THIS IS AFRICA

[Saturday 24th March]

On Friday night [23/3] we took off for Africa from the lovely, almost-sterile surroundings of Heathrow Terminal 4. We were complaining that the book shop wasn’t adequately stocked [what sort of airport doesn’t have 3 different varieties of Malawi Guidebook?!] and that Gordon Ramsay only has a restaurant in Terminal 5. Sigh [or as I would say on twitter so ironically, #firstworldproblems].

Whilst the flight was uneventful and pleasant – it was quite difficult to sleep. We arrived at Jomo Kenyatta [Nairobi – our stop over] airport at 6am, and it was already a hive of activity. Rows of duty free shops all selling the same things lined the under-decorated corridor that was suspiciously humid [given the mild temperature outside].

After a few hours, we met our connection to Lilonge [the capital of Malawi]. The airport was one of the smallest I’ve ever seen. There were no gates as ours was the only plane expected for several hours. Once passing through arrivals [and yes, of course we were last 2 people through, not having mastered the art of pushing in] our suitcases were waiting for us, looking slightly less pristine than they had when we said goodbye to them at sterile Heathrow.

Our representative from the Hospital said that he would be waiting for us outside customs holding up our names. We see nobody with our names [unless he mistook Dan & Danielle for “Mohammed Hussein”, who did have somebody waiting for him]. Luckily we’d prepared for just such a situation – we had his phone number. He was stuck in a meeting in Lilongwe and would be there very, very soon. Sure. “I will be there in 5 minutes” turned into an hour, and then another. Time seemed to pass very slowly, as we weren’t quite used to “Africa time”, yet.

Eventually we were picked up in a car that would have been condemned as “ancient, rusty and dangerous” in the UK [and that’s being polite]. It barely had seats, let along seatbelts. I made an off-the-cuff remark to Danni about how amusing it is that if we’d died, our travel insurance wouldn’t pay out as we weren’t wearing seat belts. After airing my thoughts, I didn’t find them quite as funny. That was one of the first journeys I’ve ever taken in my life without a seatbelt. As you’ve probably guessed, we didn’t die on that journey as I’m sat here writing this blog post so, yay!

After a brief stop to exchange US Dollars for Malawian Kwacha, we arrive at Malawi central coach station. Now, if you’re picturing Victoria Coach Station [sterile!] or even your average Grey Hound station in middle America [heavenly!], you would be mistaken. Imagine a muddy scrap yard full of old Ford transit vans with makeshift wooden signs in their front window describing their destination. I was half expecting us to drive through to “executive, tourist” coaches at the back [which don’t exist], but alas this wasn’t to be the case. Our 9-seater minibus, was eventually packed with 15 people. Malawi coaches don’t leave at a specific time, but only when they’re full. Whilst we were waiting for a few last human sardines to join us, we were approached by hundreds of vendors selling such random items as portable Nokia phone chargers, a single kitchen knife and DVD-cleaning sets. I didn’t even want to think about where these items, let alone who would even need to buy any of them?!

I’m probably making this sound a bit hellish, but I can assure you that Danni and I were genuinely both seduced by the pungent smells of ripe tomatoes, sweat and mud. It was great to hear traditional Malawian music on the radio and we just couldn’t fathom how everybody just knew where they were going in the chaos – it was astounding. Our journey was close to 5 hours. I was wondering why my feet were getting so hot, until I realized that that was just the heat from the engine burning the bottom of my shoes. If that had happened in the UK, I’d have been fuming [literally] but just 24 hours later, it felt “charming” and “authentic”. What I should have recognized as a genuine #thirdworldproblem [sorry for the hashtag], I saw as a “funny quirk”. Safe transport is a huge problem in the developing world, and the burden of disease from Road Traffic Accidents is enormous [financially, greater than infectious diseases so I hear]. I’m fully aware of how patronizing my views were about some of the difficulties and practicalities of life here, and I feel bad for it. It won’t happen again.

Having travelled to Africa several times before, it did feel like coming home. There was something strangely comforting about seeing women balance huge parcels on their heads [it’s such an efficient way of carrying things!!], and to see roadside stores with ridiculous names such as “Jesus will heal you, if you let him into your heart shopping centre” and “If not now, when Hairdressers”. After just a few hours in the country, we both wish that we were staying for longer.