The Kindness of Strangers

We've been the fortunate recipients of several small and large acts of kindness.

In Tukuyu we took a number of tours with the community tea tour program and the manager, David, went above and beyond in assisting us. He accompanied us to the market to help purchase food for lunch and make sure we weren't getting ripped off. He walked us to the bus on our last day to make sure we got decent seats on the correct bus. He called around to help us with train reservations. He just generally helped us with any and every question we might have.

The Mbeya train stationmaster did indeed call the senior conductor and rearrange some compartments so that we could ride the train together. We showed up at his office four hours before the train's scheduled arrival (six hours before the actual arrival) per his instructions and he updated us as to the status of our tickets multiple times during the day. He insisted on us keeping our bags in his office so we didn't have to lug them around the station all day. Never mind that there were hundreds of other people at the station and his job description probably doesn't include the responsibility of caring for confused American tourists who can't plan ahead. The whole thing started because we had two phone numbers to the train station and we couldn't get through to the booking agent. I expected the stationmaster would just hand us off to someone else.

Yesterday afternoon we wandered around Dar Es Salaam and decided to sample some street fruit. My brother always gets excited about eating "street meat", the unidentifiable pieces of gristle being grilled on the sidewalk, but we opted for fruit. Men bicycled by with baskets full of mangos, pineapple that they will slice up on the spot, and coconuts. The top of the coconut is cut off and then handed to you to drink the water spilling out from inside. Then you hand back the empty coconut and the vendor scrapes all the soft flesh off the inside and hands it back for you to eat. In the midst of this process a Tanzanian businessman came up, drank two coconuts in rapid succession, made some friendly small talk, and paid for our coconut as well as his own. It was a simple, unwarranted, but much appreciated gesture.

Certainly we receive different treatment because we're white and obviously tourists. Which is somewhat unfortunate because we're not looking for special status but it's just part of the territory. None of these instances were forced, they were just people being friendly and helping us.

I offer this blog as a response to all the times we complain about annoying street touts, vendors trying to charge us double the going rate for a given item, and all the other various gripes when traveling.

Poa Kachesi Kama Ndizi

We've made it to Tanzania. Good-bye kwacha, hello shillings.

Before crossing the border we stopped for a few days in Livingstonia (almost). This old missionary town is perched high on the mountains overlooking Lake Malawi. We arrived at the base of the mountains on a Saturday and were told there were no vehicles going up the road. We hired some young boys to carry a bag and proceeded to walk the 10k (ascending 700m) in midday heat. The Mushroom Farm is a lodge located just short of Livingstonia town. Our open-ended A-frame had a balcony virtually hanging over the cliff edge. We spent a few days sitting there watching storms pass by, fishermen and flies ply the lake, and cookfires sprout up in the lowlands. At night thunder and lightning shook the whole mountainside and rain blew into the hut (the major downside of an open-ended A-frame during rainy season). We timed our departure perfectly to coincide with another day when there were no vehicles on the road. We also didn't learn to avoid hiking in the midday heat.

Tukuyu was next. This small town is in the midst of rolling hills and mountains in southern Tanzania. There are a few large tea estates in the area and also thousands of small plots managed by individual families. Being enthusiastic tea drinkers, we immediately signed up for a tour of the tea farm and factory. Our fearless guide was Mama Cecilia, a large, older Tanzanian "mama" who farms tea, bananas, cows, and pigs; laughs alot; and carries her folded umbrella balanced atop her head. The tea estates are huge fields of tea plants, the constant picking and regrowth of fresh buds keeps the whole landscape a springtime green. The tea factory was not so picturesque (except for us in our immaculate white lab coats and hats, required attire for the tour) but pretty interesting to see how green leaves are turned into black powder.

Our current locale is Mbeya. We hope to catch the train tomorrow to Dar Es Salaam. The booking agent says there are no first or second class tickets available but the station master has told us he will talk personally to the senior conductor. We're taking this as a guarantee that we will find passage. Some of you may ask, "What about third class?" Simply put, travelling third class overnight on an African train is more than we're prepared to endure. Hate to say it but it's true. Wish us luck.

New Clothes

We have been to the tailor. Actually, we have been to two tailors. The first one was on Ilha de Mocambique. We bought capolanas at the market and then had the vendor lead us to his favorite tailor. Unfortunately, call to prayer had just been made and the tailor was gone. The second one we visited was the one that had appeared in the market when we were buying the fabric. When we were in the market the vendors had told us, "oh no, you don't want this tailor, he is a drunk. We'll take you to a good one." And here we were being taken to the drunk tailor. We requested that they take us to a third tailor. We ducked down off the high road and down into the sunken Barro where the people of Ilha live. This is where the stone was quarried for the massive fort the Portuguese built on the north end of the island. Now the hole is filled with mud and brick houses, tiny alleys winding between them. This tailor was young and his tiny, dark shop seemed to be the hang-out for a bunch of other young men. (At first, we were worried that they were other customers and that we were butting in line, but they were just hanging out.) We had him make a pair of pants for Zach, expaining that if they were good, we would have him make other garments. (It is unclear how much of that he understood.) He told us it would take 20 minutes so we settled in to wait and an hour and change later, Zach had very nicely made new pants. In the end, we had this guy make a bunch of clothes, some for Peter and Sue to take back as gifts, a shirt for Dan, two skirts for me (the first was see-thru and has not proved very useful, but the second is great and I wear it every day.) Bolstered by our success on Ilha, Dan and I began to plot what other garments we wanted made. Dan decided he wanted pants and a long sleeve shirt. I wanted a shirt and another skirt (not see-thru). So when we arrived in Mzuzu and we found a great selection of Njidenjes, we picked some out and asked the vendor to take us to a tailor. I was very clear with the tailor that the skirt needed to be lined so that it would not be see thru. There was a plump Auntie there who helped relay the information as the tailor's English seemed to be limited to "yes" and "thank you." I pointed to a pattern posted on the wall of a shirt and skirt that I wanted (loose fitting shirt to provide air flow and yet one that would shield my shoulders from the sun). He seemed to understand. What we ended up with was well made, but somewhat different from what we had hoped for. The man lined everything he made for us! Instead of a shirt, Dan has a warm coat and thick pants. I have a good skirt and a VERY formal shirt. Fitted (perfectly) with HUGE shoulders. It is very African looking and I look ridiculous in it. I have only worn the shirt once, but the skirts prove to be ice breakers with local women wherever I am. They point and nod, making approving sounds. Sometimes I come across a woman in the same fabric and that usually provokes some pointing, smiling and nodding. Dan, on the other hand, just gets laughed at when he wears his pants.

