The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the 
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk t
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
As the Beagle is being prepped for the next adventure in a new country we look back with joy upon our time in Malawi. We’ve met some people who have hurried through Malawi, not enjoying the place and as I’ve said, we too were a little put off at first. In hindsight it is obvious that our mad dash across muddy Tanzania brought us to Malawi in a frazzled state. The laid-back attitude here took a day or so to process. Now we can hardly bring ourselves to leave. The people, the villages and markets and 
of course the Lake of the Stars, have charmed and delighted us. 
At Dedza Pottery, just south of Lilongwe, Peter led us on a tour. They make their own clay there, he explained, both the red clay for outdoor pots and clay for tableware. What a lot of work it is to grind the quartz stone down to a powder – I can only imagine how noisy it is as well. Making clay is a huge process! Local artists design and paint the wares. This giraffe vase is being brought to life by a man who simply dreams up his pieces much like the woodcarver who brought the 
chameleon alive. Trouble is, 
this gentleman will retire and the Pottery managers are hard pressed to find someone to replace him. But that is not his problem, he just smiles when we exclaim how beautiful his work is.
A highlight of Malawi, and of the entire trip so far, was the time we spent camping with our friends Jared and Jen. We celebrated Jim’s birthday together, complete with chocolate cake – Jen told me not 
to show the cake to Jared, he would just want her to bake one for him. Too late! Hours were spent visiting, playing bao and generally enjoying each others company, finally parting ways 
at Cool Runnings on Senga Bay. Our African adventure is richer for having met them.
James and Rudolph at Steps campsite added much to our Malawi experience by teaching us to play bao. The beach boys at Fat Monkeys on Cape Mac were awesome as well, especially Iman who kept me supplied with his best stuff from Nkhotakota. While some
campsites warn guests against using the beach boys for activities and such, we would go out on the beach and find someone who could get us what we needed. Fresh fish filleted right on the spot, avocados or whatever; we love dealing with the boys. Kennedy at Fat Monkeys told me I was like his mother; I kindly suggested he say sister and from then on we’d call each other bro and sis. We will miss all of them.
From early December until now we’ve been riding out the rainy season on one beach or another, salt water and fresh. Four months have passed quickly; who knew when we started out from home that this part of our plan would work so very well. Now we will be on the move much as we were in the beginning. It should not be hard to get back into move mode, we are itching for new places but if we must return to Malawi for whatever reason, we won’t mind one bit.
Malawians are at it again, confounding generalities preached about them by others. They constantly amaze us with their unabashed friendliness and ingenuity. It was a young Malawian village boy who created a working lightbulb and electrical hookup from a windmill made of scratch materials he’d collected. Yes, Malawians can make a plan. Even as our first impression of the country was a bit lukewarm, the Lake casts a magic spell over its guests. We couldn’t have known without taking the time; all the more reason to settle down for a spell (in any 
country) and discover for Malawi for ourselves.
Everyday dealings with Malawians are such a pleasure. If we attempt any greeting in Chewa they really go crazy – instantly switching to Chewa as if we understand more than three or four words. Sit down at the Bao board and you’ll quickly be surrounded by players advising you which move to make – natives learn to play the game as little kids. Bao is meant to be a fast-paced game so 
when muzungus play, with our fat fingers unaccustomed to picking up little seeds or marbles, we really slow things down. Malawians are counting six or eight moves ahead and sowing their seeds so fast you can hardly see their hands. It will take time to become confident at Bao but time is on our side.
Back in April, in Namibia, we met up with Jared and Jen Simpson from Portland Oregon. They are overlanding Africa in their awesome customized Jeep that 
they brought from home – nice! We touch base from time to time, and somehow managed to cross paths with them at Fat Monkeys on Monkey Bay after nearly a year. For several days we had a proper visit, sharing stories and good laughs while becoming better acquainted. A snorkel trip to the island was a blast – the beach guys do a tasty grilled fish lunch while guests relax on the sand. . . in the shade.
Jared and Jen are on their way north after many months in southern Africa and Madagascar – good stories there – and I found myself a bit envious of their route. To be on the 
way north with all its wonders still to be seen – yes, what a treat Jared and Jen are in store for. And although we are headed in a southernly homeward direction we are far from finished with Africa. There’s still a bit more of Malawi to explore. Becalmed on the lake with plentiful sunshine, cool breezes, and a resident monitor lizard who visits in the morning, we will be here a couple more weeks. Then we will be ready to tackle Mozambique. Meanwhile let’s play Bao.
