Reflections of Malawi

Miles travelled 896 (1433km)
Days riding 15
Days in the country 24

It was with some relief that I crossed the border from Mozambique into Malawi. Mozambique had been anything but a pleasant experience. The Malawian border officials were polite, interested and friendly as were the police at the actual border, it was a good start.
The first thing that struck me as I headed for Mwanza, where I planned to spend the night was just how clean, tidy and orderly the place seemed to be, unlike the landfill site I had just left. The road was in good condition there was no glass or rubbish, the signs were in English and the people appeared to be friendly, things certainly seemed to be looking up.
It was the first time in weeks that I hadn’t been dreaming of launching a cruise missile strike, one of a magnitude that would make “Shock and Awe” look like a teddy bears picnic. Whether it would actually put an end to the overcharging, bad attitude and littering is debatable, as some people just won’t be helped.
But it would, I hoped, make the hag with the screwed TV and pissed off toy boy, realize that messing with polite if slightly bewildered, sweaty, red-faced cyclists who couldn’t speak their language was a really, really bad idea.
However, moving swiftly on…

I had been in Malawi for about 20 minutes letting this new found peace and goodwill to pretty much all of mankind wash over me whilst I swooped flat out through a series of bends on an extremely steep hill. I was halfway down when I felt the back of the bike let go and start to slide.
Now anyone who is witless enough to have cycled or motorcycled through a bend at this moronic speed will know exactly where this sorry tale is going.
The first thought that flashes through your head is, shit this is going to hurt followed closely by the old chestnut “to brake or not to brake’.
It’s usually at this point that your body finially catches up with your head, realizes it’s in big trouble, produces a little squirt of urine then attempts to relieve itself, all really helpful stuff, I think you’ll agree.
Happily, as someone who has made a career out of this type of imbecilic behavior, I have developed a good deal of experience all borne out of massive skin loss, broken bones and weeks of great difficulty getting in and out of the bath.
This experience usually comes to the rescue; this time thankfully being no exception.
When I eventually came to a quivering halt the tyre was off the rim, the tube had disappeared leaving only the valve firmly bolted to the rim, looking at me in what I thought was an extremely provocative manner.
Another bloody puncture, Mozambique’s roads had wrecked my tyres, they were full of small shards of glass and there was nothing I could do about it. In 13 days of riding I’d had 84 punctures! I had to get new tyres and tubes as they were completely shot, all my 5 tubes had patches on patches.

The hotel where I had been recommended to stay turned out to be pretty decent and was inexpensive, and so after a quick shower I went to have a look around. It was very clean and appeared to be well managed, which made a pleasant change. Whilst crossing the empty hotel car park on my way to the village, I saw a sign that read Fat Boys Bar, how thoroughly decent of them to name it after me I thought, I’d better go and have a look, it would be rude not to.
When I walked in I could not believe my eyes, the place was absolutely bouncing, the noise was unbelievable and the atmosphere incredible everyone was dressed in UK Premiership football shirts. They were all watching a Premier League football match on a wide screen T.V.; I could have been in any pub in the UK.
As the only white face in the place it was not long before I was noticed, a green was thrust in my hand (bottle of Carlsberg beer) I was given a seat and strangely, never did make it to the village. What a difference to Mozambique!

The next morning I headed for the market in search of tyres and tubes. This was an experience I was not looking forward to, as every time I’d gone to the market in Mozambique I tended to end up falling out with someone, usually over attitude and price, it was never a pleasant experience. So it was with some trepidation that I approached a stall selling tyres. I explained to the bloke what I was looking for; who after some scratching about decided that he did not have what I wanted.
“Come with me I know who will have what you are looking for,” he said taking me by the arm and leading me into the maze that these markets are.
When we eventually arrived at another stall selling bike bits he told the owner what we were looking for who after a minute digging about, upped and disappeared into the crowd.
Before I could ask what was going on, my new friend said don’t worry just wait. So we did. Eventually the man came back with two pretty decent looking nylon mountain bike tyres that were the right size. He didn’t have the right sized tubes though,” don’t worry”, said my friend, “I know who does.”
“Here we go,” I though, money time.
“How much?” I asked, daring him to try and take the piss out of me.
“5500 Kwatcha”.
“Is that each?” I asked, not quite believing what I was hearing.
“No for both”, was the reply.
That’s equivalent to £10.00, so I quickly paid before he could change his mind and dived back into the crowd with my friend. It was the same story with the tubes; the only issue was that the valves would not fit my rims, as they were bigger than mine. The rims would have to drilled out and a new pump would also be required.
When I pointed this out I was told not to worry, they knew someone who would drill the rims out for me.
Finding a pump proved to be a lot trickier and we must have visited 4 stalls before my friend phoned a friend who just happened to have one.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Don’t worry he’s bringing it to my shop,” he said.
The whole deal, 2 tyres, 6 really heavy-duty tubes, a pump and drilling the holes £21.00! When I tried to pay my friend for his time, he refused.
“Welcome to Malawi!” Is all he said.

