Travel Update #5: Lusaka, Zambia to Zanzibar, Tanzania

When I wrote my last travel update, I was in the midst of spending a few days in the unspectacular city of Lusaka, Zambia. It's a fairly large city, and I was able to accomplish some errands (like blog posting) while there. It's a city that reminded me more of South Africa than anywhere else I've encountered on my travels--like a South African outpost in the bush. With its Ster Kinekor theatres, its Game store, its Shoprite and Spar supermarkets, its Pep stores, it was all very South African and a bit surreal.

While in Lusaka, I ran into Brian again. This would be a common thing--I spent time with Brian in Lusaka, and again in Livingstone, and most recently we ran into each other here on Zanzibar.

On Monday night, 3 December, Erica arrived in Lusaka; the next morning we were off for Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. We took a bus from Lusaka to Livingstone, Zambia; a minibus from Livingstone to the border; then we walked across the Victoria Falls Bridge to Zimbabwe. I'd read so much about Zimbabwe this past year, the horror stories, the second-hand (and first-hand accounts) I'd heard from people, that stepping onto Zimbabwean soil made me a bit apprehensive.

The apprehension soon vanished, though. When we exited the Zimbabwean border post (where a very friendly immigration officer speedily processed visas for us), the cloudy day turned into a torrential downpour. We had planned on walking the 2km into Victoria Falls town, but the rain changed our plans; we quickly hopped into a private taxi, which promptly broke down in the rain. The driver spent the next 20 minutes working tirelessly, getting himself soaked from head to toe, to get the car working, and got us to our destination, dry.

During the three days I spent in Zimbabwe, I saw determined human beings faced with terrible circumstances. With such terrible inflation (the current unofficial exchange rate, at least when I was there, was US $1 to Z$ 1,600,000), people are doing all they can to survive. Shops are either empty of goods or stocked with certain products to give a deceptive appearance. In a large supermarket in Victoria Falls Town, entire shelves were taken up by mayonnaise or soya mince, only one row deep on the shelf. The illusion of plenty.

Zimbabweans are extremely resolute and hard-working; it is easy to see the effects of poverty and economic collapse everywhere, but their responses to it are surprising. I had expected to be surrounded by pitiful beggars; instead, everyone was trying to sell me something or offer a service. They didn't even need money, necessarily---an old tee-shirt for trading, or an old pair of trousers, or a used pair of shoes---anything that they could trade. I saw young men offering intricate carvings and asking for only a simple tee-shirt in exchange. People volunteered to carry your bags, to arrange tours for you---anything for a little bit of American money or some sort of good that could be bartered. Zimbabwean money is basically useless, and a sort of barter system has taken root. Everyone wanted to exchange something for something else. Only the very elderly or the disabled begged for money or goods. I cannot overstate how impressed I was with Zimbabwean peoples' resoluteness, their determination, their willingness to work, their friendliness, and so on. I wish I could have bought stacks of local carvings or crafts, and help them out, but I had no space in my bag for anything and had to refuse. There was really nothing that I could do.

The main reason I was in Zimbabwe was not to view the effects of economic collapse, it was to view the magnificent Victoria Falls, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, and the largest waterfalls in the world. They put Niagara Falls to shame. Walking around Victoria Falls Park in Zimbabwe, on a cloudy, rainy day, the sheer beauty and scope of the falls was apparent.

Tom, one of my good friends and a fellow South Africa RPCV, had flown to Victoria Falls to join me for a portion of my travels. Erica and I met him one evening, and we went out to dinner at a large, touristy restaurant called The Boma. It was a tacky place, trying to sell the "traditional African experience" with tribal dancing, interactive drumming, and other African stereotypes. The pampered tourists loved it. Erica, Tom, and myself went for the food, however, and were not disappointed. The Boma is an oddity in Zimbabwe---a place where the meat is plentiful and varied (we ate crocodile, ostrich, buffalo, eland, kudu, and impala, along with beef and chicken), and the food is abundant. I wondered what the ordinary Zimbabweans fruitlessly trying to sell their Nyaminyami pendants on the side of the road in town would have thought of The Boma. They probably would have been as surprised as anyone to see The Boma's depiction of "traditional life."

