As you drive eastward through this part of Africa the communities themselves provide the clues to the history that has unfolded in these lands. Close to the boarder with Malawi we started to see the occasional Muslim man wearing his taqiyah or kufi cap with a kanzu like long shirt. Then after a while small mosques began appearing in a few villages. Gradually the further east we went the less sporadic that became, with most villages possessing a small mosque and tight groups of women in traditional Islamic dress. This was the boundary of centuries of Arabic influence on East Africa and the cultural impact remains clear to this day. Churches (often just shacks or open sided brick buildings) of every denomination vie for attention with banners proclaiming salvation in God’s name. The number of English Anglican churches is yet another fingerprint of history, a tell tale sign of the British influence, and it’s incredible to think that only during the birth of our parents this vast land, that we have been travelling through for nearly two months, was almost entirely under the British Imperial administration. Many ex-British colonial countries still carry a bitterness for that hegemony but Malawi (then Nyasaland) does not, in fact in many ways it still celebrates it, in part because of the positive influence of one man, David Livingstone, whose affection for the people of the area brought real benefits including the abolition of slavery and in some areas 100% literacy (which has since declined significantly).

Soon after crossing the border at hot and dusty Mwani/Mchinji crossing , which in itself could have been a historical lesson in early bureaucratic processes, we had an amusing interaction with Malawi’s only crooked policeman and even he had a conscious. Unlike Zimbabwe’s police in rather disheveled blue uniforms, this young officer was smartly dressed in a light khaki uniform and gleaming white belt. Waving us down to a stop, with white gloved hands, he insisted we had to come to the station and pay 20,000 Malawian Kwacha for speeding (around 30 USD) and when we objected he quickly responded that without a receipt he could reduce the fine to 10,000 Kwacha on the spot. During an increasingly friendly but long dialogue about the cost of living in Malawi we insisted we did not want to pay any fine the policeman explained that he was living on a monthly wage of only 80 USD and needed the money to support his extended family. Now feeling a degree of empathy for the polite young man and anxious to continue on Eric agreed to pay 5,000 (as we were indeed above the speed limit) but could not resist to mention that he thought this transaction was a little dishonest (by all parties involved). At this the policeman thrust the money back into Eric’s hand insisting he did not want to be dishonest. Moved by this display of integrity Eric rewarded him with an unprompted offer of 2,000, hoping if the policeman accepted it we would finally be on our way. The policeman did gratefully accept the counter offer and then, suddenly, closed his eyes, grabbed Eric’s arm with both hands and burst into a long blessing and prayer for our onward journey. Monika meanwhile sat bemused looking on from the passenger seat. Relieved we now had God’s blessings upon us we continued unhindered and at every other police roadblock through out Malawi (which there are many) honest and smiling officers always warmly welcomed us and waved us through.

Close to the Lilongwe (the capital), where we stocked up on supplies and managed to finally get hold of more US dollars, we stayed at Kumbali Lodge and Farm (where ,Monika informed Eric, Madonna stayed when she was visiting the country for the adoption of her four Malawian children) and here Monika enjoyed the use of a hairdryer for the first time in weeks and feeling refreshed and renewed put on a rare application of make up for dinner. The pleasure we both derived from the strong hot shower, in a clean bathroom with fresh thick towels indicated that since leaving Victoria Falls Hotel we’d had to rough it in some pretty rough places! Guy Pickering, the “larger than life” proprietor of Kumbali was left open mouthed at Monika’s pre-dinner transformation from weary adventure traveler. Guy, who also owns a large dairy farm and coffee plantation, shared with us his sharp and insightful experience from a colorful life and career across Southern Africa. The only other guests were two executives and friends of Guy’s from the tobacco industry. Tobacco is a major source of export for Malawi and it is vital for many rural communities whose farmers rely on the crop as the only source of income. The two friendly South African executives both admitted to not smoking but Guy made up for that gap in consumption. Guy is one of those rare characters whose presence alone is enough to lift the spirits. His jovial nature is telegraphed by a deep gravelly baritone voice and booming laugh whose bass tones could rival the lions of South Luangwa. A warm energetic smile accompanies the delivery of his well-versed aphorisms and a generous physical frame carries his obviously generous nature. This is a man who has taken life head on, weathered the ups and downs, smiled and smoked through it all and you are left with an unmistakable sense that through it all he has won. His lovely home, set amongst beautiful gardens, would not look a miss if it were found on the banks of the River Thames at Henley, England. Building a successful life amongst the winds of change and chaos that has buffeted Southern Africa over the decades probably helps to breed the indomitable spirit that Guy seems to posses. He remarked that he is always ready to give it all up at a moment’s notice as he warned that those same winds could change direction at anytime. After an early morning run through the tracks of his farm and the villages that border it, to the chorus of “good mornings” from his farm workers, we found it hard to tear ourselves away.

