Paramount Importance

Political power is decentralised here , operating through District Assemblies, although not all Ministries have been devolved.  Tourism is one such function.   On a personal level, this further complicates my task in terms of recommendations on the development of Eco-Tourism.  From their perspective, a snapshot of the impact of this includes Tourism officers across the regions who have no funds to implement their plans, District Assemblies who feel they lack the necessary mandate to act and operators in the North who feel national marketing efforts overlook their beautiful regions and focus unfairly on the South.  Alongside the workings of Government, national and local, there is another deeply entrenched and powerful structure of enormous influence, although unlike MPs and shortly local councillors, they have no vote in local government.

This is the traditional, culturally led system that includes Chiefs, Group Village Headmen and Traditional Authorities right up to district level Paramount Chiefs.  Yesterday, thanks to the District Commissioner and his desire to work hand in hand with traditional powers, I had the honour and privilege of meeting the Paramount Chief of Karonga District.

We were told to arrive at 10 am – the Paramount Chief lives in his own house about 15 minutes’ drive from the centre of town, although there are currently discussions on the possibility of providing an official residence for the post.  The tall wicker gate was opened as we drove up the dirt track.  A large tree stood opposite the steps leading up to the relatively large house by local standards, but by no means grand or luxurious.  Around the tree stood a circle of slanted bricks, and within that circle of line of non-matching chairs.  4 elderly gentleman, all suited and booted, were waiting for us.  We shook hands, exchanged greetings and were asked to sit and wait.  It was whispered to me that as soon as the Chief appeared I should stand.

As we sat I noticed a pair of high heeled silver sandals at the foot of the steps to the house.  A women later appeared from the back of the house, bowed a greeting to the waiting circle, retrieved her shoes and rode out of the compound on her bicycle.  Minutes later, we were told to go in.  I entered the house first, and saw too late that everyone behind me bowed as they entered.  The room was dark, curtains drawn, black settees on 3 sides and dark wood furniture.  I almost didn’t see the Paramount Chief sitting at the far end of the room in front of the TV.  He was wearing a black shirt, black trousers and black shoes.  Fortunately his shock of grey white hair caught my eye.  I later learned this chief had spent years in exile after a disagreement with the previous president, though I still haven’t uncovered what the disagreement was about.

The meeting was very formal.  I introduced myself and was told to introduce the Tourism officer accompanying me.  It was at that point I realised I only knew his first name!  The poor guy was then immediately subjected to sharp and direct questions about what he personally had done for tourism in Karonga.  Questions he of course could not answer as Tourism is not a devolved function.  Three of his advisers sat at the back of the room throughout our meeting.

I was told when I could record our interview and that he would not be answering any questions of mine, but very much expected answers from me.  He did, however, warm up and enter into a conversation about the sites of historical or cultural interest within his District.  Karonga has a rich history, aside the 2.5 million year old jaw bone of what is now called Malawi man found at Malema camp, the Malawisaurus dinosaur skeleton, the fossils and the museum (a rarity in Malawi), Karonga also saw the only first world war battle in Malawi, there are commonwealth war graves, Massacre hill where Mlozi a notorious slave trader killed 1,100 people in one single day, early missionary history and sacred sites.  Our discussion about the sacred site where paramount chiefs hold their investiture ceremonies and visit at night to consult their ancestors will stay with me for a long time.

On the one hand, it was clear the Paramount Chief welcomed my visit, sees the potential benefit to his people of eco-tourism and is keen to encourage it.  However, it was also clear that this development sits entirely on my shoulders.  The conversation veered between driving civic education to raise awareness of key environmental issues, the need for development, protection and support of places of interest, and the abject poverty of his people - sometimes encroaching uncomfortably on how all hinges exclusively on outside help.  I was criticised for not visiting the border and told I also needed to understand by seeing for myself the development potential of local beaches.  To that end, he had set aside some of his morning to show me the part of the Lake he was referring to.  It was not an invitation I could refuse.  So we were again asked to wait outside whilst he concluded his business of the morning. 

Forty minutes later, he emerged from the house, we all stood, a short conversation with his advisers ensued and he returned to the house.  We sat and did it all again when he emerged a second time a few minutes later.  The Chief and 3 advisers got into his car, we followed, or tried to follow, in ours.  The Chief drove at speed down the dirt tracks and our driver struggled to keep up.  Once at the beach, which was beautiful and completely remote, we walked along with his entourage behind us.  He was more relaxed and chatted a little with a woman washing on the shoreline.  He moved off a few steps, took a brilliant white handkerchief out of his pocket, unwrapped a small wad of notes, and returned to give the woman a little money and shake her child’s hand. 

