it's always malaria...

...Even when it's not. We went in to the nearby 'good' clinic last week for an ongoing GI complaint on Devon's part. After describing his intestinal discomforts, and protesting the malaria swab test, we finally succumbed with a sigh. After the allotted ten minutes of lab time, we were brought back to the doc's office.

It went something like this:

The Doctor  - Your test came back negative for malaria.
Devon - I told you so. I have none of the symptoms!
Doc - Yes but your white blood cell count is high
Devon - okay, that could mean a lot of things. Could you diagnose some of them?
Doc - Yes but it's more likely that you have malaria.
Devon - you just said the test was negative!
Doc - Take this prescription. You have malaria.


And as a closing thought, here's a photo we should have posted a few weeks back.

Private bridge: No motorcycles!

Much love, C & D

mango season!

Since Devon has been busy and is yet to post an update on the why and how of Malawian politics, as a follow up to our investigative journalism take on the dark underbelly of life here, I'm here today to post a brief update of our lives in the past month. I promise that he's hard at work on a lengthy and well thought out follow up, and that it will be in your inboxes soon.

(Right, honey?)

It's been a hectic month. Or two. Since our last submission (confession?), I've started a new job, Devon's continued to take on more and more at his preexisting job, and we continue to dream up new adventures and ideas at every turn. Many of which we actually intend to do, which can make things rather, shall I say, awkward.

some of the less work-shaped adventures have led us to new climbing routes 

while others have had me out during harvest day in local aquaculture communities. Tilapia galore! More on this later. 

One of these things that we leapt at with great enthusiasm six or eight months back was running the annual Lilongwe Half Marathon. We'd both never run a half, had entertained the idea here or there, and so we thought hey, why not now? It'd be good incentive to run more, would help get us into a semblance of ski-worthy shape for our trip home over the holidays*, and accomplishing something new is never a bad thing.

And then the months ticked by, I broke my toe by dropping the motorcycle on it (those things aren't light), and we remembered that November is the hottest time of year in Malawi. The last item being the most concerning. Running in 40 degree heat is more than miserable, it's probably a health concern. I know, I know, try telling that to the crazies that run ultra marathons across the Sahel, Sahara, or the like, but for mere mortals it's not something to be taken lightly. The solution? Early, early training runs, or late, which here with equatorial day/night periods means anytime after 6pm. We thankfully live on the outskirts of town (literally, 10m from the end of the paved road), so within 20-30 minutes through a nearby village we are beyond the riff raff, roads, and out into the relative wilderness beyond Lilongwe. While it may not be the trail running of home, it's the closest we're going to get.

Basically, imagine a hotter, drier, flatter Baden Powell, with random villages interspersed along the route. Villages where masses of small children chase you and proceed to yell at you and your dog in a language you don't quite understand, and where you can't seem to effectively communicate that said 30lb canine is not at all a threat to their lives.

But to get to the point, we successfully completed the run, and both of us within our goal of two hours or less**. More importantly, before the sun reached it's ferocious worst after about 8am. Thankfully the event began at 6...And, considering the shock (and often outright laughter) we get whilst running/biking/climbing/what have you (literally, I've got the pointed finger and a "Haha! Exercise!" on more than several occasions), we were surprised at how many locals came out.

Random tid bit: it's now Mango Season! The time year when fruit that would sell back in Canada for multiple dollars per unit becomes the cheapest thing available. The time of year when you eat as many mangoes as you possibly can, just because you can (or because you accidentally bought three dozen ripe ones for the equivalent of 50 cents). It's a time of plenty (of fruit flies, and wasted fruit), of sticky hands, sticky faces, and....of mango wine! It's true. On Sunday we purchased a few hundred of the finest fruit and filled the back of the truck for just under 1000 kwacha (or about $3). This Sunday, we'll hopefully decide that said fruit are overly ripe enough to spend a few hours mashing them up into a big bucket with some yeast, sugar, water, and love. In a few months, we'll have pure and glorious mango nectar, guaranteed to make us at least a few new friends.

our recent haul, destined for mango wine and peach...smoothies? 

stands like these line the roadsides

 *We are coming home! Arrival back in Vancouver is slated for December 11, and we'll be somewhere on Canadian soil until January 13. We'd like to share a meal, an adventure, or even just a hug with all of you. 

**barely. But who 'won' between us? your guess...

we wish our lives were that interesting...

So it seems that the general overarching misconceptions of the 'Dark Continent' will include just about anything...

Not to worry you all, as we are certainly not living large enough over here to be involved in human or money trafficking, motorcycle chases, or evading the military or police. Poking a wee bit of fun at the dangers of Africa has it's limits, it seems... Many apologies if we worried anyone. Our prior update of our motorcycle incident was just as simple as it was - while we did get sideswiped by a minibus driver lacking the simple self awareness to check his mirrors, and Devon's computer did lose out on the deal, we certainly haven't taken to any Indiana Jones-style gallivanting around the streets of Lilongwe.

