After picking up two of E’s doctor pals from a neighboring suburb, we’re off. The hour long drive gets us out of the city, we pass a police checkpoint, then we’re in the open African country – huts widespread, interspersed sparingly along the paved, and usually pothole-less, road.
Our route takes us past groups of foot-travelers walking dangerously close to the road. Herds of goats and cows meander alongside the road too. I’m really hoping that the bikers, straddling that fine line between the stony/high grass shoulder and asphalt, don’t err. E also contends with over laden minibuses, often passing them, when possible.
The Minibus - when your feet or bike just won’t cut it. This mode of transportation comprises another popular and cost effective way to travel: jam as many people as you can into a minivan type vehicle, usually white colored, and inevitably on its last legs before being retired and sent to the scrap heap. These things wouldn’t pass inspection anywhere. These granddaddies of the road cough out dark plumes of smoke for all of the poor saps stuck behind them to enjoy.
And then the sky falls. It rains. Hard. Even so, we stop along a makeshift fruit stand, mangos lined up like pins in a bowling alley. And even before the car comes to a halt, 10-15 kids sprint to the car to hawk fruit to us.
Dedza is a soppingly muddy spot today. Nevertheless, we make it to our end point: a pottery center, and even more importantly, a quaint place to eat. Quite fortuitous, as we hope to wait (i.e. eat) out the rain for our alleged hike. The meals, views and conversations are great but the rain does not cease.
Unscathed, and reasonably dry, we drive towards the hiking trail anyway, but after sliding around on the narrow unpaved streets up in the hills, we call it off – too muddy, too wet.
People are still walking around, and we for the first time catch glimpses of bikers who in circus act-like fashion manage to maintain a straight line on the road while holding onto their umbrellas in the rain at the same time. Don’t try this at home.
Our trip back to Lilongwe affords us plenty of slalom courses among the bikers and smokescreen-inducing minibuses on the street. For some reason we’re all tired at the end of the day - perhaps from watching all of those people walking.
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