip over. But we made it. Kind of. The ferry was only going to Chizimulu Island, the smaller sister island of Likoma. When we arrived at the little remote outpost, immediately it became apparent where we were staying: someone of lighter skin began wildly waving at us and hopped into a run-down rowboat to start making his way out to us, the whole time tenaciously bailing out the bottom of the rowboat with a coffee mug while his compatriot paddled with a single oar against the strong waves. After some serious finagling, my parents and I were able to crawl off the ferry, clinging to the side of it like sort of action movie. We made it through the bumpy waves and to Chizimulu where our Japanese rescuer, Aki, informed us we were to stay with him at the “only” lodging on the island, Wakwenda Retreat. We had no problem with it. Everyone was very doting and we were the only ones there. They cooked us meals, bowed before and after every interaction: a taste of Japan in the middle of a lake, in the middle of Sub-Saharan Africa.

From the looks of the place, it was constructed to accommodate some sort of spring break group tour. The bar was built into the side of an enormous boulder on the water with party platforms, an enormous central bar and a series of amusements broken by the rough waters and time: a hot tub, waterslide and luge, for example. The owner, who was not Japanese, but rather a strange old British dude, who clearly was washed up. He had been on this one little island in the middle of Lake Malawi for 18 years with a population of less then 2000 people. He had had girlfriends come and all of them go and his days were brightened by us to an extent I cannot communicate. Note to self: do not stay here for 18 years.

After a hot and quiet sleep, we awoke to pancakes and a promise of onward voyage. We made it to Likoma the next morning in classic Malawian fashion: we were able to negotiate for a fishing boat to take us the 12 kilometers and drop us at our intended location. However, because of the winds, waves and general shoddiness of the boat, we were forced to delay our scheduled morning retreat for after lunch. Then we all crowded into a dinghy with a simple engine on the back of it and made a rather dubious crossing, accompanied at the last second by a woman with an enormous umbrella (for the sun) and her two children. Throughout the trip, my father, who was sitting next to her, found himself pushed closer and closer to the side of the dinghy by her umbrella and we were lucky at the end to get off at the island before she pushed him off.

We did get to enjoy 24 hours at Likoma Island, one of my favorite spots in Malawi. We enjoyed the beach, solitude and our wonderful, hilarious South African hotel manager, who kept telling stories about when he was an “extremely obese, like a-pizza-in-between-meals-obese” high schooler. He also had an interesting take on modern racial dynamics in South Africa and stories of life as a crewman on Saudi Yachts. We even got a tour around the $1000/night exclusive resort on the island also owned by our proprietors. Not worth it.

Then we got to splurge and took an unreal (and extremely bumpy) plane ride back to Lilongwe and then on to South Luangwa in Zambia. It was both fascinating and a little saddening to see this country that I have learned summed-up in two one-hour plane rides. But the lake does look magnificent from a couple-thousand feet up, even if we were getting tossed around like a kid kicking a hamster ball.

Highlights of South Luangwa: HONEY BADGER! Leopards, Lions, Elephants, Giraffes and baby giraffes, tons of hippos and crocodiles. We stayed in a beautiful place on the river overlooking the activities of burping hippos, crocs and elephants straying down for a trip out of the sun. It was a really magnificent safari location, with everything extremely accessible. We even got to go on a walking safari and at night we had hippos and elephants pounding around outside our little house. We also hung out with a strange Dutch woman who looked exactly Gary Busey—literally exactly like Gary Busey, I have pictures.

Three days there and then we moved back to Lilongwe with a long overland sedan ride through a very rough ride. They told me the road wasn’t bad. Sorry Mom and Dad.

We made it back to Lilongwe and then that evening after going out to our last fancy dinner and listening to some live music, I prepped myself to stay up until the early morning to pick up our newest company arrival, Everett from the airport: at the 2AM arrival from Nairobi. Noah and I went to the casino to wait it out. But promptly either lost our designated funds or won enough to not go back. So we decided to just head to the airport 30 minutes outside of town and wait there. Little did we know, we would arrive to one of the more bizarre situations for a raucous party night. All the waiting relatives, friends and taxi drivers awaiting the 2AM plane had congregated on the outer balcony of the very basic and very small Lilongwe airport in seats overlooking the runway to wait for the plane. They had also taken liberal advantage of the bar located there, and when we arrived around 1AM we were by far and away the only sober people there (again everyone had to drive 30 minutes back into town). So we waited with the local drunkards for our buddy to get in and then just 8 hours later I put my parents on there plane and that was that. They had a great time. But I’m pretty sure I wore them out. I have been in Africa far too long and forgot what a normal vacation is like.