Just goes to show, it's all relative. We'll endeavour to make any future fiction posts a bit more transparent.

Much love,

Charlotte & Devon

The trials of living in Malawi...

Hey all,

I've been out of the posting loop for quite a few weeks now, but thankfully Charlotte has been updating more regularly.

My absences was for two reasons. One being the work load I've been carrying, what with the rains around the corner and an ever growing team to keep track of, I've been rather well occupied. The second cause was the motorcycle accident of which some tales have already been spun. Charlotte tells people that we were hit by a mini bus making a sudden and un-signaled right hand turn across our lane from the shoulder onto a side road. That we were going slowly and that aside from a few scuffs everything was fine. The truth is much more sobering.

Due to continued fuel and forex shortages in Malawi we've had to resort to dealing with some more, how shall I phrase this? Unsavoury characters? As with any black or grey market dealings it behooves one to know their limits, and to be cautious about just how deep they become involved with said market. The criminal underworld has many a gateway drug.

a rare food item

For me it all started last year with a little side purchasing of fuel during the worst of the shortages. The pumps would be empty for weeks at a time and 20 litres of the liquified dino bones was an even more precious commodity then usual. You'd think I was running my bike on precious gem stones considering the average cost of a black market litre was topping $5USD...

Of course the old saying 'in for a penny in for a pound', comes to mind, as quickly our nefarious dealings moved from just a few odd litres of petrol to moderate volume currency exchanges, the purchase of rare and exotic smuggled foodstuffs, larger amounts fuels for us and our friends, and soon enough the talk of bigger deals to come. Suddenly we were rubbing shoulders with folks illegally importing heavy machinery and who, we began to suspect, were involved with human trafficking...

A few weeks back Charlotte and I headed into 'old town' swaddled in foreign currency and a satchel with my work tools slung over a shoulder as we road the motorcycle. Our plan was to cash in a momentarily favourable exchange rate on a much larger amount of kwacha than usual and rip back to the office to put the money in the safe. We'd been meeting these folks in the daytime so as to avoid putting ourselves into any vulnerable position. Young blond ladies fetch a high price on the international market so I was already being a tad cautious about these meetings, and what with us making such a large exchange on behalf of many of our friends I was even more so. In hind sight perhaps I should have gone alone.

When we met with our usual contact in the Game centre parking lot, something felt a bit odd. The police were near by and while they don't seem to usually pass more than a causal eye over our transactions that day they seemed a bit shifty and surprisingly more attentive. Before I'd even cut the motor, I caught sight of a fellow inside an idling SUV with a semi automatic weapon casually placed across his lap. Immediately our 'guy' started demanding to see the money. While I mumbled something about rates again he grabbed for the bag on Charlotte's shoulder. Sitting on the bike with Charlotte behind me I was not quite in what you would call a maneuverable position. All I could do was sweep his hand away with my arm shove him backwards while trying to keep us and the bike from fall over in the opposite direction. Fortunately he was standing infront of a curb and stumbled slightly as he struggled to stay balanced.

That was enough for me to get the engine fired up and drop the clutch before he could reach forward again. At this point both the dude in the SUV and the police seemed to be moving in on our scene.  Pining the throttle, and shifting into second we rode over the curb and directly into a second fellow attempting to block our escape. I managed to keep the bike upright and moving while his foot passed under the wheels. Let's hear one for dirt bikes!

Thankfully no one was firing at us as we fled. I can only assume this was due to the number of people in the shopping centre.

As I peeled across parking lot, the SUV and police cruiser roared into life and started in pursuit.



At this point Charlotte was screaming in my ear about polices stations and the consulates but all I could focus on was blind escape. Besides that, the police were right behind us and the consulates are about 4km away from old town with who knows what to offer in terms of help.

With Charlotte on the back, our 200cc honda, while a great little bike, doesn't handle as well as it does with a single rider. The thought flashed into my mind as I blew through the intersection on the edge of the shopping complex, that the best way to get some distance between us and our pursuers, was the market. Roads are too small, disjointed and cluttered with venders as well as onlookers to allow a speedy passage for any four wheeled vehicle. The maze of side alleys and low roofs might too provide some cover.

I wove my way aggressively around a turning lorry and dropped the bike into fourth gear as we screamed onto coffin row. An ominous name considering our situation. Coffin row links old town to the centre of the city and passes Kamuzu Central Hospital before looping back into area 7, the main shopping district. It's also the neighbourhood to get bed frames, tables, shelve and other house hold sundry carpentry items made. They also make a lot of coffins....

As we flew jarringly over the second massive speed bump on coffin row I looked back to check the distance between us and the shady characters with firearms. I needed to slow down before we made a turn onto the dirt pack road connecting the market stalls to coffin row. As a single rider I could have let the rear end swing out while oversteering the front but as a pair I would risk dumping Charlotte and myself into a mango seller's soft pile of goods and we'd be done in for sure. I broke hard locking the rear tire and dropping two gears to get the bike under 50km/h for the turn.