We can't wait to sport our new outfits for you when we get home. If Zach can email us a picture of us in our new clothes, we will post it, but don't hold your breath. Internet is pole-pole here.

Where Have We Been?

I intended to post about how difficult it is to travel in Mozambique. I actually composed the blog in my mind for a few days, then a few weeks, and now we've been out of Mozambique for two weeks. Which is all a roundabout way of saying that computers are scarce in this part of the world, especially ones with relatively decent internet. Luckily, traveling in Malawi can be just as inconvenient and uncomfortable as in Mozambique which means that my thoughts continue to be relevant. I'll start with a summary of what we've been doing for the past five weeks.

After arriving in Mozambique with my parents in late November and meeting up with my brother, we all drove into Swaziland for the requisite big game viewing. Swaziland is a small country sandwiched between Mozambique and South Africa. It has a few relatively small parks that are not nearly as heavily traveled as those in Tanzania or South Africa but have decent populations of animals. And thus we had close encounters with rhinos, hippos, elephants, giraffes, zebras, and dung beetles. Sometimes in cars and sometimes on foot. Don't worry, we have plenty of pictures we can happily show you. From there it was back to Mozambique and Zach's village in the north. This was our first chance to really see everyday people in their environment. We walked around town and met many of his neighbors and students. We spent time on the pristine beaches of Mozambique's coast and also visited Ilha de Mozambique. This small island served as the Portugese colonial capital five hundred years ago and is covered with old buildings in various stages of decay and renovation. We also have lots of pictures here. This is where we parted ways with my parents in mid-December and they returned to New York. Evan and I spent another week on more beaches in northern Moz before reconnecting with Zach to take the train into Malawi.

It's at this point that we spent three continuous days (at least 12-15 hours each day) traveling by plane, train, minibus, pickup, and bike taxi. No matter how far we wanted to go (next town or next country) and which travel method we employed, nothing was quick. Ideally, travel days begin with the sun at 4 or 5 in the morning to beat some of the heat. If you're fortunate your hostel will be close to a mosque and your alarm clock will be the first call to prayer at around 3:15am.

We took a train from Nampula, Moz to Cuamba, Moz (that's the whole train line) which is essentially nowhere to nowhere for travelers. Then a combination of densely packed minibuses and open bed pickups over the border into Malawi with a short bicycle taxi ride across the actual border . Most transport that we've experienced does not run on schedules. Drivers wait to leave until their vehicle is full, basically stuffed to the breaking point, and then stop everywhere and anywhere along the road that passengers want to get off or on. Nobody travels empty-handed. Usually there are huge bags full of rice or corn, boxes of live chickens, baskets of mangos or tomatoes, and multiple small children which are all crammed under legs and on laps. The open bed trucks are the worst because there's always room for someone to stick a foot between your feet and more or less sit on your head or perhaps on top of the cab. I have rarely seen a truck not allow someone to board, even though they're carrying their whole corn harvest to the market and there are already forty people with their own cargo in the back. It gives carpooling a whole new meaning. Then there's road dust, sun, rain, interminable stops where passengers buy more bags of produce from roadside vendors, and unpaved, potholed, muddy roads. Many people seem to resign themselves to the ordeal involved in getting around the countryside, there just aren't any other viable options.

And on to Malawi where people speak English, mostly. We spent Christmas in southern Malawi on Mount Mulanje, a large massif that rises a couple thousand meters above the surrounding countryside. We hiked in to a mountain cabin and explored up on the plateau. Then a long day of travel up to the southern end of Lake Malawi to catch the infamous MV Ilala. This ferry has been operating for fifty years, one trip a week up and down the lake. The ferry is notorious for running hours behind schedule and we put ourselves at its mercy. It was a leisurely two day trip to Likoma and Chizimulu Islands, stopping at various ports along the way. This is the only public transport to the islands and functions similar to pickups in that room is always found for more people and goods. Most of the ports do not have a dock and so everything is moved between the ferry and shore by the life rafts, which can take hours at each stop. Once we got to the islands we were stuck until the ferry came through again the following week. So we read, played cards, went swimming, attracted large bands of chanting children as we walked through the island villages, learned bao (a game similar to mancala), celebrated New Year's, and enjoyed beautiful sunsets.

Which brings us more or less up to date. Last night/this morning the ferry took us from Likoma Island to Nkhata Bay in northern Malawi and we are currently sitting in an internet cafe on Kazumu Road in Mzuzu.

In summary, things are going well. Each day brings new sights, sounds, frustration, and excitement. The weather is hot and humid and it's a relief to be in the mountains or on the water. It's currently mango season in this part of the world and we try to eat one or two per day as they drip off the trees. It seems cliched to say that Africa gets into your blood but it's true and it does. There's a different rhythm to life here and once you pick up on it life becomes a little bit easier. Hopefully the coming weeks will provide more regular internet access and we'll keep you apprised of our travels.