I wake up from an incredibly riveting and vivid dream by the sound of the plane landing in Nairobi. It’s a bit of a haze but suddenly I’m surrounded by the chaos that is the Nairobi airport. Queues are but a guideline and haste is off the essence for everyone. Our connecting flight to Lilongwe is luckily only in about an hour and a half so we manage to move through the transit terminal with relative ease.
That is until we realise that most of the signage in the airport is mostly implied. Where is gate 13 we ask ourselves? We see the signs for gates 1-12 but nothing for the other gates. When we ask someone they rather dismissively gesture for us to simply keep walking. It’s implied that if you don’t see the sign for your gate your simply haven’t walked far enough.
We’re both pretty sleep deprived and exhausted. It’s a relief to be back on the airplane and Jordan is fast asleep again. I feel a pang of irritation when someone starts playing a cartoon on their phone out lout. I put in my fancy AirPods and the noise disappears, and sleep commences.
I wake again when breakfast arrives. I order two coffees and begin looking out the window. The flight information says that Kilimanjaro should be on our left - fuck I’m on the right hand side of the plane. I try stand up and look over with no luck. I’m doubly disappointed when I see that the Serengeti is also to our left. All of that is forgiven when the lake comes in to view on the right hand side of the plane and the vast expanse of water fills the small window. I wake Jordan only to realise that that isn’t the lake. She is rather upset at me cutting her sleep short, luckily the lake appears a minute or two after that.
We marvel at the enormous coastline (can I even call it that) of the lake extending as far as the eye can see below us. The water is a dark blue hue and the earth brown, red and green. We pass completely over it and the western shores come into view. After some land the city of Lilongwe comes into view.
Upon landing we’re confronted with a refugee type tent where we will be filling out COVID related forms. It’s hot and humid - the air smells beautiful and damp. After going through customs with ease we pop into a Standard Bank and draw a small mountain of Kwacha that should see us through the next few days. It takes a little while for us to get a sim card that should allow Jordan to have meetings wherever we are in the country.
Grey is waiting for us outside the airport with a sign with my name on it. He’s friendly and engaging and we go through all the formalities and he’s happy to answer all our questions.
As we leave the airport the brown expanse of semi arid landscape opens up around us. The outskirts of the city are rural and it seems that there are many small scale farmers.
It seems that there is a huge push for development. Huge warehouses lie unfinished. Most roads we drive on are under construction, with many children working in the rubble. Grey is more than happy to answer my questions, Jordan catches up on her lack of sleep with her head on my lap.
There’s a massive signboard at an intersection that reads “Malawi 2068; a self sustaining and prosperous country.” With an image of the what could be Century City outside Cape Town. And then at the bottom is a call to pay taxes and work hard.
We drive through the bustling city of Lilongwe. Cars, motorbike, busses and people fill the streets. We edge our way into the city centre; the roads shrink and the dense bustle encroaches on our air conditioned car. We pull up to the car rental office and sit down inside.
Not too long after that we are looking at a beautiful Yamaha DT175 that will be our steed around Malawi for the next two weeks. I have a slight difficulty starting the machine, but luckily two other people succumb to a similar fate before some legend comes and starts it first time. It turns out that the fuel valve should not be set to “ON”. Some more implied signage I guess.
We hop onto the bike, the big hiking backpack on Jordan’s back and the smaller fastpack on my front and cruise through the streets of Lilongwe in search of Mabuya Camp. We put on Google Maps and I listen to the directions through earphones - this all works perfectly. We pull into a beautiful secluded little accommodation in a quiet nook of the city.
Jordan and I were both very uncomfortable with the heavy bags on our shoulders and promise to find a more optimal packing arrangement. We sit outside and eat some of the food we siphoned from the airport lounge and ponder a name for the bike. We go through several iterations but none of them seem right. Just as we’re about to get into bed for a sleep Jordan suggests Metta; meaning benevolence or loving-kindness and is a practice of meditation that we both really enjoy. Yes! a perfect name that really embodies the spirit of the people of Malawi. We fall fast asleep after a long journey.
After the nap we make coffee and eat some Futurelife that we’ve brought. Then hop onto Metta and head off into town for some supplies. We’re looking for a gas canister so that I am an autonomous coffee maker, some food and a general look around Lilongwe. As we park outside a supermarket we get a bit swamped by people selling us art and other tourist curios - but they are Metta hustling. There is no aggression or obligation for us to buy anything. They take “no” with grace and then just ask us about our lives with the biggest smile possible.
We return home with some food but no gas. The next endeavour for me is to find a way to attach the big hiking backpack onto Metta’s luggage rack. The standard rack is fairly small, but I luck into finding an old plastic container crate that looks to be the perfect size. After asking permission to have it (and dusting off ants and spider webs) I cut some holes into it and use a genius method of threading a strap onto the rack to build a makeshift luggage rack large enough for the backpack.
Malawi is suffering from a fuel crisis. Queues of more than fifty cars line up along the side of the road hoping to get petrol. Jordan and I both have a little anxiety as to whether this is going to seriously affect our trip, so I ask around at the camp to see if there are any leads. We put in an order for two dinners of Chambo with nsima (a delicious local fish and pap) at the reception. Shortly after that someone comes to tell me that he’s heard that fuel has arrived at a station close by - we hop onto Metta and go investigate.
There is a queue of cars extending down the road, but luckily motorcycles seem to be exempt from waiting. We weave through the cars and join the motorcycle queue in the fifth position. People walk around selling bananas and strawberries that they balance on their heads. Tempers flair at a nearby pump after someone cuts in. Some of the motorcycles ahead of us try their luck at another pump and we are bumped up to the second position - we fill the tank and head home within twenty minutes with inflated confidence of our ability to get fuel with Metta.
We park the bike at our room and walk around the corner to Hey Day restaurant, run by a lovely man called Edward. He’s braaing Chambo and we order a beer and wait. Jordan finds a small child to sit on her lap and brood over.
The food arrives with an incredible bean side and we devour the delicious fish that falls from the bone. The Malawian chilli sauce is something to behold and I call this some of the best fish that I’ve ever eaten. We had been recommended Chambo by a Malawian Uber driver in South Africa and it’s living up to the hype.
We have a chat to some of the people in the restaurant and hear of a festival called “Sand Festival” that is happening near the end of our stay. Sleepiness descends on us and we abide.