Pencils and Paper for Students

Lilongwe District, Malawi … We are near the Dowa Valley on the north side of Lilongwe, the capital city of Malawi. As we turn off the dirt and gravel road, we enter the grounds of a relatively smart looking primary/secondary school complex. This is part of the government system of schools, and the administration comes out to greet us, as we pull into the make shift parking area. With so little vehicular traffic we have available to us as many parking spots as we wish it use.

We are given a great reception. It is obvious the staff is excited to see us, and they are ready to show us the entire complex. We enter the administrative offices and meet the staff. It is amazing to realize there are no computers; little in the way of desks and file cabinets, and very little paper, pens and pencils appear on any of the desks. This is not unusual when you enter a rural school in Malawi. You often even find the students sitting on the floor. This is because so many schools do not have desks, libraries, or other supplies needed for a school. On top of this many of the students do not have pencils or paper with which to take notes of what the teacher is trying to convey to them. However, to see the administration without even the bare necessities to do their jobs is appalling.

Each year the Malawi Project sends thousands of pencils, pens and paper to the schools of Malawi on the medical shipment trailers. Contributions of pens, paper and pencils can be sent to:

Malawi Project

3314 Van Tassel Drive

Indianapolis, Indiana 46240-3555

Travel for a Reason

           A Remote Village… It is one thing to go to Africa for a vacation. It is a very, very different thing when you go in order to help other people. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Even when you go to help others you will see the spectacular countryside, experience life in a remote village, be immersed in the sights and sounds of a major city, and taste the local food. But when you go to help other people there is an element of the trip that sticks with you, and with them, in a much different way. Nothing ever matches going into someone’s home, and finding you are quickly and deeply intertwined in his or her life. That’s the way it was that warm day when Wilson led us west and south of the Namikango Mission in order to meet one of the people who had received one of the wheelchairs we had sent to Malawi a few weeks earlier.

Not Very Far

          “It’s not far,” he says, after we have picked up a representative of the tribal chief in the area. It is repeated again, probably to try to reassure us, just as we turn off the tarmac road and start south on a twisting, tiny dirt path. We bounce along, often having to navigate over on the edge of the partially cultivated fields so we can avoid the sinkholes that cluster together in the ever-narrowing road. More twists and turns, and finally we actually come to the end of the path. The way forward looks like a menacing pile of rocks that have been laced with threads of dirt. We have reached the end of the road. “What happened to, ‘It’s not far,’ I wondered? We can’t drive any farther. From here we’ll have to walk. With the car safely locked, and an aged woman who lives nearby posted as a “guard”, we start out on foot. I take one glance back at her and wonder if she is really a guard, or just an interested spectator wondering what the white faces are doing going down over the mountain. 

           In front of us the vastness of the regal mountains and the breathtaking, sweep of the valleys stretch out in front of us in a magnificent presentation of the creative workmanship of our Creator. Cresting a rise we find ourselves looking down in a valley where people walking at just tiny dots in the distance. Leading to them are the paths, looking like tiny tan threads twisting their way down the mountain.

          “There is where we are going,” our guide indicates. He is pointing to a spot beyond the valley floor where the mountain starts its gradual rise toward a summit bathing itself in the sunlit clouds. Almost in slow motion they glide in from the east, and disappear to the west.

 


          The women travel with us part of the way, but eventually we reach the place where the slope drops off into the valley. Leaving the women behind on the crest of the mountain we men start down the ever-sloping edge of a massive granite dome. Beyond the rock we reach a footpath that winds its way in crisscross fashion in order not to fall off of the mountain. Near the bottom we do a little dance across a water-filled creek, hopping carefully from rock to rock. Then, having safely reached the other side without stopping to catch our breath we begin the gradual ascent toward the huts that grow ever larger in front of us as we move slowly up the mountain.

         

          Finally we reach a tiny village of 6 or 8 huts and are introduced to Maggie. She is quite shy, and at the age of 48 has never been outside these few huts that form an oblong ring around a tiny clearing. She is sitting on the ground where she has been pounding grain, the only staple for her family, nsima. She does not want pictures taken until a family member gets the new wheelchair she received two weeks ago from the Namikango Mission. She is very excited with it, and reports how the church has been meeting only about 200 meters away from her home for years, but she has never been able to attend. She could only sit and watch them walk past her hut. But now because of the wheelchair she can attend. She is pleased that she can get around, and both her and her husband are quick to express their deep appreciation to those people who made this possible.