Picture one lake fly or even two – minuscule, nearly transparent creatures little bigger than a gnat. Hard to photograph. You would not notice them. They would appear as just another speck in the air, one of the countless insects surrounding us. But lake flies don’t come in ones and twos. Tornado-size hatches of them rise out of the lake filling the horizon and obscuring the view. How many of these otherwise invisible bugs are in each hatch? It is mind boggling. The clouds of flies are deep and there are several clouds blooming at once out there. Blown ashore, flies will quickly coat any surface and light source. Huge flocks of birds devour them, as do the fish. The villagers collect them with nets and make a “patty” to fry and eat. James and Rudolph, working the carving shop just outside our camp, could likely bring us a patty or two if we wanted. N
o, that’s ok – there’s other products of Malawi to sample if you know what I mean.
Time does stand still on the Lake and it is becoming clear why some travelers arrive and forget to depart. We’ve been parked on the sand for five days with glorious shade, a wide open view and no plans to leave soon. Across the water, stacks of cumulous clouds top the visible mountains and present a grand view. We are the only campers at Steps Camp but day-use is allowed. On February 14 (not a day I take any trouble to remember) people come to the beach to celebrate Valentines’ Day. Who knew? Many come from Lilongwe, 1.5 hours away on good roads. Good music blasts from car speakers. Red dresses 
are in style, and matching red t-shirts. The scene is picture perfect. A photographer works the crowd, a guy hawks straw hats, fisherman sell their catch of the day. Welcome to Sanga Bay on Lake Malawi.
James and Rudolph come by to see if we need anything. Their wood carving shop has 17 carvers and there is probably nothing they cannot carve for you. They give us a tour; we watch the master carver shape a chameleon out of a block of ebony – no drawings used, he just taps the creature out with his chisel bringing alive the chameleon with its curlicue tail.
Back at the Pottery Lodge north of Sanga (where they had an excellent shelter from some ripping rainstorms) you can purchase earthenware pottery, cheerfully painted cups, bowls and such. That pottery had 
always been fired in wood burning kilns – 
deforestation has brought an end to that. Meanwhile, people keep busy, goods are created, and the tourists will be here soon – like us, they might stay far longer than they’d planned.
The super-blood blue moon arose dark orange over Lake Malawi and cast its orange light across the water in a blaze of color. What a sight. I’m taken back to my childhood in Los Angeles where growing up I always thought the moon was orange, its light filtered through thick smog. There’s a memory for you. Here the skies are clear and clean and the sparkling water is like glass – more pleasant to be sure.
Malawi is a narrow, land-locked country with Lake Malawi running nearly the full length of it. Fishing boats ply the water at night using lights that attract the chiclid fish; the twinkling lights give the lake its nickname, Lake of the Stars. 
The Malawisaurus was discovered here in the early 1900s; the museum in Karonga has a pretty good display. Considering how religious Malawi is, the display is heavy on evolution. There have been many excellent anthropological discoveries as well for the Great Rift runs through the country and was uplifted 300,000 years ago, exposing rocks and fossils millions of years old. Hominids traveled through here on their long walk to everywhere.
Traversing the lake from top to bottom we have a wide choice of campsites. Nerve-shredding music is blasting out of totally blown speakers at the first camp and we quickly move on a few kilometers down the road to Chitemba camp. More our style – there are lovely gardens and dogs, and while music intrudes from the bar down the road, at least it isn’t right in camp. Our host explains that if he complains about the musical assault, the cops are actually in the bar drinking and nothing will be done. It must be difficult to operate a tourist business here. And really, outside of the lake there is little to entice tourists. Visas are expensive ($75USpp) where they used to be free and parks have been decimated by poaching. Of course people are friendly however nearly everyone in a uniform asks us for food or money. 
Odd considering how much land is given to agriculture; growing conditions appear ideal. What gives? It is the usual story – an indifferent government and corruption. And what does the rest of the world care of Malawi? The water of the lake will be worth something someday (if only they could ship it to Cape Town right now) but meanwhile there is little future here. On the upside, unlike Tanzania, English is taught in primary school – I think the first thing the kids learn is “give me money”. We’ve heard that song before.
