Goodbye Zimbabwe, Hello Malawi

When does the bus leave? As soon as I asked I knew it was a silly question…”when it is full” the driver smiled back. Three hours of waiting on and around the bus later, we are on our way to the lake. Lake Malawi consumes 2/3rds of the country and is the third largest body of water to grace the continent of Africa. Our bus ride from Malawi’s capital city, Lilongwe, to the northern shores of the lake, Nkhata Bay, we were told would take a few hours, but from waiting on the bus to leave to resting our heads at our destination, over 13 hours of multiple buses and mini buses would be involved. More on that later but let me rewind to the bus rides from our beloved Zimbabwe to Zambia, then from Zambia to Malawi.

Almost one week ago, after a night of making our rounds around the small town of Vic Falls, Zimbabwe, we had said goodbye to the staff at our restcamp, the workers behind the counter and chicken and pizza inn, the owner of Smiles restraint, the tech guy at the internet café, the bartenders and security at our local bar and hangout where we eat and drink every night, and last but not least, our friends. The next morning we were packed and in a total rush to leave for the border when Frank told us he was making tea. I said under tears from his room he had given us to stay in that it would be best if we skipped the tea and got going right away. Frank, having spent years overseas, knew what I meant. If you are ready to leave, you might as well go quickly and get it over with, the more time you take, the more painful it is.

So we said goodbye to the family that took us in and made their home ours. We hopped in a car with Frank and were on our way. Frank wanted to be dropped off in town on our way to the border and as he was dropped off, we ducked under the seats, not wanting to have to see the town we had said goodbye to the night before. Unfortunately, Farai had left without saying goodbye to us and had disappeared, so while we were at the border that morning, which is maybe a 20min. walk from town, we were at the counter with our paperwork finished and passports ready to be stamped and when I looked at Makayne, taking deep breaths between sobs, she knew what I was thinking. We had to go back, we couldn’t leave without finding Farai in town and saying goodbye. So we turn around and as we walk out of customs I can’t help but imagine it like the movies, with Farai running to the border to say goodbye and not more than a second later I hear Makayne mutter, “Oh My God.” And there is our dear friend we met the first day we stepped foot in Zimbabwe and he is running up the hill to the border. Now I am laughing and crying all at once and after Farai asks me why I am crying and I tell him it is because I don’t want to leave him, he gives me a long hug, a kiss on the forehead and tells me he will always remember me and I feel this will probably be as much closure as I will probably ever have. Is it possible part of me fell in love with this 35 year old, dreadlocked, Rastafarian, free spirit drinker and smoker? I laugh when I ask Makayne this later but then we both stop laughing when we each realize part of me is serious.

We cross the border of Zimbabwe, share a ride with an old man who recites every random fact from every African country he has been in, he instantly reminds me of my grandpa and I let him distract me. The driver hands us our bags at the Zambia border and tells us he knows we will be back one day. Zambia is less than 30min from Vic Falls and the thought of spending more than an hour so close to Vic Falls is a tease so our goal was to get as far away as soon as possible. This goal was tested when the second our feet touched Zambian ground when a bus driver ran up to us, reading our thoughts, grabbing our bags and screaming, bus to Lusaka leaves at 10:30. The time was 10:30 and we had no local currency much less an idea of the exchange rate, no sense of direction, knowledge of a word of local language. There was no time to visit the ATM or bank so after telling him I only had US dollars, I had to remind myself to trust the good in people as my $50 dollar bill and our bags disappeared into a sea of people and we were ushered onto the bus. With no food or water and a 9hour ride ahead of us into a new place, I was happy when the driver brought me back my change in local currency, explained the rate, and made me happy with my choice to trust him. Emotionally exhausted we slept most of the way to Zambia’s capital city only occasionally waking up to see a marathon of Sylvester Stallone movies playing or a child running up and down the aisle to stare at me in my seat. We were happy that night to get off the bus in the capital city, Lusaka and were greeted by a herd of taxi drivers until we settled on one that kindly offered to help us find a bus the next morning that would take us into Malawi, take us to the ATM, find us a place to eat (which ended up being a Subway restaurant!), deliver us to a cheap backpacker place, teach us a few basic words, and make sure we had a ride in the morning for our bus to Malawi’s capital city, Lilongwe.

After a quick night of sleep, we are up at 4am – along with a Japanese girl who shared our dorm room, we find we are all heading in the same direction. 12 hours of 80’s music with a lot of Celine Dion and techno mixed in, some really random American movies, free snacks, and driving so crazy that Makayne is yelled at by the driving for sticking her elbow out the window because we zoom so close to oncoming buses and semis – we are one country away from Zimbabwe, having spent less than 24 hours in Zambia, we are exciting to be inching closer to the shores of what we’ve heard is a beautiful paradise (which seems to be a description that could fit nearly all of Africa).

It is a dark and rainy night in Malawi’s capital city and we are ready for bed, a shower, and most pressing, a meal. We ask the Japanese girl who was been travelling our same path if she knows where she is sleeping tonight and she does, we share a taxi to a restcamp where we will spend two nights at $4 a night. The restcamp has a large kitchen and inside of it we meet Manuel, a Spaniard who gives us a bag of rice and Jones, a local who drives us to the grocery store, helps us buy ingredients for dinner, and then ends up basically cooking us a dinner of rice, meat, and vegetables. The next day, Jones and his friend, Nelson show us around town so we can go to the bank, ATM, grocery store, internet café, tourist center to figure out our next bus, and clothing store so I can buy a new swimsuit since I accidently left mine behind in Zimbabwe. We think that they have dropped us off but three hours later when some locals try selling us random goods, Nelson and Jones appear from nowhere, asking if we are ready to leave. They drop us off at our camp and after a short nap, help us again to prepare a feast. Afterwards, they take us to a local bar, with another friend, Mona Lisa, and we are told over and over again with surprise how friendly and talkative we are and then bought round after round of beer while we listen to one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever heard strum away at a piano and sing reggae renditions of Shania Twain and Enrique Iglesias.

The next day, I have a quick but frustrating visit to the US embassy where my worries are confirmed that I have run out of blank pages in my passport and in Tanzania I will need to spend two days and $82 at the capital getting more blank pages before I can move on to Zanzibar, Kenya, or anywhere else. After the Embassy, Jones and Nelson drop us off with a hug and a goodbye at the bus station, asking us to keep in touch and travel safe. We prepare to board the bus from the capital of Malawi to the lake, after travelling two countries on multiple buses, and this brings me back to where this blog entry started.