At the beginning of Easter 2008 I ordered return-flights to Malawi. At the beginning of summer 2008, the beginning of a tremendously massive four-month break, I got on a plane to Malawi. Friends had repeatedly asked me “Oh, Malawi…why?”, and at Heathrow at 4.30am on July 1st, I wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. Six weeks later, at Heathrow at 6.30pm August 13th, the answer was crystal clear.
Malawi is: poor, diseased and powerless.
Malawi is: beautiful, unspoilt and remarkably friendly – “The Warm Heart of Africa”.
Landlocked by Mozambique, Zambia and Tanzania and with little-to-no trade, Malawi figures as one of the poorest countries in the world. It also has the lowest doctor : patient ratio in the world, and is constantly battling the common fight against AIDS. It has the highest mountain in sub-Saharan Africa, national parks and safaris and a vast inland sea, yet a non-existent tourist structure
And because of all this, for my summer adventure 2008 – I chose Malawi.
I didn’t expect that the country would incomparably live up to its moniker of Africa’s “Warm Heart”, or that I would swim in the world’s best freshwater diving site in Lake Malawi, or that I would end up sponsoring two children through secondary school. I didn’t expect that I would come back to England proclaiming the wonder of a small and insignificant country whilst at the same time secretly hoping that nobody would really go there on my recommendations, and that Malawi would be left as mine. And I definitely didn’t expect to come back to England almost as pale as when I set out.
I built a mudhut. I ate sugarcane, salted-mice and boiled fur. I learned to like fish, because a local man cooked catfish for me as a present. I learned to like rice, because there was often nothing else.
I got accused of being a prostitute for flashing my left knee.
I danced on the hot sand of Lake Malawi until dawn, I walked into a herd of Buffalo, as surprised yet not as petrified as I was. I canoed nose-to-nose with hippos, narrowly avoided an elephant stampede, and saw what must be the world’s most incredible sunsets (can’t say I ever found out about the sunrises though).
I met some Rastafarians, called Coconut, Snoop and Geoffrey. I met many, many missionaries trying to bring Jesus in to the hearts of the African masses. I met, and cuddled, some impressive African mamas. I met a heartbreaking number of children and adults with HIV.
I met the president, twice. Well I saw him twice, at any rate. The first time was as I was landing in Lilongwe Airport, and was disappointed to realize that the red carpet, dancers and gospel singing were for the governmental plane in front of me, and had not in fact been organized by Malawi Tourism to welcome me into their country. The second time, I was in a city in the south called Blantyre, and the president drove in a procession through the streets. I waved at him, and I’m pretty sure we had eye contact. President Mutherika is widely considered a source of hope and stability in Malawi, taking personal control of food, agriculture and education, and quitting the UDF party with which he was elected in 2004 to dissociate himself from its corruption. He has promised, and delivered, improvement for Malawi – so if any asks, I met him. Twice.
I slept on sand, two metres from warm waters. I slept in the bush, to the sounds of hippos, baboons and frogs. I slept in the highlands, willing for sunrise and the unveiling of the view outside.
I didn’t get robbed, I didn’t get Malaria, I didn’t get harassed. I did get a lot of wooden sculptures of hippos, a lot of beaded necklaces, a lot of Malawi gin. And I did get sunburned.
I realised how time spent in Africa doesn’t necessarily qualify for time spent in the sun. It rained – I wore hats. It boiled – I wore bikinis. It was windy – I froze. It was stiflingly hot – I collapsed in the shade. In the course of six weeks, I shivered and sunburnt, took shelter from the sun and the rain, basked on the beach by the lake, then only two days later I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag at midday in the mountains and crouched by a fire.
I backpacked for a fortnight without meeting any other backpackers. I travelled on the back of pickup trucks, bicycles and dug-out canoes.
I stayed in two orphanages for three weeks, attempted to learn the Chichewa language and to like their basic food of sima. I failed at both. I showed children who had never seen a tennis ball before how to play rounders, catch, and British Bulldog. I taught children without a word of English how to sing Heads, shouders, knees and toes and Hokey Kokey. I showed them the wonder of books and saw their delight at having their first ever story read to them. They showed me how a hug is never lost in translation, how welcome a small touch of kindness is, and how friends can become the greatest source of love in your life. They showed me that happiness is irrelevant to your surroundings and your lot in life. They showed me that they could kick my ass at Duck Duck Goose every.single.time.
“Oh, Malawi…why?”
That’s why.