In the large town of Mzuzu we meet some enterprising young men in the parking lot of the grocery – would we buy fruits and vegetables from them? They will happily fetch us whatever we want from their nearby stalls. We agree to see about it after we get our dry goods and on returning to the truck there is a choice of produce. I don’t barter hard. When guys are working this hard and produce is cheap, why do I need to pay a nickel or two less? One of the guys offers to show us where we might get our propane tank filled; he is small enough to fit on the seat beside me so it’s easy to take him with us. He’ll earn a small tip and while we cannot get the tank filled here, it is interesting to visit.
We’ll stay in Malawi for a month, perhaps more, as the rain southeast of us lessens. The tropical lushness of Makuzi beach with its warm water and hot sun conspire to stop time and a week can go by before you notice. There are plenty of birds, two dogs and for an encore there are an infinite number of frogs who croak and peep and burp all night long, much like the hippo symphony we enjoyed months ago in Zambia. Welcome to the Lake of the Stars.
Rain doesn’t necessarily fall all day every day in the rainy season. As you can imagine, big black clouds roll through and sheets of water descend, followed by bright hot sun and steaming humidity. Roads that were mud yesterday may be passable today if the equatorial sun shines long enough. Hillsides and national parks are so green you’d think you are in the Pacific Northwest and the wild flowers make us think of spring in Idaho.
Peril exists however. That you may be able to travel a track doesn’t mean the track will passable on your return. Few people are about in the parks who might assist in case of error. Rangers and guides don’t want to struggle down the roads looking for trouble. Phone numbers for park entrances and headquarters rarely work, in our experience. As is often the case in Africa, you are on your own.
And so we found ourselves in Mikumi Park, mired in mud to the axle on one side, tipped precariously and very much alone. We’d been in the park for a couple of days, managing to avoid the trap of going down an impassable track with no way to turn around. 
On the final game drive we followed the rule for mud, we found a road that had recent tire imprints on it – a good sign of a passable track. The gravel turned to a dark surface, we could see, but others had been here – we kept going. Mistake. The dark surface turned to butter, slippery and spread across the way. In a second we were off the road and into the black cotton mud of the barrow pit.
Black Cotton is a common mud in Africa and much has been written about it on forums and 4×4 sites. No one likes it; why would they? It is relentlessly sticky, everything near it is quickly coated. And it is slick, heavy and hateful to shovel. What to do? Jim worked the truck and I attempted to contact someone at the park to advise them of the situation. Not one number they gave us is working. Hmmm. Ok. The truck is not moving. Darkness is coming on. We hear lion. It is beginning to suck to be us. 
But we’d seen a safari vehicle earlier in the day and through ever-amazing technology wifi is reachable if I stand in the right spot. I retrieve the number for Tan-Swiss, the company that operates the vehicle we’d seen. Being a lodge, there was someone there to answer the phone. Through fits and starts I ask, could they call the park for us? Better than that she gives me the phone number of their guide. He passes on the word and presently we are informed that someone is coming. Now in African time that could mean soon. Or not. We aren’t going anywhere.
Robert arrives as dark falls, alone in a lightweight Toyota bakkie with average tires. 
Oh no. (Or words to that effect). There’s no way that truck is going to pull us out. Robert parks a ways back and hurries over, looks around, and says “get back and stay here”. To our utter astonishment he gets in the Beagle, puts it in gear and guns it. He would not stop, pedal to the medal, and damn if the truck didn’t start to move, sliding further off into the mud but inching forward. Mud is flung off the tires as the ruts deepen. He keeps working it, pushing the truck on and soon he has gone 40 meters, far enough to scratch his way up onto the road surface. It was way too dark for photos but we won’t forget what happened – that man can drive. We all managed to get turned around, easing our way back to the campsite with Robert escorting. There’s water at the camp and we clean the truck and marvel over Robert’s 
skills; telling ourselves we won’t be stuck again. But when we do sink the truck in yet another mud hole a week later, we knew we could extract it. It’s a damn good truck, the Beagle. Just gotta drive it like Robert.
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