*
In the bright early morning sunshine that had replaced yesterday's intermittently heavy rain we were all setting off for another day of travel that would hopefully end at the Liwonde Reserve.
We drove out through Chintheche. Geoff gave us a thirty second tour of the highlights
- the police station which because it had no phone and no car required you to drive there to report a crime then give the policeman a lift back to the scene
- the open walled courtroom where justice could not only be done but be seen to be done by anyone walking past in the street
- the street traders beginning to lay out their goods on the rickety wooden stalls.
And it was so small that, with no more description, we were through it. Chintheche was behind us and we were on the open road that parallels the lake shore. As we drove south a light rain started to fall which got progressively heavier as the weather reminded us that this was technically a few weeks into the start of the wet season. Suddenly the back of the Land Rover lurched sharply towards the ditch at the side of the road. Geoff pulled over and got out to take a look. The nearside trailer tyre was shredded. Fifteen minutes later we had changed it for the spare and were once more on the move even if we were a bit wetter than we had been. Geoff kept glancing nervously at the cloud laden sky that was ahead of us and even Peter seemed a touch apprehensive.
"With this rain we might not be able to get into Liwonde." Geoff explained "The main entrance was bad two weeks ago and they've probably closed it by now. We'll have to make for the other entrance at Mangochi."
We carried on driving, heading first towards Lilongwe. As we approached there was a hand painted sign by the side of the road.
"ROAD CLOSED AT PENGA PENGA"
"Peter ?" Geoff called over his shoulder. Peter, who had been deep in conversation with David and Louise, looked up.
"Where the hell is Penga Penga ?"
Peter didn't know so we carried on hoping to get more information at a garage further down the road. The petrol station was laid out on a design we had already seen a dozen times but this one had something the others were missing. This one had 'Twong Twong'. While Geoff filled up and enquired about the roads 'Twong Twong' entertained us. He was a local man with a facial deformity of a type very common in much of Africa, caused by Noma, a horrible disease that could be treated relatively easy if caught early enough but is frequently left untreated in Africa.
No-one seemed to know Twong Twong's real name. He sat on a stool by the door plucking on a home made three stringed guitar and singing in a clear high pitched voice. He was into his third song by the time Geoff came back. It wasn't particularly good news.
"We were already heading for the Mangochi entrance, " he said but one of the bridges on the main road has been washed away. The Land Rover might get through but it might not and there is an alternate route we can take that might be better. All the same the roads into the Reserve might be washed out at that entrance too. Still it's better that than the other choice which is to press on to Zomba and try to get accommodation there, missing out Liwonde altogether. We'll try the alternate route and see how it goes.
We left the garage and drove on. By now the weather had deteriorated very badly. Rain was lashing down and visibility was down to a few yards. We turned off the tarmacced road onto a dirt track signposted 'Mua Mission' and a few hundred slippery uphill yards later stopped in the middle of a group of buildings seen only indistinctly through the wet windows.
The Mua Mission was founded in 1899. It lies just off the main Salima to Balaka road and was the first Roman Catholic Mission in Malawi. It is a large and impressive complex of buildings. Besides the mission itself there is a hospital and a school and a folklore museum. David Stuart describes it in 'A Guide to Malawi'.
'What makes it a special place of pilgrimage for tourists is the extraordinary size, quality and vitality of the woodcarvings that are produced by the trainees at the mission. Father Boucher, whose self-depracating genius is behind this enterprise, has succeeded in bringing out the natural, innate, talents of his students to produce products of unique fascination and beauty. There is little indication of any foreign values and design concepts introduced to his charges.'
The Mission is also a popular stopping off place for other reasons. There are a series of extraordinary tall circular structures which have built in circular tables and benches and high thatched conical roofs. These can be used to eat lunch when the weather is bad - and at that moment it was terrible. In the hundred yard dash from vehicle to shelter we had all got soaked, but once inside with bottles of beer and all the things necessary for a fine lunch of assorted sandwiches, fruit and vegetables we all felt that the rain didn't matter very much. Gradually, as we ate, there was a lightening of the sky and a thinning of the rain until it was only a heavy drizzle. We decided to take a look at the souvenir shop and those famous carvings. The shop was a single large circular room piled from floor to ceiling with carvings ranging from tiny intricate animals to enormous representations of the last supper and the crucifixion. All of them were of stunning quality and while pricey by Malawi standards dirt cheap by ours. I settled on two ebony daggers with hilts in the shape of a heron and an owl.
Back on the road we found ourselves driving along a cratered track and had gone only a few miles before another puncture forced us to stop again. The rain, with its usual impeccable timing chose that moment to start again in earnest and by the time we were underway again we were quite thoroughly soaked. The dirt road continued for what felt like forever before we turned back onto a properly surfaced one. From here the going was quite good almost right into Mangochi. It was however a false sense of security. At Mangochi the heavy rain had caused several small rivers to burst their banks and the whole town was under several inches of water.
This road led through several villages of thatched mud and brick huts. The fires inside them were causing the soaking wet roofs to steam vigorously and they looked strange and alien in the gathering twilight. By now the road was no more than mud and only Geoff's driving kept us moving in more or less the right direction. At one point the track disappeared altogether under a torrent of dirty water perhaps twenty yards wide.
"Somewhere under that lot there's a wooden bridge that we have to cross." said Geoff without optimism. Barry and Peter both got out and waded through the deluge to find it and, aided by a couple of locals, successfully led us across.
It was not much further to the Liwonde Camp gate and five minutes after that we were at the Shire River. Approaching the park from this side you arrive on the wrong bank. There is a red flag that you have to raise to attract the attention of the lodge on the opposite shore. When they notice it they send a boat to collect you. We raised the flag but it was quickly apparent that it was already too dark for them to see us. Geoff climbed back into the Land Rover and started to flash the lights out across the water. Briefly they illuminated the sign on the landing stage.
"Please Respect The Crocodiles."
Soon two dark shapes detached themselves from the far bank and came towards us. They were the boats and ten minutes later we were standing in the Mvuu Lodge ordering beer and asking about dinner.
It had been a long day.
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