When we hit the gravel I felt the front tire shudder and, blessedly, grip. Charlotte's arms willing the same traction through her rib crushing embrace. Thanks fully, after a few months of riding she's learned to lean with the bike and move in unison with me. This was certainly testing our synchronicity.

I heard but couldn't see the first truck come off the road and crash into the fruit stands on the corner. I can only envision the spray of mango pulp and buckets over the hood of the vehicle.

Our rear tire spun in the red gravel as I climbed the gears back to fourth and pelted through the market. Horn blasting there was just enough room for us to pass between people and market goods. We were already passed each shocked face before an "IWE!" or a "CHIFUKWA!" could be uttered or yelled.

The bigger vehicles could be heard growing more and more distant behind us as we continued. My breath and attention calming slightly with the thought of escape I looked for an pedestrian path that might offer us a less likely market exit for our potential captors to predict, and seeing the Lilongwe river approaching to our right I saw our opportunity.

Again dropping gears and breaking we shot onto a dirt ramp leading down towards the river bank. Makeshift bridges are erected here each year following the rains. For a fee of 10 kwacha any brave sole can use the makeshift scaffolding, nailed and lashed together, as a crossing. Often two bridges will be constructed side by side to allow easy passage for directional traffic.

Honking and hurtling towards the nearest bridge, I was too late to note that at the far end a young woman, baby held to her back with a chitenge, had just committed to the bridge along with two companions. Instantly we were a third of the way across the tenuous structure. With the young woman frozen in terror I had no choice but to angle the bike towards the second bridge and hope for the best. Hand rails not offering the least resistance, and the incredible fortune that the second bridge had been build less than a foot away and nearly as much lower than our initial path, we landed fair and to the sound of snapping boards and clattering debris.

In less than three seconds we were up the opposite bank, bewildered toll collecter, shocked pedestrians and trucks all in the distance and only a clear path to the tarmac ahead. Deep plunging breaths heaved my into my chest as I pictured our seemingly easy route back through city and on to our office sanctuary.

This was my folly. Focusing completely on the market obstacles and not daring to look back at the following danger, I should have taken a moment to assess before counting our unhatched chickens. As I took the bike, Charlotte and myself back onto the road, I angled toward the roundabout and our route home. Entering the circle, banked and revving high in third I was prepared for a fast exit out the right side of the traffic circle. any slower and this would have been our demise. Only as I was aimed at the long straight path ahead did I register the silvery gold range rover coming the wrong way round and just missing our back wheel, tires squealing as its rubber strained to hold traction of such an agressive turn in chase.

We were the rabbit, it the ravenous snarling greyhound. 

Again our poor little 200cc bike was underpowered for the demands I was putting upon it, and this time the range rover had better position. Hitting us from the side in an attempt to bring us down, the front corner of the truck connected with my arm and thigh. The hounds teeth tore at my cloths. Desperately I steadied the bike, Charlotte's arms rose reflexively in defence, and as we passed for what I thought was a relative safely around the truck it was hit head on by minibus.

As I mentally celebrated our upright status, and our freedom from the entangled metals immediately to our left, I felt Charlotte's body break free of the bike. Unmoored and unbalanced she'd not been able to maintain contact with the bike through my wild and buffeted chicane. In horror I looked back to see her in full forward summersault down the pavement. Before thinking I'd dropped the bike stalling it on its side. I ran back to Charlotte. Bewildered and shaken she struggled to smooth her skirts. Bleeding from the upper thigh somewhere not visible under her dress, and missing a flip flop she looked at the crashed Rover and mini-bus and pushed me back towards the motorcycle. Having pulled off my helmet I held it like a bowling ball ready for battle though one look at the Rover proved that they would not offer any more immediate threat.

Collecting a taillight and the now separated license plate as we ran, Charlotte stuffed them into the satchel along with all the money we still carried while I lifted the bike upright in one smooth motion. Once again it started, first kick, like a dream.

Clutching Charlotte's hand briefly before tarring away again, I could feel her shuddering sobs into my shoulders. She wasn't the only one in emotional turmoil. Five minutes later and shaking in the absence of all that spent adrenaline we pulled up to the gate of our little house and slipped inside. The office had seemed to risky, too close to town. After stripping Charlotte to check for wounds, a cleansing scrub to loose the sand from her road rash in the shower and a ransacking of the medical kit for bandages, we made love; holding each other as if we'd never again have the chance to connect to such a pure and danger free place.

Desperate love...

It wasn't until a few hours later, when I went to move our cash did I realize my laptop had been along for the whole journey. It evidently had suffered almost as badly as Charlotte in the crash. Fragmented shards dripped out from where the screen had once been and the case produced a unnerving rattling sound which clearly spoke of many tiny bits set free from what once was whole.