Malawi’s surface is over 20% water as it hosts Lake Malawi, Africa’s third largest lake, almost as large as Switzerland. We headed to the lakeside town of Cape Maclear on its southern shores over the beautiful scenery of the Denza escarpment. We arrived late but excited to reach a place that we had been recommended for camping out on the sandy shores. Unfortunately, our bubble was soon popped as we found ourselves in our only heated argument of the trip, with a pair of over-landers from Belgium who stubbornly blocked our access to the beach. This triggered a cascading series of events that had us sleeping (or not sleeping as was the case) in an unpleasant and massively over priced beach shack. The redeeming event of the night was being taught to play the rather complicated traditional African board game of “Boa”, played on a wooden rectangular board with beans or stones, by Samuel, the patient local we had befriended. We had heard the fishing town of Cape Maclear was a good place to unwind and it had built up a reputation with a few beachside lodges popular with travelers from around the world, but as we explored the area we became rather disillusioned. The local community clearly relies almost exclusively on fishing and the trickle of white tourists or aid workers who pass through for income. The tourists, however, seem to be more of the backpacker variety which we find (with age…) invariably leads to a certain “lack of taste” in the establishments that cater for them. However that aside, local life in Cape Maclear is the same that takes place around or on the entire lakeshore, with families washing themselves, their dishes, their clothes and everything else in close proximity. Long rows of wooden trestle tables, used for drying or smoking the fish, stretch out endlessly along the sandy beach. Fishermen sit repairing their nets from the morning catch or mending their wooden canoes, made from a single hallowed out tree trunk. The grey blue waters of the lake extend out to the eastern horizon and the waves lap against the shore. However, this otherwise idyllic scene is shattered by the all too obvious poverty that grinds on endlessly in Malawi (one of the poorest countries in the world). Despite many government and non-governmental initiatives around hygiene education human excrement litters the beach, garbage piles up throughout the town with goats, chickens and children picking their way through it. Many scenes reminded us of the poorest areas of rural India where we had cycled through 15 years before. It was tough on the senses. Yet we had many warm interactions as we explored ever further around the area especially with the children, who were everywhere. Children carried children, girls as young as 14 are mothers. On average each woman will have five to six children now in Malawi. The population, as is the case across the rest of central Africa, is exploding. It’s a puzzle of poverty that we struggle to come to terms with. Guy had ominously warned that this is Africa’s ticking time bomb and as we travel through lands, which can suffer from scarce resources, we are coming to agree.

Samuel, our “Bao” game coach, joined us for a dinner with some local guys we had met during the day who gathered on the beach at sunset and around a fire drummed rhythmically and hypnotically into the night. They grilled fresh fish for us and we talked of Malawian life and the influence of the Rasta movement on youth culture. They also showed a genuine interest in our travels through the Himba communities in Namibia. Two were ex-convicts, one having been arrested with 30kg of “ganga” which they grow in the hills of this part of Malawi, calling it “Malawian Gold” but they both sang with the voices of angels and welcomed us as old friends.

That does genuinely seem to be the case with most Malawians; they are a people that have very little but they do possess warm and open hearts. However, as with every rule there is always an exception and as we left Cape Maclear we felt we had a few interactions that may have not been so authentic.

