Southern Africa | Malawi | Blantyre
Strawberries, Kuche-Kuche And A Ginger Cat
“How many days in Malawi?” asked the immigration officer at the border.
“30 days.”
“How much money are you taking in?”
“2000 kwacha.”
The slam of the stamp in my passport sealed my visit and I finally relaxed. Almost there.
The taxis transporting people to Blantyre stood outside the building, one after another in a long row waiting. “Gee, how many people are going to Blantyre then?” I thought out loud. The seats filled up fast and I thought Malawi must be a great place to be then and the excitement tucked in my belly. It’s the travel bug in there I smiled while looking at a ginger cat crossing the street right in front of a minibus taxi.
I get into the front of the first taxi, right next to the Samaritan who gave me the exchange rates in the previous chapa from Mozambique and beamed at him, thankful for the familiar face. I investigated the scenery through the window; dusk is throwing long shadows on the roads and landscapes, people and taxis rushing in all directions and I rested my head against the seat. Tonight I’m going to sleep deep, I’m exhausted. The taxi pulled into the road, my final stretch. I was amazed at the laughter, jokes and light spirits of the passengers inside and I could understand most of what was going on as they all spoke English fluently.
We passed through Mwanza district and town in the southern region of Malawi, covering an area of 2259 km² with a population of 138015.
“Mwanza is a border town with an economy relying largely on transport practices between Mozambique and Malawi,” said the Samaritan next to me. Hmmm, that explains all the waiting taxis at the border.
The agricultural economy was previously dependent on citrus fruits (tangerine, lemon and grapefruit) as Mwanza is one of the few areas of Malawi where the climate is favourable for its growth. However the production has been falling and citrus industry has declined.
People stormed the taxi as soon as it stopped to sell lemons, tomatoes, braai mielies, chicken pieces, bananas, pineapples and some other green stuff I’ve never seen before with crickets on a stick being the delicacy here.
In 2003 Mwanza was split into two districts Neno and Mwanza under the decentralisation program.
I slapped the guide book closed, rather trying to take everything in by sight. The road to Blantyre didn’t seem to end and exhaustion pinned me in the seat, my head to heavy for my neck and my mind not functioning. I felt like a zombie and closed my eyes.
“This is the start of Blantyre”, said the Samaritan and my eyes flew open. All along the road were taverns, restaurants, overnight stops and Kuche-Kuche signs (a rising sun graphic behind the text) and I wondered what that was but too tired to ask.
Finally by 22h00 all the passengers were loaded off and the driver, now looking straight at me, asked: “Where you go, sissie?”
“I don’t know. I mean I know the name but I don’t know where it is.”
I gave him the list of backpackers where I could overnight, pointing at the one on top, just to make our lives easier.
“Ahhh… Doogles. It is the closest,” he said and turned back into the road, stopping after a few short minutes in front a green gate in the middle of a bus station, hidden among dirt and foul smells, but I couldn’t care. I gave the driver an extra 200k for his trouble and walked up the stairs, my eyes fixed in wonder at the people buzzing at the bar. It was also the reception and I booked in for two nights, while asking for a local brewed Malawian beer.
“Oh that would be Kuche-Kuche:” laughed the bartender and the penny dropped: the signs! “It’s the pride of Malawi,” he continued while passing it to me with a smile. “Oh and have a strawberry. It’s to say welcome to our country.”
I shared the dorm room with three girls from Japan, two girls from Canada, and one from New York, all telling me how great Africa was, and I smiled. This was exactly my point to my friends in South Africa. Girls from all over the world travelled here for months on their own without any fear. But the smug thought was short lived, as just as I got into bed a friend of one of the girls came into our room, telling us about the attack on a guy from California at the bus station, “He couldn’t get inside this premises at 03h00 this morning and was beaten up and robbed of his laptop and cell phone.”
I threw the blanket over my expensive Sony DSLR camera, glad I didn’t flaunt what I had during most of my trip. A precaution borne from the dangers in South Africa, guarding against an attack or robbery that could occur at any stage.
I had two days in Blantyre before meeting John, my travel partner, at the Blantyre airport. Since I was three days on the road, hitchhiking through Mozambique to get here, I thought I was entitled just to relax next to the pool in a comfy lounger with a book.
Wilbur Smith has always been one of my favourite authors and I embarked with Taita on his latest Quest to free Egypt from the pests that ravaged it, brought on by the evil queen magus.
“Excuse me, may I sit here next to you?”