          We visit for a little while longer, then make our way back down the slope, across the creek and up and over the big dome of granite at the top. Wilson Tembo, from the Namikango Mission, tells us this woman and another person in a nearby village were carried in wheelbarrows all the way from their houses to the top of the mountain so they could be at the receiving ceremony for the wheelchairs.

      Back in the car that had been safely guarded by the old woman while we were away, we carefully turn around by the big rock, and begin the trip back to the mission for the night. I could not help being glad I was here for the purpose of bringing aid to the people, and not simply and solely on a vacation to another exotic location. There is so much that is lost when travel is focused only on going someplace to gain another view, see another place, and experience another culture from inside a tour bus.

Today I Met Doricca Somanje

 Travel a Land of Both Poverty and Peace

      Malawi --- It is often referred to as the “Warm Heart of Africa”. It is the home of a number of tribal groups. Generally they are scattered throughout the country by regions. The North, Central and Southern regions are distinctively divided by these political and historical backgrounds. Generally there is a demarcation of the main cultural tribes by the three geographical regions. The Tumbuka and Ngoni tribes with the Tonga tribe coming in smaller numbers dominate the northern region. The Chewa tribe is the largest and they live primarily in the central Malawi. The southern region is highly populated by the Yao and Lomwe tribes. However, this does not confine one to its tribe by region or district. Each region and district of the country has patches of people from other tribes living in harmony and unlimited peace. No wonder this is called the Warm Heart of Africa. Inter tribal marriages are not prohibited, and this further enhances the bonds of unity throughout the nation.

        Built on four cornerstone principles by the father and founder of the nation, the late Hastings Kamuzu Banda, these principles are unity, peace, freedom and discipline. Although these principles are sometimes forgotten they still help to mold the nation in a friendly place both regionally and globally.

         Although this nearly 50-year-old democratic nation still falls near the bottom of the world’s economic rankings, and the poverty level remains near the top, the strides towards a brighter Malawi are still being jointly fought by all Malawians.  It is a country plagued with poverty, and few people can afford basic necessities. The lucky children may find a tablet of soap with which to wash their clothes. The unlucky ones must do without. Both are forced to walk many kilometers on rocky ground just to gather food, find firewood, and collect water. School classrooms are inadequate; and many children still access education studying under trees. The literacy rate is said to be at 62.7% of the population over 15 years and old.

Fifty-Three Percent Below the Line

                        The basic water sources remain unprotected shallow wells that supply the largest part of the population. Potable water is even inaccessible by many urban dwellers. Water taps are dry for the greater part of the year. Water authorities still depend on old malfunctioning equipment, when the precious commodity can be accessed at all. Despite the fact that 53% of the population lives below the poverty line the country’s inhabitants remain friendly and warm.

      A fuel resource for the biggest section of the 13,931,831 inhabitants of the nation remains firewood. Each day starts with the girls actively involved in household chores. For school going girls, the collection of firewood to warm the bathing water is usually the first thing they do each morning. Firewood is needed to cook the breakfast. Although the burning of firewood is done with no feelings of guilt, the fact is that deforestation and soil degradation are on the increase at an alarming rate. The need for alternative means to firewood is coming very late. The direct ‘alternative’ remains the often-interrupted power generation by the only country’s controlled powerhouse --- electricity Supply Corporation. Less than one quarter of the population is said to be electrified.

I Met a New Friend

        This afternoon, I have made a new friend. Her name is Doricca Somanje. She is a Nyanja by tribe and hails from Mtuweni Village in Zomba. At her age, she might have collected dozens of kilograms of firewood for her family’s use. I asked for permission if I could take her friendly and beautiful face for the purposes of my article. She agreed, but with one condition, “Mutakachapisa mudzandipaseko changa” (After printing, please give me a copy of the photo).

      One thing I observed from this little girl is that, without anything except freedom and peace of mind, a person is actually whole. I am not however, concluding that without the basic necessities, one is satisfied, but I have grown to realize that peace and freedom are fundamental properties for any human being, whether they are rich or poor. Despite the fact that she has almost nothing, Dorica still manages a smile that reveals the country’s warmth. Her daily life depends on firewood as a source of fuel. To her and other villagers electricity is not an alternative at all.

