Kilimanjaro Trek 2005
		sam and pippin  there and back again
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October 28, 2005

Another day enjoying the beaches of Lake Malawi, third largest lake in Africa. It's technically classified as a sea, because it's so large - and if I didn't know better, I might think it was an ocean. The waves come pounding into the shore just like they did on Zanzibar, though the sand isn't fine white powder, and the water isn't crystal clear teal-blue. It's also freshwater, so I actually put my head under and got the braids wet and went for a real swim. It felt great, though I find the backstroke a little tricky when there's nothing in the sky to guide me in a straight line. The other interesting thing about this lake is that you can walk out for 400 meters before it's neck deep. When I first went in today, I just kept walking and walking, and it would get above my knees, then shallower, then deeper - over and over again.

My day started pretty early, at 4 a.m. when I had to make a fairly urgent trip to the loo, not the first of the night, either. As soon as I got back to my tent, the alarms of my neighbors started going off and they started talking fairly loudly, which meant sleep was over for the night. At 5, I crawled out of my tent and went down to the beach to watch the sun rise, which is supposed to be unbelievably beautiful here. It certainly was beautiful, but I'm not sure it'd be in the top 5. I stayed for an hour, watching dark clouds start to roll in, which later developed into a full-fledged rain storm. By then, I was starving so I wandered over to the breakfast table and grabbed a bowl of cereal, which was out for the early crowd doing a hike to Livingstonia. I was initially extremely interested in doing the hike, but when I found out it was some 30 km's round trip over boulders and difficult terrain, plus the other 2 people going were not my type, I decided not to. Livingstonia is supposed to afford one of the best views in Africa, according to one popular travel writer, plus it's named after Livingstone, and has plenty of historic buildings to visit. But instead I signed up to do a "village walk," basically a tour of Chitembe, the orphan preschool, the government hospital, and the witch doctor's home/office. They were all interesting visits, though I liked the school best. I still am not a huge fan of doling out sweets and pens in abundance to the kids individually, and I'd rather people just gave donations to the teachers or administrators. I always think handing out stuff just reinforces the idea in kids' minds that every white person they see is a treasure trove of free gifts. The school kids were young enough not to have yet learned to put their hands out immediately when they saw us and demand "give me pen," but every kid later in the village did, so it doesn't take long to reinforce it.

The hospital visit was a little bit surreal in that we just walked past rows of patients waiting in the hallways and in decrepit, stinking rooms, like it was a tourist attraction. Gen, the doctor in our group, asked if she could simply say hello to the clinic doctor, who promptly stopped serving his patient and talked to her for a good long while. He is the only doctor for the entire hospital and sees up to 80 patients each day, and is on call every night. Lately the lamps they use at night have malfunctioned so he can't even see what he's doing if it's after dark. What a way to practice medicine.

Our last visit was to the village witch doctor, who is not so much as witch as an African doctor, they told us. In fact, he is also a Christian, and gets some of his powers from God, and some from his grandfather, he says. At any rate, he speaks a bunch of mumbo jumbo and puts on a really good theatrical performance. Most of our time was spent watching him dance while tossing cassava flour onto his face, and onto the floor. We were tightly packed into the tiny room, along with all of his assistants who sang, played drums and clapped, as well as half the village who came to watch. It was blistering hot and the sweat poured off him and the others (and us) and soon the room heavy with a powerful mix of body odor and dust being stirred up by the dance. Afterwards, they passed around bits of potions that you could purchase - things to help with your love life, success, energy, etc. To most of us, they looked and smelled like dirt. Dirt on a pringles lid, dirt in a cap, dirt in a plastic bowl - powerful stuff. We also had the option of having our fortunes read, which I was curious to see, already knowing that we would all hear basically the same thing. But the line of people was far too long and the heat and dozens of demanding children pulling at my bracelets and my bag were getting to me, and I headed back to camp with about half the group. The other half stayed to hear how many children they would have (all were women) and when they would marry and various other generic, neutral predictions. They were all so similar that it began to be comical. Even Julie, our oldest member at 47, was told she'd have 3 more children in the next 9 years. Needless to say, that's not going to happen!

After we got back in, we all headed straight for the lake for a swim and later, I ventured outside our front gate to do a little shopping. I didn't have much in my wallet, and I spent every last kwaacha and all but 3 of my US dollars buying some gorgeous mahogany salad bowls, custom-carved key chains and getting a sunset scene painted onto my hat by a local artist. The prices here are truly cheap and I wish I'd changed more money at the border yesterday. They would certainly have taken US cash but mine was all locked away in the truck's safe, so I just curbed my shopping and figured I'll have more opportunities in the next few days as well.

Surprisingly, we are the only truck here tonight, so it's very peaceful and relatively quiet, though the bar music is still loud. It seems nearly everyone is in bed early, so I'm curious as to why the loud music is still required, but these are not questions easily answered.

 

The witch doctor's ritual in Malawi.