I looked up from my book with a little annoyance crinkled on my forehead, gave a nod nevertheless, trying to smile and returned my attention to Taita’s adventures.
Five minutes of silence and then, “Where you from?”
The irritation plucked in my temples again but then remembered I’m here to experience Malawi culture in all its forms and put the book down, turning my full attention at him and smiled. It’s the first time I’ve seen a Rasta with a cowboy hat and boots, and I chuckled at the colourful sight.
“South Africa,” I replied, “And you?”
“I’m from here. A real Rasta in Malawi. How do you like my hat? I got it in South America, just returned from a trip there with a friend.”
“Quite a mix I must say,” I said while swinging my legs of the chair to sit up straight, stretching my back from the long reclining position and took another sip of the second Kuche Kuche that morning. I popped another strawberry from the bowl on the floor next to my feet, letting the sweetness burst in my mouth. With the swallow I also took in his dreadlocks peeping out from underneath the cowboy hat, the wooden arrow on a leather string around his neck and the yellow, red and green stripes weaved in his shirt. I took another sip Kuche, watching him settling down in the chair, shuffling his butt for a comfy position.
“My name is Mike Mechanic,” said Rasta and I gushed the beer over my bare feet, my body jerking, laughing at the odd combination of his looks and identity.
“Oh no, really?” and another chuckle burst from my lips.
“Yeah, just like Mike Mechanic the singer, only I am no singer but really a mechanic.”
“Interesting. Are you staying here in Blantyre?”
“No I’m passing through on my way to Balaka where I work.”
And then he asked a series of questions which is a signature chat from all black people in Africa, “Where’s your mother? Where’s your father? Do you have kids? Where are your kids?”
Then the following question baffled me a bit, “Do you have a special star shining on you?”
“Huh?” I asked totally confused. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Oh okay. Yeah, I think so last time I checked, we don’t see each other often because of the travelling. I guess that’s a nice way of putting it then… he is a real star always shining on me. Hmmm I like that. This means he can be with me wherever I go. And you, do you have a special star?”
Mike shook his head, “No, I wish. Can I smoke?” he took out a hand-rolled Rizla stuffed with Malawian Gold.
“Whatever goes in Malawi,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders while thinking, ‘staying in a fancy hotel and you might as well be anywhere… staying in a local joint, you feel the pulsing heart of a country’.
A ginger cat slicked passed us through to the bar area while the now familiar smell of weed filled my nostrils, and I can almost feel that calming effect instantly, even though I’m not the one smoking it.
“Can I buy you a beer?” he asked after three drags, each time lighting it when the leaves muffled.
I thought that to be my queue and I answered politely, “Sorry, maybe next time. I must actually find a shop to buy a starter pack for my mobile so I can phone my son, telling him I’m okay.”
“Yeah, you should do that, family is important. Tell him Mike says howzit.”
I nodded with a smile, “Thanks for the chat, irie — peaceful journey,” I turned, picked up Wilbur Smith and walked up the stairs to my room.
“Irie” he replied.
For the budget traveller like me there are basically three ways of getting around in Blantyre; by foot, bicycle or by minibus, but I walked like usual which is surprisingly quite safe by day.
“Make sure you don’t look like a rich tourist, you may be tailed by street vendors and beggars,” the barman’s voice echoed in my head as I look at the vendors lining the streets. They sell everything from fried chips, chicken and hard boiled eggs, to bread (milkscone variety and yellow buns), biscuits (locally made from Universal Industries), plenty of ripe fruit and vegetables and then off course strawberries.
I wondered where it came from; it was fresh, red, plump and really sweet. I walked to the automatic teller machine at the Metro outlet to draw money, bought a starter pack from a street vendor and called home.
When leaving the bank, a pretty girl pushed a wheelchair with a terribly crippled boy sitting in it down the street after me. “Madam, he shouted,” and tried to sell me a ginger cat. I just smiled and also shook my head at the next vendor begging to buy his carvings. “Please madam, I need money for medicine. My brother, he is dying of malaria.”
Blantyre is twinned with Burton-on-Trent in Staffordshire, England and named after Dr Livingstone’s birth town in South Lanarkshire, Scotland. It is the largest city in Malawi and also capital of the country’s southern region as well as the Blantyre district, with an estimated population of 732 518. It has a modest but influential expatriate community of about 25 000 people, mainly from England, other European countries and South Africa. Blantyre, Malawi’s oldest municipality is the country’s main commercial, industrial and communications hub and is set in the Shire Highlands.