So after all that I've been without a laptop for the last few weeks until a replacement can come from the UK. Needless to say I have and will be a little less in touch than normal until I have re-provisioned, and thus blog updates and check out the latest Youtube sensations are a little limited.

It's my personal theory that if you're going to be late you should at least have an entertaining story as to why...

Tonnes of love.
Devon and Charlotte, in one piece and still occasionally astride a motorcycle...



***Disclaimer*** If you haven't already gathered, this story is heavily embellished. While Devon may be able to negotiate some tight corners both on his bike and metaphorically, we have a much healthier respect for government and policy while living in a foreign land than to have been involved in a heist of this nature. Don't worry - while we may have had a wee altercation with a minibus last month, that's as far as it went - although Devon's laptop did get hurt and is out of commission, so he does apologize for being a tad out of touch.***

four-wheeled freedom

Since our last post, we've been irrigating, mango-ing, aquaculture-ing, and finally, in the midst of all that chaos, we succumbed to the joys of petrochemical transportation and purchased a vehicle.  Although, it might be one of the smallest four-wheeled hunks of metal on the road, so we'll try not to feel too bad.

Nikky the Nissan may be just barely large enough for Devon's height (and no, the seat is not adjustable, we tried), but it's cute, fuel efficient (even more highly desirable in a country with a recurring fuel shortage, not to even mention the carbon cost), and it happens to be one of the more common cars around town. So we finally fit in!

Well, perhaps not quite, but at least we have a readily available market for spare parts (useful considering the amount of work she needs). In actuality, two azungus driving a very local vehicle is even stranger than the alternative (i.e. a huge ostentatious gas guzzling Hilux. At least that's predictable). The looks and even outright questioning we get while perched on her little bench are analogous to those we are prey to when we bike around town. White people! Biking! It cannot be.

Don't worry, we (well, Devon more so than me) are still enamoured with the motorcycle, but we finally decided to invest in something that can carry us, along with our gear. Although I was looking forward to the giggling that would come from trying to pack the bouldering mat & tent on the back of the bike... Aerodynamic is not a word that comes to mind.

chills and spills

Somehow another three weeks have flown by since our last post....I'm not sure how. Since I last wrote of our late August escapades, we've been occupied with daily Lilongwe life, and the added joy of the visit of Ms. Katrina Cook, special delivery care of Richland, WA.

We've managed to continue the bouldering exploration south of town in beautiful Dedza, to the great bemusement of the local villagers.



So life has been good, and full. We spent a day getting lost* at a local wildlife park run by some friends, got hit by a minibus whilst driving downtown on the motorcycle**, did some property hunting***, oh, and I got a job! My real own job, in fisheries related work. As of next week, I'll be working with the local agriculture/aquaculture college through CIDA (the Canadian International Development Agency), looking into sustainable aquaculture development in the Lilongwe region. I don't have many more details than that, but it's a 6 month gig, and a good progression in the direction of connecting with fisheries on a professional level here.

*Well, one of us did. Our poor friend Rachel had a bit more of an adventure than she had planned during the inaugural Kuti game count, wandering in grass that towered far over her 5'4" frame for a couple of hours, looking for wildebeest & zebra. When in Africa...

The sun sets over Kuti

Orienteering, game count style

zebra love

Sable, wildebeest and zebra, oh my!

**You haven't lived until you've been sideswiped by a minibus driver in heavy traffic. Great fun, I promise. Road rash feels as great in the tropics as it does at home. And the thought that the dude may have just purchased his drivers license rather than pass a test is very encouraging. 

***Real estate hunting in Malawi is a slow progression of stating a vague interest, meeting with various folk 'in the know', and gently pursuing those connections. This will continue. 

Waterfront property within reach

We also got out for a three day scrambling mission to Mt. Mulanje for my birthday weekend. A plan that had long been in the works, we were pretty thrilled to be able to pull it off in the midst of a hectic workweek for both Devon and myself. The Mountain Club of Malawi manages a series of huts on the massif, which enables one to embark on some more serious climbs without lugging serious gear about. With the lovely company of six like minded friends, we spent the weekend bagging some peaks, route finding, and making plans to come back for more, perhaps with rock gear next time. It's a relief to have access to a fairly serious mountain range so close to home. Mountain ecology worldwide tends to reflect the elevation gradient, more than the latitude, and Mulanje was hardly an exception. The landscape was reminiscent of hiking in northern BC, and I caught myself trying to identify mosses, lichens, and small woody plants. Nerd alert, I know. 

we're going up that way!

looking out over the plateau

obligatory summit shots, Nakodzwe

The similarities of hiking large-ish mountains in Malawi do have their limits, however. I would never think of hiring a guide or porter to scale a 3000 metre peak back home, but here we were quite the odd crew for endeavouring to both explore the mountain on our own, and to do so while carrying our own gear. While the local economy may certainly benefit from the additional injection of tourist dollars, it seems odd to us to remove the challenge of route hunting and spontaneity. Luckily we were able to get away with this strange quirk. 

