Very Much Delicious: Part 8

Part 8 of my diaries from 1996 about my trip to Malawi and Zambia. And, by the way, the title of these posts was explained in Part 5.

* 

Christmas Eve began with a repeat of yesterday's walk and as then there were lots of colourful birds and insects and butterflies but, apart from various antelope, no large game. After we had returned and had breakfast we took the boat back across the river to depart.  Already getting ready on the far bank were the two South Africans. Geoff said that he wanted to be away before them because the Unimog would churn up the roads even more badly than they had already been. The back door of the Unimog was open and I looked inside. It looked like an explosion at a rubbish dump. Boxes and bags had been thrown in randomly with their contents spilling out onto the floor. They had managed to pack less into that enormous space than Peter could get onto our roof. The younger one walked round and closed the door.
    "Look," said someone. I turned around. David was pointing off into the trees. There in a clearing about twenty yards away were a family of elephants, three adults and two young. The South Africans showed no interest in our sighting. I wondered if perhaps they had a list of 'things to see in Africa' and had already ticked of 'elephant'. We approached the group slowly. elephants have very poor eyesight and, perhaps surprisingly, even poorer hearing. If you approach carefully and from downwind it's easy to get within yards of them and it's also easy to tell when you are downwind. We had been there for about fifteen minutes before one of them finally noticed our intrusion. He became visibly agitated and the whole group moved off into the bush. Pleased with such a close sighting we went back to where we were parked.
    While we had been engrossed the South Africans had departed. Now we climbed into the Land Rover and followed, trying to avoid the deeper ruts left by their tyres. About half a mile later two things happened. First it started to rain but not with anything resembling a British downpour. It was, Barry said with some satisfaction, a real African rain. The drops were the size of walnuts and coming down like bullets from the sky, hard enough to raise bruises on sensitive skin. Second, we came to a halt, stopped by the Unimog which had broken down in the road blocking it completely. Geoff got out to assess the situation. When he returned he told us that he thought he could get round on the treacherous mudbank that led down into the waterlogged field but it would be safer if we could all get out first. Reluctantly we did so, huddling for shelter at the side of the broken down truck. Ten minutes later Geoff had accomplished the tricky manoeuvre and we were back inside, soaked and steaming, while the South Africans were behind us attempting to fix their holed Vacuum box on the brakes after some advice from Ken.
    "The trouble is they've bought it but don't know how to drive it or look after it." Geoff said. "Those repairs will hold for a while but they will have to keep re-doing them every couple of miles until they can get a welder to patch it up properly."

    Today we were to drive to Zomba and were soon on our way. Zomba was the capital city of Malawi until 1975 and the seat of Parliament as recently as 1994. The Bradt Guide describes it as 'the most immediately appealing' of Malawi's larger towns and it certainly presents a more pleasing aspect than Lilongwe.
    The buildings have a kind of faded colonial grandeur and when we parked at the PTC the street was wide, clean and pleasant in spite of the salesmen hassling us to buy their souvenirs. After a brief detour to drop off our damaged tyre we drove out of the town and up the hill towards the Zomba Plateau and the Ku Chawe Inn where we would be staying for two nights.
    The hotel is right on the edge of the plateau and has stunning views of what seems to be the whole rift valley laid out before you. Architecturally the hotel is also quite stunning being both ultra modern and deeply African. It's arched corridors and reception lead into a small bar decorated with African carvings and then open out into a restaurant and balcony that overlooks first the tiers of the hotel's gardens and beyond them the valley.
    We sat in the bar for an hour having a leisurely drink while the rooms were being prepared and then we checked in. The rooms were in keeping with the general quality of the hotel. Large and well decorated they were all fully en suite with balconies with gorgeous views and even with television.
    "Can we make a deal ?" I asked. Barry looked up from unpacking.
    "I won't turn the TV on if you don't." I said
    "I never watch television." he said humourlessly.

    We all met up again in the bar before dinner and discovered that tonight there was a special Christmas Menu. Moving to the restaurant we found a table ready for us at the end of a large and festively decorated room with a band playing traditional music at the other end and lots of people already enjoying Christmas. Pretty soon the beer and wine were flowing freely and it was a slightly drunk group of people that eventually drifted off to their rooms. It was not, I reflected, what people back home expect of me at Christmas. There was proper food in a posh hotel and not a hole in the ground in sight.

