It was in Malawi that I first learnt how to gut a fish. The Malawian kayaker named Bright who had paddled us to our spectacular, deserted beach setting had caught the fish just a few seconds earlier. He was now explaining how to prepare it for cooking over an open fire.
We were soon heading past African fish eagles perched over the water towards a starlit fish supper in two sturdy double kayaks- Helen Raine
The kayaks had been hauled out of the water, the tents set up, the constellations were appearing over what Dr Livingstone named the ‘Lake of Stars’ and it was hard to imagine a more perfect setting for a fish supper and a night of exchanging stories.
Reaching this paradise had been quite a challenge though. Lake Malawi is a body of water on such an epic scale that it dominates this tiny country but like me, most people first arrive into the capital of Lilongwe. I had planned to head to the lake directly from there.
Planning was one thing, actually getting there was quite another. The cheapest transport to my destination of Monkey Bay was by matatu, a clapped out minibus which ran from a dusty mud compound. There was no departure time as such; the bus went once it was full.
When we arrived, it was utterly deserted, although there was a chicken pecking forlornly at the upholstery and a large bundle of dried fish in the boot.
Over the course of several tedious hours, the bus went from empty to bursting. Once en route, the springs of the seat sagged so much that over the course of an interminable journey, I slipped deeper and deeper into the resulting hole, until my bum hit the juddering, rusted metal floor, while my knees jammed into my chest. No one else looked any more comfortable, but the mood was so friendly that the only thing to do was grin and bear it.
Arriving at Monkey Bay then, was sweet relief. Within seconds, a laughing man from one of the hostels had negotiated a price for a room and was part escorting, part frog-marching us to our accommodation. This is usually a bad sign, but in this case, the hostel was all that he had promised – on the sandy shores of the lake, with airy rooms and a lively bar.
Restored by a Kuche Kuche beer, it didn’t take long to find a sign offering tours and by the next morning, we were heading past African fish eagles perched over the water towards that starlit fish supper with our guides in two sturdy double kayaks.
We had briefly considered the more traditional option of a wooden dugout, but a closer inspection of these heavy boats had revealed that there were no seats, five centimetres of water in the bottom and that moving them through the water required considerably more effort than the fibreglass model. Since we’d be canoeing for quite a distance, we went for maximum comfort and speed.
We needn’t have worried. Bright and Kenneth did most of the oar work, although we kept moving the paddles for appearances’ sake as we cruised along one of the most beautiful lake shorelines in the world.
Think ‘tropical paradise’ and you’re pretty much there, although that doesn’t really do the wild, timeless feel of the lake justice. There are, of course, white sand beaches, palms and mountains in the background, but the fishing villages interspersed along the lake add some unique local character, especially when children dash out of them wanting nothing more than to give you a huge grin and a wave.
Most Malawians don’t feel that they’ve had a proper meal unless it includes some traditional nsima.
This is essentially powdered maize boiled past the consistency of wallpaper paste and then rolled by hand into a ball and dipped in a relish, most often tomatoes, onions and beans, although it can include meat and fish.
With Bright and Kenneth, we were to discover that cooking nsima is torturous for beginners. It needs to reach a rolling boil, but our efforts just made the blackened pan spit great blobs of volcanically hot white goo over exposed skin, much to the amusement of our guides, who, shaking their heads at our incompetence, finished the job off. They produced a really delicious final product to complement the fish.
By the time we emerged from our tents the next morning, breakfast was already made. Essentially, it was nsima again only with more water to create a porridge-like texture. They served it with delicious local jam before making the tents vanish in seconds flat and loading us back into the kayaks.
The tropical waters have become a genetic melting pot which has created more species of indigenous fish than any other body of freshwater on earth- Helen Raine
En route to our final destination, we stopped at a couple of villages and forested islets, where huge, smooth boulders had tumbled out of the forest to lie serenely on perfect sand beaches. By evening, we had reached Cape Maclear, set in one of the world’s first freshwater nature reserves.
The reserve is protecting the mind boggling array of fish that live in Lake Malawi. The water might look placid, but this is the second deepest lake in Africa and the tropical waters have become a genetic melting pot which has created more species of indigenous fish than any other body of freshwater on earth. There are more than 1,000 species of cichlids alone.
All we needed was a snorkel and mask to access an amazing underwater experience. We swam with a myriad of flashing, electric coloured fish, darting under granite boulders just below the surface. Their patterns rivalled the neon strips of Las Vegas in intensity with stripes and circles in every conceivable combination of colours and they were quite happy to swim right up to our masks to investigate whether we had anything interesting to eat; some tourists obligingly feed them rice.
The hostel in Monkey Bay had sent our luggage down by road so after another laidback night we headed on to Senga Bay. Transport this time was on the back of a concrete wagon so by the time we arrived, we were coated in white dust which provided ample amusement for the people we passed along the way and proved alarmingly difficult to remove.
Senga was a bit of a disappointment. It was as beautiful as Cape Maclear had been, but the presence of a large and pricey chain hotel seemed to have changed the mood of the locals from friendly salesmanship to aggressive touting. We were harassed by boat-trip salesmen who promised the earth and then delivered only the bare minimum, a complete contrast to our experience elsewhere in the country.
Still, it was hard to feel downbeat in such a beautiful location and as we headed back to Lilongwe, the incredible courtesy and friendliness of the Malawians was back in abundance. In a country where poverty, malaria and AIDS continue to destroy the lives of ordinary people and orphanages are overflowing (inspiring Madonna to adopt two children from here), the positive nature of the people is humbling.
We finished our trip haggling in the market, but it was mainly for fun; the salesmen would be offended if you accepted their first price, but this wasn’t the place to go for rock bottom. Buying directly from the charming owner of a family stall was a chance to give Malawi back just a little bit of the riches she had shared with us.