Such a Warm Smile

                        It is such wide smiles that Malawians are blessed with that make the country home to everyone. If one has not visited Malawi, one must be living in an incomplete ‘world’. This is the warm heart of Africa --- the nation known for her poverty as well as being a nation of friendly people.

                        Physical features are enormous in this centrally located African nation. Mountains, hills, rivers, lakes, animals, national parks, all are in large numbers. This is the nation that houses the great African rift valley lake, Lake Malawi, the great Mulanje Mountain, and several attractive destinations that are patiently waiting to be visited. But above all of them, the thing you may take home with you above all else are the smiles of the people. ~ Wilson Tembo

                                                           

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.

Leaving Home to Reach Home

(Hidden Notes From an Old Shipping Trunk)

It is a strange feeling. On one hand there is the sadness of leaving home, leaving children, and grandchildren, longtime friends, church family, leaving business associates and medical professionals who have shared your days for years. On the other hand there is the excitement of reaching home, arriving where grown men and women consider you their “mama” and “papa”, where orphan children run to greet you, knowing their next meal comes from the resources you bring to the table, and where the sick and handicapped understand their hospitals have medical supplies because of whom your represent.

On this trip from home to home our Delta flight leaves Indianapolis in the pre-dawn darkness. On the way to Atlanta and our jumping off point for the Atlantic crossing, I see clusters of twinkling lights from countless cities, through cloudless skies. It brings a deep feeling of loneliness for I realize it will be many months before I see such a scene again. My “other home”, the one I am going to, will often be without lights. The weakness of the electrical infrastructure makes it one of the darkest areas on the planet. The roads will be pothole filled, and the big trucks will nearly bump you off the road as they pass. The water will have to be boiled or purchased from a water source in the capital. And speaking of the capital, the streets of old town will resonate with the sounds of old Africa, and you will feel you have left this world for another. It is so strange. One house rests nicely in the affluence of the first world. It offers almost every convenience an upper middle class mind can imagine. The second house overlooks poverty that cannot even be imagined by the poor neighborhoods in America. Yet the second house is in no way second to the first. What makes them so equal, when all of the surroundings cry deep contrast? It can’t be the conveniences that make the second as special as the first. It has to be something else. But what can offset the threat of malaria-laden mosquitoes that search for entrance into our Malawi house? Or what is it that can be so special that it will compel one to share a hillside with one or more resident mamba snakes that think the hill belongs to them? And what human desire will compel the discomfort and inconvenience of electrical outages, phone disruptions, and water shortages? What is it that can possibly compel one to return each time in spite of vehicle breakdowns, the lack of food choices, and the absence of all of the niceties that come with a home in the first world?

There are Two Possibilities

It can only be two things that make the trip mandatory? One is the deep and abiding love for a people who cannot speak our language, understand our culture, or manage our technologically advanced devices. Yet they are a people who understand villages, home and family. There is a whole lot to be said for a culture that does not understand “things”, but does fully understand the value in relationships.

The other reason for the compulsion must be imbedded in the intense human need to make a difference in this world, to make it a better place, to introduce people to the plan and purpose of the Messiah. It is a need that is rooted in the desire to help them understand the beauty of the church, as well as its universal importance to all mankind.

The Reasons We Leave Home

These two reasons appear to pinnacle any others that might be considered. These are definitely the reasons we continue to make the trip. They are why we leave home in the convenience of the first world setting, in order to arrive home in a place where few have heard its name, and even fewer have traveled its ancient roads. There can be no other explanation.

Malawi is Planting its Future

The problems keep coming, and each new one delays us in getting to the office of the Minister of Forestry for the nation of Malawi. I hate being late to any meeting, but to be late to a meeting with a government official is doubly uncomfortable. Finally we get the problems resolved and head toward the office of the Forestry Department. Upon our arrival we are immediately ushered into the office of the Minister of Forestry, along with his Deputy Secretary of Forestry. Beside them are seated the assistant Director of Forestry, and the District Forestry Officer for the Lilongwe District Office. We take our seats. No one seems to notice, or even care, that we are late arriving. The customary greetings, introductions, and conversation continue for nearly an hour. It is all part of the Malawi custom of getting to know you, and what you are all about, before getting down to the business at hand. Malawians are masters at determining character, and they will size you up in short order. After the time of greeting we all get into a Nissan Patrol 3.0 Di and head out of the driveway.