Very Much Delicious: Part 7

Part 7 of my diaries from 1996 about my trip to Malawi and Zambia. And, by the way, the title of these posts was explained in Part 5.

* 

We had entered the camp after dark so that we had little or no chance to assess it. In the pale early morning I took a stroll around. Mvuu Camp is managed by Central African Wilderness Safaris and even if all of their staff look to be in their teens it is nevertheless an attractive and professional operation. The main building which houses the bar and restaurant looks out dramatically over the river where hippo, crocodile and elephant can be watched while you sit and eat your meals or sip long cold drinks. Lizards and small mammals wander right up to the walls or climb the trees to watch you. The enclosed part of the camp has ten luxurious twin bedded tents each surrounded by sturdily constructed bamboo screens and roofs. There is a clean and modern shower and toilet block which serves both these tents and the adjacent camping site.

A map provided in the tent detailed every tree in the enclosure, describing their Latin and English names and main characteristics. The one standing immediately in front of our tent was a 'Toad Tree', presumably so named because of its warty and scabrous bark. Scraping against the trunk I discovered that it had a sticky white, unpleasant smelling sap.

I had spent much of yesterday coughing and sniffling and today it had developed into a nasty head cold with streaming eyes and a sore throat. All the same after a good breakfast I joined the others for a bush walk. Our guide was Sean who looked about seventeen and put you in mind of an Australian Lifeguard. He was accompanied by a uniformed and armed guard without whom we would not have been allowed out of the enclosure.

"Remember," said Sean, "This is not a zoo. The animals here are wild and that means that they can be dangerous. If we come across any lion or elephant there will be no danger to anyone providing you do as I tell you."

We set off. Although it was still early morning the sun was already very hot. I soon wished that I hadn't forgotten to bring my hat from the tent. At first all we found were tracks and droppings - impala, bushbuck, hippopotamus, elephant, baboon - but soon we entered a clearing to see a group of baboon running off into the trees. The ground was littered with broken shells and destroyed fruit. Sean indicated a number of holes which the baboons had clearly been digging at.

"These holes were where crocodile had laid their eggs," he told us. "The interesting thing about crocodile eggs is that the sex of the hatchling depends entirely on the temperature at which the egg was incubated. The deeper, colder eggs hatch into females and the shallower warmer ones into males. These won't be hatching into anything, the baboon have destroyed them all."

We went on. Everywhere there were brightly coloured birds, from tiny bee eaters to massive majestic fish eagles. There were also antelope of every type that we had seen so far. A fenced off enclosure had warning notices explaining that the fence carried lethal voltages and the park rangers operated a shoot to kill policy on poachers. This marked the boundary of a large area set aside for a pair of breeding black rhino which the park is keen to keep safe. They were nowhere to be seen and naturally we could not go in to look for them.

Poaching is one of the most serious problems in Malawi. Some of the reserves have been poached to the point where they no longer contain any large game at all. Liwonde has not yet reached such a sorry state but poaching is still thought of as the largest single threat to the animals. And it isn't just the animals. Around the country young trees are illegally felled by poachers who sell the wood which often ends up in the carvings sold to tourists. Technically a permit is required but few have them.

Arriving back at camp we were almost run over by a large armoured vehicle, a Unimog. This is a four wheel drive vehicle with a vengeance. It looked like it should be part of a military invasion force and was driven by two bullet headed, khaki clad men with army style crew cuts. The looked like Nazi storm troopers. The reality was more mundane. They were a South African father and son who had decided that this mode of transport was the best way to see more of Africa. At that moment they were driving round to the far side of the river, where we were parked, to allow them and early start tomorrow.

In the afternoon we took a boat ride down the river. This gave us a chance to observe more closely the hippopotamus and crocodile. Osman, our new guide, proved to be exceptional at identifying birds from a single glimpse of their plumage or a few seconds of their song. As we moved down the river he told us an African folk tale of 'Why The hippo Yawns'.