The city is surrounded by some of the most beautiful hills and mountains in Malawi. Mount Soche and the Ndirande (sleeping man mountain), Chiradzulu and Michiru (rain Mountain) mountains overlook Blantyre, forming the Michiru Mountain Conservation Area. The area has been divided into three sections, a forestry reserve, farming area and nature reserve. These hills surrounding Blantyre are in fact the first layer of a repetition of hills, stretching to the Kirk Range, the Zomba Plateau and Mount Mulanje, dotted with evergreen forest, wild orchids, aloes and numerous birds.
Urban development began in the colonial era with the arrival of missionaries, traders, and administrators and was further stimulated by the construction of the railway. The centre of Blantyre is conveniently compact with most of the services and shops around its triangular central core with plenty of historical sights including the Blantyre Mission, the place where the city came into being. The original town hall (Old Boma) and Mandala House, built in 1882 is the oldest building in Malawi and the headquarters of the African Lakes Company and Malawi’s first two-storey building. March 3 House was used by Dr Banda as a base from which to lead Malawian’s to independence.
The city also houses the College of Medicine, the Malawi Polytechnic and the Kamuzu College of nursing, constituent colleges of the University of Malawi, located along the Chipembere highway. But perhaps the most impressive is St Michael and All Angels church off Chileka Rd, built by men with no training or knowledge of architecture, construction or even brick-making back in 1891.
Victoria avenue is the heart of the city. Along the street are several large shops, the tourist office, the map sales office, banks, foreign exchange bureaus and travel agents. Blantyre is also home to the Malawi Stock Exchange located in the same street. It opened its doors in November 1996 and operates under the Capital Market Development Act 1990 and the Companies Act 1984. Prior to the listing of the first company, the major activities that were being undertaken were the provision of a facility for secondary market trading in Government of Malawi bonds namely, Treasury Bills and Local Registered Stocks.
The largest urban area in Malawi — the aggregation of Blantyre-Limbe — formed in 1956 and is unquestionably the centre of Malawi’s industry and commerce. Yet each retain their individualities and separate cores. Blantyre has the status and much of the administrative functions and Limbe being more industrial focussed.
I decided to take a minibus to Limbe for 35k and dropped out at the National Museum, midway between Blantyre and Limbe in Kasungu Cresent which houses a collection of traditional weapons and artefacts with exhibits relating to traditional dance, European exploration and slavery.
The visit to Carlsberg Brewery east of the centre took longer than I thought but with a free tasting session and complimentary bottle to quench my thirst, I set off to the tobacco auction floors on the edge of Limbe.
With its more temperate climate, Limbe was favoured as a residential site for early settlers. The streets of Limbe are a continuous bustle of people and traffic and there can be no doubt that commerce is the lifeblood of the town.
The area is full of Asian (Indian) run shops, a bustling market spot, popular with locals offering all kinds of fruits, veggies, used clothing, construction materials, anything you can think of, with hard-to-find food items, a good bakery, an ice-cream bar, a candy shop, and a ginger cat. Prices for the same thing can often vary from shop to shop and an abundance of counterfeited products flood the market.
I returned to Doogles with sore feet but a warm heart, just in time for the Tri-nations rugby match between South Africa and New Zealand. The wild roars and screams from the bar flies, supporters from all over the world, encouraging their favourite team made me smile, thinking of how my mates back at home usually celebrate it.
The thought spawned a longing tuck in my heart for John to meet up with me and I quickly checkout the map for the roads leading to the Blantyre-Limbe international airport at Chileka to pick him up the next day.
No African country is really experienced until you’ve joined in the bustling nightlife and I thought ‘while in Rome…’ However it is unsafe to walk around Blantyre during the night and I phoned a taxi to pick me up.
“The price depends on how far the driver has to come to pick you up, but this is much preferable to being mugged in a dark Blantyre street late at night. As a general rule all taxi drivers begin at the Mount Soche Hotel,” said the hotel receptionist while I waited.
I asked the taxi to drop me off at the Blue Elephant a short ride from where I was staying. The place already rocked with Mozambicans, Indians, foreigners and then off course the dreadlock-dandling-locals. Dreadlock smiles and bubbly gold, that’s how I will refer to Blantyre from now on and turned to the bar.
“Kuche Kuche please.”
The barman smiled while popping the lid, handed it to me, raised his own into the air and saluted: “Sissie, let’s drink until dawn.”
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