Eric, another of my PC-SA friends, arrived in Victoria Falls soon afterwards; he and Tom explored Victoria Falls while Erica and I crossed back over the bridge and back into Zambia. We spent the next few nights in Livingstone, Zambia, randomly running into two other South Africa RPCVs, Adam and Andrea. Livingstone, only a few kilometers away from Zimbabwe, has an entirely different vibe. While Victoria Falls Town was designed for tourists, and seems desolate without them, Livingstone is an actual African town, chaotic and bustling.

From the Zambian side, we visited the falls again (known in Zambia as Mosi oa-Tunya, "the smoke that thunders"). One one adrenaline-filled day, we went white-water rafting on the Zambezi, the biggest, most dangerous commerically raftable river in the world. Of the 23 rapids we plowed through that day in our 6-person raft, 4 were Class-5 Rapids (the most dangerous), and many more were Class-4. It was my first time rafting, but it was an adventure. In a similar vein to my bungee jump off of the Bloukrans bridge one year earlier, I started with the best. The world's highest bungee for my first jump; the world's biggest white-water rafting on my first trip in a raft.

The entire day was intense, from the walk down the slippery gorge, to the first rapids, and then to the more intense ones later. Knowing that people often die on these rapids (someone had drowned only a few weeks or months earlier) only made the experience that much more intense. Our raft did flip, on the craziest rapid of the day, rapid #8 ("The Muncher"). As I was tossed underwater, I quickly grabbed the rope that rings around the raft, and was able to hold on as we went hurtling downriver, still in the middle of the rapids. I came up for air under the raft, but was soon able to get out and was helped up onto the overturned raft, which we rode for the rest of that rapid. When the waters were calm again, we flipped the raft right-side-up, and paddled on to the next rapid. All in all, white-water rafting on the Zambezi was an exhilarating experience.

On another day, we took a trip out to Livingstone Island, an island in the middle of the Zambezi directly above the falls. To do this, we had to arrange a guide; he took Erica and I out along slippery rocks, wading through ankle-deep water, across the Zambezi, a few meters away from where the water we were in went plummeting down the falls. Eventually we reached the island; from there, we were able to jump into the river and swim to a spot just at the top of the falls. At this point, some rocks were protecting us from falling over; the guide held me by the ankles as I stretched out over the side, looking at the water rushing off of me and falling down the falls. One slip from the guide, and I would have fallen down the falls and died. Again, more adrenaline--it was quite the experience!

Soon enough it was time to leave Livingstone; after a night in Lusaka, Erica flew back to Jo'burg and Eric, Tom and I took a bus from Lusaka to the small Zambian town of Kapiri Mposhi. At Kapiri, we boarded the cross-border Tazara train, which would take us all the way to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. The trip was supposed to take 40 hours, but ended up taking over 46. Thankfully there were only four of us in our 2nd class sleeper compartment (as opposed to the 6 supposed to fit in each 2nd class compartment) --- the three of us, and a friendly Ugandan named Livingstone.

The train ride was long, and at some point during the trip all 3 of us became ill, but it was a fairly comfortable ride, and was far more comfortable than any of our other options. And on our last day on the train, a few hours before we arrived in Dar, we went through the Selous Nature Reserve, and were able to see elephants, wildebeest, buffalo, giraffes, and large numbers of impala from our seats on the train.

Once the train came to a final stop in Dar, we were able to disembark and make our way through crowds of people and touts towards a taxi driver who took us to our guesthouse. We weren't in Dar for long, though--we left the next morning on the ferry to Zanzibar--but in that limited time, I could see that Dar is a large, vibrant city (bigger than any other city I've been to during these travels), and I'm looking forward to spending a few days there when I leave Zanzibar on January 1.

