2nd-4rd May – Days 215-217 – Lilongwe, Malawi

It was an all too familiar feeling. The alarm went off far too early and I woke up after going to bed far too late and wondering if it was really such a good idea to have that final beer last night. No time to hang around in Mzuzu though – we had to get down to Lilongwe as my parents were already in South Africa and arriving soon. The all-too-familiar trudge to the bus station at the crack of dawn began.

This time, however, we didn't make it to the bus station – after a few minutes of walking, a car pulled up and a couple of guys jumped out. “Are you going to Lilongwe? Get in, we'll take you down there”. For the price of a cheap bus, we got the entire back seat of a car and we'd avoid the trudge from the bus station at the other end. A good deal for us, and nice for the guys as we financed their trip down to the capital to get their car fixed. A few stops en route gave us a break and suddenly we were being woken up from a slumber we'd accidentally fallen into at the door of Mabuya Camp in Lilongwe. One of the guys used to work as a tour guide and thought this was the best deal we could get. We wandered in and took a room in a true backpacker crash-pad – bar in the reception, overland truck parked in the courtyard, grassy areas all over the place, and a weird and wonderful mix of people going from one place to another. That, and an antique German fire engine which someone was driving around. As you do.

M gets herself into the only picture of Lilongwe that we managed to take

Lilongwe itself could be the strangest capital city I've been to with the possible exception of Banjul. It was clean, everything seemed new, there were no people, cars or streetlights and seemingly no centre of town. On the one hand it felt like a small village, and on the other it felt like a large town which had just been built and was waiting for people to move in. It was perfectly pleasant but not particularly lively or interesting. We set about finding a place to eat and to have an evening walk. “But you mustn't walk around at night anywhere in Lilongwe, it's dangerous. We cannot recommend it”. Even walking to the next block would be risky (apparently) and given that we didn't know the place, and that it seemed very quiet at the best of times, we followed the advice for once and hopped into a taxi, cruising the wide, dark and empty streets to find a bite to eat, ending up at “Don Brioni's Bistro”. It was tasty.
Meanwhile, M's giardia bugs were plotting their revenge after she'd attacked them with drugs in Kampala and they picked the next morning to stage a surprise attack. We trekked off to the nearest clinic to get some medicine for her and, just when we were considering what to do for the rest of the day, she providing a spectacular bout of sickage into the bushes. It seemed that a day of rest would be on the agenda. And if there's anything we do well, it's days of rest. Snoozing, football and the odd beer saw us to the end of the day, before an early morning wake-up to head out to meet my parents at the airport the next day. Final decision – maybe we should come back to Lilongwe to see a little more of it later...

30th April-2nd May – Days 213-215 – Mbeya, Tanzania to Mzuzu, Malawi

As we were promised, we were picked up from the hotel in Mbeya at 6.45. Not by a bus, but by our friend from yesterday in a taxi. We were driven out to a bus park where we were put onto a bus to the border, our ticket was paid for and we set off. The bus didn't continue to the border but stopped instead half way in Tukuyu, and we were shunted onto another bus. If we'd had any suspicions about the deal we'd got yesterday they were growing now, but there wasn't anything we could do about it yet. The bus eventually set off towards the border, where we discovered that we weren't the be dropped at the border at all but about a 2km walk away. We tottered down the hill towards the bridge that marks the divider between Tanzania and Malawi and in the pouring rain our suspicions grew further. Certainly we hadn't got what we had been promised and I started wondering whether the Axa bus station on the Malawian side of the border existed at all.

Immigration again was painless and simple and, although the relief wasn't as strong, we felt a similar happiness to be out of Tanzania as we had had leaving Ethiopia. We hadn't felt hostility from Tanzanians in the same way as we had from Ethiopians but I felt that we were treated in quite a strange way. While the Ethiopians had tried to scream money out of us, I'd felt many times in Tanzania that people were friendly to us under false pretenses. A smile, a “hello my friend” and then we realised that these people were only interested in relieving us of our cash. The bus guy in Mbeya was about to add himself to that list of people. The Malawian immigration guys were all smiles and welcomes, and we asked where the Axa bus stop was. “Ah, it's in Karonga – you can take a shared taxi there for 500 kwacha”. The guy paused for a second and then asked “Did you buy a ticket in Mbeya...??” We nodded. His smile disappeared and he shook his head. “It's all lies”, he said. His analysis was backed up by the guy who organised the shared taxis. “I just want you to know so that you don't expect anything that you won't get. This ticket is not worth anything here”. We cursed Mbeya bus man but resolved to go to the Axa office anyway just on the off chance, but deep down we knew that we'd been scammed. A fitting goodbye from Tanzania.