The sun is climbing high in the sky, and the customary fog on distant mountains is burning its way toward a clear blue sky. The green landscape from the recently ended rainy season still punctuates the landscape as we scoot hastily south through the countryside. Family plots of ripe maize spot the landscape brown, and white clouds drift slowly across the African sky. Cassia Spectabilis trees topped with beautiful blossoms of yellow warn of the coming dry season.

Tearing Long Gashes In The Clouds

Within fifteen minutes the changing landscape begins to roll the road into a slow rollercoaster of curves and hills, and the distant mountains move in to surround us. The farther south we travel, the higher the peaks. They appear as though they are tearing long gashes in the soft underbellies of the low flying clouds. Brown grass huts extend above the tall grass of the savannah. Ox carts filled with young boys, and commerce, move north along the road, while the older boys quickly pass them on bicycles burdened with racks of wood. Women whose backs are bent from age and labor cautiously step off the edge of the broken tarmac in order to avoid the rush of oncoming vehicles. They trudge their way toward a nearby trading center with baskets of vegetables on their heads and babies on their backs. Coke and Panadol signs mark the sides of stores, along with such interesting signs as the Double Vision Boys School, or the No Farming - No Life Grocery Store. Or what woman would not want to go to the Beautiful Woman Salon.

Hills once covered with plush forests now stand naked and ashamed. Peaks stare down in disbelief as village scavengers seek the last stand of trees for enough wood to cook the next meal. One must sympathize with the village woman who has no other means to create a fire with which to feed hungry children. Yet it is this pitiful lot that is robbing the future of the future forests.

A Fat Man Lying On His Back

Fifteen more minutes and the vehicle glides into a valley, across a stream, and over the unmarked boundary between the Lilongwe District, and the Dedza District. Before us in the distance looms Dedza Mountain. It looks like a fat man lying on his back. It seems to grow as we approach it at 70 kilometers an hour. Just when it appears we are going to skirt the mountain on the west side the 4 x 4 slows, and then we turn left toward the mountain, and into Dedza Boma. The route, long since forgotten by the highway department, draws us down an impossible dirt path to the backside of the mountain. More and bigger potholes, and finally we break into the open. The view is breathtaking as we look out over a breathtaking vista. Wild flowers flow down the mountainside, and people with ancient hoes dot the hillside in intense labor. Men with bare feet, hardened and blistered by the rough soil, toil in the mid-day sun to create little clearings around each tiny, fragile seedling. Everywhere there are stump reminders of ancient forests. Passing these workers we round a sharp curve and enter the Dedza Mountain Project. The area of work on the southwest side covers 40 hectors, or about 88 acres. An estimated 20,000 seedlings have already been planted. They are now being carefully weeded. Some of the villagers are observed leaving the staging area with big grins, and boxes of shoes they have received as a reward from the “Shoes For Trees” program. We wave. They wave back.

Appearing To Mock The Naked Valley

Next we stop at the Forestry Office so we can talk with some of the workers. Everyone knows of the Shoe Incentive Program, and everyone agrees it is what is making the tree-planting program so successful this year. After hearing and seeing the results of the incentive program from these men, we get back in the vehicle and head around the mountain to the northwest side. Again we find a road that promises no care has found it in several years. It is an impossible dirt path, and it seems to have been a target range for B-52 carpet-bombing. One has to wonder how so many potholes can cluster together, all in one place, and all at the same time. We pass a giant pine forest of 3,500 hectors that was planted in 2002. The trees reach skyward, as they appear to mock the naked valley nearby. The Nissan crawls around the now famous mountain of ancient rock paintings. We are told the paintings on this mountain were painted hundreds of years ago by the African Bushmen, or pigmies. We can’t see them high in the caves on the mountain as we pass, but that does not take away our marvel at this ancient land of surprises.

Arriving on the west side of the mountain we enter the Chongoni forest where some 20,000 seedlings have been planted. As with the northwest side, in the Dedza Mountain Project, we are advised the success of the project can again be credited to the “Shoes For Trees” Project instituted by the Malawi Forestry Department, and the Malawi Project Incentive Program Initiatives. Across the hillside workers can be seen with sickles swinging away at the weed-covered earth, and ancient hoes claw out needed firebreaks.

