Day 19. Wed 5th May
Lilongwe to Mwabvi, first trip.
At 5:30 we are busy checking that everything is packed. (Ken has already
told me off for not packing my own camping equipment - he reminds me of
my Dad when I was a kid!). Even so I forget a couple of things, but nothing
vital.
Auxies arrives at seven, and we are on our way.
Like his tourists, all Ken's Land Rovers have nicknames. We are in
Dusty for this trip. We stop at the first petrol station we come to as
the gauge is reading empty. Unfortunately it is still reading empty after
we've filled up. Auxies dismantles the dashboard and fixes it and we drive
on. I then notice that the temperature gauge is not working either.
On Ken's advice we take the lakeside road to Blantyre (I'm never quite
sure of the reason for this).
There is a funny smell coming from the engine, so we stop in Salina,
which is just as well as we are leaking oil. Auxies fixes that too but
cannot fix the temperature gauge. We drive on, and I notice that the speedo
is not working either.
I am paying the transport and subsistence costs for the trip, so we
stop in Blantyre to change travellers' cheques and buy food. Charlotte
has given us a load of stuff out of the freezer, but we still need a few
essentials - bread, water (a lot of water!) and beer.
Now Dusty will not start at all! A wire has come off the starter motor
and Auxies has to open the bonnet and hold it in place while I turn the
key.
It is two o'clock by the time we get off again, and we have a long
way to go, so we munch samosas and meat pies on the move.
South of Blantyre the road descends into the Shire valley in a series
of hairpins. The view is breathtaking and I try to imagine David Livingstone
battling his way up the river.
In the middle of nowhere we come across a guy dressed up in traditional
dance costume, apparently performing for the benefit of the local kids.
They are not camera shy - as soon as we stop they come running up and pose
for the camera. The instant picture trick works as well as ever, and I
slip him 20MK. I need to stock up on small notes, I have no tens and now
no twenties either, and changing large denominations is always a problem
away from large towns.
We drive through the massive Illovo sugar plantations at Nchalo, and past
the entrance to Lengwe National Park. We had planned to call in it Lengwe
to meet some of the National Parks people, but Patricio, the regional manager,
is away, so we will visit on the way back instead. Shortly after Nchalo
the tarmac ends and we are on dirt road, although, as luck would have it,
the road has been recently gritted in preparation for the President's forthcoming
whistlestop tour of the country prior to the general elections.
An hour later we turn off onto a narrow track with a wooden signpost
saying "Mwabvi Game Reserve". We have arrived. There are a few mud hut
villages by the road, but in many ways it feels even more isolated than
the Kalahari.
The Mwabvi Game Reserve covers an area of approximately 135 Sq. Km.
The main entrance is on the north-west boundary, and is manned, with a
small office building and accommodation to the rear. The road splits in
two shortly after the main gate, one branch exiting the park to the south,
the other to the south-west. The roads are dirt track, and in reasonable
condition as far as the Mguru camp site, although they may become impassable
in the wet season. However, the final stretch of a few hundred metres to
the camp site has been eroded away, and a new road has been dug as part
of the PAW project (although the signpost still points to the old road!).
We call at the park gate house and meet Lester and Gracious. Gracious runs
the park and Lester is the head guide. Gracious has recently had a motorcycle
accident and his leg is in plaster. I am sympathetic!
Lester and one of the other guides squeeze into the Land Rover and
guide us up to the Mguru camp site, where we will be staying. They help
us set up camp and chat while Auxies quickly makes a fire. We have forgotten
to defrost anything for supper, so I dig a couple of packets of frozen
mince out of the cool box and prop them up by the fire to melt, and then
I make tomato and onion salad while Auxies cooks rice. I have great difficulty
with the very unfamiliar social structure now that I am entirely dealing
with Africans. There is a tendency even amongst educated Africans to be
deferential to white people. Auxies is a qualified mechanic, and an intelligent
guy. We chat together pretty much as equals, and I rely a lot on him during
the stay to translate and negotiate with the locals. Nevertheless he still
calls me "boss", and he seems to expect to do all the cooking and washing
up. There are many fundamental differences in attitudes between England
and Africa which cannot be assimilated quickly, but I do my best, and help
with the cooking anyway.
After dinner and a beer Auxies announces that he is tired and off
to bed. It's only 6:30, but he has been driving all day, and anyway it
is now fully dark (I can't get used to how early, and how quickly, it goes
dark in the tropics). I don't want to use up my torch batteries too soon
(a flourescent lamp was one of the things Charlotte lent me and I forgot
to pack), so I lie in my tent, cool off, and think about the day. I have
a definite sense of being in free-fall at this point. I haven't the faintest
idea what's going to happen next, but as long as nothing has gone badly
wrong, I'll go with the flow and not worry.
I fall asleep to the sound of buffalo grumbling in the river