An unexpected highlight of the weekend before I go? Whilst driving up to the trailhead, we (of course) got lost. Driving through a small village in the midst of endless tea plantations at the base of the massif was otherworldly enough, even before we approached a large group of school children attending outdoor assembly at the top of a hill. Approaching with trepidation, we were, sure enough, soon surrounded by about a hundred kids running after the vehicle yelling in excitement. Probably the best rendition of a sports wave that we've ever seen, and all for the odd sight of eight mzungus crowded into a pickup. And yes, they completely abandoned school and continued to chase us for close to 15 minutes, spilling over the hillside, until we got well out of range. 

so, so much tea

so, so much excitement!

Phew. We made it. And that's all for now! Hugs and love, C & D.

And then there were three.

There's something about Africa that draws folks in.

Well, there's something about living on the other side of the world, no matter whether you're in Timbuktu, Kalamazoo (yeah, yeah), or some 'stan or another. People are intrigued, perhaps just 'cause they might never again get the chance to come see how different life might be, all whilst being toured around by their wayward hosts*. Who Have Visitors! Having visitors as an expat is a Very Exciting Thing indeed. All your other expat friends get 'Visitors from Home' envy. They invite you over, and share their scintillating (and/or dangerous) tales of Life Abroad with your curious  (and increasingly nervous) guest. Your new level of normal might make them excited...Or worried. Or both. They are sure to be confused by the little things, and you fondly smile, thinking how you were never confused by that very same thing when you arrived. Oh, wait...

Shit.

(you just finally figured that thing out last week. But under no circumstances do you tell them this).

So you proceed to enthusiastically sugar coat the challenges, and highlight the oh-so-amazing. The markets! Bargaining is FUN! Poorly developed roads become an adventure, power outages 'are always romantic', communication barriers only humorous, never frustrating. And oh yes, you did just get back from another safari. Thank you for asking.

Expat life is hard.

lakeside boating, sans wind 

lakeside living. too bad about the brew.

Luckily, our First Visitor** was a bit of a local herself. Ms. Foster, born (although hardly bred) in the Cape, is more of an African than we'll ever be (slightly illegitimate passport aside). So her oh-so-tired self, fresh off a three day journey to our doorstep, was a bit less overwhelmed than the norm. And so, after we unpacked the Christmas gifts that comprised her luggage allowance, off we went to show her the sights.

serious joy. Maize just can't compete.

Oh, the places we'll go. And in so doing, we managed to head to the beautiful north, to Devon's old stomping grounds of Nkhata Bay, and beyond.

looking south at the past four hours of hiking...

to arrival at the lovely Zulunkhuni River Lodge in Ruarwe. Check this out. Seriously.

 It was fun to see Devon in this space. For the mere year he lived in Nkhata Bay, he seemed to have befriended the entire town. Most of you will understand. We had been there only fifteen minutes before someone recognized his silhouette, and cries of a David-sounding 'Devon!' echoed down the dark street near our dinner locale. I wish I was better with names, but I lost track of how many people he introduced me to. Necessitating a return trip, for sure.




His previous position working in water development with the regional district took him all over the north, by foot, bus, and motorcycle. One of these spots was Ruarwe, a remote town where our friend Rosa runs an incredible charity (Phunzira), and the home of the Zulunkhuni River Lodge. A pretty epic spot in it's own right.

Azungus! Always worth a good laugh. 

Accessible only by boat or on foot from the nearest 'town', Ruarwe can certainly be called isolated. Rosa is developing an education and health centre with sustainable energies and all sorts of other sides (permaculture, gardens, composting, HIV/AIDS education, etc. etc.), all through donation and excellent volunteerism. If you ever wanted to volunteer in Africa... This would be a good choice. She definitely makes every penny count.



Side tangent of sorts: Our journey also allowed us to push the limits of local the local kids' fascination with mzungus. The chats of 'A-zun-gu! A-zun-gu!' tend to increase in rate and volume as a tattered group of hikers enters a small village. Literally dozens of children sometimes run towards you, some looking for a high five, others waving sticks. I think they're friendly gestures....just kidding.

loving the photo finish

However, their courage can quickly turn to absolute terror if one of these oh-so-strange beasts turns the tables to play their own game...

and...Devon on the loose.

Hilarity ensues. Mostly, the chase turns into fits of giggles, and outright laughter by the adults looking on. There's usually a couple of kids, though, that must think 'alright, this is it. I'm done for', judging by the abject terror on their wee faces. Ooops. The others, often come back for more, taunting their predators to do it again. 'A-zun-gu!'

I'd be scared too. 