Zanzibar....the name itself just brings all sorts of thoughts to mind. The Afro-Arab island paradise in the Indian Ocean. It's a wonderful place, and though it falls a bit short of being "paradise" it is still a wonderful place to spend some time. Eric, Tom, and I spent our first few days and nights wandering the labyrinthine streets and back-alleys of Stone Town, getting lost and then finding our way again. Everywhere I looked, I would find a curio shop, or a Mosque, or a beautiful building with an intricately carved door.

After spending time in Stone Town, we journed North to Kendwa Beach, a pure, pristine beach with soft white sand and turquoise water. I've never seen water anywhere the color of the water I've seen in Zanzibar. Kendwa Beach is the most beautiful beach I've seen on this trip, and possibly the most beautiful I've ever seen. By chance, we also happened to run into some more SA RPCVs on Kendwa--very random.

While we were in Kendwa, I celebrated the Muslim holiday of Eid-ul-Adha (or, as it's known here, Eid-ul-Hajj). I walked from Kendwa up to the tarred road, then took a daladala (shared transport) to Nungwi village, where I did my Eid prayer with the locals. Then I went back to Kendwa, where the receptionist wished me an Eid Mubarak and gave me a delicious plate of homemade Zanzibari biryani.

On Friday, we left Kendwa and returned to Stone Town; on Saturday, Eric and Tom left on the ferry to return to South Africa and England, respectively. I've spent the past two days wandering the streets of Stone Town by myself, getting lost physically and mentally, and then finding my way again. I've been dealing with a personal issue, and walking through these streets has helped me to be alone with my thoughts and to deal with them. Tomorrow I head back up to Kendwa....back to that perfect white sand.

(On a related note, my camera has recently malfunctioned. I'm only able to post pictures that I was able to extract from before it stopped working....perhaps I will be able to post my Zanzibar pictures in the future)

One section of Victoria Falls, as seen from Zimbabwe

This is the amount of water rushing through the falls in LOW season.

Me at the Zimbabwean side of the falls

The view from Livingstone Island, Zambia

Erica and I on Livingstone Island

Rafting the Zambezi

Raft-flipping on the Zambezi

Pictures: Entries 2 - 4

Praia Do Tofo (Tofo Beach)

Tofo

Bamboozi Backpackers, Tofo

Beach party, Vilankulos

Brian taking a picture on the sand dune, Bazaruto Island

On the sand dune

Still on the sand dune

Blantyre, Malawi

Cape Maclear, Malawi

The view of Cape Maclear from the top of the mountain

On the MV Ilala--the Malawian flag fluttering in the breeze

The dinky little wooden motorboats we used to get on and off of the Ilala

Pre-wedding party, Likoma Island

Cathedral, Likoma Island

Local kids in front of Mango Drift Backpackers Lodge, Likoma Island

The view of the Mozambican coast from Likoma


The sun deck at Wakwenda Retreat, Chizumulu Island

Chizumulu Island

Mayoka Village Backpackers Lodge, Nkhata Bay

Cliff jumping, Nkhata Bay

The Wazungu!!!
In Nkhata Bay, top row: Anthony, Andy, Danny, me, Beej, Dave, James.
Bottom row: Andrew, Darryl, Tim.

World AIDS Day March in Lusaka, Zambia

Two Updates

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to post my 3rd travel update when I had planned on it (it had already been written but I'd underestimated the lack of internet access in Malawi); so here are Travel Updates 3 and 4.

Travel Update #3:
Vilankulos, Mozambique to Cape Maclear, Malawi November 16, 2007

Due to slow and sporadic internet access, my posting has been extremely lacking recently. Let me pick up where I last left off:

Vilankulos was pretty, but on the whole, I was unimpressed. I did manage to see a Mozambican beach party near the backpackers lodge I was staying at, complete with loud music, vendors selling fried dough, and beach-soccer, but that was one of Vilankulos's few charms. (I was also chased by a pack of at least 20 vicious, snarling dogs while out for a morning run, cementing my less-than-enthusiasm for the place)

The offshore islands of the Bazaruto Archipelago, however, are a different story--breathtaking in their beauty. The water around the islands is very shallow, crystal-clear, and turquoise-colored. On the main island, Bazaruto, there is a massive sand dune (not massive by Namibian standards, I'm sure, but still massive), and the view from the top was enough to rival anything I'd seen before. I also went snorkeling and diving at the famous Two Mile Reef, just next to the island.