We did not have enough time to head down to the scenic mountains and tea country of southern Malawi, instead heading north to spend some time up on the remote Nyika Plateau. On route we wanted to see an ambitious community and orphanage project near Mzuzu. A remarkable Dutch couple, Tim and Ineke, have given ten years of their lives to the Matunkha project that helps provide support to a region with over 1,500 orphaned children who continue to live in their local communities with extended family. Joined by Alan, a Scottish accountant who is helping support a local agriculture project, we discussed the challenges and implications of foreign aid in Africa. Malawi, for example, remains stubbornly one of the poorest countries in the world despite receiving billions in aid. There is an argument that aid breed’s a cycle of ever-greater dependence and that corruption also pollutes the waters but it is not as simple as this. It’s a complex multi dimensional problem that has deep roots in history and culture, and these conversations helped us to understand with greater clarity the challenges we have encountered in our own personal experiences of directly supporting the projects that drew us to this remarkable continent.

Passing through the communities on rough tracks on our way up to the Nyika Plateau gave us a chance to see rural life away from the lake.  We gave a lift to the gentle looking Joseph, a farmer and church goer, who in broken English explained the challenge the area faced with the collapsing price of their only cash crop, tobacco. Maize is ubiquitous but is primarily grown for subsistence, for income many of these small farmers rely on their small tobacco harvest. The light green leaves of the tobacco plant cover the hillsides but the price has dropped more than 60% over the last five years hitting these already poor areas hard.

At an altitude of around 2,500m Nyika is a rolling grassland plateau broken with stunning granite mountain outcrops and stands of montane forest and some old pine plantations. Despite herds of eland, roan and zebra it’s not a destination for game, it’s more about soaking in the open wilderness of mountains, rolling hills, streams, small lakes and waterfalls. The cool air at this altitude was a refreshing haven from the hot low lands and nighttime temperatures ensured we finally made use of our as yet unpacked fleeces and down jackets. We managed to pick up a couple of old steel mountain bikes, that needed some tinkering to get going, which we used to explore the plateau. Apart from the startled zebra running alongside us as we biked, with the scenery and accompanying temperatures, one could easily be mistaken for being at the Scottish Glens or English Lake District. These days of exercise and solitude in the fresh clean air re-energized us for the next phase of our journey. Leaving northern Malawi via Livingstonia (a remote mission station established by David Livingstone in the 1870s) we took some tracks that crossed steep rocky terrain that had the Land Cruiser working hard again in low range 4×4. During one heavy down pour the track quickly turned into a river flowing with red mud and the precipitous drop down the mountainside ensured that Monika gripped the dashboard until her knuckles were white as snow.

On the day we were aiming to cross the border into Tanzania we found ourselves stuck behind a local pick-up whose wheel axel had broken but mercifully the heavy rain of the previous day had abated. Marooned behind the stranded pick-up for several hours on the single narrow track, with no chance to pass either side, we were at least able to loan some equipment from our truck to help improvise a “bush fix” which enabled the local guys to literally “tie” back on the wheel axel so we could roll the car a few meters downhill in order for us to squeeze by and continue to the border. With this delay we arrived later than planned at the chaotic Kasaumulu/Songwe border post. We wanted to get to guesthouse in a coffee plantation outside the Tanzanian town of Mbeye before dark but the customs authorities in Tanzania did not want to help us along with that goal. Our seventh border crossing of the trip threw up a host of new requests on the paperwork for the import of the car, a process not helped by one remarkably large, slothful and unfriendly female official who appeared to be totally unmotivated by life let alone her job. No amount of coaxing and attempted banter from us helped to accelerate a painfully long and hot process. Our patience was beginning to run thin and the constant barraging of money changers, con-men and insurance salesmen left us feeling pretty exhausted when we finally entered Tanzania as heavy dark clouds blacked out the setting sun.   You do not want to drive in these parts of Africa after dark. It’s been our golden rule all trip but in these even more densely populated areas it is critical. Firstly there is no lighting anywhere, often not even on the trucks that maybe coming towards you. People, who you cannot see suddenly, appear from the darkness illuminated in your headlights along with the apparently suicidal goats, donkeys and cattle. However, this night, with a torrential downpour thrown into the mix, we had no other option but to continue and it was with pretty shattered nerves that we arrived late into the night and  probably at our most travel weary at our destination and first night in Tanzania.