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Last weekend Tyler and I headed out to Kang’oma village which is one of the villages outside of Lilongwe and where our Peace Corps Volunteer friends David and Lauren live. Since we arrived we have been meaning to “travel like Peace Corps Volunteers” which is MUCH different than the way we get around Malawi.

As most of you know, we have a big SUV like you see the white people in Africa drive in the movies. This means that we cruise around Lilongwe and the country on relatively comfortable roads and if they are dirt, our car can handle it. It also means that we travel with music, air conditioning, comfortable seats, seat belts, and otherwise in safety.

The rest of the country does not enjoy this luxury. About 99% of the country travels by minibus if they travel at all. These minibuses look like old Toyota minivans in the US and usually have a bench seat in the front and four bench seats in the back. These four bench seats are MEANT TO seat three people each.

The minibuses are in a terrible state of repair and the drivers are not always the most cautious. Most minibuses have not only a driver, but also a “call boy.” (Not be confused with a “call girl”!) The call boy has the job responsibility of hanging out of the window or door of the minibus and yelling at every person passed on the street telling them how much is costs and asking if they want a ride.

So…this leads me to our story. So we decided that instead of driving our nice, cushy vehicle out to see David and Lauren we would instead travel the way they do when they travel to see us. For us this meant, taking a minibus from my office (in city center for those of you who have been to Lilongwe you know where it is), to the bus station in Old Town, then switching minibuses to go to the end of Area 23, getting off in Area 23 and then finding a bike taxi to David and Lauren’s village. Those of you who haven’t been to Malawi may be immensely confused as to what all of this means.

We caught a minibus to the bus station in Old Town. The bus was broken down and the seats were not attached to the floor – this made turns very difficult for the passengers as we were not only trying to balance ourselves but also keep the seats upright. When we got on the bus there were about five other people on but by the time we reached the bus station there were about 25 and each seat had at least four people on it and sometimes extra if there were kids.

We got out at the bus station – which is actually just a bit of dirt in the midst of the city – and asked our driver how to find a minibus to Area 23. Luckily, he took us over to one quickly where we (strategically, although we didn’t know it at the time) sat in the back corner of the bus together. Again we were some of the first few on the bus. Our back seat got packed with five people and we were smooshed. However, the seat in front of us was even more packed and two different people tried to squeeze their butts into a very tight spot and it didn’t work at all. The minibus drivers won’t go if there aren’t at least four people to a seat…Eventually a smaller women was able to jam her hips into the seat.

Through Area 23 we didn’t stop much because our minibus was already full. We got all the way to the end of the line and got off the minibus. Lauren had instructed us to look for the bike taxis. While this is a common mode of transportation, we had never ridden on a bike taxi before so we were quite nervous. Let me tell you what a bike taxi is – It’s essentially a regular bike with a padded flat piece of wood over the back wheel. It’s about big enough for someone’s butt. Women usually sit “sidesaddle” and men straddle the seat like a horse. The bike taxi drivers did not speak any English which created a bit of confusion when I tried to get on the bike taxi. I thought I was supposed to sit sidesaddle but the bike taxi driver though that was a bad idea (and he was right). So he mimed to me to straddle the seat which I did. We started riding and I was scared to death that I would fall off. The road was dirt and bumpy and there were still some cars passing. This in combination with sitting behind a guy who hadn’t showered in awhile was enough for me…

As we were riding into the village a whole bunch of kids starting yelling out “lala.” This is what they call Lauren because they cannot distinguish between Ls and Rs. (You may remember this from my story about naming the guard’s baby.) So Lauren has been called Rolen, Roleen, Lalen, Rara, and anything else besides Lauren…smart of her to go with her childhood nickname of Lala. I’m not sure if they though I was Lala or they just knew I was Lala’s friend because normally white people don’t ride into their town on bike taxis. You may ask if Lauren and I look similar – not really. We’re about the same age, height and weight but otherwise not much. Some white people will tell you that they find it difficult to distinguish between black Africans. Many people have the same haircut, all have almost the same color of skin and eyes, and most don’t have piercings or glasses that would make someone distinguishable using our normally developed perceptions. Malawians say the same about us – they think that whites look generally the same and there are often times when two white women run into a Malawian and a rural Malawian can’t really distinguish the two. This is just normal. So anyway, for that ride into town I may have been Lala.

We stayed at David and Lauren’s house which is one of three brick houses built for the staff of their local health center. The house is wired for electricity and has pipes and faucets for running water but the village has never been connected to either. The only place in the village that has electricity is the bar – not the health center, school or churches.

So we bathed using a pot of water that was warmed over the fire, we used a hole in the ground in the back as a toilet (called a chim here in Malawi), and we watched David cook us dinner over the fire. In the evening we lit candles, talked and played cards. David and Lauren do have a radio but there’s not a ton to be heard on the radio in Malawi – only at certain times.

In the morning, we went to church with them – a basic cement building which stayed remarkably cool during the whole service. There was an aisle and about twenty wooden benches on either side. The women and children sat on one side and the men on the other. No mixing is allowed so when David and Lauren go to church they have to sit separately. I sat with Lauren and Tyler sat with David.

The total cost of the trip was about 220 kwacha or around $1.75. The most expensive portion was the bike taxi ride which was 100 kwacha one way. (This is about 75 cents.)

On our way home (bike taxi and two minibuses later) Tyler and I commented that we should have done this long ago. It was a great experience and helped us to understand Malawi much better. I often have the feeling that it is better to live in a country as a Peace Corps Volunteer than as a diplomat. Maybe not better per se for everyone, but it is incredibly different – the PCVs have no clue as to some things that exist in Malawi just as we diplomats have no clue as to some things that exist in Malawi.