Seeking the Little People (1)

         The reports brags that this area, “Situated within a cluster of forested granite hills and covering an area of 126.4 km2, high up the plateau of central Malawi, features the richest concentration of rock art in Central Africa on 127 sites.” It is reported to be the famous Chongoni Rock-Art Area, and we are headed there from the capital city of Lilongwe. Our first stop, to get directions, in the Dedza Trading Center, and our information will come from one of the workers at Dedza Pottery. She is most helpful and after taking a couple of mental notes we are on our way toward the mountains.

We pull onto the road from the Dedza Pottery Shop and turn left toward the higher mountain peak to the east. The center of the road appears hardened from the heavy traffic of old dilapidated logging trucks, while the edges are potted with unexpected and abrupt ruts and drop offs. It is not unlike most of the unfinished roads that traverse the countryside away from the few tarmac highways. Torrential rains that plummet the landscape from October to April end the usefulness of many Malawi roads, and the government has few resources to restore them to full usefulness when the dry season spreads itself across the landscape.

Two black oxen, heads lowered, pull a weather beaten cart west along the road. The young driver in an old worn brown shirt encourages them to the side of the road with a long stick. Out the side windows of the Isuzu we see a number of dust covered white bags piled in the back. It is probably a family’s precious supply of maize headed for the mill to be ground into fine powder for nsima, the staple diet of every Malawi family.

In front of us we begin the accent toward the higher peaks around Dedza Mountain, and the valley floor quickly falls off to the right. “Eleven kilometers,” the clerk at the pottery office had advised us. Obviously she would know of the caves since she lives in the area, and her instructions were reassuring, even when she noted they are “just near.”

They Can Help at the School

“Stop at the secondary school when you come to the large stone sign beside the road,” she said. “Since there are no signs to show where the caves are located you must get directions from someone at the school. They will be glad to help you.”

       Ahead of us tall forests of dark green pines begin to appear. Their majestic height stands proudly as a testament to the efforts of the government of Malawi to restore some of the forest land that has been stripped away by a growing village population that are using wood far faster than they can grow trees for the future. The blue of the sky and the puffy white clouds coming in from the east emphasizes the green of the forest. A small boy with a 6-foot long bundle of brush on his head quickly veers off the road, down through the deep ditch, and into the clear area near a small mud hut. Our vehicle throws a shroud of dust in his direction, but he is to sharp-witted to be overtaken by its suffocating dust. Reaching the 11-kilometer mark we see no evidence of a school. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Maybe it is time to consider turning back to review our directions? Fifteen, sixteen. We must have missed our marker for the school. Maybe we should turn back. Let’s go up to the next curve on the mountain then we will turn back and get new directions.

 

Then suddenly at the seventeen-mile marker we come to a small fork in the road, and a stone marker standing directly in the middle of the road. There is nothing printed on the marker except a coat of old black paint that may have once been an indicator of some message that once adorned its surface. Off to the right a small cluster of old buildings signal the possibility of a school. We steer the Isuzu up on the grass between the leading buildings, and seek assistance. A small group of girls who understand some English indicate we are at the secondary school. They respond positively to our request to locate one of the school officials.


They rush off toward the back of the property with us trying to keep pace. At one of the last houses a teacher steps out from where he has been processing a test. We explain our dilemma, and ask if the school might have a student, or someone, who could point us to the caves where the markings may be observed. He says he will take us. We start to object, as we do not want him to interrupt his day of teaching in order to assist us, but our attempt to persuade him not to go falls on ears that do not hear our objections. He leads us out toward the road we have just come up.


Three boys quickly join him so they can help escort us up the mountain. By the time we cross the road it is evident the boys know the path better than the teacher. It is a boy in a red sweater that takes the lead for the first part of the trip. On the north side of the road we begin moving through the underbrush along a small dirt path. The path gets even smaller as we ascend the hillside toward the crest, and we begin to get an uneasy feeling, wondering if we have the right people taking us the right direction. How can this be such a major site for the history of this part of Africa, with cave drawing from hundreds of years ago, yet have no markings along the way, and no evidence the caves contain such a slice of the past?

                                                     


Next: Will we really find cave drawings, or just a scenic view?