Day 14. Wed 23rd August.
Back
to Lengwe
I am at the IT Centre on the dot of eight with my laptop, and Prince
agrees to have a look at it, but says it will mean completely stripping
it down, so he suggests I return around 11.
At 10:30 I am back, and, wonder of wonders, he has fixed it. At first
Windows refuses to boot, but we fiddle with it a bit and eventually it
bursts into life. It costs nearly MK6000 (£24), but it's no
more than I would have paid in the UK, and is well worth it. I also get
Prince to transfer the unzipped version of the USB driver onto my
floppy, so I'm all set.
By 12 I am crammed into a very full minibus that takes the hairpin
bends down into the shire valley at what feels like breakneck speed,
but we make it without mishap, and I am dropped at the Lengwe turnoff.
I am not making the same mistake that I made last time, and indicate to
the clutch of hopeful bicycle taxi drivers that I need two bicycles,
one for me and one for my katundu*. The first two volunteers are an
young guy and an elderly gentleman, neither of whom speak a word of
English. I don't know whether they have drawn straws, or what, but it
seems the the older cyclist is taking the rucksack, The only problem is
that he has no idea what to do with it. He makes several attempts to
strap it to the luggage rack on the his bicycle with some odd bits of
elastic, but it is far too big and his efforts only succeed in sending
the rucksack flying one way nd the bicycle the other. I am trying to
suggest, mainly through mime and some rather dubious gestures, that he
should put it on his back, but the idea is quite alien to him. Africans
never carry things on their backs rucksack-style - women carry
babies on their hip, and anything else on their heads, and African men,
it has to be said, mainly carry things on their women. Finally I grab
him and shove his arms into the straps for him. By this time a small
crowd has gathered, and are wetting themselves laughing at these
antics. Eventually the rucksack is on, and I show him how to adjust the
straps so it rests comfortably on the luggage rack behind him. I climb
onto his oppo's luggage rack and off we go. This is never the most
comfortable mode of travel, but without the weight of the rucksack it
is at least bearable.
We arrive at the Lengwe park gate, and as I climb off the bike I hear a
tremendous crash behind me - the rucksack carrier has tried to
dismount, and, unused to the weight of a rucksack on his back, has
fallen over and is liying on his back on top of my rucksack with all
four limbs in the air like a stranded tortoise. If only I could have
been a bit quicker with my camera.
The acquisition of the Mwabi map from the Lengwe computer continues to
be a thorn in my side - the PC refuses to read the USB driver off the
floppy. It's only about 3/4 mile from the office to the lodge, but when
you've walked it four times in the middle of the African day it seems a
lot further.
Max is in the middle of doing his accounts, a job he hates, and is not
in a good mood. However, he manages to root out a CD and puts the
driver onto that - and I trudge back to the office. Finally I manage to
get the memory stick driver onto the PC, and the maps onto the memory
stick, and by five o'clock I am in the bar enjoying a Green and
watching the sun go down.
After a much needed shower I am served dinner, and Max joins me. It is
wonderful to get civilised food - only beef and rice, but nicely
prepared, and complemented by prawn cocktail to start and ice cream to
finish.
I check for texts at about 8:30 but it is only 7:30 in the UK and they are hardly likely to have anything just yet.
Max and I are both knackered, so we call it a night.
* Chichewa for 'luggage'- are you paying attention?!