malawi
Exploring Lake Malawi Aboard a Legendary African Ferry
By Edward Placidi. Edward Placidi is a freelance travel/food writer and photographer who discovered his passion for exploring the world as a teenager and has gone on to travel ‒ mainly on solo, independent adventures ‒ in 108 countries (so far). He has penned articles for numerous newspapers, magazines and websites. When not traveling he is whipping up delicious dishes inspired by his Tuscan grandmother with as many ingredients as possible coming from his organic vegetable and herb garden.
Click on any image to enlarge it
The seemingly unending lake quickly turned angry, roiling the waters that were calm minutes before, churning up rollers. Rocking and twisting with the growing swells, the 30-foot wooden boat with a small outboard engine was struggling, sheets of water filling the hull and drenching the passengers.
I was making plans in my head about what to do if we capsized. But it was a false alarm. We weathered the sudden storm and conditions ameliorated as we motored into the bay of Chipyela town on Lake Malawi’s Likoma Island.
I was making plans in my head about what to do if we capsized. But it was a false alarm. We weathered the sudden storm and conditions ameliorated as we motored into the bay of Chipyela town on Lake Malawi’s Likoma Island.
Disembarking at the small jetty, the island’s lone immigration official – I was arriving from Mozambique ‒ sauntered up. I showed him my e-visa document (soaking wet like me and all my stuff) but he only stared at it uncomprehendingly. He had never seen one before and didn’t know what to do. He announced I had to go to the immigration office in Monkey Bay, about 150 miles away, to get an entry stamp.
The bemusing introduction to Malawi (it would be a week and several immigration offices later before I finally got my passport stamped) set the stage for the quirky journey to come ‒ crossing Africa’s third largest lake aboard the famous (in this part of the world, anyway) MV Ilala ferry.
Likoma is a small, dry and sandy island studded with majestic baobab trees and blessed with remarkable sunsets. Chipyela, the only substantial village, has a bit of an edge to it.
Some people greet you, others look at you questioningly, a few wearily. They are fiercely adamant about not being photographed; you must ask permission, though it’s virtually never granted. Chipyela has a bustling main drag of shops, but otherwise it’s a tangled maze of mud-brick houses negotiated by sand paths. There are no cars except for a few service vehicles; the only island transport is on the back of a ‘moto’ – motorcycles that roar up and down. Smoke rises from myriad wood cooking fires, playing children shout and run about, hanging laundry is flapping in the breeze, and young men are intently playing the ancient game of mancala. The waterfront is crowded with boats, nets and fish drying in the sun on wooden racks.
The several lodges on the island are comfortable, go-barefoot, kick-back kind of places where you can swim, kayak, snorkel, go for long walks and hikes, dine on a menu of international comfort food, or just hang out on the beach. At Mango Drift Lodge, where I stayed, it all happened at the sand-floor, open-air, palapa-topped waterfront lounge where you can sip cocktails and beers, relax in old boats converted to couches with pads and pillows, log on (the lone hotspot) and munch on salads, burgers, Thai and Italian noodle dishes and grilled lake fish.
The lodges are serendipitous, forget- it-all hangouts, but not exactly idyllic. They are located away from people and villages, on isolated beaches, for good reason: Bilharzia, a disease caused by parasitic worms that can cause serious health problems (but it’s also easily treatable with two pill doses) is a threat everywhere on Lake Malawi, especially where there is human activity. Cruising on the legendary MV Ilala ferry is a bucket list item of veteran Africa travellers and among the continent’s top public transport journeys. The aging ship is long past its prime but it remains an invaluable, indispensable and cherished lifeline. Weekly it sails almost the entire 360-mile length of Lake Malawi from south to north and back again, with stops at many river ports and islands.
The lodges are serendipitous, forget- it-all hangouts, but not exactly idyllic. They are located away from people and villages, on isolated beaches, for good reason: Bilharzia, a disease caused by parasitic worms that can cause serious health problems (but it’s also easily treatable with two pill doses) is a threat everywhere on Lake Malawi, especially where there is human activity. Cruising on the legendary MV Ilala ferry is a bucket list item of veteran Africa travellers and among the continent’s top public transport journeys. The aging ship is long past its prime but it remains an invaluable, indispensable and cherished lifeline. Weekly it sails almost the entire 360-mile length of Lake Malawi from south to north and back again, with stops at many river ports and islands.
Boarding the ferry at Chipyela was a scene unlike any other. Since the bay is too shallow for the ship, a flotilla of wooden tenders overstuffed with passengers and cargo descends on the ferry. Each boat is roped tight to the ship, but still bobbing in the water. Struggling to keep their balance, passengers make their way to a narrow wooden ladder bolted to the hull, climb up and pull themselves through a small entry. Meanwhile a small army of stevedores was hurling luggage, parcels and bales up to waiting arms to squeeze them through the tight entry, with an explosive cacophony ‒ of shouted directions, orders, calls and pleas ‒ as a soundtrack. This went on for three hours, with an endless stream of tenders coming and going.
