Across the Zambezi

Leaving Zim we both felt mixed emotions. We liked Zim - the scenery, the sights, the food, the soccer match and the vast majority of the people we had met. However, we felt a terrible sadness for those who've been swept up in the madness of 'Mr Robert' and his ridiculous cronies. On our way out of Harare we passed Mugabe's offensively plush compound. Both of us shed a tear behind our sunglasses as we quietly discussed 'Luke' whose life had been destroyed by ZANU PF thugs as he defended Roy Bennett's farm and his basic democratic right to vote for his chosen candidate; for a lad called 'Livingstone' who asked 'Falcon', a paramedic on our truck, if he could "cure [his] AIDS"; and for 'Philip', a guide at Zim ruins who told our group that his parents, a teacher and a nurse (i.e educated and, hence, commanding minor local influence) had been locked in their own house and incinerated inside for the 'crime' of supporting the MDC.

It put the ongoing shoe saga into perspective. Having fought some feral foot wounds in the previous fortnight, I blinked and purchased some overpriced, crappy Nike copycats made, no doubt, in some Sovietesque nationalised shoe factory. The frightening thing was that my new pair of shoe-like foot garments were looked on with envy and beyond the purchasing capacity of most locals.

The drive to Malawi meant a two day sprint from Harare across the Gun Run Corridor of Mozambique. We spent four hours at the Mozambique border while the wheels of the near terminal mix of African and Portuguese bureaucracy slowly turned; passing the time with a couple of games of Bocci, chatting to kids who hawked drinks, oranges and peanuts, and watching the antics of goats fighting over the scraps from our truck lunch. The drive was without incident, the highlight (for me, at least) being my cook group (dubbed 'Team Local'), successfully recreating Zim's national dish, Dovi (peanut butter and chicken stew with pumpkin and greens) for 26 hungry souls.

Bush camp in Mozambique at sunrise

It was a bit of a pity that we didn't spend more time in Mozambique - although, the region we visited would not have made the agenda, regardless. The area we travelled through was not heavily touristed for good reason, and while the villages were cleaner than those in Zim, the city of Tete straddling the Zambezi was possibly the biggest dump I've ever seen. Less said the better.

Malawi stood out instantly in great contrast to the dirt, deprivation and disorder Zim and the section of Mozambique we'd just visited. The villages and towns cleaner, the roads superior, the fields better tended. Conspicuously absent were the 'shebeens' (drinking dens) which dotted villages in all the countries we'd previously visited. It meant that men were actually working in the fields rather than boozing up and/or wandering aimlessly. One of the most striking aspects of our cultural experience thus far has been the sheer laziness of many of the local men. The women do pretty much everything - working in the house and fields, taking care of kids, collecting firewood and water. The men, meanwhile, appear to contribute approximately three-fifths of F-all; aside, it seems, from assisting SAB in being the world's biggest brewer. I suppose deprivation can be measured as a reflection of per capita GDP: Malawi is supposed to be 'poorer' than Mozambique. Malawi still looks like it still has self-respect. Mozambique looks like it sold its soul long ago. So much for the anti-imperialist symbols of a clenched fist and AK-47 on their flag. A soccer stadium and some new roads courtesy of Beijing put pay to that.

After a one night stay in Malawi's quaint and quiet capital, Lilongwe, we headed to Kande Beach on the shores of Lake Malawi. We spent three nights there. I had a few dives while Zoe sunbathed. The diving was good but not brilliant. The fish were quite spectacular but the lakebed was bare. Maybe diving and snorkeling in Queensland and the Sinai has spoiled me. Regardless, the new experience of diving in freshwater at altitude was rewarding.  In the evenings, we kicked back with a couple of sundowners and went to sleep listening to the soft sounds of the lakes waves crashing on the beach.

Kande Beach, Lake Malawi

The truck parked up at Kanda Beach

Fields outside campsite at Kande

From Kande we headed north to Chitimba and camped on the beach for two nights. While the rest of the truck spent the day lazing about, Zoe and I (along with four others) trekked the 32km round trip to the Livingstonia mission, perched high above the lake. The views were spectacular and we took a dip in a waterfall atop the range after visiting the mission.

The mission was founded in the 1870s as a bastion of Scots evangelicals on a crusade against slavery. The shores of Lake Malawi were, for 1000 years, a source of slaves for Muslim Arab slave traders who, by exploiting inter-tribal rivalry, murdered tens of thousands and force-marched the surviving non-believers ('kaffirs' in Arabic) to the slave markets in places such as Zanzibar and Mombasa. The Scots were successful in instilling their three tenets of Education, Christianity & Commerce within the local population. And with the help of converted locals (in conjuction with the British Navy working hard in the Indian Ocean), the slave traders were out of business and out of town in just 15 years. The reverence the locals hold for these missionaries is absolute. (And here endeth the lesson...)

Waterfall at Livingstonia

Kirsten & Dan peer over the edge of the waterfall

Zoe & Kat resting up at a local shop, Livingstonia

Church stained glass with David Livingstone depicted as a messianic/saintly figure

Local kids, Livingstonia

Message received, Chitimba Beach

Sunrise at Chitimba with Tanzanian highlands in the background

Leaving Chitimba the truck drove in sweltering humidity past rice paddies to the Tanzanian border. In keeping with the theme of ever changing landscapes, the Tanzanian countryside offered yet more contrasts. As the truck climbed high through banana, then coffee plantations, the temperature dropped rapidly; so much so that Zoe and I ended up inside our sleeping bags on the back of the truck. Within hours we were in shorts again, the bush and heat resembling outback Queensland - dusty red earth, low scrub, patches of savanna grass and dry creeks lined with eucalyptus. We stopped in Mbeya for supplies (where I was challenged to a friendly boxing match by an enthusiastic, large and slightly scary local. Politely, I declined) before bush camping two nights on our way to Dar Es Salaam for our ferry to Zanzibar. One of the nights we were lucky enough to be camped under beautiful clear skies to watch the blood red moon of a total lunar eclipse.

Full moon, Tanzania

Going

Going

Gone...nearly

Our journey from Harare to Dar through Malawi reinforced both the great contrasts and ubiquitous themes of Africa - landscape, culture, political life, basic existence. Among the quiet serenity of our setting in Kande, we were still reminded of the harsh reality of life - and death - for many locals. On our first morning, the camp's English-born manager, Gary, had the grisly task of collecting the body of his chief mechanic who had died of complications from AIDS during the night. On a walk to the village to buy bread for our group, the subject was raised by local artisans 'Spiderman' and 'Donald Duck' who had intercepted us and were trying to hawk their wares to us (they were eventually successful but not without a fight). When I asked 'Spiderman' how old the dead man was, he replied, "Oh, very old, very old...38...maybe even 40...".

I'm 38 in July.

On the last afternoon at Kande, five of us swam to Kande Island, about 1km offshore, did some exploring and spent some time jumping from the cliffs into the lake. That night we ate barbecued chicken, superbly spit roasted over a charcoal fire by our Kiwi driver Grant 'Hasty' Hastie. Life for us is pretty easy right now.

Forest elephants, Tanzania (we never get bored of elephants)