In Tofo, I had met a 32-year-old Californian named Brian who had similar travel plans as myself (for November, at least), and so we have been traveling together since then. Getting from Vilankulos to points north in the trip presented Brian and I with early mornings and long, arduous rides on buses and minibuses--not an appealing thought. For the first stage of our journey, Brian and I were able to get a lift from Vilankulos to Inchope with a serene, zen-like Frenchman. During that trip, over deeply potholed roads, I saw something very interesting: children would line the sides of the roads, filling the potholes with sand to make the ride easier for passing cars; in return, bus and chapa drivers (and Patrice, our Gandhi-like traveling companion) would drop some coins out of their windows as a small payment. It showed ingenuity on the part of these children, who saw a need and solved it--where the government would not fix the road, the children stepped in to provide their services, and noteworthy example of the principle of supply and demand in action, and an interesting sight for someone interested in development economics.

After our lift to Inchope, Brian and I took a very crowded chapa from Inchope to Chimoio. I was seated next to a very friendly Zimbabwean woman on her way home to Harare--she would not stop telling me about how "amazing" Zimbabwe is--constantly comparing Zimbabwe to Mozambique and saying how much better Zimbabwe is. When I disagreed and brought up the current economic and political situation, she quickly replied with a predictable pre-programmed answer. She blamed the businesses and local shops for the lack of necesities--perhaps she expects them to sell goods at a loss? She pointed to her own hefty stature as proof that the people of Zimbabwean are not starving ("Am I the skinniest person on this chapa? No!")

Eventually we arrived in Chimoio, a run-down little Mozambican town, devoid of any charm, and near the Zimbabwean border. As is always the case in Mozambique, we had to wake up extremely early for the pre-dawn transport the next morning; by 3:30 we had left the backpackers lodge and by 4am, in the dark, our bus was on the road, heading for the hot, dusty town of Tete. That 6-hour busride was amusing, crowded with Mozambicans, some of whom had been up all night drinking and were acting belligerent. At one point, a fight almost broke out between two guys on the bus; they were yelling at each other in Portugese, each rolling up his shirt-sleeves and flexing his biceps, like some perverse kind of manliness contest in lieu of a physical altercation.

From Tete, our next destination was Zobue, the Malawian border on the way to Blantyre. For this we squeezed into a chapa and, soon after leaving, crossed the Zambezi River. It had been a lovely day, but we arrived at Zobue in the midst of a torrential downpour. After passing through the Mozambican border post and receiving our exit stamps, we expected to have to walk a few hundred feet to the Malawian border post, but were dismayed to find that the post was at least 5km away--walking that distance in the pouring rain, with our heavy packs, did not seem like a good prospect. Thankfully, we were able to get a lift to the border after having walked a few hundred meters and getting soaked.

Wet and soggy, we entered Malawi, the "warm heart of Africa." Malawi is a place of ridiculously slow transport, and it was evening by the time we reached Blantyre, our destination. Blantyre is a lovely little city, set in a valley surrounded by beautiful hills. It's also a city filled with internet cafes--even though the internet there is much too slow to do much more than basic email. That first night in Blantyre, an earthquake struck at around 2am. It was such a small earthquake, however, that I slept through it and only found out about it the next morning when Brian mentioned it.

After 3 nights in Blantyre, we were off for Lake Malawi. As usual, transport was slow and crowded--our 224-kilometer trip from Blantyre to Monkey Bay ended up taking us about 9 hours. We had hoped to get to Cape Maclear that afternoon, but it was getting late when we reached Monkey Bay, and we would have arrived in Cape Maclear after dark. We decided to stay in Monkey Bay, and 3 seemingly-helpful young men offered to direct us to the backpackers lodge there. And so we walked with them, as it neared dusk. They took us on a dirt road out of town, and soon enough, we were in the middle of the bus, with nobody else around. At this point, with the sun about to set and me having no idea where I was, my South African-instilled paranoia kicked in--it would be really easy for these guys to just rob us right here, I thought. This being Malawi, and not South Africa, we did reach our destination soon enough--the 3 guys really were just honest and helpful locals who weren't out to rob naive travelers.