To be fair, this can happen just about anywhere. My recent favorite was at the local food market in Salima, where just last week we stopped in at lunch for some rice and beans. Upon leaving, we came upon a small kid standing by his mother's stall, who was probably about a year and a half. He stopped in his tracks, raised his hands beside his face, and just stared at us as his face took on more and more of a 'oh shit' look. Hands continuing to rise... expression looking ever more fearful....the poor guy was frozen in the spot as we crouched down to say Hi, greeting him in Chichewa, and reaching out to bridge the gap.... But no. Nothing was going to convince him that these two mzungus would do anything but eat him. Finally his mother, who had been giggling in the background and encouraging us to make friends with him, had to pick him up for a cuddle. And he still was not convinced.

we haven't seen Tiffany since this photo was taken. 

But usually we're all smiles.







And that's all for now, folks***. We're back at it in the office and awaiting our fresh arrival, Katrina, on tomorrow's flight. More to come...

*Note: Please don't let this turn you off visiting. We will cherish your every moment with us, and relive it thrice over. 

**Ours, but not Devon's. He's been lucky enough to host both his wonderful parents and friend Andrew on separate occasions last year. 

***We know you're shy, and that commenting on blogs can be nerdy. But please get over yourselves, and let us know how you are. This two way street is heavily biased in favour of those with fast and readily available internet...

So I found out that the title of our blog is a reference to a Robert A. Heinlein book, Stranger in a Strange Land, which I have not yet read. The premise seems interesting and one I might take the time to look into if I can find a copy of the book. Books are not so hard to find in Malawi but any specific title is substantially more elusive. Amazon will deliver on this side of the planet but the freight costs more than the material in question and I've gone through two of those fancy but apparently delicate e-reader thingies. Do they make an Otterbox for that? No seriously, appropriate technology in my world means something that can function in adverse environs.

Anyway, 

The story told by Heilein is a science fiction piece in which the protagonist (born and raised on Mars with powers of telepathy, a disregard for clothing, and deep respect for water) travels to earth to be mildly mishandled by meddlers before finding some lovely woman to show him around and unravel the world of human schizophrenia to his innocent mind. I can only surmise from the title that what he finds on earth is a place where he should seemingly fit but does not. 

I can see why Charlotte chose the reference. In many ways living and working in Malawi is like travelling to a home you should know but for some reason you find unfamiliar. It's puzzling. As you dig down into the human layers of Malawi, you find there are stark contrasts and at the same time deep similarities in the day to day acts of living. In my perhaps naive opinion, I feel people the world over generally want to be happy (some seem to assumed that the only way to be happy is to satisfyingly smack someone else on the head but that's simply a skewed world view, that may have been rewarded by some small advantage gained from the smacking). The pervasive values here are either shared or at least recognizable, but the methods are awkward to our/my Canadian cosmology and even the basics seem to come with a twist. 

You'll find people are friendly and warm but you stick out in a crowd. People notice your strange habits, dress, style of speech, and of course the pinkish hue of your sunburnt face. In Malawi it's not seen as rude to stare. In fact a gaping mouth head turn as you walk past someone in the market is more than a daily occurrence. It's a strange and seemingly confrontational moment to us personal space defensive 'others', but a quick smile or a "Wawa!" snaps the blank stare into an ear-splitting grin; especially if you've employed the latter vernacular greeting. Most of the time they are laughing at you but it's more fun if you're laughing too...

An academic teaching out of Columbia University, Edward Said, wrote a book in which he tackles a concept of Orientalism. It seems his thesis cuts both ways and applies in principle to more than just Asia. His discussion confronts our ideas of the East. The ‘orient’ as defined by outsiders influences their policies and politics towards it but it does little in closing the distance between the outsider subject and the orient being oriented. In our case I guess it is Westernalism meets the Heart of Darkness... 

I'm poking fun actually. I get quite ruffled by the rampant assumptions about the dangers of Africa. Life is quite willing to smack you on the head at any moment regardless of what continent you're one, how good your health might seem or how safe a car you drive. Malawi in particular is full of lots of lovely people who have just as much respect for living in a peaceful society as your average west coaster.

One's own cultural norms, no matter how philosophically prepared or meditated upon still define the world for our interpreting eyes and the folks you meet in the market are equally rooted in their own every day. We're all standing around having a little judging party. The slippery fish in your oh so certain grasp is that each definition landed is at best a half truth and quite often a red herring. For those of you who missed critical thinking and logic 101, a red herring is an argument of distraction. I've lost count how often I've missed the point.   

Even after two years in Malawi (a bit of a shock to see that statement in writing) I'm still learning the ropes. My language skills are terrible. I'm hoping Charlotte's arrival will prove to be a motivator for regular study. Many of those false assumptions come from clumsy translations. Although with her around the likelihood for distraction is high... 

She's still full of that west coast zeal for the outdoors and she gets squirmy if we're not out adventuring. It is lovely to have someone around who understands a drive for the wilds, weird projects and whisky, but it's interesting to see the frustrations with a different pace of life, a lack of connectivity (no internet and bad phone lines) in someone who is just arriving at Malawi's sometime sparse table. I’m reminded of how accustomed I’ve become to the slow service, lack of menu items or groceries, and the general day to day drudgeries which so frustrate Charlotte. She also reminds me that these things don’t always have to be so. Fresh bread is easy to bake at home, and setting higher standards is more a matter of consistency than force.