Road Less Traveled

Our vehicle pulls to a stop, and the Forest Department workers walk up to greet us. Our Malawi guide encourages, and admonishes them to continue their good work in order to receive new pairs of shoes from the next shipment. The workers seem happy to know such a reward is coming their way. Smiles reflect their response. It looks like we have reached a remote place at the end of the road, certainly a road less traveled. Yet, in reality, we are in the very center of the action. One hundred and fifty pairs of shoes for every 20,000 seedlings planted and weeded. There is no other payment, no other incentive, only the pair of shoes to help to reforest their land.

At this work site we stop to talk with one of the forest managers. He is a forest service employee with seven years of experience with the department. He is from Lilongwe, and he tells us he wants to attend the Bunda College of Agriculture in order to obtain a degree in Forestry. He cannot go until he finds a sponsor to help him with the cost.

“Will clothes work as well as the shoes have worked, if we give you clothes for trees next year,” our guide asks? The worker responds, “Yes, we want to plant 500,000 seedlings next year. We simply need incentives to get the village people to come out and help us. Of course we also need panga knives, pruning shears, and some fire fighting equipment. If we have these things we can grow our forests back again.”

For The Sake Of All Of Us

As the afternoon begins to leave us behind we make our way back to the tarmac of M-1, and turn north toward Lilongwe and home. The driver pops in a cassette tape and out come the strains of Dolly Parton, as well as an assortment of other country and western singers, compliments of Nashville, Tennessee. Two Malawi Forest Service Officials, in the back of our vehicle, can be heard softly clapping to the beat. It is obvious there is really not much difference between peoples, no matter where you are in the world. And another thing is sure. These people have to be successful in what they are doing. The forests of Malawi must be reestablished … for the sake of all of us.

Note: The Shoes For Trees Program, from the first 40-foot trailer of shoes, was reported to have netted a total of over 400,000 seedlings planted and weeded. A second trailer of shoes has resulted in thousands of more trees planted on the land of the new Dzidalire Community Development Agency, and the site of the new Malawi International Bible Institute north of the Dedza Trading Center.

Adventure of Buying Car Parts

The Adventure of Buying Car Parts

Making even simple purchases in this part of Africa are often a near death experience. What we mean by this is that after going from place to place to place you are dying to find the item, yet it often remains so elusively you will age immeasurably before you find it, if you find it. To ever go into the first store that seems it would have your item and actually find the item is improbable or often impossible. If your list is too long you may actually grow old and die before you find the shop that carries that particular item. Even if you want to buy things that are used all the time by the local people, the experience can still be a harrowing encounter. Take the trip we recently made so we could purchase an oil filer, air filter, some motor oil, and springs for a very popular vehicle in this part of the world. Experience has taught us that these trips usually take much longer than expected, much longer! The stores are often out of the very item you are greatest in need of purchasing. In recent weeks we have found the stores out of prepaid telephone cards, diet coke, diesel fuel, sugar, milk, and various other commodities that a person from the west cannot imagine a major city running out of. One has to wonder who the purchasing person is that is asleep at the wheel so often as to allow this to happen repeatedly.  

Concern Causes Us To Leave Early 

Because of our concern over the possibility of having trouble finding one or more of the items we decide to go to town early, so we can be there the minute the stores open. It is Saturday, and the stores close at noon, so we do not have a minute to waste. We have very little fear about finding the popular oil filter, the air filter, or the oil. It is the rear springs that we have some concern that we might have to check with more than one location before we find them. And so, with some trepidation we gird ourselves for the expedition and head out on another of our travels in the “warm heart of Africa”. In this case we are on the way into the capital city of Lilongwe, population 700,000, so we ca make a few simple car maintenance purchases. What can be so hard with this?

       The dashboard clock indicates it is 8:20 AM. Remember, the purchase list only includes an oil filter, air filter, several quarts of oil, and a set of springs for the rear of a very popular model in this part of the world. Lilongwe is the biggest city of the nation and the capital. If we were home in America this would be about a 20-minute project at a single car parts store, or car dealership.

A Traditional African Trading Center

       By 9 AM we are inching our way through the bumper-to-bumper, person-to-person, traffic in the oldest portion of Lilongwe. Our first stop is “the most reliable shop” in the oldest portion of Old Town. Before we get out of the car let me tell you about Old Town. This is the part of the city that was here before Lilongwe became the capital of Malawi. In fact Old Town was here before Malawi became a country. 