I know this was a long one. I’ve got an amusing one to catch you up to the latest next time.

Walter Cromwell,
Esteban

The Parents Continued


Sorry,
Definitely the boldest part of my itinerary for my parents was my ambition to have us reach Likoma Island, a beautiful island plopped right in the middle of Lake Malawi and perhaps my favorite destination in Malawi. Unfortunately, the ferry to Likoma (a hulking, century-old beast that I have braved twice before) finally realized her old age earlier this year and has been undergoing some severe elective surgery. But the inhabitants of the islands are not completely stranded; there are still two much smaller ferries sending supplies out to them and bringing back the wares for sale of the islanders.

So after two days at Nkhata Bay (during which I was calling the boat captains every hour to get updates—as usual there is no fixed schedule because it is Malawi), my parents and I embarked from a sandy beachfront carrying our luggage on our heads out to a double decker “ferry” which was just an empty cargo bay and then a top deck with a big tarp and benches along the sides. We were lucky to be only three of a couple of passengers, saving my parents the real African experience of being packed like actual sardines into a boat made to carry sardines. It took about five hours and because of some vicious winds, it often felt like we were going to tip over. But we made it. Kind of. The ferry was only going to Chizimulu Island, the smaller sister island of Likoma. When we arrived at the little remote outpost, immediately it became apparent where we were staying: someone of lighter skin began wildly waving at us and hopped into a run-down rowboat to start making his way out to us, the whole time tenaciously bailing out the bottom of the rowboat with a coffee mug while his compatriot paddled with a single oar against the strong waves. After some serious finagling, my parents and I were able to crawl off the ferry, clinging to the side of it like sort of action movie. We made it through the bumpy waves and to Chizimulu where our Japanese rescuer, Aki, informed us we were to stay with him at the “only” lodging on the island, Wakwenda Retreat. We had no problem with it. Everyone was very doting and we were the only ones there. They cooked us meals, bowed before and after every interaction: a taste of Japan in the middle of a lake, in the middle of Sub-Saharan Africa.

From the looks of the place, it was constructed to accommodate some sort of spring break group tour. The bar was built into the side of an enormous boulder on the water with party platforms, an enormous central bar and a series of amusements broken by the rough waters and time: a hot tub, waterslide and luge, for example. The owner, who was not Japanese, but rather a strange old British dude, who clearly was washed up. He had been on this one little island in the middle of Lake Malawi for 18 years with a population of less then 2000 people. He had had girlfriends come and all of them go and his days were brightened by us to an extent I cannot communicate. Note to self: do not stay here for 18 years.

After a hot and quiet sleep, we awoke to pancakes and a promise of onward voyage. We made it to Likoma the next morning in classic Malawian fashion: we were able to negotiate for a fishing boat to take us the 12 kilometers and drop us at our intended location. However, because of the winds, waves and general shoddiness of the boat, we were forced to delay our scheduled morning retreat for after lunch. Then we all crowded into a dinghy with a simple engine on the back of it and made a rather dubious crossing, accompanied at the last second by a woman with an enormous umbrella (for the sun) and her two children. Throughout the trip, my father, who was sitting next to her, found himself pushed closer and closer to the side of the dinghy by her umbrella and we were lucky at the end to get off at the island before she pushed him off.

We did get to enjoy 24 hours at Likoma Island, one of my favorite spots in Malawi. We enjoyed the beach, solitude and our wonderful, hilarious South African hotel manager, who kept telling stories about when he was an “extremely obese, like a-pizza-in-between-meals-obese” high schooler. He also had an interesting take on modern racial dynamics in South Africa and stories of life as a crewman on Saudi Yachts. We even got a tour around the $1000/night exclusive resort on the island also owned by our proprietors. Not worth it.

Then we got to splurge and took an unreal (and extremely bumpy) plane ride back to Lilongwe and then on to South Luangwa in Zambia. It was both fascinating and a little saddening to see this country that I have learned summed-up in two one-hour plane rides. But the lake does look magnificent from a couple-thousand feet up, even if we were getting tossed around like a kid kicking a hamster ball.