In more domestic news we’ve been setting up home and giving charlotte some riding lessons. These went really well until she dropped the bike on her toe after parking the bike in a ditch. Thankfully no major harms were suffered by Charlotte and I was able to true up the front fork in a few minutes. The neighbourhood kids thought it was hilarious.

All in all it’s lovely to have someone to laugh with (and at) in while I’m here.

We also bought some kitesurfing gear. So there should be some commentary on the beatings we’ll be suffering at whims of the wind gods.

To be continued...

Millions of fishes, fishes for....free?

It's an old story, one we're familiar with - that it's not merely lack of resources, but a problem of distribution, that separates the poor from the wealthy. Despite being one of the poorest countries in the world in terms of GDP (not the best metric of wealth), Malawi seems to have an abundance of food production, yet much of that goes to waste due to a lack of feasible processing techniques and market saturation. It's a gap that the folks at Malawi Mangoes recognized several years ago and are striving to fill (~80% of Malawi's mangoes go to waste every year)....but that is fodder for another post.

With a largely rural based populace (~85%), Malawi depends heavily on agriculture; indeed, most everyone is involved in food production to some degree, whether on more typical farm-shaped plots, by growing cabbages by the riverside in downtown Lilongwe, or through harvesting native fruits and vegetation growing wild across the countryside. Mostly, this production is strictly hand to mouth, although in recent years thanks to a fertilizer program and numerous small holder farm support schemes the country has apparently (depends on the crop and year) become a net exporter of food to nearby Zambia, Tanzania, etc. The sustainability of these initiatives varies wildly.

But on to fish. There's a lot of fish in the sea - but here we're dealing with the 7th largest freshwater lake in the world, and Africa's 3rd largest. Lake Malawi (or Lake Nyassa, which as a side tangent just means Lake Lake, as Nyassa is said to merely mean 'lake' in the tribal language of the era of the early Brits who inquired as to it's name), along with the smaller lakes in the south provide an important source of protein for millions of Malawians. Largely artisanal fishing results in a lot of processing problems, and difficulty in quantifying production and potential management needs...

To get a bit less academic. Essentially there's a gap between the fish harvested and the fish that either make it to market or the dinner plate - over 30% of harvested fish, on average, tend to be wasted before they find a home. For an over exploited resource, and one that is undervalued in the marketplace, this is a bit of a problem. I spent a day last week down in Zomba (~ 4 hours south of Lilongwe) meeting with a collaborative group working on adding value to Malawi's artisanal fishing sector, mostly through improved processing  (drying, smoking, packaging) so that the fishes can reach a market before spoilage. This work is being done in conjunction with local women's groups, mostly, and seems to be having some success. Encouraging, to say the least, and interesting in terms of a model for other resources as well.

However, other challenges for this small country include the big one - Climate Change. Yup, it's happening here too, and with noticeable effects already. Regional arid periods are increasing in duration, and some small fish producing lakes are already drying up at higher rates and more frequently than in the past as the rains decrease. Repercussions for both fisheries and agriculture, as both rely on the abundant availability of water...

But when we asked the local villagers last week what they would do this year, as the lake we were visiting, Lake Chilwe, is predicted to dry up completely by the end of this year's dry season, they said they just hope this won't happen. Hmm. So there's reason to hope, both directly and indirectly, for sustainable development and for global ecosystem change, but that's likely not enough. What will fill the gaps? Aquaculture? Perhaps...The more I research small scale pond aquaculture, it seems this may be part of the future solution for folk such as these.

Enough of this side tangent. More importantly - What have we been up to?

glory days climbing in Dedza

I'm kidding. Kind of. It's not overly exciting - Working, mostly. As funny as this may sound, I'm recently been hired as Devon's assistant (short term for the month of August only) to fill in the gaps in the irrigation division of Malawi Mangoes. Administration and research, for the most part - and I get to spend some of my time looking into small scale aquaculture to be integrated into their smallholder agriculture/irrigation scheme (isn't he a nice boss?). It's interesting stuff, and it's a good opportunity to get my feet wet (literally and figuratively - the farm can be a messy place) in the business side of life here, and an excuse for us to spend time together in a different sphere.

working life. 

err...I meant this one. Sorry. Bananas, in full force at the farm.

Else, we've been planning trips and making plans for both here and at home. I'm so excited to say that we already have not one, but TWO amazing people coming to visit us. Dear Tiffany is coming for two weeks of hilarity and life planning (we've been trying to figure it out for more than six years now. we'll get there one day) at the end of the month, and Katrina is following in September for three weeks of travelling and climbing adventures. Seriously, how did we get so lucky?!

I trust you can come up with your own favorite crack joke.

