Happy Malawian Mother's Day everyone! It is a national holiday here today, and as such, a perfect day to avoid work and make the trek to the top of the Zomba Plateau. Standing at 1800m it is the third highest peak in Malawi, and clearly the highest point in Zomba. Last year, when I came to Zomba with the Indiana crew, we stayed at the Sunbird Ku Chawe, a hotel perched at (what I thought) was the top of the mountain. It is a long, winding tarmac road to the Ku Chawe, and once there, you are struck by the awesome views stretching out for miles in every direction and the lush, tropical vegetation all around. Having taken this route before, I was impressed, if not very surprised at everything I was seeing. My impression was that Julius and I would hang out at the hotel, visit the curios for some kinck-knacks, and grab some lunch in the expansive, wood-paneled dining room. I was a bit off.
As soon as we got to the Ku Chawe, Julius rolled down his window and drove slowly past the twenty or so vendors selling their wares. My eyes moved up and down the rows of seemingly endless wooden-crafted statues, boxes, and bowls, already placing each in a hierarchy of purchase-worthy items. What I thought was that Julius, knowing I was interested in purchasing a few items, was driving slowly in order to allow me to peruse before we exited the car, thus beginning the onslaught of 'my friend, my friend, good deal for you' from every shop owner. Again, I was a bit off.
Julius drove for a few more yards before rolling to a stop next to a casually dressed gentleman standing alongside the road. He lowered his window and they began to speak, softly, in Chichewa, rarely making eye contact. After a few curt responses, Julius raised his hand, indicating that the gentleman stop talking, said 'ti como' (thank you), and drove on, slightly shaking his head. He briefly glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the road and stating, bluntly, 'not the one.'
What Julius, was looking for, as it turns out, was a tour guide. Apparently, the Ku Chawe was merely the starting point for what was to be a trek to the very top of the plateau, and doing so without a reliable guide is foolish at best. Later, as we were descending the mountain and headed to lunch, I asked Julius what exactly he was looking for when he asked the first gentleman and then decided to choose someone else. "I always look for earnest people. That man wasn't earnest. He was trying to be, but I could tell what he was, and he knew it too. That's why he didn't argue." Needless to say, the very next man Julius spoke with was a better fit to lead us to the peak, and off we went, the three of us, to the top of the mountain.
Remember a number of posts back, when I foolishly decided to comment on the nature of the roads out in the district where the schools are located? I (semi) complained and (mildly) whined about the bumpy, rock and crater filled dirt roads, remember? Well, that was when we were traveling on flat ground. Right at that cozy sea level. Take those roads, sprinkle in a few (copious) boulders, subtract any semblance of any other vehicle (we saw exactly zero on the entire trip up to the top or back down), and place the whole blessed thing along rock faces which extend straight down to the ground and you will get a sense of how ill-fitting my previous 'complaints' were. This was bloody scary. There were a few times when we would get to a point where a vehicle hadn't gone (ever?) in quite some time and simply had to park, get out, and follow the tour guide up and around stone paths and overgrown brush, just to get a better view of the sprawling vistas below.
But oh, what views they were. One of the few things I hate about cameras is they simply cannot measure the immense magnitude of views like these. Sure, you can capture a bit of it, but unless you are there (and anyone who has ever done any hiking/climbing on a mountain would agree), a picture can in no way capture the breathtaking gut-punch of an endless view in all directions. It was intense. At one point, Julius and I, still far far away from the edge, grabbed one another on the forearm, neither of us exchanging any words. It wasn't really a gesture of friendship, or even happiness, but rather a knee-jerk reaction to a pretty astonishing sight. Just having contact with someone meant, at least for that moment, that you were still standing on top of the mountain and not hurling off in some unknown direction, as your imagination would lead you to believe.
We also saw a 100-year site, whose story is so unbelievable, so gripping, that I am promising myself to write a book about it. No joke. Telling you about it now would both serve as a bit of a cheat to you the reader (you need to hear the story in its full), and also serve to rob me of a bit of the pleasure of telling the story for the first time in the best possible way I can. I have noticed in almost anything I write that the absolute best parts, in order, are (a) the initial idea; (b) hearing the reaction of others to the story; (c) researching said story; and (d) tediously writing the story itself. This may seem backwards, but the best way I have found to ensure that part (d) is completed is by denying myself the pleasures of (a) and (b). If you don't know the idea yet, let alone the 'punch line' (as it were) it will serve as motivation for me to get it written. But let me just say - it's a doozy.
Tomorrow I am back into the field for another week of field research. I have continued to make some adjustments (shocking) to the full data collection, and as a result, will most likely continue work well into next week collecting as much data as possible. While this will add to what has already been an exhausting process, it will not doubt make the final product stronger. All told, the new goal is 25 schools and 50 lessons/teachers/classrooms. Keep your fingers crossed I don't go insane first.
Ah! I just remembered another detail I promised myself to share here and nearly forgot. Clearly, if Julius and I made it to the top of the mountain and back, and I have stated we are headed back out into the field tomorrow, we have solved our fuel shortage crisis, correct? Well, the answer is yes, although it's more of a yes, sort of. Since last Monday, not a single diesel carrying truck has rolled into Zomba, leaving everyone in still pretty much the same predicament. While I was anxious about the prospect of not being able to get back out to the field, I was equally concerned with losing Julius, as a new vehicle would result in a new driver, which would equal a new set of instructions and planning, so on and so forth. It was not a situation I was anticipating being pleasant. Last time we had spoken though, Julius stated he had a plan, but did not divulge what exactly it entailed.
Well, the plan was a bit of ingenuity, mixed with a splash of negotiating, with a large helping of ballsiness. Essentially, what he did was go around town, with his little remaining fuel, and found trucks that (for whatever reason) had broken down. Once he found one, he would find the corresponding owner, ask if the truck was no longer in operation, and then (if the answer to his first question was a 'yes'), proceed to ask the owner if he could pay them to drain the fuel from the broken vehicle. He did this, in his estimation, about twenty times, with about a 75% failure rate. But every few owners were so desperate for money that they agreed, allowing Julius to slowly fill not only both tanks in our truck, but also a reserve tank that he now keeps in his hotel room.
You see why I didn't want to lose the guy?
Hope all of you are well. Uploading pictures is a huge drain on my paltry available internet so you will have to wait to see images from the mountaintop. Keep sending the encouraging emails though - it helps get me through the day to know there are those who are keeping up with my ramblings.
Cheers