Arriving at Karonga, we made for the Axa office and I asked the guy about the ticket. He gave me a look that said “Oh no.. not you as well...”. He'd seen it all before, he said, and apologised over and over for our loss but said that Axa didn't have any offices outside Malawi. They were trying to get the police involved, he said, and asked me for details about where we got the ticket and who sold it to us. He told us then that the Malawian police had asked them if anyone who fell for the scam could come over to Mbeya with them to identify the guy and I'd have loved to go across, but my parents were arriving to Lilongwe airport in a few days, so we decided to just accept our loss and get on with our lives. We got a real ticket down to Mzuzu, and waited for the bus to depart. Malawi does seem friendlier than Tanzania – people stop for a chat here and there and even the homeless hustlers at the bus station just stop for a chat to find out how you're doing. Old men in immaculate suits would stop for a chat as well, and the atmosphere was light, a refreshing change from the bus station's we'd seen in Malawi's larger neighbour. Hearing about our adventures in Mbeya, many people fired out comments which reminded me of the Sudanese attitude to Ethiopia – nice country, difficult people. We were going to need a break and Malawi seemed like a great place for it.

The bus eventually rattled off – the tarmac road was a blessing and the bus, even though it looked like the kind of city bus that you would get in Europe, was a lot more comfortable than we'd had for quite a while. With the lake to our left and mountains to our right, we chugged along and the tiredness slowly evaporated. We pulled into Mzuzu and walked across town to a hostel called Mzoozoozoo, hoping to find a bed for the night. It looks just like the backpacker hostels I remember from years ago in Europe – a weird and wonderful mix of people sitting around, the feeling all over that you've just wandered into a friend's house and can just set yourself down and relax. We did exactly that, aided by burgers, sausages and mash, and Kuche Kuche beer, surrounded by American Peace Corps volunteers, a German girl who'd set up a restaurant in Nkhata Bay, a retired English couple who'd come out here years ago, the friendly and slightly eccentric Swiss owner of the place and a bunch of Malawians who'd come in for a drink or 3. Jazz music blasted out and we learnt to play bao, a backgammon-like board game played with marbles whose rules I repeatedly failed to understand and was demolished at by one of the American guys who lives in a nearby village and plays it a lot. We returned the favour by beating him at Jungle Speed, and retired to bed far too late after too many beers, with a blanket ban on alarm clocks and the intention to leave to Nkhata Bay, just down the road on the lake, the next day.

Mzoozoozoo - the place to be. If you're in Mzuzu, that is

Having woken up in the afternoon, though, M was feeling the onset of similar symptoms as she had with the Giardia in Kampala, and so we spent the day lying around. I consoled her by having a few more beers while she was on the soft drinks, and whiled away the evening sitting on the veranda and in the lounge doing nothing much of use. Yet again, in Mzoozoozoo we've found a great place for that, possibly the best so far on this trip. It can't go on all night this time though, as the daily bus to Lilongwe leaves at 6am. Rgh.

Bump

25th-30th April – Days 208-213 – Kigoma to Mbeya, Tanzania

A familiar sight over these days - the inexplicable stop in the middle of nowhere

The long and dusty overland ride towards Malawi and T's parents started the next morning from Kigoma from where we took a minibus to Kasulu. In Kigoma we'd inquired about the boat option down the lake to near the Zambian border and about the trains going inland but neither one of these were running that week. The trains would be operational again starting from May 1st we were told, even if at the same time the men at the train station said that the reason the trains weren't running was because the tracks had been damaged by floods in no less than 175 places. Granted, they never told us May 1st on which year they meant. So, we were left with the bussing it down option, and during another round of inquiries in Kigoma we had found out that the buses down to Mpanda and further all depart from Kasulu, a junction town a couple of hours way inland from Kigoma.

On our way to Kasulu we encountered a bizarre, to us at least, sight: an African tourist. He came from Kigoma and he had a camera hanging from his neck in classic style as well and wanted us to take a picture of him, which T kindly delivered. We never really found out where he was heading but doubted he would be going all that far, judging by the way he had virtually no luggage. But the effort and attitude were there and it made us smile.

Kasulu Towers

In Kasulu we encountered another bizarre sight: a poshish hotel by the side of the main road, which in Kasulu means your average red dirt lane. According to our info gathered from Kigoma there would be a bus to Mpanda the next day so we'd need to stay overnight, hence we thought why not try this shiny thing. Prices weren't too offensive so we could afford one night. After some lunch at their terrace restaurant, we headed out to buy the bus tickets for the next day but came back later with an agreement to be picked up by a 4x4 the next morning. As it had turned out, the next bus wouldn't go until Saturday after all, and it being Monday on that day we just didn't have the time to wait. But after some desperate attempts at asking around in Swahili we had found someone who understood enough and took us to the 4x4 driver.

