snow, sun, and a proposal

A post, for post-Cape Town.

We made it home, and it was good. Four weeks spent frolicking in the mountains and rainy streets of Van was just what our sun-soaked brains needed. Oh, to be cold! The luxury of a down duvet in the winter. And, the luxury of time away to contemplate life, to take a step back from the day to day and consider the next steps. To consider the lives we have lived versus the path we are currently wandering, and those we might trespass to in the future.

Community, conversation, and some mountain shaped trips. 'Twas all good.

our home in the mountains for a few days in early January.

and....we got engaged! Our Malawian colleagues will be delighted to know we are no longer living in sin. Or, at least we're a step further away. I hear that at this stage we're expected to plan a wedding. Since I've never been one to imagine my Perfect Wedding (let alone a dress), we're in discussion mode. All we know thus far is that it will be outdoors. That's a start, right?

As we prepare to sign on for a lifetime of matrimonial bliss. Devon's beard is getting gray just thinking about it. 

We're incredibly thankful to all the folk who made time for us in their busy lives to spend some quality time together. Trying to pack a life into four weeks is quite the challenge, but we felt really lucky to have seen so many people that are important to us, and especially to have enjoyed several occasions where many of them got together in the same space. So, so appreciated. 

the view into my wee hometown

Sam, Devon & I, loving the up tracks. Jenn at the camera.

So for now, we're back in the southern hemisphere, and will be for a few months yet. There's work to be done (more on this later), a house to pack up, a puppy to find a home for, parents to entertain (mine, on a visit in the spring!), and the whole of Africa to explore.

Or at least some of it.

Til next time,

C & D.

ummm...You actually get to live here?

A lot can happen in six weeks.

A lot of flights. A lot of excellent (and cheap!) wine in South Africa. A lot of skiing. A lot of catching up with good friends, old and new, and with our (amazing!) families. A lot of cooking all the things available in food-oriented Vancouver. Did I mention the skiing?

thought provoking snow decisions

I'll rewind a bit. On our way home we blew all our British Airways points to get a good set of flights and a layover in Cape Town, a place we'd both always wanted to go. And it was, as expected, incredible (an early warning - this post seems rather on the sappy side. Life is good. I'm sorry).

We embarked on our first Couch Surfing experience (as surfers - we've both hosted before, separately in Vancouver and together in Malawi). Doug, thank you - you really made our stay. Our house is yours, anytime, wherever it may be.

Cape Town is really a most amazing place. The sheer spectacular beauty rivals Vancouver, and dare I say, may surpass it. It's like Vancouver on Viagra - that much more intense. The Southern Ocean crashes straight into the peaks of the Cape, with winds to match. The climbing looks incredible. The diving is (although bloody cold). The continual sweep of cloud over Table Mountain lends a certain ominous air to the scene.

Devon, Allison, and the tablecloth

Coming fresh from Malawi (and a brief stop in Joburg), we were also easily amazed and overwhelmed by the abundance of good food and wine. I've never been so aghast in an only half-decent grocery store before. There were two cheese sections! We continued a made-in-Malawi friendship by meeting up with our dear friend Allison, who had made it to SA a few weeks before us. She knew just what it was like. But that didn't stop her making fun of us as we proceeded to scarf the first croissant in the store and ask for another. The check out lady was less amused.

We managed to pack a lot into a long weekend. While I didn't quite make it through either dive due to my freezing cold extremities, we got out on a boat for a day and did two dives, one wreck and one in a seal colony. So. Cool. We literally danced with hundreds (thousands?) of seals in only about 15 feet of water and kelp forest. One of many moments that I have wished for an underwater camera.

so many layers of neoprene.

Hiking Table Mountain, visiting vineyards, and driving the coastal road to Hermanus topped off our blur of a trip before we caught a flight to London. I'd heard horror stories of being robbed while hiking, but this seemed beyond the realm of possibility as we joined the throngs of folk scrambling up the rather Grouse Grind-esque trail to the top. Not a bad morning workout.

at the top of Table Mtn. 

Yeah....we'll be back.

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.