The next morning, Brian and I arrived in Cape Maclear, a beautiful little spot on Lake Malawi. I had expected a tourist trap and was happy to find that Cape Maclear is much more relaxed than I'd expected. We stayed at a place called Gaia House--a lovely, very chill, little backpackers lodge with thatch-roof lapas and hammocks, shaded by large eucalyptus trees, right on the water. I set up my tent on the beach, only a few feet from the water. With my tent opening facing the water, I could easily wake up, unzip my tent, and literally roll out of bed into the lake if I wanted to.

What is known as "Cape Maclear" is actually a quaint Malawian fishing village named Chembe, where women wash dishes and clothes in the lake and children play and swim in the water. During the 1990s, Chembe was THE spot for backpackers on Lake Malawi, and that influx has led to a sad dependency within the village. You can't walk 5 minutes on the beach without local guys offering boat trips, necklaces, carvings, meals, or other services. With relatively few "tourists" visiting Chembe these days, the groups of "beach boys" are desperate for money.

Walking along the beach, among the local women washing clothes, Brian and I met a local high-school boy named Geoph. After walking and talking with us for a while, he invited us to his home for lunch the following day. We accepted, and the next day we went to Geoph's house. The experience was very similar to many experiences I had in South Africa, but I'm sure it was a new thing for Brian. We sat on the stoop in the shade, as curious little children crowded around us, chickens ran around in the yard, and the women and girls cooked or cleaned. We were served nsima (the Malawian word for pap). Geoph also taught me a little Chichewa, the predominant language spoken in Malawi. Being a Bantu language, I was able to see its similarities with Shangaan, SePedi, and other Bantu languages and to pick up on some Chichewa grammar immediately.

My time in Chembe has been great and relaxing; swimming in the clear blue waters of Lake Malawi, lounging in the hammock reading, running in the early morning. I dived at the aptly-named "Aquarium" and climbed the local mountain. While running one morning, I had a small scare when two baboons suddenly appeared on the path only a few meters in front of me. I slowed down, the baboons moved on, and soon enough I was able to continue on my way. And that's the way it goes; even the most mundane experiences, like a minibus ride or a morning run can lead to new adventures. I'm happy that I have chosen to explore the countries of Southern Africa and have these adventures.



Travel Update #4: Cape Maclear, Malawi to Lusaka, Zambia December 1, 2007

Perhaps I was too used to South Africa, or perhaps I had just forgotten, but the sheer remoteness of many of Malawi's destinations caught me by surprise. Without any internet access, without any access to banks or ATMs (or extra money), and sometimes without cellphone reception, I had to stop myself for wishing for "creature comforts"--I didn't come on this journey so that I could have easy internet access.

On Friday, 17 November, Brian and I left Cape Maclear to continue our journey on Lake Malawi. We were up before dawn, packing up our tents, and were in the back of a matola (flatbed truck) by 5:10am--but, being Malawi, we didn't make it the 22km from Chembe to Monkey Bay until nearly 8am (almost 3 hours later). After changing some US dollars for Malawian kwacha on the black-market, we got on the Ilala Ferry at Monkey Bay.

The MV Ilala is a staple on Lake Malawi--it's been running up and down Lake Malawi every week for over 50 years. To get to some of the destinations we were heading to--namely, Likoma and Chizumulu Islands--it is the only option, aside from chartering a speedboat or a plane. The ferry's First-Class Deck, which most backpackers and other travelers use, is a comfortable wooden deck with a pleasant breeze, chairs, and ample space to lie down and sleep under the stars. Our trip from Monkey Bay to Likoma Island, in the middle of the lake, took 29 hours--the ferry didn't anchor at Likoma until almost 9pm Saturday. The trip was enjoyable--the food on the ferry was reasonably priced, the weather was wonderful, and I was able to meet other travelers, including Sharif, a dreadlocked Malawian who referred to himself as a "Lasta" (Malawians tend to mix their "L"s and their "R"s).