We parted back at the cars, with his assurance that now he had given his approval for the development of eco-tourism there would be no barriers or challenges.  I could get on with what I am here to do! 

As I climbed into the car, the Tourism Officer was called back by the Chief, “I expect to see you again, with her report.”  No pressure then!

Good old public transport

Boarded the bus from Mzuzu at 6.20 am today, at 7.05 am (dept time is 7 am) the conductor got on and addressed the bus.  I am assuming he asked someone to bless the bus because the woman in front of me sprang out of her seat and began a long, long spontaneous prayer.  The only words I understood were driver, which she said 5 times, clearly a big concern, and the whole way (you get odd phrases in English in the middle of Chechewan sentences).  Prayer over, the entire bus said Amen and we left the depot.

Just before 11 am the bus  stopped.  In the middle of nowhere.  Access to the engine, or at least part of it, is via a large trap door just behind the gear stick.  Our driver half disappeared down the hole, tried a few things causing the bus to splutter, but not start.  He stood, said something else I didn’t understand and half the blokes on the bus filed off into the road.  I asked the man next to me if he could translate what was happening. “He wants us to get off and push” he said and immediately returned his attention to his Blackberry.  A minute later, sure enough we began to move and after the odd bunny hop the engine started.  15 blokes filed back on the bus, no-one said a word, maybe this happens every journey.

The only other thing of note – aside the odd supposedly comic neo-nazi zulu film which ‘entertained’ the passengers in between pop and gospel videos and ads promoting abstinence to help reduce the spread of Aids was my falling down the steps and off the bus, dignity out of the window and I’m now sporting a lovely bruised elbow in exchange!

Livingstonia (from last week)

It’s just after 6 am Wednesday 12th Sept – I am at Lukwe Eco Lodge perched high on the Livingstonia escarpment and I am sitting on the deck on my handmade wooden chalet gazing at what is perhaps the best view in Malawi.  I am surrounded by wooded hills, often a remarkable view of itself in Malawi as deforestation is such a predominant feature of the landscape.  Dotted around the hills are occasional tiny settlements of maybe 4 or 5 local houses.  In the distance, through the morning haze, I can just make out the Lake.  All I can hear are birds and so far I have not seen a single person this morning.   Not a bad start to the day.

Yesterday was an inspiring day, renewing my passion to do the best I possibly can for this placement, after the frustrations of last week.  I was expecting a roller coaster experience of highs and lows, I had not anticipated that the biggest barriers would come from my own programme office, the very people who are supposed to be here to support us volunteers.

I travelled to Mzuzu by ‘deluxe coach’.  About a five and a half hour journey on a packed bus – no chickens or fish on the deluxe version, at least not on the one I got and only as many people as there were seats.  I was very glad to have found a seat very near the back.  It might have been  an uncomfortably bumpy ride, but at least I could not see what was coming towards us!  There was a slightly hairy moment when the local tourism officers who had promised to meet me with a taxi from the bus didn’t arrive for about 40 minutes and during that time darkness fell and the numbers of people on the street dwindled to single figures.  My taxi driver for the next hour, once en route was keen to chat.  He taught me a few words of Timbukan, one of the 6+ languages of the North and happily answered my questions about the changes he’d observed since Joyce came to power and what he hoped for the future.  Of course, I’d forgotten the Timbukan before I got out of the car.

We arrived at Matunka after dark and in a power cut – another early night.  Perhaps this was just as well as the school turned out to be just across the path from my room and the bell rang for prayers at 7am before the start of the school day at 7.30.  Matunka is Christian run, as so many projects are here, but the focus is very definitely on supporting the community and helping them improve their lives and those of their children.  They using income generating activities, such as goats, donkeys, chickens, crafts, bee keeping, bakery, carpentry and, of course, tourism which is why I was there, to support  their social projects.  The school, where 50% of the children are orphans living with their extended families in the surrounding villages and 50% are girls, a clinic which when completed will provide palliative care for local people and a feeding programme for the schoolchildren and as an emergency in times of famine.  Here in the North eco-tourism is not aimed at the super rich, those people tend not to make it this far North because of the condition of the roads (although there are a couple of private airstrips to very upmarket places on the plateau), the majority are over landers in 4x4 here to camp, backpackers or expat volunteers, so luxurious it isn’t but it is clean, the food is pretty good and the people a delight.

From Matunka I spent a very informative couple of hours with the Director of Planning at the District Assembly.  Power is devolved, albeit not completely, to local Government here.  Their challenges are enormous, but so far the Directors of Planning I’ve met have been articulate, very bright and driven individuals. 

