Our day started in drizzle, so we were all gathered in the back of the truck ready to go when we discovered that most of our cholera certificates, required to enter Malawi, were out of date. Determined not to go through another border inoculation - this time on masse - we embarked on a mass forgery operation with Nikki made Dr McClare MD for the day, because Vicki was now safely back in England being a real doctor. Using rubbers (erasers), razor blades, various blue biros, Kel’s date stamp and a stamp fashioned from an Algerian coin we validated all our certificates.
A teacher rounded up the local school children by whistle and herded them to school as we forged our papers, several others lounged on school desks near us until we left, watching to the end.
Sun broke through and we enjoyed a warmer run towards Malawi, skirts and trousers at the ready for the strict border. (Kelvin had warned that Malawian officials are very strict, including ripping Malawi chapters from travel guides).
A hilly approach past many rice fields being worked by tiny dark figures, sometimes only their heads and shoulders visible above the green, brought us to the Tanzania Customs and Tax Department and our first hurdle: running the gauntlet with 17 people with bank declaration forms. Well, the bloke wasn’t happy with the lack of money changes so began a long-winded, thorough questioning of us and physical search of the truck for undeclared money, emptying lockers, pulling sleeping bags from their stuff sacks, tipping stuff from the overhead nets, sifting through toilet bags. The most thorough search so far on the trip found Jim’s food kitty funds in his camera bag and drama followed. The official kept threatening to confiscate the money while Jim went through all his books explaining his role as the trip accountant and his admission that not declaring these funds was a simple mistake (unlike the US$2500 deliberately hidden with his clothes)! Either Jim was convincing and his pleas for our food money stoked their heart strings, or they just were in a generous mood but they let him off with only a $70 penalty and sent us on our way.
Over a wide, brown river, and along a narrow path cut through dense tropical jungle, the humidity like a blanket. We passed small clearings populated by a few huts, tiny woven granaries and noisy clutches of children, often hidden from the road by foliage, their raucous voices our only indication of their existence. Amongst the village houses were some real bricks, standing out amongst the mud-walled huts we’re more used to. Several of the houses were painted with designs and pictures like the houses in Zaire.
As usual we were unsure whether we had finished leaving Tanzania so we just continued driving through the oppressive heat.
We had been asked to carry a passenger from the Tanzania border and we quickly forgot his presence as everyone relaxed after the border hassles. Geoff made some comment about taking his money out now and started to roll down his trouser cuffs before Jim’s frantic gesticulating relayed the message. Bill started asking about how thoroughly the bags and jackets had been searched because “that was where his money was stashed” but vigorous hand signals brought his commentary to an abrupt end, none of us sure whether our passenger was actually an official and how much he was taking in.
We came to a road barrier and a lean-to with canvas sides beside which hung a weather-bleached flag. We made lunch while the chief ate his – then continued over another river into no man’s land. We stopped at another barrier blocking the road beside which were a group of women selling bananas. Here were several rundown huts that gave no indication of any department - immigration, police, nothing - but a man asked to see the books we had on the truck and then another sprayed our feet with the contents of a watering can to protect Malawi from Foot & Mouth Disease. So we deduced this was the Sanitation Department, which was tasked with protecting Malawi from physical and poltical threats. The bloke checking our books for undesirable literature and propaganda spent as long perusing Mammals of Africa as he did the Alitalia Timetable and we realised that he could barely read, let alone comprehend propaganda or even recognise it. He was probably given a few specific titles to look for, like Africa on a Shoestring, which was critical of the country's regime. And the watering can man was like a character in a Monty Python movie because while he sprayed our feet, the soles of our shoes remained thick with soil and the inside of the truck was carpeted with dirt.
Finally, approved as mentally and physically clean, we drove into Malawi and through a tiny village with many official looking buildings, only to be brought to a sudden stop not by more bureaucracy but by a long queue of stationary trucks and a completely bogged earth mover. Heavy rain had washed away the road crossing a gorge ahead and it totally impassable, despite a huge labour force. Optimistic estimates for passage were tonight or tomorrow, less optimistic and more realistic ones being Sunday.
We wandered down in small group to review the situation, shocked by the almost complete devastation of the road, with areas of thick tall grasses flattened by a massive volume of water, the road barely truck-wide approaching the main gully, where the sides had been torn away in the flood, and ending abruptly in a landslide of rocky soil into the now gently flowing river.
We watched hundreds of friendly black men working at several different points, trying to rebuild the road by a “tomorrow lunchtime” deadline. They were shifting mounds of crumbling road with a bulldozer, handing rocks along a human chain to rebuild the culverts and assembling a Bailey bridge like a giant Meccano set. The rock chain was like a scene out of an old slave movie, showing construction of old where anything could be done if there were enough men.
We camped early, under some trees in a small clearing a little back from the truck queue. There was a tiny stream nearby so we washed clothes and enjoyed the unexpected stop. Played Scrabble (Geoffrey won) and drank red wine before beginning very unenthusiastic dinner preparation. We invited a long-haul driver to dine with us so he didn’t eat on his own. The passage of our feet quickly slimed the ground underfoot so we had to tread carefully.
After dinner, bodies crammed into the back of the truck but the voracious mosquitoes swarming the lights drove people to their tents. I strung up my net in the truck and continued writing but I couldn’t keep my arms clear of the probing proboscis so gave up and tried to sleep. It was very hot, and I thought about getting out and grabbing a wet towel to cool down but dare not face the mosquito hoardes.
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