On the home front, we seem to have paid the karma gods well in recent history, as we've managed to stumble upon a waterfront cottage to rent for two months while we figure out a more long term solution for time spent in more rural Salima, where the Malawi Mangoes farm is located, and proximity to the lakeshore, where I'm more likely to be in the long term if I find fisheries endeavours.

A room with a view

The head of irrigation himself, pondering life at our lakeshore cottage

So somehow two wayward and somewhat broke souls ended up a city house and a lakefront cottage, all for about half of what I used to pay in Van for one room in my (albiet lovely) house. Life's not bad...

And as a sign off - We've made plans to get home for a month over Christmas, so for the snow sport oriented out there, we're expecting glorious ski trip plans and evenings spent sipping whisky in cozy mountain huts. Hint hint...

For the rest of you, sorry, we'll be otherwise preoccupied.

Just kidding. We promise to spend some time in town as well. At least a day or two.

So for now...

Tionana*!


*see you later!

In the beginning...

Well, here it is, as promised. Welcome to one aspect of our attempt at staying in touch, whilst living almost exactly on the other side of the world from most of you lovely folk.


What will we share in this medium? Obviously, we'll provide scintillating and highly intelligent insight on life in southeastern Africa...well, I hope at least that we don't fall too far on the side of indulging our narcissism and wax on at length about our personal lives in this tropical paradise known as Malawi. 

I jest. We'll likely try to do a bit of both, and manage to fit in something of interest to a few of you. With the shared voice of both an old hand at the expat aid worker life here (yeah, I mean Devon), and myself, fresh off the boat. You can imagine him shaking his head in bemusement at all of my posts.

First things first. Since I arrived in Lilongwe (the capital, Devon's home of the past 10 months or so, and our current location of the moment) on Thursday, we've mostly been focussed on settling into our new humble abode. His previous house (a 5 bedroom rancher with the same number of roommates) was a tad too large for our needs, so we've shacked up in a much smaller version, a 'guesthouse' adjacent to the larger house of a local Malawian family. The downsides (less privacy, smaller yard, less access to gardening space) seem at first glance to be well offset by the benefits (very cheap rent, lots of security thanks to the staff and family on the premises pretty constantly, and a really quiet location on the outskirts of town). It's cute. And our inherited dog (puppy? age unknown) Rusty is pretty happy there, too. Or maybe it's just the upscale scraps we've been feeding him of late. I'm rather doting. It's a bit silly.

The house scene here is not that dissimilar to that in Canada, except that no one requires central heating, and most houses outside of the downtown core are one level. Oh, and most houses in the city have large brick walls surrounding the property, creating 'compounds' with a serious metal gate and a watchman who opens said gate. The ubiquitous red earth tracks in everywhere, giving the whitewash a certain...glow? Hmm.

As well, settling in to a new house in Malawi is just like doing so in Vancouver. Except...different. First off, while most everything is still definitely made in China, there is no central hub (ie. Ikea) in which to source the majority of one's household junk. More importantly, there is also no Craigslist, and a limited consignment market. This means we've driven all over town to various shops, throughout the Old Town (the more typical busy, polluted, intense core you might expect in a developing country, complete with noisy markets and a cacophony of shouts and car horns) and the more modern 'City Centre', the centre of all things political and business related, such as various embassies, shipping companies, and nearby rather big box-esque dry goods stores. So we've now somehow spent a fair amount of kwacha (the currency; and yes, not everything is cheap in Africa) on little things - I'm not really sure what but they must have been essential. Well, at least we have wine glasses (see subsequent visiting hint).

We did manage to fit some fun in all this domesticity, thankfully. A bonus to living on the outskirts of town is our proximity to a running route heading out into the hills beyond Lilongwe; I took Rusty out over the weekend, and I'm not sure who was more confused - the village children, seeing this blonde mzungu (running! in shorts!), or the dog, on a leash for the first time. It doesn't help that Malawians as a rule tend to be quite scared of dogs, so the combination draws some very strange looks. Or in the case of small children, it seems to send them running, either in pursuit or retreat, depending on the mood.

We also spent a few hours exploring south of town to do a bit of bouldering - Devon's been checking out the climbing options around town for awhile now, and the small town of Dedza near the Mozambique border seems to be the best option. While the options at the moment are mostly on the small side, there seems to be some bigger stuff in the distance - definitely fodder for future weekend missions.

Malawi Mangoes' farm. In this case, growing bananas.

So for now, I'm tying up loose ends with UBC and Devon's hard at work managing the irrigation division (and anything else he can get his hands on) of Malawi Mangoes Ltd. And of course we're both scheming future trip ideas fairly constantly. I'll take this opportunity to remind all of you reading this that, obviously, we would be thrilled for visitors to this far and distant land. The opportunity for nearby African Adventures is fairly unlimited (just ask for our extensive mental list), and if our schedules lack flexibility then we at least know how to put on a few good meals.

Cheers, all! Send us notes, and we'll work on updating this a bit regularly.