Zomba

Zomba struck me as one of the most pleasant towns we have been through in our travels – even the small houses looked more prosperous and cared-for, and everything was very green.  It used to be the capital of Malawi, and has many lovely old colonial buildings too.  It is dominated by the Zomba plateau, which rises up high above the town – already quite high above sea level – and has spectacular views from the top.

We stayed overnight in Annie’s Lodge, chosen partly for its name, and partly because someone Mari knew had stayed there and liked it.  The dinner and breakfast were good, and it was set in lovely gardens and a peaceful setting, but the family room we had, left a few things to be desired.  There were cupboard doors hanging from one hinge, the shower leaked, and then the tiles squelched when you walked across the floor, and the windows were so high up you couldn’t see anything out of them.  They also only gave us two clean towels between three of us, there was a cockroach in the corner, and the fan didn’t work!  All these things, and the fact the three of us were sharing a room, rather reminded me of going round Spain by Interrail in my 20s.  An extra towel, a can of Doom and a replacement fan dealt with most of the problems, and we spent a reasonable night.

Next morning, after breakfast, we set off up the mountain, along the winding dirt road to the Ku Chawe Lodge – a very posh hotel right next to the famous craft market.

Business was quiet in Zomba craft market till we arrived.  There are about 20 to 30 stalls, lining the road beside the hotels, and the stall holders hang around, some of them chatting, others carving things to sell.  As soon as we were out of the car they were upon us, encouraging us to come and look at what they had, and promising us “a very good discount”.

We had a lot of fun, walking up and down and working out what was there, exchanging banter with the stall holders, who were very good natured, and telling them all that we were looking now, and then going for a coffee at the hotel while we thought about what we wanted to buy.  We were in a  good position for bargaining, because Mari lives here and has shopped in Blantyre craft market, so she knew what we should be paying for most things.  This was a good tactic – “Pooh! I can get the same in Blantyre for X kwatcha” brought a smile and a more reasonable offer, or an invitation to “Tell me what you can afford to spend today”.  I also enjoyed walking away and listening to the price drop with every step.  We got some good bargains, and some lovely things to take back with us.

After coffee in the hotel we set off again, up the dirt road.  We stopped briefly at a waterfall, and then at a reservoir, with wonderful reflections in the water – it was a very peaceful place, as even the traders who usually make their way up there at weekends had not bothered on a Friday.  We hardly saw a soul.  We went on up to Queen’s view – apparently named for the Queen Mother, and then to Emperor’s view, where Haile Selassie spent some time meditating and praying in 1965.  The views were stunning, even though quite hazy.

Our plan was to make our way right round the dirt road which goes all the way round the edge of the plateau, and then drive back to Blantyre in time for dinner at 6.  Unfortunately we managed to take a wrong turn – in fact several wrong turns!  We went up a grass road at first, but soon decided this was not right, and turned round to go back to the junction.  Initially when we took the other road we thought it was correct, but soon the bracken shoots growing out of it made us doubtful.  We pressed on though, until we reached some rocks, and the road came to an abrupt end.  The problem was, there was nowhere to turn round a pick-up.  What now?

Lin managed to reverse pretty efficiently about half way back along, but then the road rose steeply, and the tyres had no grip in reverse on the sandy soil, so the wheels started to spin and dig themselves in.  We kept trying for a while, putting down sticks and grass from the side of the road to try to give more grip, and trying to stick to less soft parts of the road, but we were not able to make much headway.  So Lin and Mari went off to look for a place wide enough to turn the truck, and I sat in the cab, contemplating the prospect of being stuck all night on the Zomba plateau, with nothing but half a packet of Marie biscuits and a two litre bottle of water between three.  It was very peaceful up there – so peaceful that the chances of a passer-by to rescue us seemed remote, and the prospect of ringing the posh hotel and asking them to send out a rescue party, though embarrassing and probably expensive, seemed preferable  to a night on the mountain.

Lin and Mari came back and we agreed to give their place a try.  Lin had spent some time clearing some of the undergrowth beside the road, and we managed to get the pick-up about three quarters of the way round before the back wheel started spinning again, and we were stuck.  We used the rubber car mats to try to get more purchase, and moved a bit, but I think we were all feeling that daylight might run out before we managed to turn round.

Just then, round the bend, came an older man, walking with a stick, and carrying a panga – a kind of machete.  He greeted us in the usual Malawian way, we explained we were stuck, and he at once set to work with the panga, chopping down a small tree to clear more space and flattening out the bank in front of the pick-up.  He made quick work of it, and then helped push the truck until, at last, we had turned around.  It was such a relief!

We had to drive home much of the way in the dark, which we had hoped to avoid, as Malawian roads are full of potholes, and cyclists do not generally have lights, but we made it without further mishap, and appeared, rather late for dinner, and covered from head to foot in dust, with tidemarks where we had washed our hands.