After lunch it was on the road to Livingstonia, stopping after about an hour and a half at the cultural museum and basket weave bridge over the South Rukuru river, near Rumphi – provided to allow villagers on either side of the river to cross without danger to get to their agricultural land, to get provisions from the tiny trading area and to access the clinic.  This area in the foothills of the Nyika plateau is home to the Phoko tribe, who speak a slightly different person of Timbukan, with a lot more intonation!  I was the first visitor in September (Sept 11^th) although they get around 40 to 50 visitors a year.  I was greeted by Abel, Treasurer of the CBO (Community Based Organisation) who run the area, look after the tourists and make sure the funds they receive are spent according to community wishes.  The ‘museum’ was tiny – barely enough room for 3 chairs but Abel was determined I should have the full tour – barely pausing for breath, let alone questions – songs of his forefathers in Timbukan, swiftly followed by a second rendition in English.  Then on to the shrines worshiped by the forefathers, including an interesting take on the role of beads in the spread of HIV and Aids and unsurprisingly concluding in an optional opportunity for donations, for which he stepped out of the hut and then returned immediately to scoop up my donation, count it and give me a written receipt.  All very transparent.

I’d seen the basket weave bridge in the guidebook – now I have crossed it!   Given the very wide gaps between the lengthways bamboos in places, Abel’s advice to step only on the cross strands seemed entirely sensible!  I’d probably have preferred to know there were hippos in those waters after I’d left the bridge, but I did ask the question, and at least I didn’t have to worry about the crocodiles!  I have to say Abel looked after me very well, he did not let go of my hand until we were back on terra firma, whilst the locals skipped by with babies strapped to their backs and huge buckets of produce balanced on their heads.  Yet another occasion where I felt excessively white and clumsy!

The road then took us a further hour and a half up to Livingstonia.  Although road may be overstating it a tad.  We bounced up the potholed track after leaving the lakeside at about 5 mph, snaking round hairpin bends, with sheer drops and tremendous views to finally emerge 15 kms later at Lukwe.  Quite a day!

The lovely, lovely Lake

I’ve now spent a whole week in Senga Bay and have fallen in love with it, or parts of it.  The Lake is stunning.  Vast, as I knew it would be, but seeing it for the first time is breath taking.  The wind can whip in in a matter of minutes, creating waves worthy of body boarding, if not surfing.  Not always gently lapping the beach as I’d imagined.

Senga Bay is spread over probably about a 15 to 20km long thin stretch, with a small market, the ubiquitous newly painted red Airtel kiosks everywhere, a few shops (with the usual service hatches, none you can physically walk into), makeshift bicycle repair stalls here and there and several fishing villages, including one right by the guest house we stayed in last weekend.   A guest house I loved so much I went back and spent most of the week there too.  The owner is an absolute inspiration and couldn’t have been more helpful.  I would not have seen or understood half of what I learned, had it not been for her.  Watch out anyone who comes to stay, Cool Runnings is on my ‘can’t be missed’ list.

The Lake is a vital part of the lives of the communities who live by it – apart from the fishing (unsustainably over fished and that’s just one of the myriad of more obvious issues the country faces), many of the locals wash and do their laundry at the Lake.  On Saturday morning we walked by entire weekly wardrobes having been washed and laid flat on the sand to dry.  Meanwhile, their owners sat chatting in their undies, waiting for the sun to do what it does best.  There’s a spot for men and another a little further down the beach for women and children.  Driving around Malawi I’ve seen a few advertising hoardings proclaiming the extra lather attributes of certain soaps.  They aren’t kidding!  I saw lots of locals turn themselves completely white with suds on the shoreline, before diving in and coming out squeaky clean.

Children everywhere have learned a little English, so whenever they see a white face they are keen to say “hello, how are you?”  or “I am fine, how are you?”  One little boy of about 4 I passed in the street with his Mum said hello, so I asked him how he was.  “I am fish”, he replied with a huge smile! 

Not all of it is lovely.  There are way too many bars having obtained liquor licences where they shouldn’t in residential areas, with all the loud music, litter, drunkenness and sanitation problems that come with them.   Deforestation is currently unchecked. There is no clinic, the 2 primary schools are desperately over-subscribed (at worst up to 150 kids in a class with one teacher), corruption is rife, bureaucracy depressing and poverty very apparent.  The worst are the rich lodge owners who feel it is their right to ride roughshod over the local communities, cut off their access to the lake, try to remove signs of their daily life from the sight of rich tourists and ignore their needs – but that’s just part of Sega Bay’s story.  There are those too who fight hard alongside the community to make life that little bit brighter – the ones I’d like to help.

Sorry a bit worthy this week.  Spending a week in the heart of it all has left a deep impression.  Just a snapshot or 2 worthy of the tourist brochures!