Overnight at Cool Runnings

A View of Life’s Struggle

Cool Runnings, Senga Bay, Malawi ... Arriving at Lake Malawi late in the afternoon, darkness reached us quickly, and we could see little of the lake from our vantage point at the Cool Runnings resort in Senga Bay. We could hear it though, and the sound of the waves lapping on the sandy shore gave us the feeling that all is well with life. We have experienced a grueling pace during the previous month, and the time has arrived for us to kick back and relax for the next few hours. The soft cool breeze coming in from the east, coupled with the rhythm of the waves marrying the shore, seems to immediately bring a wave of relaxation over us. The warm greeting from the staff, as well as from Samantha Ludick, the owner and on-site proprietor of the resort, sets an immediate tone that this is going to be a good stay, and a very relaxed time. There were a lot of other places along this side of the Lake (the Malawi side), and the prices were all across the board, but this has more of a home-like setting (you actually stay in one of the bedrooms of a modest house that fronts right on the beach), and the food is recognized as some of the best anywhere along this stretch of beach. Add to this the fact the Ludick mingles with the visitors, whether you are staying in the main house, in the dormitory just a few yards back off the beach, on the lawn in a tent, or just down the beach at another of her locations called Toms.

A View of Lake Malawi

One of the Guest Rooms

Morning on Lake Malawi

Dugouts Challenge the Surf

Lawnchairs watch the action

Breakfast is nearly ready

Fishing Village Nearby

Longboat Challenges Surf

African Decor Favors the House

After a dinner fit for a king, one which Ludick herself actually helps prepare, and after the conclusion of an interesting dialog with the lady herself, concerning Malawi, Africa, her pick of the greatest grand prix driver, and a number of other interesting stories that seem to encompass the world, we determine it is time to head into the house for the night. True to the African decor that favors the house, and village area in which we are now immersed, we note the three bedrooms are named after neighboring countries. Inside each room the decorations favor the country for which the room is named.

Inside our room we light the mosquito coil, and slide in under the protective mosquito nets. Can’t be too careful you know. Malaria is a real problem all over the sub-Sahara and no need to be careless. Malaria is little problem during the day, but at night it can be a serious threat to your health and well being. It seems like I have just closed my eyes when the sound of a mosquito is heard. I listen for a moment, unable to detect if it is on the outside of the large net, or on the inside with me. I slowly reach for the flashlight that I wisely have under the net with me. Flashing it to the on position in the direction from which the sound seems to have been coming, the sound seems to instantly stop. I can see nothing, and the sound is gone. There is some consolation as I cannot feel any bites, and on top of that I know the mosquitoes I need to be concerned with, the ones that can bite me and give me malaria, do not make a sound. So, to hear the sound of a mosquito is the sound you actually want to hear. That one is the safe one. I close my eyes, and listen to the sound of the waves just outside the house. The cool night breeze seems to gently press me down into the soft mattress, and in moments I am sound asleep again.

Morning Calls Me Outside

Morning comes early in African villages, and even before the sun comes over the horizon in the native fishing villages that surround us. The people are up, out and working by the time the sun announces its intention along the eastern horizon. The sounds of children laughing, and playing along the beach, women washing the family clothes and chatting without abbreviation with each other, and the clank of wooden oars against wooden boat planks are clearly evident as we crawl out of the warm bed. Some people like to sleep in when they come to the lake, but the excitement of seeing the fishing boats being launched into the heavy surf has a draw all of its own. I gather up the camera and head toward the door to see what I can see from beyond the low fence that leads to the beach. The staff has already opened the curtains and doors, and the beach chairs are spread across the lawn as though they are planning on spending the day visiting with each other, and looking off into the distance at the beauty of puffy white clouds sliding effortlessly across the sky above the blue, green surface of the lake. 

Camera in hand I move quietly out through the sitting area, and around the vine covered walkway, and then down through the yard and over to the gate. Off to my left I can easily see a number of fishing boats, with men straining and struggling against a 6 to 8 foot surf in an effort to get the boats beyond the surf and off to the distant fishing fields. For a few minutes I watch them with such fascination that I almost forget my camera. There are the larger boats with gas engines and 4 or 5 men trying to push through the surf with a great deal of labor. Mingled among them are the dugouts that seem to hit the giant waves at just the wrong time and are quickly flooded. Whether large or small the push of nature is too much for many of the boats. The men, some of them only 12 or 13 years of age drag at swamped boats in an effort to get them back to the shore so they can bail out the water and try again. Men wading in the chest high surf struggle to right them, and get both kinds of boats beyond the surf that seems bent on gluing them to the shore permanently and without mercy.

Capturing the Struggle

Finally I realize the scene before me is a classic, and I raise my camera to capture their struggle against the elements. As I snap away I realize the sun is coming over the far distant water horizon, and its rays are beginning to dance across the scene in front of me, as though laughing at the human struggle that is taking place. From time to time one of the boats breaks loose and makes it beyond the surf. As I watch, after long desperate struggles, the dug out logs get past the surf as well. My camera clicks and clicks as I try to catch the majestic scene in front of me, but I am fully aware there is little that can catch the beauty of what I am experiencing. Too, the camera is certainly not capable of imaging the full experience of the men who are trying to “go out to sea in these tiny hand made ships.”  Persistence pays … in time, and eventually most of the boats and boatmen have made it outside breaking surf and are disappearing far out in the lake. The danger will last the entire day. Fishermen die on this lake, every year, but they must fish to survive. The surf cannot win.

Before I realize it time has slipped away and it is time for breakfast. Another excellent meal and I head back to the room to pack up and head back toward Lilongwe. As I check out I make a mental note. This was just too short a time for such a great place. I have to do it again, and real soon. There are just too many pleasures here.