Getting on and off the ferry was quite the experience. As I've mentioned, it's the only way to get to the islands, and as such it is the islands' lifeblood--their only connection to the outside world, the only way to get goods to and from the island. We saw everything from fresh tomatoes to cars getting loaded on and off of the ferry. The ferry anchored in the bay offshore and lowered small wooden motorboats into the water; these were used to ferry passengers and goods to and from shore. The amount of goods being transported on these small motorboats, the apparent chaos, was very interesting to see. It was like the loading and unloading of combis in South Africa, but scaled up and exponentially more chaotic. I saw shirtless Malawian men walking through the crowds, carrying large bags of maize meal and raw fish that they were cutting into fillets, shouting at each other in Chichewa. I even saw a Malawian man carrying a baby on his back (a very rare sight of gender-role reversal in Africa).

Eventually Brian, I, and other backpackers who were going to Likoma were able to push our way through the crowds and the yelling Malawians (who were now loading and unloading crates of soft drinks and beer) and lower ourselves and our heavy backpacks into the boat. We squished into the small boat, which was perilously overloaded (the boat was so heavy that the top of the boat was only about 2 or 3 inches above the water), and then we sailed through the pitch-black water towards shore. Because the boat was overloaded, however, we couldn't make it all the way to shore, and so we had to take off our shoes, roll up our pants, and wade through pitch-black thigh-deep water with our backpacks to shore.

Finally on Likoma Island, we made our way in the back of a pick-up truck and then on foot down rocky hills in the darkness, and eventually reached Mango Drift, the backpackers lodge on the island. I set up my tent on the beach and enjoyed a relaxing few days on Likoma Island, reading, swimming, and walking around the island. Likoma Island is home to one of the largest cathedrals in central Africa, an imposing and impressive (and completely out of place) structure with gothic architecture and tin roofs. On Likoma, I met a Brit named Andrew, who owns both Mango Drift as well as Kaya Mawa, the high-end fancy lodge on the island. His numerous stories, of life on the island, of traveling through Sudan and through Mozambique during its civil war (including being successfully dissuaded from boarding a bus he was scheduled to take, and then seeing that same bus overturned, filled with bullet holes, and on fire later that day), and of seeing people get shot at all-night raves in the Netherlands in 1988, kept us entertained.

Because Andrew owns both the backpackers lodge and the tourist lodge on Likoma, our backpackers lodge was host to the pre-wedding party for one of Kaya Mawa's employees--it was quite a sight! Hundreds of villagers from the island arrived at the backpackers on foot, and wealthy Europeans from Kaya Mawa arrived on speedboat. There was a boat race and traditional Malawian music and dancing. It was a good time to be staying at Mango Drift.

After four nights on Likoma, Brian and I got a ride on a wooden sailboat from Likoma to neighboring Chizumulu Island, a 90-minute boat ride away. We left at 6:30, with the sun rising. The trip was going well, until one of the boat's wooden beams broke and a sail fell off halfway to Chizumulu. We ended up making it the rest of the way to Chizumulu just fine with only one sail. There is only one place to stay on "Chizzie"--the Wakwenda Retreat, a lovely little spot with hammocks, sun-chairs, excellent landscaping, and the best snorkeling I've ever seen right next to the lodge, with large schools of colorful fish swimming all around me while I snorkeled.

On Chizumulu, I decided to climb up to the top of the island's "mountain"--it was an easy climb, and the views from the top were wonderful. However, I must have strayed too close to a bird's nest. I saw large birds of prey, which looked like hawks, circling overhead (I later discovered that they are known as "Yellow Kites"). There were at least 20 of them circling, and then they started coming lower and lower, closer to me. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but then one of the large birds descended and strafed the top of my head as a warning. It didn't hurt too much, but I got the message loud and clear, and quickly descended back to the lodge.

