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