Highlights of South Luangwa: HONEY BADGER! Leopards, Lions, Elephants, Giraffes and baby giraffes, tons of hippos and crocodiles. We stayed in a beautiful place on the river overlooking the activities of burping hippos, crocs and elephants straying down for a trip out of the sun. It was a really magnificent safari location, with everything extremely accessible. We even got to go on a walking safari and at night we had hippos and elephants pounding around outside our little house. We also hung out with a strange Dutch woman who looked exactly Gary Busey—literally exactly like Gary Busey, I have pictures.

Three days there and then we moved back to Lilongwe with a long overland sedan ride through a very rough ride. They told me the road wasn’t bad. Sorry Mom and Dad.

We made it back to Lilongwe and then that evening after going out to our last fancy dinner and listening to some live music, I prepped myself to stay up until the early morning to pick up our newest company arrival, Everett from the airport: at the 2AM arrival from Nairobi. Noah and I went to the casino to wait it out. But promptly either lost our designated funds or won enough to not go back. So we decided to just head to the airport 30 minutes outside of town and wait there. Little did we know, we would arrive to one of the more bizarre situations for a raucous party night. All the waiting relatives, friends and taxi drivers awaiting the 2AM plane had congregated on the outer balcony of the very basic and very small Lilongwe airport in seats overlooking the runway to wait for the plane. They had also taken liberal advantage of the bar located there, and when we arrived around 1AM we were by far and away the only sober people there (again everyone had to drive 30 minutes back into town). So we waited with the local drunkards for our buddy to get in and then just 8 hours later I put my parents on there plane and that was that. They had a great time. But I’m pretty sure I wore them out. I have been in Africa far too long and forgot what a normal vacation is like.

I know this was a long one. I’ve got an amusing one to catch you up to the latest next time.

Walter Cromwell,
Esteban

The Parents Continued


Sorry,
Definitely the boldest part of my itinerary for my parents was my ambition to have us reach Likoma Island, a beautiful island plopped right in the middle of Lake Malawi and perhaps my favorite destination in Malawi. Unfortunately, the ferry to Likoma (a hulking, century-old beast that I have braved twice before) finally realized her old age earlier this year and has been undergoing some severe elective surgery. But the inhabitants of the islands are not completely stranded; there are still two much smaller ferries sending supplies out to them and bringing back the wares for sale of the islanders.

So after two days at Nkhata Bay (during which I was calling the boat captains every hour to get updates—as usual there is no fixed schedule because it is Malawi), my parents and I embarked from a sandy beachfront carrying our luggage on our heads out to a double decker “ferry” which was just an empty cargo bay and then a top deck with a big tarp and benches along the sides. We were lucky to be only three of a couple of passengers, saving my parents the real African experience of being packed like actual sardines into a boat made to carry sardines. It took about five hours and because of some vicious winds, it often felt like we were going to tip over. But we made it. Kind of. The ferry was only going to Chizimulu Island, the smaller sister island of Likoma. When we arrived at the little remote outpost, immediately it became apparent where we were staying: someone of lighter skin began wildly waving at us and hopped into a run-down rowboat to start making his way out to us, the whole time tenaciously bailing out the bottom of the rowboat with a coffee mug while his compatriot paddled with a single oar against the strong waves. After some serious finagling, my parents and I were able to crawl off the ferry, clinging to the side of it like sort of action movie. We made it through the bumpy waves and to Chizimulu where our Japanese rescuer, Aki, informed us we were to stay with him at the “only” lodging on the island, Wakwenda Retreat. We had no problem with it. Everyone was very doting and we were the only ones there. They cooked us meals, bowed before and after every interaction: a taste of Japan in the middle of a lake, in the middle of Sub-Saharan Africa.

From the looks of the place, it was constructed to accommodate some sort of spring break group tour. The bar was built into the side of an enormous boulder on the water with party platforms, an enormous central bar and a series of amusements broken by the rough waters and time: a hot tub, waterslide and luge, for example. The owner, who was not Japanese, but rather a strange old British dude, who clearly was washed up. He had been on this one little island in the middle of Lake Malawi for 18 years with a population of less then 2000 people. He had had girlfriends come and all of them go and his days were brightened by us to an extent I cannot communicate. Note to self: do not stay here for 18 years.

