Nkhata Bay Nightmare

We were up early. Allan went out onto the beach to do a “check in”, where he films himself speaking about the previous days events and where he is currently located. This gets downloaded to his website and will also assist him when he writes his book after his current travels are done… It was a comical sight, him standing there in his long johns, pointing out over the lake and back towards where we had ridden from the day before, camera held out in his right hand, pointing at his upper body…

I shouted “discouragement” from the shadows of a large Banyan tree, close to the little wooden fence which ran along the lake shore in front of the rondavel, where we had spent a restless night. Allan stopped filming, turned to me and shouted back “I’m trying to be creative here, for Crissakes!!”… I was still laughing when he finally wrapped up his commentary and walked back towards me, asking if I had completed the task of loading his bike… Yeah, right!!

Leaving the reception of the Nkhotakota Safari Lodge. The staff were in hiding…

We left the lodge at 8.00am, with Allan riding out ahead of me to get some video footage of me going through some of the stickier sections of the rutted track leading back to the M5 tarred road. I then leapfrogged him, taking his video camera with me, and filming him taking on the next stretch… We reached the tar without incident, both chuffed that we had not come to any grief… On the way, we stopped to look at a hut that had collapsed during the previous day’s rain, injuring one of the occupants, who had to be taken to hospital… We took a few photos, and Allan gave advice on how the hut should have been built in the first place… The villagers crowded around, “eh-ing” and “ah-ing” which only served to encourage Allan further… I eventually walked over to my bike and started it up. This usually got Allan to get his backside into gear, and today was no exception, thank goodness…!

We headed north for the town of Nkhotakota, wanting to find Livingstone’s Baobab, under which he is said to have convinced the local chief to put an end to the slave trade which flourished in this area in the 19^th century. Slaves were shipped across the lake to Mozambique, where Arab slave traders then chained them together and marched them across the interior and down to the coast to their waiting ships. The tree has a large bell hanging from it, and just behind the tree is St Anne’s Mission Hospital, also founded by David Livingstone…

The “building inspector” arrives to assess the damage, while the bemused owner looks on…..

After searching for a bank for a good half hour, we were told that there wasn’t one in the town after all, and we would have to ride a further 50kms to the town of Dwangwa… Allan needed to make a transfer to a bank in Zambia to pay for the replacement tyre he had bought in Zambia. He had managed to find another one of the same type that he had lost on the way to Lilongwe… The Standard Bank of Dwangwa is located about 5kms off the main road, through fields of Sugar Cane. The road was dry in some places and wet and muddy in others. We rode carefully through these sections, finally turning into the offices of the sugar estate, where the bank was located. Surprisingly, it was a very modern building, with clean tiled floors and air-conditioning… I had expected to find a desk under a tree, similar to the ones I had seen in the very remote areas of Ghana…

We messed about here for a while as it took Allan a number of calls and meetings with the staff, to ascertain that while they could receive transfers at this branch, they were unable to send them…. The word “Bullshit!!” echoed down the corridors a number of times, and I decided it would be best to turn my bike around for a quick getaway….I was pretty sure the security guards would be carrying Allan out of there in a very short space of time… I went across to the local club a few metres away and bought us each a Coke, and waited for Allan to come back out… When I showed him the Coke, he said, “I need something stronger than that, Dude…!” and opened his pannier and brought forth a bottle of red wine which he had been stashing for emergencies such as this one… We laughed at the stupidity of it all, drank the Cokes, ate a packet of biscuits and then rode back the way we had come… It had been an interesting diversion, but we needed to press on…

After a fruitless half hour of arguing with banking officials, we settled for a Coke and some biscuits before we headed out of Dwangwa…..