After three nights on Chizzie (one week total on the islands), it was time to leave. My time on the islands, and on the lake in general, was incredibly chill---reading, swimming, lying out in the sun. I was ready for some action, though, and when the Ilala showed up at Chizumulu at just after midnight on Saturday night, 24 November, I was excited to get on the mainland again. We took another wooden boat (this one was a paddle-boat) out to the ferry, and then slept under the stars on the deck. At about 7am, we arrived in Nkhata Bay, our destination.

Nkhata Bay, where I stayed for four nights, had an entirely different vibe than the islands or Cape Maclear. Where the islands were almost devoid of any travelers except for Brian, myself, and a few others, Nkhata Bay was full of backpackers everywhere. There was a real party vibe, with late nights and loud music. After such a long time relaxing, it was a real pleasure to be around lots of people again. The main town in Nkhata Bay is bustling, with an internet cafe, lots of cheap delicious local restaurants, and large chaotic markets. (I also had an interesting trip to the larger town of Mzuzu, to use the ATM, during which my taxi ran out of petrol halfway home)

Brian left Nkhata Bay shortly after we arrived--he was ready to leave the lake and move on to the next stages on his own overland journey. We said goodbye, and I stayed for 3 more nights in Nkhata Bay, where I met loads of travelers from all over the world. Unlike backpackers in Europe (so I hear) and in Thailand or South Africa (as I remember), most of the backpackers in
Malawi are a bit older, a bit more well-traveled, and on long overland trips. Many of them were fairly knowledgeable about Africa, and I was able to have some very interesting conversations and debates.

Mayoka Village, the backpackers lodge I stayed at in Nkhata Bay, was a lively place, with buffet food nights, live music, free snorkeling, and numerous other activities. On Wednesday, they arranged a boat trip for those of us staying there; we fed fish eagles (beautiful), jumped off 7-meter rock cliffs, and lounged on a lovely beach with soft sand (a rarity among places I stayed). As much as I would have loved to have stayed longer at Mayoka, it was soon time to leave, and on Thursday I left Nkhata Bay with some other backpackers I had met there--Tim, an Australian; Kristin, an American, and Danny, a Brazilian.

We had to get to Mzuzu before 6:30am on Thursday to catch the bus to Lilongwe, and our taxi was a bit late in getting us that morning--we left Mayoka at almost 5:30 and then almost broke down from overloading (there were 4 of us in the backseat, all of our bags in the trunk, the driver in the front, and his buddy in the shotgun seat). The muffler fell off and had to be attached with a wire. The undercarriage scraped against the dirt road every time we hit a bump. We drove fast, to make it in time--rounding a corner at high-speed, we ran over a chicken, the car thumping over it and continuing along. The muffler fell off again, but our driver was on a mission to get us to our bus on time, and we just left it on the road, continuing on with our collapsing automobile. People jumped out of the way when we approached, because our driver did not slow down for anything. It was an exhilarating trip, and it's a good thing he drove as fast as he did, because we made it to the bus station in Mzuzu at 6:29, just in time to get on the bus as it was about to leave.

From Mzuzu, we traveled to Lilongwe, where we switched off of our bus and continued on to the border at Mchinji, and then to the Zambian town of Chipata. From Chipata, it was an early 5am bus to Lusaka. We arrived in Lusaka yesterday; after 18 long hours of transport.

Lusaka is a clean city; it reminds me more of South Africa than anywhere else I've visited. Some people say it's devoid of charm, and I can see that--it lacks something that cities like Maputo or Blantyre have. It's still a fine place to be, though, and I'm looking forward to spending a few days here, until Erica arrives Monday night and we head down to Victoria Falls on Tuesday.

Today is World AIDS Day, and there are large marches throughout the city. I'm reminded of one year ago, when my peer educators and I went to the Tshamahansi Clinic and were tested for HIV. That was the first step in our campaign for HIV awareness and testing in Tshamahansi; now, with all of that behind me, I wonder what is happening in Tshamahansi for World AIDS Day this year. Are the peer educators doing something? Are there more people going for HIV tests at the Tshamahansi Clinic today? I truly hope so; seeing the marches in Lusaka today reminded me of them and the work that we did together, and I hope that it is continuing without me.