After a hot and quiet sleep, we awoke to pancakes and a promise of onward voyage. We made it to Likoma the next morning in classic Malawian fashion: we were able to negotiate for a fishing boat to take us the 12 kilometers and drop us at our intended location. However, because of the winds, waves and general shoddiness of the boat, we were forced to delay our scheduled morning retreat for after lunch. Then we all crowded into a dinghy with a simple engine on the back of it and made a rather dubious crossing, accompanied at the last second by a woman with an enormous umbrella (for the sun) and her two children. Throughout the trip, my father, who was sitting next to her, found himself pushed closer and closer to the side of the dinghy by her umbrella and we were lucky at the end to get off at the island before she pushed him off.

We did get to enjoy 24 hours at Likoma Island, one of my favorite spots in Malawi. We enjoyed the beach, solitude and our wonderful, hilarious South African hotel manager, who kept telling stories about when he was an “extremely obese, like a-pizza-in-between-meals-obese” high schooler. He also had an interesting take on modern racial dynamics in South Africa and stories of life as a crewman on Saudi Yachts. We even got a tour around the $1000/night exclusive resort on the island also owned by our proprietors. Not worth it.

Then we got to splurge and took an unreal (and extremely bumpy) plane ride back to Lilongwe and then on to South Luangwa in Zambia. It was both fascinating and a little saddening to see this country that I have learned summed-up in two one-hour plane rides. But the lake does look magnificent from a couple-thousand feet up, even if we were getting tossed around like a kid kicking a hamster ball.

Highlights of South Luangwa: HONEY BADGER! Leopards, Lions, Elephants, Giraffes and baby giraffes, tons of hippos and crocodiles. We stayed in a beautiful place on the river overlooking the activities of burping hippos, crocs and elephants straying down for a trip out of the sun. It was a really magnificent safari location, with everything extremely accessible. We even got to go on a walking safari and at night we had hippos and elephants pounding around outside our little house. We also hung out with a strange Dutch woman who looked exactly Gary Busey—literally exactly like Gary Busey, I have pictures.

Three days there and then we moved back to Lilongwe with a long overland sedan ride through a very rough ride. They told me the road wasn’t bad. Sorry Mom and Dad.

We made it back to Lilongwe and then that evening after going out to our last fancy dinner and listening to some live music, I prepped myself to stay up until the early morning to pick up our newest company arrival, Everett from the airport: at the 2AM arrival from Nairobi. Noah and I went to the casino to wait it out. But promptly either lost our designated funds or won enough to not go back. So we decided to just head to the airport 30 minutes outside of town and wait there. Little did we know, we would arrive to one of the more bizarre situations for a raucous party night. All the waiting relatives, friends and taxi drivers awaiting the 2AM plane had congregated on the outer balcony of the very basic and very small Lilongwe airport in seats overlooking the runway to wait for the plane. They had also taken liberal advantage of the bar located there, and when we arrived around 1AM we were by far and away the only sober people there (again everyone had to drive 30 minutes back into town). So we waited with the local drunkards for our buddy to get in and then just 8 hours later I put my parents on there plane and that was that. They had a great time. But I’m pretty sure I wore them out. I have been in Africa far too long and forgot what a normal vacation is like.

I know this was a long one. I’ve got an amusing one to catch you up to the latest next time.

Walter Cromwell,
Esteban

Monday, October 15, 2012

Parents 1


Ok,
I lied. Here is the post I promised.

Then my parents showed up. My dad has actually been to Malawi before (if you note earlier blog posts). Guess he just loved the 8th poorest country in the world so much, he HAD to come back. They arrived and got the Lilongwe scoop for two days. First I took them to their lovely hotel on the outskirts of town: Kumbali Lodge. It is set in a picturesque farm looking south out of Lilongwe over the kopjes: giant granite monoliths popping out of the Rift Valley like great grey thumbs. A beautiful green paradise on the edge of the dustbowl of Lilongwe; it is adjacent to where Madonna adopted two of her children from and where she stays when she is on charitable ventures in Malawi or introducing her children to their homeland. I was eager to keep them from getting too much rest however, so I took my parents within three hours of their arrival to a Black Missionaries concert (the preeminent band in Malawi) at Mungo Park (A construction site turned into a concert venue). The band plays upbeat reggae music and has a large following here in Malawi spearheaded by some hardcore Rastafarians and lovers of the “peace herb.” My parents were a little overwhelmed and the oldest white people there by the difference in my and their ages. Highlights included a drunken man kissing my father’s hand and my mom’s bewildered pointing at the wafting marijuana clouds.