     For many years Lilongwe was Malawi’s second largest city, always trailing the commercial center of Blantyre in the southern part of the nation. But in the past 40 years the population of the capital city has literally “exploded”. In 1977 it was at 98,718, by 1987 it reached 223,318. In 1998 it had nearly doubled to 435,964. In 2008 the figure had nearly doubled again to 866,272, and a year later, in 2009 it was up to 902,388.

Old Town is Really Old

          Today, in Old Town, a sea of street vendors outnumber the stores, and the store fronts are nearly hidden by mop venders, guys carrying car parts (including bumpers) and various other items they are sure you want to buy. All are moving beside and in the street trying to find a buyer (maybe before the owner finds them. There are hub-cap vendors, tomato and carrot vendors, and all other types of commodities including cell phones, cell phone chargers, and a large number hacking cell phone cars that may or may not work when you try to put the time in your unit. Just to be on the safe side I snap the lock on the door and smile back at a guy standing very close to the window smiling in at me. After traveling through the virtual sea of humanity that is milling about the street we reach the most reliable shop, Ngoni Shop # 2. With that name, and since the Ngoni tribe has traditionally been the warrior nation, I wonder if there is a group of warriors inside waiting for the first unsuspecting arrival of the morning. Our mechanic disappears inside to explain our needs; one oil filter, one air filter, several quarts of oil, and the springs for the back of the vehicle. He is gone for some time, and when he exits the store, instead of coming back to the vehicle; he turns to the right and disappears from view toward a second set of shops. It either means he is deserting me, or he has not found what he is looking for in the first shop. I decide in my mind to vote for the later. Probably it is the springs that he cannot find, I decide. In a little while he comes back with success … he has found the air filter. We move our vehicle down the crowded street to a second set of stores. Again, the mechanic disappears inside a dingy looking storefront. I check the lock on the driver side of the vehicle. Secure. Good. We are in the center of the open-air market area, and somehow the crowds have intensified. That is hard to imagine since there were already packed in so tight no one could move faster than the pace of the crowd. Opening the door of a vehicle is now a more pronounced challenge, and to drive through the area will put every door that is opening on both sides of you in serious jeopardy of being torn off in the far too narrow street. 

         While waiting for the driver to return from his scouting trip I scan the crowd. Gaining the eye of a street vendor I extend a request for a copy of “The Nation” newspaper. I carefully hand sixty Kwacha out the slightly cracked window. The exchange is made. Now I can settle in to get a handle on the news. Since I have only looked over three newspapers in the past three months it is strange the way the news still seems so familiar. Politicians are fighting over the budget. The highway department is closing two more roads for road repair. A trial is scheduled of a politician who is being accused of corruption. The local sports team has lost a recent international soccer contest. A water shortage has occurred in two of the trading centers north of us. On the international scene the Middle East is still in turmoil. North Korea is threatened to shoot off more test missiles. Two North African nations are suffering a several famine. The news is the news, is the news. I finish the newspaper from front to back, and then lean back in my seat to watch the various pedestrians moving soundlessly past the front of the car. An occasional horn reminds me of the vast traffic jam that is clambering past the vehicle behind me, while trying to find its way out of the maze called a street.

Mechanic Going from Store to Store

        Behind me and to the left our mechanic is going from store to store looking for the parts. He returns to the car to announce the need for a new location. We are up to 20 stores, and to almost no avail. However, I have caught up with all of the news of the world, and I can also tell anyone where this guy was born, as well as the name of his prospective wife, and a host of other details about him and the part of town we are traveling through.

Try the Expensive Side of Town

          By this time we give up and head back over to the “most expensive” side of town in order to get the parts. Back on the “expensive” side, the place our mechanic avoids like the plague because of its prices we start a systematic search for the parts. No luck. 

          The time is now up to 12:05 and it is too late to attempt to find another store that might have our parts. We have been successful in the purchase of an oil filter. No success on any of the other items. Before leaving this part of town we are able to stop at a Petro station and obtain the oil, but nothing else. 

           We head back. We’ve spent the entire morning and have found just one oil filter and several quarts of oil. All in all though, it has been a rather good time. We did find one of the items we need. We’ll go back on Monday morning and canvass some more of the stores. We’ve said it before, and we will probably say it time and again, “That’s Malawi.”