A leisurely day ahead. Bishop Stanford picked us up at 9.30am in a nine-seater twin-rear-wheel taxi-minibus, with Harold and Grace already on board. Len was determined to get down to the local market area to buy a few gifty things. First we had to do some more black-market money changing so Steven could pay the Lodge bill.
We opted to head straight off to Senga on Lake Malawi, via Salima (92 kilometers). The half-decent road is lined all along with plantations and small plots, mainly of maize, but also tobacco and rice. Goats wander along the roadside, and bicycles carrying passengers on the back add to the driving hazard. Nevertheless our driver got his foot down, hand on horn, and we were topping 100k/h at times. My left hearing aid had died again, and I wasn't able to join in the buzz of conversation. Deafness is a very isolating experience.
Lake Malawi is part of the Rift Valley Great Lakes system. There are impressive and rather unexpected mountains around, and the land is very fertile because of tectonic subduction and volcanic activity. At Bishop S's direction, we bounced down an un-make-up track to Kambiri Lodge. The beach was like any you'd see in a hot country, with thatched sun shades. Directly across the lake at this point is still Malawi, but just a little further north is Mozambique, then on to Tanzania.
Further along the beach to the south, a herd of cows had been driven for watering, and beyond that fishing boats were drawn up on the shore. Bishop S assured us the water is free from crocodiles, and most folks went for a paddle or something more adventurous. I was happy to retreat to the shade of a large mango tree.
A couple of hours drifted by. I watched the fishermen return up the beach with their catch. "I take you to the island in my boat - with motor?" proposed one well-built guy. I realised that the Simon Peter that Jesus called would similarly smell of his recent catch, and be wheeler-dealer opportunist. Harold had haggled for some freshly caught fish - chambos and catfish. Steven was scandalised that they cost more than in Lilongwe. Our driver hung them on the wipers on the front of the bus (where they stayed for the whole journey home!).
I chatted with Bishop S, whose wife is in Blantyre until August upgrading her nursing qualifications. Then Grace came over and told me about her sister living in Scotland. She rang her so I could pass on details of the MILC conference! She also explained that Harold was a part-time estate agent to help his income, and that she'd like to run an agricultural project on some 37 acres of land they have use of. Both Bishop S and Grace made reference to the discovery of oil in the northern part of the Lake. Tanzania lay claim to the land, but the Malawians lay claim to their Lake. "The are eating our fish," Grace complained in a way that surprised me. But the problem is the British, who in the late 1800's, drew a line down the middle of the Lake to create the respective countries' boundaries. For sure any development will have to leave the bio-ecology intact, as it supplies vital food resources. Len appeared, having turned a lurid pink. Bishop S had thoughtfully put bottles of pop in the boot; they were noticeably warm.
We crossed back over the River Mpasanjoka, where a bunch of boys were splashing in the shallow water. I dozed off with my left arm propped on the open window and got a sunburned elbow for my pains. Back in Lilongwe we headed for the main market where Grace thought Len would find some things to take home. But this is the regular shopping area. So, even though pressing through the narrow alleys between stall was quite an experience, we came away empty-handed. The Post Office market is the place for gifty things. Here, under the trees, we were besieged by vendors offering wonderful carved craftwork and other local traditional stuff. Farayi bought an amazing 'chief's chair', and we've got no idea how he'll get it home!
Back at the Lodge we had a series of power cuts. So after our meal, we all settled for an early night. Tomorrow it's Tanzania, except for Farayi who revisits the aid project then flies back to stay with his brother in Lusaka. My bed is 80 inches by 80 inches.
Lake Malawi is part of the Rift Valley Great Lakes system. There are impressive and rather unexpected mountains around, and the land is very fertile because of tectonic subduction and volcanic activity. At Bishop S's direction, we bounced down an un-make-up track to Kambiri Lodge. The beach was like any you'd see in a hot country, with thatched sun shades. Directly across the lake at this point is still Malawi, but just a little further north is Mozambique, then on to Tanzania.
Further along the beach to the south, a herd of cows had been driven for watering, and beyond that fishing boats were drawn up on the shore. Bishop S assured us the water is free from crocodiles, and most folks went for a paddle or something more adventurous. I was happy to retreat to the shade of a large mango tree.
A couple of hours drifted by. I watched the fishermen return up the beach with their catch. "I take you to the island in my boat - with motor?" proposed one well-built guy. I realised that the Simon Peter that Jesus called would similarly smell of his recent catch, and be wheeler-dealer opportunist. Harold had haggled for some freshly caught fish - chambos and catfish. Steven was scandalised that they cost more than in Lilongwe. Our driver hung them on the wipers on the front of the bus (where they stayed for the whole journey home!).
I chatted with Bishop S, whose wife is in Blantyre until August upgrading her nursing qualifications. Then Grace came over and told me about her sister living in Scotland. She rang her so I could pass on details of the MILC conference! She also explained that Harold was a part-time estate agent to help his income, and that she'd like to run an agricultural project on some 37 acres of land they have use of. Both Bishop S and Grace made reference to the discovery of oil in the northern part of the Lake. Tanzania lay claim to the land, but the Malawians lay claim to their Lake. "The are eating our fish," Grace complained in a way that surprised me. But the problem is the British, who in the late 1800's, drew a line down the middle of the Lake to create the respective countries' boundaries. For sure any development will have to leave the bio-ecology intact, as it supplies vital food resources. Len appeared, having turned a lurid pink. Bishop S had thoughtfully put bottles of pop in the boot; they were noticeably warm.
We crossed back over the River Mpasanjoka, where a bunch of boys were splashing in the shallow water. I dozed off with my left arm propped on the open window and got a sunburned elbow for my pains. Back in Lilongwe we headed for the main market where Grace thought Len would find some things to take home. But this is the regular shopping area. So, even though pressing through the narrow alleys between stall was quite an experience, we came away empty-handed. The Post Office market is the place for gifty things. Here, under the trees, we were besieged by vendors offering wonderful carved craftwork and other local traditional stuff. Farayi bought an amazing 'chief's chair', and we've got no idea how he'll get it home!
Back at the Lodge we had a series of power cuts. So after our meal, we all settled for an early night. Tomorrow it's Tanzania, except for Farayi who revisits the aid project then flies back to stay with his brother in Lusaka. My bed is 80 inches by 80 inches.
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