The now traditional flat tyre

The drive to Mpanda was very nice and smooth for us, as far as western Tanzanian roads go, because we were the first to arrive in the morning and successfully grabbed the front seat for the first ever time on this trip! Ahh the luxury I tell ya... and we sure did have a dig at a couple of Canadian guys and a Polish girl who were sitting at the back, together with about 15 locals. We had a puncture but that was the worst it came to. The other wazungu were a nice bunch and In Mpanda we joined forces with them and sorted out bus tickets for the next day for Sumbawanga, stayed in the same place, had dinner and watched football together. The Canadians had also come through Burundi, and met a Finnish guy there of all people! I was gutted to have missed him as I hadn't seen any Finns on the whole trip yet, apart from a group of girls on Zanzibar to whom I said hello quickly on my way somewhere. The Pole on the other hand had been working in Northern Tanzania for the past year and was now travelling around before returning home. She spoke fluent Swahili which was a nice advantage to all the rest of us.

The now traditional "road ahead" picture

M wanders to Sumbawanga bus station having woken up before sunrise 3 days in a row

The next leg – Mpanda to Sumbawanga – was less comfortable. I couldn't really start to explain just how bouncy, shaky and dusty the seven hour ride was if it wasn't for the video we shot during the ride. Please enjoy, and bear in mind that what you're about to see really lasted the full seven hours.

PS. That eyeliner stayed with T for the next couple of days despite a couple of showers. That's just how stuck with dust you get out here.

In Sumbawanga we again signed in at the same place with the other three whiteys and rewarded ourselves with some dinner, beers and football. The joy reached the ceiling at the bar when Inter confirmed its way to the Champions League final. At the same time, Mike lost any potential interest in soccer, as he as a Canadian calls it, he otherwise might have developed. We suspect we (us and Chris and Mike) were the only people who actually bought any beers at the bar, as the owner came round to shout something angrily at the crowd sitting in front of the screen (who didn't have any bottles in their hands) from time to time.

M was not really as doubtful as she appears

The next morning we parted ways with the other three as they headed towards the Zambian border while we boarded another bus to Mbeya. The road was nearly as bad as the one we had had to Sumbawanga, but this time the bus had just that tiny bit better suspension that we didn't have to hold onto our seats absolutely all the time. Call that a triumph if you will. We would have if it hadn't been that it started raining and we were sitting next to a window that wouldn't stay closed but which we had to yank back every two minutes when it would come shaking off its slot and slide open. Of course we also stopped to change the tyre at one point.

Another seven to eight hours later we arrived at Mbeya. We had done it, our butt muscles had taken us through Western Tanzania!! We didnt't get to float on our cloud of tired happiness for too long as already at Mbeya bus station we again had to endure some Jambo! treatment from hotel touts. I again showed my temper at one of them for hassling us too much and just out of show marched straight into his competitor's place next door. In the evening we discovered about 50 cockroaches crawling inside our room and had to get the manager lady to spray it as we didn't have enough spray to kill them all. Good call with my choice yet again.

Little did we know we were heading for a far bigger disaster when we made arrangements to buy tickets with a bus company whose agent approached us at the hotel bar telling us they had a bus going straight from Mbeya to Lilongwe, meaning we could get off at Mzuzu. We had read in two different LPs that there are no buses originating in Mbeya that cross the border into Malawi (with a special remark « no matter what people in Mbeya might tell you ») but this man claimed it was a Malawian company that many Tanzanians didn't know about on this side of the border. It was also a luxury level coach with snacks and on-board entertainment and was mostly used by Malawian businessmen, he claimed. Alarmingly and for reasons we still cannot understand, we bought his story and bought our tickets at Tzs 50,000 each (i.e. roughly U$ 40 each) and agreed to meet him the next morning as he would be there to pick us up with the bus. It was probably because it was exactly what you would want to hear in our situation that we walked so blatantly into what later turned out to be the biggest scam on this trip to date.

It wasn't until after we had bought the tickets that he revealed we'd actually have to change buses at the border as they couldn't drive over the border and that the bus taking us to the border on the Tanzanian side was one of these smaller coaster style buses instead of a luxury coach. We would be met by the luxury coach on the other side of the border. I wasn't too impressed by the fact he had not disclosed this to us before selling the ticket but had insisted on a direct bus all the way. Tired and weary after our past four days on the buses coming down here, however, we shook it off and thought to ourselves that the man was probably just afraid that we wouldn't buy the tickets if he had told us about the change beforehand and that it probably wouldn't be anything more than that. How wrong we were.