Malawi is a country that is facing huge challenges. It is a country that is almost totally dependant on foreign aid. Britain contributes the equivalent of 45% of their GDP, the bulk of the vehicles you see on the roads are either Government or are connected to an aid organization, the roads are empty, great for cycling. For it’s size it is hugely over populated, Aids/HIV is a major problem and the people are grindingly poor. The vast majority of the rural population live in huts and survive through subsistence farming; it’s basically an Iron Age culture that has crashed head-on into the 21st Century and is struggling to catch up. Wherever you go in the Country there are programs of development, the drive seems to be in the direction of growing a cash crop alongside the basics.

The biggest and only issue I had in Malawi was begging, it was horrendous, whole villages would turn out shouting “Msungu (white man) give me my money!” It was all very disconcerting and at times intimidating, I found the best way of dealing with it was just to pretend they weren’t there and to keep riding, a stance that often provoked an aggressive response.
I can recall one particularly unpleasant morning when the hamlets were close together and the first groups shouting alerted the next to my presence and so on down the line, as it became apparent that I wasn’t stopping and giving out money to all and sundry, the shouting became more and more aggressive and I was subjected to a 5km barrage of abuse (I actually measured it on my odometer) I have no idea what they were saying but it was obvious that they weren’t inviting me in for a cup of tea! For the last couple of km I gave as good as I got, daft really. The whole experience left me feeling pretty empty and deflated.

In the towns and bigger villages the people were the complete opposite. With exception of one rather odious character everyone was friendly and helpful, and in fact were a real delight.
This odious creature saw me walking along a street in one of the Lakeside villages and came staggering across demanding money “because I’m so poor”.
He was absolutely blasted; God knows what he had been drinking.
“If you can afford to get into this state, you can’t be that poor, so no, I’m not giving you anything”, I replied not letting him get too close.
“ You are wrong”, he said getting far to close for comfort.
“ You see I have to drink” he said.
“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” I enquired pushing him away from me.
He looked around, lowered his voice and leaned towards me and quietly said,
“It’s the spirits.”
“The spirits?” I asked.
“Yes, if I don’t drink they will possess me,” he slurred.
“ Well mate, it looks as if you’ve failed as it appears that they already have, and judging by the state of your pants I’d say one of them has had a piss as well,” I observed.
He looked at the soaking front of his pants, looked at me and decided this msungu wasn’t falling for it and staggered off muttering.

Malawi is a beautiful country, the shoreline of the Lake is about as close to paradise as you could get and its mountains and forests are spectacular. I spent a day snorkeling in the Lake, the number and variety of fish was staggering, as was the clarity of the water.
On one of my last days in the country I was stood filming by the lake when a truck pulled up and the driver got out and walked over and introduced himself. He wanted to know where I had come from and where I was going. He was a really well educated bloke and it was very interesting talking to him. We had chatted away for about 15 minutes when as if by mutual consent we both just stood and silently marveled at the beauty and splendor of the Lake.
“ They’ve found oil in there you know,” he said eventually breaking the silence.
“ If they try and get it out they’ll kill all the fish and then we’ll certainly all starve.”
After a lengthy pause he went on “ But it’ll bring about a big reduction in the cases of HIV, which will please the World Health Organization I suppose,” he mused, and with that he was gone. That pretty much summed things up I thought.

Would I go back?
I would most certainly, I would go so far as to say I could very easily live there, if one puts all the problems to one side, it’s fantastic, I would also make sure I learnt the language so I could really get stuck in! I would recommend Malawi to anybody.
‘Warm heart of Africa’ and Africa’s friendliest people?
In the larger towns and villages yes, in the rural areas, decidedly not.

Punctures?
Not one!

Marks out of 10

A very strong 8