Nkhata Bay, and, How to Lose Time 13/16

September 26, 2003

I did it. I finally did it. I left Nkhata Bay. It took just under three months (not including my first month long stint) but I did it. Well, sort of. I am going back after my ‘holiday’ but I swear for not as long.

I thought my journeys would not be complete unless I did a full 360. I’m heading back to Kenya. The decision came around a month ago. Phil had finished his time of employment at Mayoka Village (my home away from home) and was sick of the small town (read village) mentality of Nkhata Bay. I was still ‘contracted’ (more on that later) with Chimango Tours and I don’t like to break promises so he decided to do some travel in East Africa. When he mentioned going to Lamu realized I was jealous and decided to meet him in Mombasa at the end of September. And here I am, sitting in an Internet Café in Dar, happy to be in a big bustling city. Sigh. You can get anything here. They have taxis, phones that work, a variety of restaurants, and again, internet!

I went back to Nkhata Bay with the understanding that I would work at Mayoka for a month then Phil and I would continue traveling. Unfortunately I got back too late, Phil had taken my job (we thought we could both work there) and there was no work for me. Ok, scratch that. Some of the locals, Carvers as we call them, had been placed in charge of reopening a backpackers and they wanted me to bartend there. That was never going to happen; them opening the backpackers. They had already drunk away all the money. But then Marcus came along. He’s possibly the most eccentric person I’ve ever met, and under the age of 30. I couldn’t even imagine what he would be like in 20 years. He owned, along with a Malawian named Davie, a “tour’ company. Now this may make you picture some full on travel agency thingy. Forget that. Small room with compost toilet amongst the banana trees, 8 bicycles, some dugout canoes, and an Imac. Uhuh. That’s how I got to working with Marcus. He caught wind that I used to do graphic design and sort a knew the Mac. I agreed to a month of doing….god knows. Basically I set up the computer with a scanner and printer, installed more RAM, introduced it to the locals I was working with (and the dozens who popped their head in on a daily basis) and sat around listening to the gossip of the town, courtesy of Tamarla, the lovely local I worked with. Man, she knew it all. And told me it all. Who was rich but couldn’t touch their money cause a witch doctor had put a curse on it and if they touched it a family member would die (Chocolate Man, for those who have been there), who had who’s baby but the parents wouldn’t let them wed, who’s been in jail, oh, all the dirt. And what dirt! I am soooo glad I live in a city.

My life was good there. So many things you can used to. Like my walk home at night. Mars would always be shining bright over my house (so it seemed). Or the lake flies coming in clouds over the lake after a new moon. This would bring back the delicious (sic) lake fly cake. Umm umm good. Matilda, Mayoka’s kitten who fell in love with me. She would leave me half dead lizards on my porch some mornings. And sometimes I would get to watch her eat them. Being followed by the Mayoka dogs, Blackson and Mwana to work where they would sit all day (unless they saw another mzungu, then escort them before returning to me). Marcus hated them. See, all the dogs in Nkhata Bay are kinda mangy. And they all seem to have STDs. From licking each other. Shiver. Walking through town and hearing ‘Hello Thia’ from little children. Who are these children and why the hell do they know my name?

It was frustrating as well. Gotta tell you, I cracked a couple times. Especially after most of my mzungu friends went away. All I was left with was the odd traveler I would get to know (who would inevitably move on after a few days), a couple of managers from other lodges and some carvers. Now, the carvers on a whole are fucked. Most drink copious amounts of alcohol, especially Kadansana, a local spirit. It’s also known, amongst themselves, as Dark in the Day. Because you can be drinking it in the middle of the day and it has the power to turn off the sun. Right… There were some that were ok though. Gift, Kennedy, George Wea, Richard, Happy Shopper/Hellman/Herman (they get ‘L’ and ‘R’ mixed). The others, after a while, treated me ok, sometimes with respect but they were so schiso about it, I could never trust them. The good thing about that is, when I did crack I could yell at certain ones. Like Starter Motor aka Peter. I mean, with a name like that you deserve to be ridiculed.