For the first time along this trip, we noticed that even the smallest village was signposted with its name, and even some of the rivers were clearly indicated on small road-signs. Finally I could put names to the places we were riding through without having to refer to a few of the maps we were carrying!! We passed through Nkhunga and Dema, and crossed the Banga River into the settlement of the same name. Children ran alongside our bikes, whooping and laughing, then stopping to wave us on our way. I always made a point of waving back at them, and after a while, my left shoulder began to ache with the effort… We pressed on, clouds beginning to gather above us again, through Ngala and over the Dwasulu River and into Kasitu. The turnoff to Katete loomed ahead of us, also indicating that there was still 108km between us and Nkhata Bay…

The bridges over all the rivers we crossed showed signs of flood damage, railings warped or even missing, branches and undergrowth stuck to those railings that remained intact. Clearly they had seen big rain in this area. Most of the rivers were still swollen, some threatening the narrow single lane bridges…. We crossed the Khuyi River and then the Chiphumbulu River and roared through the village of Chipeta, a light drizzle hurrying us along. Onwards over the faltering Kasikizi River bridge and past Tukombo… We were making good time now, Allan riding at about 110km/h consistently… I stopped to take a few photos, and Allan decided to push on alone. I knew I could catch up to him easily enough, as the “Big Fella” has far more “grunt” than his Dakar has, so I took my time, ate a few biscuits and watched life unfolding around me. Crows swooped down onto the road to clean up the remains of a squirrel that had been hit by a passing vehicle. They tore at the little carcass, snapping at each other aggressively, and then flying up onto nearby perches to devour the pieces they had managed to tear away from the carcass and each other…

I mounted up and headed for the famous Khande Beach area, a backpackers paradise, where many “Over-Lander” trucks stopped off on their way either down from, or up to, Tanzania and the countries further to the north…

We rode past quietly…very quietly…

The Viphya Mountain Range now loomed up to the west of me, as I passed Khande and rode on to Chinteche. The steep mountain sides tumbled right down to the water’s edge in places… It was a beautiful piece of road, and having given Allan a fifteen minute head-start I was able to open the taps and ride faster than I had for a while. The road reminded me of the one between White River and Sabie, twisting and turning between stands of large trees, through deep valleys and around steep sided mountains… I passed Sanga and Chibuka, and still could not catch up to Allan, even though I was averaging over 125km/h… I was beginning to wander if he hadn’t pulled over somewhere to have one of his “local inter-actions”, and at the speed I was riding at, had passed him without noticing his bike…

I arrived at a T-junction, where a large permanent roadblock was situated. It indicated that Mzuzu was to the west of me and Nkhata Bay to the east. We had intended to spend the next two days in Nkhata Bay, waiting for Allan’s tyre to catch up with us, but he still needed to get to Mzuzu to make the money transfer. I wasn’t sure if he had gone on directly to Mzuzu, or had gone down the road to Nkhata Bay. Just then one of the policemen ran up to me, an umbrella covering the top half of his body as it was beginning to rain again, and shouted, “You flend has gone to Nkhata Bay, and she says she will meet you at the gas station…” I thought about this for a while and then just to test him, I said “Was my flend wearing a dress?” A frown settled across his forehead while he did a memory recall… “No… no dless, onry a piki-piki suit…” That had me going for a while until I remembered that here in East Africa a motor-cycle was often referred to a “piki-piki”…

The T-junction after the long ride from Nkhotakota…

I thanked him and turned east along the M5, my destination only 5kms away. The fuel light blinked on, indicating I was approaching the maximum range of my bike, so I assumed Allan had experienced the same problem…

I rode into the BP service station and found Allan refuelling. He was in earnest discussion (surprise, surprise!!) with the security guard who worked at the petrol station… They were discussing the absence of a Western Union Bank in Nkhata Bay, and why it was an excellent idea that one be opened as soon as was possible… We bought something to drink while we waited for the petrol attendant who had scurried across the road to find a pen so that he could write our receipts… We enjoyed an ice-cold soda and then decided to head for Mzuzu to sort out his banking… We figured there was more than enough time to do this and then return to Nkhata Bay to sort out our lodgings for the night…

