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Aardvark ahead of the President
Author: Richard Smith
Our dinner hostess declined to take the call from the representative of the President’s daughter as she was currently making sure I, and her other guests, were doing ok for pre-dinner drinks. It’s the only time in my life I’ve taken precedence over a president’s relative, and may well be the last.
We were enjoying bottles of Carlsberg Green or glasses of South African white wine on one of Lake Malawi’s beaches, before a candlelit dinner overlooking the clear water. The President’s daughter wanted to increase her booking for the weekend by three rooms, something which wouldn’t be possible as the lodge was full.
As we drank, local fishermen took advantage of the moonless night and paddled their dug out canoes into the Lake using paraffin and diesel lamps to trick the fish into their finely woven nets. During the meal more lights joined the first ones on the water and we could hear the shouted communication between the occupants of the tiny boats.
At more than 350 miles long, Lake Malawi is Africa’s third largest lake and makes up Malawi’s eastern border with Tanzania and Mozambique for much of its distance. Its waters are clean and clear, its beaches sandy, and it contains hundreds of brightly coloured cichlid fish, the majority of which don’t occur elsewhere. It’s a great place to relax after a safari and probably one of the best places in the world for freshwater snorkelling or diving.
The following morning I ventured into the neighbouring fishing village to see whether the night’s work had been fruitful. Despite a warm welcome, faces were fairly glum since little of any significant size had been caught, although there were plenty of tiny kapenta drying on the racks, being prepared for sale to the women who walk from the hills to buy fish to supplement their diets of maize, cassava and vegetables.
After the obligatory discussion about the race for the Premiership (British soccer this time, not American or African presidents) I chatted with the village headman about the economics of fishing in the area. He ran three boats, mended nets for most of the village and seemed to control the trade of fish from the village. This allowed him to earn enough to pay the fees at the local secondary school for his kids, as well as having electricity and a satellite dish to watch the aforementioned soccer games. He told me that they were hoping the rains would break soon since this meant bigger fish would be caught which he could sell to the local lodges.
Malawi is often described as he heart of Africa, partly because of its geographic location within the continent, but also because of the friendliness of its people. It’s certainly possible to come here after a safari and simply relax on one of the stunning beaches, or just enjoy the watersports on offer, above or below the surface. However, if you get a chance to meet local people away from your lodge, take it – they’re friendly and interesting, happy to talk about their lives and to find out about yours with no hidden agenda, just a welcoming smile.
African passport control
The customs officer didn’t have a badge on his breast pocket, or even a breast pocket. In fact he didn’t have a shirt on and we’d walked through the cobbled streets of Likoma Island’s ramshackle town to find him at his house, since it was lunchtime.
I was on Likoma Island as part of my journey to Nkwichi on the Mozambique shore of Lake Malawi. To complete my journey I had first to exit Malawi, hence my meeting with the shirtless officer on his lunch break. Formalities completed I hopped aboard the speedboat for the crossing to mainland Mozambique and another round of paperwork.
Once again the immigration official wasn’t in his office. I didn’t blame him since it was small and airless and the breeze on the hillside, on which we found him, was far more pleasant. I sat on a bench as he sat on the ground on a woven roll-out mat. Out here his office was a combination locked plastic briefcase full of stamps, carbon copy receipt books, and rolls with sticky-backed visa documents, security holograms and a third set of stickers which I needed in my passport as well, though I’m not sure why. Eventually the stickers were stuck, the receipts issued, thank yous exchanged and we were on our way again by boat south along the shoreline.
Nkwichi is a stunning lodge. The sand is so fine it squeaks, the views around the lodge and cottages are breathtaking, the rooms are pretty and the snorkelling in the warm crystal clear water is great. In its own way the journey is also part of the charm; you can’t get to magical remote places without some effort and certainly in the heat of the day after a long light aircraft flight, a boat journey and two idiosyncratic border crossings. It did feel that I’d expended some effort to get there. But boy was it worth it.