Anti climax Malawi


Well, although a definite improvement on the road into Lukwa it was still very punishing on the truck. But taking it very slow with the appropriate amount of caution saw us negotiate the seventy five kilometers in about three and half hours.

After hitting the local M1 that runs north south inland a little from Lake Malawi itself, we made good time on what could very well be the best surfaced road we have struck so far in Africa. Our next stop saw us at the town of Muzu still in the north of the country with about sixty litres of fuel left out of our capacity of one hundred and seventy. Well you and I know how stoic we Australians are when we are forced to suffer massive inconvenience, work and social dislocation when we have to ration fuel to an odds and even system. In Malawi as we were to find out how they get around the problem of who will get fuel and who won't. In Malawi no barstard get it. Conflict between the have's and have not's therefore resolved! So that we as tourists don't feel left out we are denied their diesel as well.

As dumb muzungus (whites) from out of town, with no local knowledge, we did the servo shuffle. Caltex to BP to Star to etc, etc, eventually to notice that only Mobil had what appeared to be a line of hopefuls taking shape. As it happened this was the first servo that we hit when arriving in town but alas we were still bright eyed and bushy tailed at the thought of picking up diesel elsewhere so we moved on. Well that was a costly mistake as by the time we had done the rounds and found out that Mobil was the only one getting a delivery, well you guessed it about the queue. Well you probably guessed again that we were two vehicles from the pump after waiting for three hours the fuel ran out. This was due in the main because Malawian diesel consumers are p****. I stopped one cretin from pushing in front of me by making it very clear from the language emanating from the Landrover and also the speed at which I was attempting to ram him that his attempts at queue jumping were not welcome. Later I was frustrated to see him push into the line further up the street. Not knowing how aggressive and vocal I could get without taking a Malawian AK47 bullet I had to grit my teeth and bare it.

Now you may be thinking that three hours in a queue is nothing to write home about. And you would be right but for the fact that this situation could continue ad infinitum. You see no one knew when the next truck load of fuel would turn up, tomorrow the next day or next week, and whether you would get fuel even when it did turn up. These Aussie travelers were born to travel, however without fuel travel looked a very remote possibility.

After our unsuccessful attempt at refueling, our immediate future as tourists looked extremely bleak. Using some of what remained of our precious fuel we headed towards the lake and tourist haunt of Nkhata Bay. Well what a **** hole - a grubby little village with equally grubby and run down lodges that hadn't seen much more than a lick of paint since the last of the colonials left who knows how long ago - and no fuel either.

Enter the Malawian black market fuel distributor! As soon as we hit the market area of town Gael was out of the car and doing the rounds of the stalls trying to find an alternative fuel supply. We had a few promising leads but upon arrival at our camp site for the night Gael approached the desk guy at Dysentery Lodge. He managed to organize one hundred litres of the liquid gold, and delivered to our site as well mind you. We paid a premium at around US$2/litre but we were over the moon. Considering this guy has to take his boat across the lake to Tanzania to get the stuff we didn't begrudge him his profit, and after all it meant we could reach Zambia on the fuel we now had. You little ripper Gael my love, and all done whilst suffering from an extended attack of the dreaded African fizzy ***** picked up earlier!

After a night in Lilongwe the capital of Malawi, where the locals in the neighborhood of the campground party until five am on the weekend and the local mosque takes over from five until seven, we headed to the Zambian border. All was sweet at this crossing as we had a double entry visa, and in Zambia we have fuel to burn.

This fuel situation will see us travel down the eastern side of Botswana to South Africa rather than through Mozambique as we had planned. A disappointing development in a way, but as fuel shortages apparently extend through both Zimbabwe and Mozambique we are left with no other option. Still, it will give us a chance to see parts of Botswana we didn't see when heading north.

Some interesting observations in Africa are that every girl capable of becoming pregnant in Africa is. That anyone with lines on their face is called granddad or grandmother (a fact that Gael has not been keen to embrace, and will no doubt earn a street vendor a kick in the nuts before the trip is over). And that all African babies are the cutest in the world but turn into cheeky little mongrels at the same age that they do everywhere else in the world.

We were hoping for an easy run from the Zambian border to South Luangwa National Park. The last time I was here over twenty years ago, a few of us who were working here flew in for a few days. A few times today I wish I could have stuck a feather up my **** and done the same thing this time. The road was so bad the best speed we could average for the one hundred and thirty kilometers was fifteen kilometers per hour and it was punishing on the truck and us. However, I am happy to say that the camper up until this point appears none the worse for wear.
We also have no choice but to leave the same way that we came in! Holy Mary mother of God the roads here even try a Saint like me.

Well South Luangwa National Park didn't disappoint. Over twenty years since I was here last and the tourist numbers have increased, but it still rates as the best park so far on the trip. Plenty of affordable accommodation is located just outside the park entrance. In fact enough choice that it keeps the camp operators on their toes. Competition is good, for those who brave the bruising road in.

We spent the first night at a camp run by a couple of South Africans. At least we think they were South Africans. Not wishing to over generalize but all appear to have the characteristic look of short, thick necked rugby players who can only muster the enthusiasm to grunt occasionally. In fact they lost favour with me about five minutes after we arrived. The role of South African camp ground owner obviously does not extend to serving behind the bar when the rugby replay is on TV - even when the barman has been gone so long that I thought he may have emigrated.

The next day saw us shift a couple of hundred meters up the Luangwa River to a much nicer lodge. Much nicer staff, and toilets, that had seen a coat of paint in the not too distant past. Clean toilets were important as Gael was still attempting to see whether she could exhaust the Imodium stocks in this part of Africa.

Over the next twenty four hours Gaels condition dictated that we move to tented accommodation with ensuite. Yes, I spare no expense when a member of my party is so sick that living in a two by three meter space becomes, well, uncomfortable for all. Another mitigating factor was that hippos and elephants wander around the campground all night - yes, hippos and elephants - this made a dash to the toilet take on a whole new sense of urgency.

Well it only took one night of five star accommodation with attached dunny, a starvation diet, and black tea to see Gael back to her old self. Gael has been really unwell over the last few days, so sick in fact that I feared that I might actually have to help with some of the domestic chores. Well thank God it never came to that! After Gael turned the corner we hit the self drive safari route. On our first drive we saw a pride of Lions with appalling table manners - slobbering and generally being disgusting - whist devouring what we were told by other self guided persons was a Cape Buffalo.