The next day I gave them a Lilongwe tour in brief. I showed them around the city: taking them to my favorite restaurants and places of labor. We also took a day trip with CARE International 45 minutes outside of town to an irrigation and nutrition project they were funding and directing. It was a wonderful morning of touring a traditional rural Malawian community complete with demonstrations of the techniques being taught by NGOs here. The afternoon was spent shopping and taking my friends in town out for dinner and drinks.

Then we took a full day drive to Livingstonia: the community on the edge of a plateau. It took most of the day to get there and then when we arrived at the bottom of the plateau, we were met by a truck to take us up. A little disoriented by the long trip and definitely still jetlagged, we piled into the truck and started the 45 minute bumpy adventure up the side of a winding cliffside road. At about ¾ of the way, we ran into a car that had broken down and stopped to help. It was at this particular moment that my mother turned and noticed that the back of the truck was open and all our luggage gone. We had forgotten to lock the back of the truck and because of the bumpy nature of the ride, the bags had gone wandering. Just two minutes later as freaking-out started to set in, another big jeep came up the road behind us filled to the brim with people and luckily, our bags. Except 1. So we started back down the hill until we got to a little village where we figure the lost bag might have landed. In fine fashion, a local home had taken the bag into their house “to protect it” including a very nice camera, iPad and some other nice items. With a handsome reward, the bag was returned and we continued on our voyage.

Livingstonia, as I may have described it before, is a beautiful church community complete with college, beautiful church and stunning waterfalls dropping hundreds of feet. So for my father’s birthday we enjoyed a hike into town, went to see the waterfalls and made it back for a lunchtime Banana and Strawberry Birthday Cake.

The next morning we made the bumpy trip back to the bottom of the plateau (this time with all our bags) on our way to Nkhata Bay. It threw my parents a little when we got to the bottom of the hill and I didn’t have a taxi waiting for them. But as I had anticipated, with a couple of questions, I was able to procure a taxi to take us the three hours to the lake. Granted, at the last minute, a third man jumped into the back of the sedan with my mother and I because the driver didn’t know the way to Nkhata Bay (there aren’t that many roads here) and needed assistance. We got there safe and sound though, and proceeded to relax by the stunning lake for two days.  

Part Two tomorrow.
Foxy

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Back on the Move, and Dancing

Hey,
Sorry for the lengthy interlude between my last post. It has been a most wonderful time of the year here with my birthday and then my parents arriving for a two week tour of Malawi and a safari in Zambia, all without the confining comforts of the inter web and cellular contact. I'll try to break this down into three parts and relate them with all haste.

So since I last checked in, I passed the remarkably lame year of 23 into the spectacular decadence of 24. That was nice.

Next on the list, I was alone in my big house for a week or so with my various roommates out and about Africa and so I have begun running a bit of a row-house for various friends of mine who are volunteers in Malawi. During this time, I had a business dinner with a prospective business associate (a pretty impressive man in this poor country). The meeting began in typical fashion with us stalemating on forking over too much information to the other person, bragging and blustering over our accomplishments and generally feeling each other out.

After settling in 20 minutes that we could do work together, the dinner got a little strange.  It started with him relaying his complex life story, continued with him basically asking to be my friend and what I do for fun on the weekends (a common sad circumstance amongst expats who run out of things to do) and ended with him relaying his passions for weightlifting and salsa dancing.

"Dancing for twelve years, wow. You must be nearly professional by now?"
"No. It's just something I do... It's all about the dancing. I love to dance"

Then he got the check.

As a result of this dinner, I was obligated to show up at the Thursday night Salsa event at a local bar (the only one that hosts Salsa) to see this man dance. I brought the protection of two lady friends (so that I didn't feel entirely weird). But when the business partner arrived, I realized it could not be avoided. He glided into the relatively empty bar like a king surveying his court and although they were playing pop music at the time, they immediately switched on the salsa for him and his dancing partner. They took the floor and danced very well. Then he snapped his fingers and they turned the music back to local pop music. He sat down sent my party drinks and waited five minutes before showing off his moves again. It was a performance. Just him and his lady friend dancing in front of a crowd of people.

The next couple of nights before my parents showed up included a stop at the only DUI checkpoint in Lilongwe where the police complimented my car passengers on their mixed drinks for the road, a business meeting that ended in us going to an underground restaurant and the man I was meeting with ordering an entire chocolate cake for the two of us and standoffs with the Malawi immigration departments ending in me now having to testify on corruption.

More hopefully tomorrow. I'm catching up.

Kowabunga,
Fox