Very Much Delicious: Part 3

Here is part 3 of my diaries from 1996 about my trip to Malawi and Zambia. And, by the way, the title of these posts will, I promise, be explained eventually.

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Away on the distant slope across the valley a group of lights marked a town, probably Rumphi. As dawn lightened the sky, they became less prominent, disappearing against the green backdrop of the trees. It was a little after four a.m., it was raining, and I was sitting in my track suit on the wooden table sheltered by the veranda, with my arms wrapped around my knees, watching and listening to Africa waking up. Dozens of bird calls, alien and unfamiliar, pierced the dawn. There was a deep caw-caw-cawwww from somewhere to my left. Another canary like cadence called out 'quick-they're-coming - quick-they're coming'. A group of birds did staccato machine gun impressions in a stand of brachystegia just down the hill.

A group of crickets, large enough to be individually visible even a hundred yards away, took to the air in a flashing cloud of scarlet, their humming underpinning the sharper calls of the birds.

Of course I was out here this early for a reason. My room mate had proven to be another snorer and the echoes of his nasal gymnastics had prevented my sleeping for most of the night. Out here, amid all this noise it was far more relaxing and peaceful. When I found myself dozing I went back inside, stretched out on the sofa in front of the last embers of the fire and fell asleep.

Next time I awoke breakfast was ready and a magnificent feast it was too, bacon, eggs, great fat home made sausages, thick sliced toast made from freshly baked bread, a sweet thick honey and gallons of delicious Malawi coffee. Afterwards, once we had showered and dressed, we piled back into the Land Rover and drove down to Mzuzu where, while Peter went shopping we looked around the PTC supermarket and the town market. Mzuzu is the capital of the Northern Province and has existed as a town for less than fifty years, being a city only since 1991. We stayed only about thirty minutes before moving on.

At the gate of Vwaza Marsh Game Reserve is a large sign that says

"REMEMBER ELEPHANTS HAVE RIGHT OF WAY !"

It is a thousand square kilometre reserve that runs along the northern section of the Zambian border. The accommodation there is in 'fixed' tents. These are tents that have been pitched onto concrete bases with four wooden poles supporting thatched roofs above them. They are basically but adequately furnished with beds, chairs and a table. The Reserve itself is flat with predominantly brachystegia woodland and, as the name would suggest, substantial wetland habitat. From the tents we could look out across a perfect African vista towards the river, and best of all apart from a few staff we had the place completely to ourselves.

After a brief lunch it was time for our first game drive. As was to become the pattern for the drives we piled mattresses onto the roof of the Land Rover and sat up there, legs dangling over the sides, while Geoff drove us along the dusty dirt roads. Others in the party kept on spotting birds and calling out their names but I found that inevitably by the time I had got my binoculars trained and focused they had already flown away.

In the distance Sarah picked out about a dozen roan antelope. Geoff drove of the road and out through the bush to try to get a closer view, eventually halting on the plain near an enormous dead termite mound. These mounds are one of the startling features of the country's landscape. Some of them are yards high and thousands of years old. Many have trees growing from them, sometimes ancient and gnarled trees which nonetheless the mounds pre-date. We climbed down from the roof and started to follow the roan tracks which were clear and fresh in the soft ground. We found where they had been recently - their fresh droppings were already being parcelled up and rolled away by a horde of bright green dung beetles - but the roan themselves had gone. Reluctantly we went back to the vehicle.

By now sunset was approaching and we drove down towards the river. Across the mud flats there were several dozen hippo in the water. Their booming voices, sounding like someone laughing at the world's dirtiest joke, rang out across the valley. We approached them on foot and with great caution - hippopotamus are responsible for more deaths in Africa than either crocodile or lion. When we had got close enough to satisfy our urge for photographs we turned around and headed back to where we had parked. By the time we reached it the sun was half way down past the horizon and we sat around on the grass drinking bottles of beer and watching the almost archetypal African landscape. It was a wonderful moment that would nevertheless be surpassed over and over by ever more beautiful vistas.