Over the last two days I have travelled from Mbeya in Tanzania to Blantyre in Malawi. Apostle Philip drove me from Mbeya to the border. He said we would need to leave at 6am, and I thought, “African time. That will probably be 7 or 8.” But no, we were walking out the front door at 5.50am!
I did my “good baby” trick and slept most of the way, which is really disappointing because what I did see of the scenery in the times when I was awake was spectacular. That area of Tanzania is very mountainous, and at times it felt like we were driving on top of the world.
At the border there were of course all the formalities. Fortunately Philip has a friend who lives in the border area, and he was a great help to us. The Tanzanian side was simple – here’s me filling in some of the paperwork.
Malawi Immigration was a different story altogether. I handed over my passport and visa approval letter, and was told to wait a few minutes. Half an hour later, we were still waiting. An enquiry from Philip, and we were again told to wait “a few minutes.” By now it was very obvious that the bloke was hoping for a bribe. After some furious glares from me, and some strong words from Philip, my passport was finally stamped and handed back to me. It was definitely not a good first impression of Malawi!
Philip’s friend then changed some money for me, and I’m sure got a better exchange rate than I would have, and we went off to get my ticket for the bus to Blantyre. To give you some idea of the exchange rate, the cost for the ticket was 51,000 Kwacha (yes, that’s fifty one thousand!) which equates to roughly $46 Aussie dollars.
We then had about 3 hours to wait for the bus. There had not been time to eat before we left Mbeya, so I grabbed a Fanta and a two-egg omelette at a local cafe – cost 1700 Kwacha, or around $1.50.
After the pleasantly cool weather I had experienced in both Kigoma and Mbeya, Malawi hit with the kind of weather I had been expecting in Africa – stinking hot! Philip found a place to park the car in the shade, but it was still a very uncomfortable wait. He warned me that food along the way might not be good, and bought me some rather nice gingery bikkies to munch on the trip. I also supplemented these with some bananas from a roadside seller at one of the stops – I figured bananas had to be safe.
Finally it was time to get on the bus. Hugely high steps were a major challenge. I had been given a window seat which was nice, particularly with an open window and wind in my face (I totally understand why dogs love having their heads out of car windows.) The seating was arranged with two seats to a row on the right side of the bus, and three seats to a row on the left side. The lass who was like a kind of hostess suggested I might like to move over to the left side as there would be more room. That didn’t make sense to me, but later I did move, not for extra room but because the sun was on my side of the bus and I was getting cooked. Not a smart move! My legs simply couldn’t fit in the space between my seat and the one in front. Now those who know me know that I am a shortie – if my legs can’t fit in the space available, then there is definitely something wrong with the space available! As I initially had two empty seats beside me, I was able to overcome it a bit by turning sideways and letting my legs intrude a bit into the middle seat’s space. Then a teenager came along and plonked herself right across both remaining seats, leaving me cramped in the corner and unable to move. At the next stop I moved back to my original seat. Someone else had occupied it, even though it was obviously not the seat assigned to her, but she willingly moved when I said I was supposed to be there. But I did hear a comment from behind somewhere that the Mzungu had taken her seat. Another not so good first impression.
At one of the stops I needed a toilet break (no onboard toilet in the bus.) I was directed to the most disgustingly filthy squatty toilet that you could possibly imagine – and had to pay 300 Kwacha for the privilege of using it! That equates to only cents, but still another bad impression.
Mercifully, the bus trip took 20 hours, not the two days I had been told. This gave an interesting insight into the difference between western understanding of time (a day is 24 hours) and African/Eastern understanding (any part of a day is a day.) We left the border yesterday, and arrived in Blantyre this morning – in African thinking, two days. This difference, incidentally, explains why some people (Westerners) have trouble with the amount of time Jesus spent in the tomb, and say He must have been crucified on Wednesday, so they can fit in three 24-hour days before His resurrection, whereas Eastern thinking says He was buried on Friday (day 1), was in the tomb Saturday (day 2) and rose on Sunday (day 3.)
The trip was, quite frankly, horrible. Because of a broken window, I was moved to yet another seat, which was again cramped, though not a bad as the second one. I simply could not get comfortable, and wiggled and squirmed all night, but got very little sleep. Back in then ’80s I used to travel a lot on busses in Australia, but a 73 year-old body just doesn’t cope as well as a 35 year-old one does. By the time I arrived I was totally exhausted and ready to fall in a heap. I had planned t take a bus from Zimbabwe to Zambia, but one of the first thing I did after settling in to my room was to book a flight for that trip.
This is the bus after its arrival in Blantyre.
Rev Thomas and another guy met me and brought me to the hotel where I am staying. Quite a nice room, western shower and toilet (YAY!), air con that doesn’t work very well and a fan that does. Resting this afternoon ready to start ministering tomorrow.