I had contacted the ferry company in advance to book a cabin but was told the MV Ilala would be out of service for maintenance and the replacement only had seats on deck, no cabins. It was in service, however, but once on board I was told no cabins were available. I refused to take no for an answer. With persistent but polite and friendly persuasion, biding my time and a small “tip,” a cabin magically appeared. It wasn’t much: a metal sweatbox with not so much as a fan but at least a place to sleep with clean sheets
I had contacted the ferry company in advance to book a cabin but was told the MV Ilala would be out of service for maintenance and the replacement only had seats on deck, no cabins. It was in service, however, but once on board I was told no cabins were available. I refused to take no for an answer. With persistent but polite and friendly persuasion, biding my time and a small “tip,” a cabin magically appeared. It wasn’t much: a metal sweatbox with not so much as a fan but at least a place to sleep with clean sheets
Every square foot of deck was occupied by passengers, many spread out on blankets; they blocked my cabin door, so I had to open slowly not to hit someone. But the most popular spot on board was the bar – a large, canopied, u-shaped counter at the back of the top deck with melodic, percussion-heavy Malawian pop music blaring, and laughing, chattering crowds drinking beer and soft drinks.
With the huge size of the lake, the shore often was not visible, or no more than a line on the horizon. The food was limited and forgettable: basic grilled fish, fowl or meat with stewed tomato sauce, coleslaw and rice, fries or ndima (the starchy Malawian staple made from cassava). Eggs including omelets were prepared for breakfast as well as dry pancakes – no syrup.
The port stops were the most exciting entertainment. The boarding scene at Makanjira was even more jaw-dropping frenzied than Likoma Island because of the massive amount of cargo ferried out to the ship by the tenders. Charles, the ship’s marine engineer, who I had long conversations with at the bar about Malawian and world affairs, explained that the scores of huge bales were filled with lake fish to sell in the capital, Lilongwe, and the commercial hub of Blantyre.
The ferry’s southernmost last stop, Monkey Bay, is the gateway to the rocky islands and lush forests of UNESCO World Heritage Site Lake Malawi National Park and the watersports of Cape Maclear. What truly sets the area apart is the diversity of Lake Malawi: some 850 described fish species, more than Europe and North America combined, the majority of which are cichlids.
The port stops were the most exciting entertainment. The boarding scene at Makanjira was even more jaw-dropping frenzied than Likoma Island because of the massive amount of cargo ferried out to the ship by the tenders. Charles, the ship’s marine engineer, who I had long conversations with at the bar about Malawian and world affairs, explained that the scores of huge bales were filled with lake fish to sell in the capital, Lilongwe, and the commercial hub of Blantyre.
The ferry’s southernmost last stop, Monkey Bay, is the gateway to the rocky islands and lush forests of UNESCO World Heritage Site Lake Malawi National Park and the watersports of Cape Maclear. What truly sets the area apart is the diversity of Lake Malawi: some 850 described fish species, more than Europe and North America combined, the majority of which are cichlids.
On a snorkeling trip to Thumbi Island, I was overwhelmed by cichlids of every shape, size, pattern and color. With a little help from the boatman who chummed the waters with bread, they surged and encircled me literally by the hundreds.
Some dozen lodges – comfortable and casual, from budget to luxurious, set on the lake shore ‒ are located in or near the village of Chembe. All arrange snorkeling, diving, kayaking, yachting and other activities.
Charming Chembe, with its mud-brick house and sand lanes, was a highlight especially in late afternoon before the setting sun painted the sky yellows, oranges and reds. With the heat of the day dissipating, numerous villagers were out strolling. Many exchanged greetings with you (Malawi has a traditional ritual when encountering someone: You ask “How are you?” They respond “I am fine.” Then they ask “How are you?” and you respond “I am fine.” This happened literally dozens of times on an evening walk). Some would amble along with me asking where I am from, if I have a family, where am I going, etc.
Some dozen lodges – comfortable and casual, from budget to luxurious, set on the lake shore ‒ are located in or near the village of Chembe. All arrange snorkeling, diving, kayaking, yachting and other activities.
Charming Chembe, with its mud-brick house and sand lanes, was a highlight especially in late afternoon before the setting sun painted the sky yellows, oranges and reds. With the heat of the day dissipating, numerous villagers were out strolling. Many exchanged greetings with you (Malawi has a traditional ritual when encountering someone: You ask “How are you?” They respond “I am fine.” Then they ask “How are you?” and you respond “I am fine.” This happened literally dozens of times on an evening walk). Some would amble along with me asking where I am from, if I have a family, where am I going, etc.
A huge dirt field behind the village is the evening gathering spot to laugh, talk and play sports, especially intense, highly competitive soccer games. Several times I was invited to play but I decided not to embarrass myself. Malawi’s tourism slogan is “The warm heart of Africa,” and it comes to life in Chembe.
When I got off the MV Ilala in Monkey Bay, I went to the immigration office there – and again they had no idea what an e-visa was. They said I had to go to the regional immigration office in Mangochi, which turned out to be a dusty, intriguing market town where loudly lowing, brazen cows roamed the dirt streets, munching on corn husks discarded by the street vendors who cook ears on small wood grills. At one point, I was head-butted from behind by a cow because I was apparently blocking her way.
The Mangochi regional immigration office was immediately promising: The ‘Boss,’ as the staff called him, took my e-visa and passport and said he would take care of it. An hour later he had still not returned. A staffer arrived to tell me the Boss was in a meeting but would be out soon; she gave me a banana, saying I must be getting hungry (it was lunch time). When the Boss finally returned, he informed me they were searching for the keys to the drawer where the stamps are kept.
The Boss was extraordinarily courteous and pleasant for an immigration official. And when he finally handed my passport back to me, after almost two hours, it was with a big smile. I was smiling too.
|
All images copyright of the author
|