It was raining quite hard as we rode up the steep and slippery road leading out of town. I took the lead, not altogether happy about having to ride to Mzuzu and back to Nkhata Bay. I needed another 100km round trip in the pouring rain, like I needed a hole in the head… The rain stopped a short distance out of town, and we rode the 47km to Mzuzu in under half and hour. The road surface had been patched so many times, and was so uneven, that it was like riding off-road in some areas. There was also a pothole the size of a large bathtub, and just as deep, which had not been attended to, and I narrowly missed it when I had to swerve out of the way for a cyclist which was carrying a couple of doors strapped sideways across his carrier…

Eduardo Primera, security guard, assists us at the BP service station…..

It took almost two hours to get sorted in Mzuzu… First we had to draw cash from the ATM, and then we had to find the Western Union offices. Allan went ballistic when they told him he could only transfer a maximum of $80.00 a day. I had to transfer the other $40.00 to make up the balance of the cost of the tyre. Then Allan was told that we couldn’t send two transfers to the same person on any single day…

An outburst of very colourful language followed, which made the lady behind the glass partition cover her ears in horror… It was then agreed that I could send $40.00 to Ray Wilson’s wife, and Allan would have to send $80.00 to Ray Wilson himself… I had sat in the hot sun for most of the time, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and munching on cream crackers… We had not had lunch or breakfast, and were both feeling the effects of having not eaten, coupled with the energy sapping ride we had made… We were not in the mood to be trifled with…

Finally, we were done, and left town with throttles wide open to ditch the frustration of the last few hours. The rain had mercifully stopped and we cracked along, slowing for the two gravel sections where the road was being repaired after the heavy rain had washed almost a kilometre of it away, and avoiding the “bath-tub pothole”…

Our patience was put to the test at the Western Union in Mzuzu…..

We arrived back in Nkhata Bay, and searched for the “Mijoka Village Backpackers”, where we had been advised to stay… The road up the mountain to our digs was atrocious, with huge rocks littering part of it… Water was running down a depression in the middle of the road and loose stones were strewn across the rest of it. I was in the lead, and used the power of the bike to get to the top, a distance of about 2km… Allan had not wanted to try it at all, but could not get my attention, as I was concentrating on getting to the top in one piece… I waited for him to catch up, and his first words were, “Fuck, Dude…What are we doing here?” I pointed out that it was he who had chosen tonight’s stop and that silenced him for a while…

He wanted to turn back to find other lodgings, but I convinced him that there was no guarantee that the roads to the others would be any different… He eventually agreed, and we pressed on… A few hundred metres further on, we came around a sharp bend, and the narrow, rutted, rock-strewn road fell away into a little valley between tall trees… This time Allan got off his bike, saying “No way, Dr. B.” a number of times… “We won’t make it down, and if we do, we won’t make it back up again!!! I didn’t sign up for no fucking Dakar Rally, Dude…!!” I burst out laughing and this lightened the mood a little… I was tired, and didn’t want to have to go back down that road again in the fading light… I was amazed that I had made it up here without putting the bike down, and did not want to spoil the sense of achievement I was feeling, by dropping it on the “retreat” back to town… That could wait for tomorrow…

Throwing caution to the wind, I let the clutch out and shouted, “Follow me!” with confidence I certainly did not feel… I made it down into the valley, and through tall grass which grew on the verges of what was now a track…and no longer a road… Allan came down in one piece and followed closely behind… The track became muddier, and we began sliding about, our back tyres desperately trying to get past their front counterparts… We came to a section just before the parking area for the Mijoka Village, which was basically a large muddy patch, about a foot deep and stretching right across the road… I didn’t even hesitate, opening the throttle and taking what I hoped would be the right line… I made it across with much fishtailing, parked the bike and turned to see if Allan had made it too… No Allan behind me…!! I walked around the corner to see where he was, and there, hands on hips shaking his head was World Rider, his bike a short way into the mud, up to its hubs, seemingly stuck fast… Profanities issued forth from the closed helmet…. We left his bike where it was and headed into the Village to see about the accommodation…