We continued downstream until the sun started to set and then Osman killed the engine and let us drift there in silence watching as the sky turned first red then a glorious gold as the afterglow lit up the clouds from below the horizon. Now that it was dark we sailed back up river with Osman picking out details on the banks with a powerful spotlight

hippo lumbered up the muddy shores, ungainly certainly but with an air of massive unstopability.

crocodile slithered from the beam as soon as it touched them to glide silently across the water, just below the surface.

A tree full of heron remained motionless while the light was upon them and took to the air as one when he flicked it away for a moment.

A malachite kingfisher with its spectacular plumage was pinned to a branch by the lamp, so hypnotised that we could get within feet of it for close up photographs.

The bright tunnel of the beam was filled with a million flying insects, their motion forming strange stroboscopic geometries as their wings flickered in the light.

All too soon it was over and we were back at camp. After another of Peter's excellent meals I decided that rather than go to the bar I would take an early night and try to sleep off the remainder of my cold.

Very Much Delicious: Part 6

Part 6 of my diaries from 1996 about my trip to Malawi and Zambia. And, by the way, the title of these posts was explained in Part 5.

* 

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.

Believers believe

Jack of Kent this week poses an interesting question about scepticism. It boils down to whether sceptics have an image problem, whether it is enough to be right.

Now, while my general outlook might be clear enough from previous posts, I'll nail my colours to the mast here again for those who have just tuned in.

I don't believe in "woo". And for me woo includes not just alternative medicines proven to have no clinical value (homoeopathy for example) but also unsupported political assertions (what we are doing will prevent a future global crisis), unsupported linguistic assertions (never split an infinitive),  religions in general or unsupported assertions about anything.

Now how I react depends on which particular bit of woo I am dealing with.

In the case of religions, for example, I'm a live and let live kind of a guy. I don't try to convert people to atheism or even discuss it unless someone tries to convert me. I'm not as forgiving on everything though and, in light of Jack of Kent's question, I am wondering if I should be.

I am prepared to argue politics, to an extent, though in many ways it's every much a no-win battle as religion. You can't convince people with evidence when their whole belief system is defined by believing things without evidence.

I do argue, and at length, about language because I'm a language teacher and a linguistics enthusiast. It's my field and I find that my annoyance at unsupported, nit-picking, pedantry outweighs my reluctance to get involved in verbal battles that I know I can't win.

The main area of debate on Jack of Kent though is alternative medicine and here I have sometimes been a bit over-enthusiastic in arguing. I've had the idea in my head, possibly mistakenly, that if people only understood the facts they would stop believing in the nonsense.

My previous post shows that I am, perhaps, mellowing a bit. When my colleague suggested that I try TCM or homoeopathy to cure my gout, I bit my tongue and refused to be baited into an argument. I know she believes in these things and I know that arguing with her won't change her opinion of them, just of me.

This is the very heart of the image problem that scepticism has. I genuinely believe that voodoo or sacrificing a goat would have as much chance of curing my gout as TCM or homoeopathy. I prefer to take seriously the advice of my doctor who suggested none of those things. But, however much I believe that, I have absolutely no way to demolish the faith of someone who says "It worked for me." There is literally nothing I can say or do that will convince them that whatever cured them it wasn't a magic sugar pill.

The trouble is, as I've observed before, the evidence is largely irrelevant to a genuine true believer. The more evidence you amass, the more you insist on presenting it, the more strident you become...the more they cry conspiracy. As with my colleague, they don't look at the evidence and modify their opinion of whichever bit of woo that is under discussion, they look at it and modify their opinions of you. Remember that you are not simply undermining their opinion you are undermining their faith. The few who come round to the rationalist point of view would probably have done so eventually anyway. The rest will either ignore or vilify you anyway.

Does this mean we should all just shut up and let people believe whatever they want to believe? It is, after all, the approach I take to religion. I am in two minds about it but on the whole I think not. While a lot of alternative therapies are in themselves harmless they may be passively harmful in that they prevent people taking effective action. Some, of course, as with February's TCM poisoning case, can be actively harmful.

What it all comes down to is whether you think that you have a moral duty to attempt to stop people harming themselves. 

So, in short, yes, scepticism does have an image problem and no, it isn't enough to be right.

There is also sadly nothing much we can do about it. Believers believe and believing that they are right means believing that the sceptics are wrong. No matter how we present our case, the very fact that we present it at all is so opposed to their views that we will always have an image problem.