I learned about how without hope Malawi is as well. Honestly. Most of the people I spoke with wish they had the old government back. They said they would take the tyranny in return for good clean hospitals and a good education system. I was appalled to learn that each school term costs 2000 Kwacha, with an extra cost for examinations. People just can’t afford that. I think the average Malawian makes 200 MK a day. Then there’s the hospitals. Richard became sick a couple months ago. I figured it was bronchitis but the doc said pneumonia and gave him cipro (usually used in treating diarrhea). Richard did the 2 weeks of meds, was off 2 days then became very ill with a fever, body aches and coughing up a bit of blood. This sent everyone into a tizzy. They came and got Phil and I at Mayoka and brought us to him. I figured the infection had spread and it was the body’s way of saying fix me. They (the carvers) thought he was dying and rushed him to the crappy UNESCO sponsored hospital nearby. The doc there also said he had pneumonia and he need a shot. What for, asked Phil. He needs one, is the answer. The nurse walks in with this uncapped syringe that she had toured around the hospital with, picking up god knows what. We demand for a new needle. It is new. Fine, but can we please just see you open one. I don’t have time for this she says as she makes for jabbing the needle into Richard’s butt. Meanwhile, all the guys are getting pissed at Phil and me for trying to ‘cause trouble’. ‘He needs an injection or he’ll die’ some say. But they don’t even know what’s in the syringe! We ended up dragging R out and taking him to the good hospital in Mzuzu the next day. This, of course is met with many protests. The most common being he’s going to dye overnight. The next morning R was fine, had eaten food even. Turned out he did have bronchitis and the infection had gotten bad. Took 2 cycles of Erythromycin and is fine now.

But the absolute ignorance of medicine and human life was horrifying. This was a UNESCO hospital too. We’ve also learned that the same hospital will not give HIV tests to anyone who doesn’t look sick. And they charge 100MK, even though they are free.

Makes me very angry. And no one cares. Why would they think they could change things? The government buys votes, which means voting is useless. The other doctors I’ve spoken to, at the good hospitals, just shrug. I mean, really. Malawi is very sad.

Enough of that though. The people are lovely, although backstabbing seems to be a part of the culture. Ok, honestly I feel I can never get the truth. I feel as though I’m Fox Mulder and I know the truth is out there but I don’t know how to get it. This is one of the things that make me go mad in Nkhata Bay.

You ask, why do I stay there? The obvious answer is its beautiful, enticing, feels good. But Marcus and I have another theory. You know how there are some places on the earth that have this spiritual feel about them? People are drawn to them. This is usually due to some magnetic pull in the earth. We think Nkhata Bay has that. I’m going with it.

The other downfall to Nkhata Bay is the shit phone lines. I’m telling you, Mom and Dad tried to call me on numerous occasions and could never get through. It was only when I managed to get Marcus’ mobile could we talk. I tried and tried to get the Imac online only to find that the phone exchange was too old to support internet. And the only way to get it there was if you were really nice to MTI. The plan now is to run it off Marcus’ mobile. It could be the only way to ever get it to work…in my lifetime that is.

This explains my 3 month disappearing act, huh. I just didn’t want to travel over an hour to do very expensive internet (20 cents a minute) in Mzuzu. I don’t even like Mzuzu. I equate it to banking. Yuck.

Happier things: I managed to get a $100 haircut from this Irish American hairdresser for $10 along the lakeside in the brilliant sunlight. That was nice. Two guys I met in Tofo arrived in Nkhata Bay, with their goat. They had bought a goat and were traveling with the little fellow. Goat took a shining to Mayoka and would just wander around. He wasn’t scared of people at all. One night I opened my door to find the little guy on my deck. He looked up at me, brayed and proceeded to enter my house. He took a look around, didn’t take long as it was a small room. Decided to eat my shampoo and I kicked him out. That was a first for me.

Now I’m in Dar with Jan, the manager of Big Blue Lodge. I thought she deserved a vacation as well so I convinced her to come along. Tomorrow morn we head off to Mombasa where we’ll meet up with Phil. So far it’s been really nice in Tanzania. Met a lot of cool people. Ran into some Rastas I had already met in N Bay. It’s a small community, Africa is.

Went to Bagamoyo for an arts festival. Very cool. Made some friends. Always good.

I have to say I’m still looking forward to being back in Nkhata Bay. And I really can’t figure out why.

For the record I have fixed my flight date home. Dec. 21 I fly out of Cape Town. I arrive back in TO on the 22nd. I expect a warm reception :)
I think this is long enough.
I love you all and hope you are all happy and healthy!
thi