Days like this...

Often the most precious moments in life are not those that cost a lot of money to see, or are surrounded by hype but rather the simple things are those that really take your breathe away.

I've played pool with a Masaii, drunk beer with corrupt police, been within meters of a wild lion, seen the largest mountain in Africa and sun bathed on the golden sands of Zanzibar... and although its been a journey of a lifetime none of these experiences would make it to my top ten moments in Africa. Why? Because i've learnt that it's the small, unique moments that really make you stop and think.. wow life is bloody awesome!

One afternoon after a marathon beach soccer game as I was retiring to my chalet, i was stopped by one of my favourite students and a fond fan of my vortex ball, Fastone. He was asking if i will come with him to Chisaseria. After several failed attempts to clarify what Chisaseria actually is i obliged anyway and we scheduled it for the following day.

Returning from my very early jog which is undertaken just as the sun reflects gloriously off the lake and makes it easy getting up at 6am when this view greets you dailythe local fishing villages beat their drums to alert the nearby villages that the men have returned triumphantly with their dug out canoes full of fish, i was stopped in my path by none other than Fastone. He exclaimed "Chisaseria, now?" Several more failed attempts to find out what i was getting myself into led to more confusion so I just accepted. Presuming we were heading to school, his house or to see his dog or something i drastically underestimated what the day ahead would bring.

After walking down the routine dirt track past the school and arrived at his aunties house i thought that wasn't too painful Chisaseria must mean aunties or home, and i would be back before i knew it. However when he came out of the modest mud brick house wearing a full buttoned up shirt and black pants i thought looks like this is just the beginning and concluded that we're off to church.

After walking several km's down the main lakeshore road which is one of the main motor ways in Malawi and sees almost a whopping 50 cars fly past a daily we veered off on a beaten track pass some sugarcane fishing village 200m from Mwaya.. Super i thought were finally here, as i was beat from my morning jog. ... but wrong again.

We walked on this dirt goat trail for over an hour passing countless mud brick homes, fields of cassava and women carrying anything from water to kilograms of rice on their heads. We crossed over a river on a precarious log bridge whereby you had to strategically jump over the large gaps between logs without having them turn under your feet as you land. although i love a good challenge i must say i was relieved to reach the other side in one piece.. however i felt a lot less athletic seeing these same women and their oversized loads do it with ease.

It was then that I realized that no other Mzungu would have walked the steps that I had today and seen this breathe taking scenery that well surpassed anything else I have ever seen. I smiled to myself and tried to soak it in all in. whooooo!!

Fastone was keen to keep going to escape the rain and we picked up the pace to a gentle cross country jog.. at this stage I was still oblivious as to where we were going which I chuckled to myself as I jogged thinking I’m an idiot. Eventually we slowed and walked up a hill to a small cluster of about five modest sized mud brick homes surrounded by crops. It was his father’s house where he grew up and he was honored to have a Mzungu come visit. His father was a well respected pastor and spent several years in South Africa so spoke fluent English. As we chatted in the living area small faces would pear round the corner with bright bulging eyes just starring at me. There were almost thirty kids in the family and many of the yournger ones had never seen a white person before. Their clothes we’re dirty and tattered, their feet were course from no shoes and more often than not their bodies would bare scars from working in the fields or skin infections… but nonetheless they were full of life and beaming with smiles.

Hospitality of the Malawian people is like not other.. and although they done have much they share whatever they do. Lunch was prepared which consisted of Maize Nsima and chicken. Nsima being the staple food of much of Africa which is dried and ground corn or cassava (poor mans Nsima) and cooked slowly into a paste with water. Being in the presence of a pastor and questioned on my religion I made the mistake of saying Anglican because that was my highschool’s. To pay for it I was asked to say grace which is something I was very unfamiliar doing. Chuckling at the situation I made it up as I went and thankfully seemed to be suffice. Father portioned out the chicken proudly and gave me what he considered the best bits. Me on the the hand couldn’t recognize the parts they lay on my plate before me.. one particular bit looked like some sort of internal organ or something horrid. It’s an honor to have a chicken killed for your meal so I dare not eat it despite how hideous it looked. I wrapped up the chicken portions in Nsima and gulped it down. The afternoon passed as did the rains just sitting outside swapping tales and waving to the giggling children. I left with a bag of sweet potatoes and a promise to return before I leave.

The day was like no other and through it all I couldn’t stop smiling at how everything had turned out and how fortunate I was to have seen such beautiful scenery and met such warm hearted people. Nothing glamorous or exciting but its days like this that are truly Special.


….. As the family are aware from a not so pleasant email mum received last weekend this is also the story that landed me in hospital the following day. Food poisoning the doctor’s diagnosis, hell was mine. Suspected of having malaria I was admitted to Nkhata Bay hospital in a terrible condition. To weak to take myself to the bathroom or wipe the vomit off my face I was in and out consciousness all night. Lying there in my underwear drenched in sweat I was in a terrible state.. with workman constantly walking past my window gorking at the Mzungu I really wished I was back home. Three drips later and vomiting up my entire stomach lining I was finally discharged from the dirty, smelly, loud hospital where countless people are simply lying there waiting to die. Definitely It was a place I never want to be again.

Thankfully I got better quite quickly and was walking around and eating within the week. It was humbling to have a constant flow of visitors from the neighboring village who had got word that I was sick and they came to see if I was o.k. Even Fastone’s father made the trek down the mountain to send his regards. I told him it was food poisoning but didn’t point the finger.

Now your not allowed to laugh or call me stupid but a couple of days ago on a routine shop by the side of the lakeshore road I purchased some mushrooms. As food here rarely changes I was excited to see something new to shove into my mouth. I whacked em in a stir fry omelet thing and being the pig that I am ended up eating my fellow volunteers portion. Lucky for her within hours I was at a friends house and excused myself outside as the mushrooms had started to take effect and I needed to vomit. Another day spent laying in the dirt outside a friends house looking like a stupid Mzungu puking up my guts. I tried to walk back to Mwaya to warn the other volunteers but made it a whole twenty meters before collapsing and vomiting more. Turns out that the mushrooms have to be cooked a special way involving hours of boiling to remove the poisons in them. Which would’ve been great to know. Asked whether I wanted to go the hospital I smiled and declared I’m fine as that’s the last place I wanted to be. Thankfully later that evening I had bought up my bright yellow stomach vile again which meant they were all out of me and I started to feel better. So there’s another lesson learnt the hard way.

As I reminisce on the good times here, the ones that tutoring on the beach.. doesnt get better immediately spring to mind don’t involve resorts, or alcohol, or planned tourist outings… they all share one similarity and that’s the people. Whether its tutoring the school children, playing soccer on the beach or just hanging out with new found friends it’s the beautiful Malawian people that have molded my fond memories of Africa. Something that I would have never experienced from the back of an overland truck!!

Thanks to everyone who keeps me informed of happenings back home.. and putting me in your thoughts. Can’t wait to see everyone again and hope your all well.