As our luck would have it, the place was fully booked!! We looked at each other and I started to laugh… After the enormous effort to get to this highly recommended spot, we were now faced with the ride back down the hill in poor light… “This is no laughing matter, Dude…” was all Allan could say… I sobered a little at the look on his face and realized that the ride here had shaken him more than I thought it had… He was genuinely concerned about our safety and I had to agree that the conditions that we had ridden in on were far from perfect… In fact they were downright dangerous… It was one of those moments when you realize that both of our trips could end on a section of road like this… A broken arm or leg would see me back in South Africa, and delay Allan’s mission by months…

Our rooms, located on the steep slope leading down to the water’s edge…

Just then, the manager asked if we had tried next door, and led us through a little side gate to the “Butterfly Lodge”… Fortunately, they had two rooms available, and we took them gratefully… I had to ride back through the muddy patch to where Allan’s bike was stuck, and then down a little track which led to the parking area. After much pushing and shoving, we got Allan’s bike out of the mud and parked it next to mine…

The Butterfly Lodge turned out to be a flea-ridden, dump of a place, perched on a steep slope on the very edge of the rocky lake shore. A couple of large dogs wandered through the public areas, stopping every few steps to have a good long scratch…chickens pecked about in the “kitchen” where food was prepared using 20 litre paint tins with holes hacked into their sides, then filled with charcoal. I tried to remember the symptoms related to Diphtheria, because if there was a place where I could contract it, this was it!!!

We were gob-smacked by the ablutions… There was only three toilets and one shower for the whole camp, and the “donkey” was fired up at 5.30pm only, and ran out of fuel by 8.00pm. The toilet seats were broken and the smell was unbearable. The two English girls, who owned and ran the place, were bedecked with piercings and one was pregnant with her Malawian boyfriend’s child… Both girls were in dire need of a psychologist…and a hot bath…

After having a quick shower, we walked down the rocky path to the “bar”, a ramshackle, thatched building on the edge of the lake. The beers were kept in a deep freeze, and were iced up… We drank them in silence, regretting being here and wondering if we were going to get out again if it rained that night… Allan hauled out his video camera and interviewed the barman, who told us that the road down to the lodge had been in its present condition “for decades”…

Supper consisted of Chambo (lake fish) and potatoes, with a spoonful of salad… Allan insisted that they cut the head off his fish before serving it to him, and I later guided him through the process of removing the flesh from the bones. The fish was tasty, covered in spices, the potatoes were stodgy, but we were hungry and ate almost everything… I had to give one of the dogs a hefty kick to get it to stop leaning against my legs under the table. I could imagine the countless fleas that inhabited its fur, jumping for joy when they saw the inviting sight of my bare legs so close at hand…

The “Dining Room”, “spacious and comfortable”…

One thing we did enjoy was the sight of all the fishing boats out in the bay. With their lanterns fastened to the bows of their dugouts, the fishermen paddled out into the centre of the bay, and then line abreast, worked their way slowly inshore, luring the fish with them as they went… It looked like a floating city out there… Once they were close enough to the shore, other dugouts, without lights, paddled towards the line of lantern lit dugouts, dragging nets between them, and passing through the incoming dugouts, gathering all the fish that congregated under the lights. It was amazing to watch, and the experience made up for the awful conditions we had to stay in and the “sticky” situation which we found ourselves in…

I had sent a few text messages to friends, describing our lodgings and before long received a reply that read, “Shame… but your trip wouldn’t be complete without at least one bum place…” I read that a few times, and the author was right… I could hardly have expected to have great digs everywhere I went, and in fact I had very little to complain about up until Nkhotakota Safari Lodge the day before, and now this place today…(although two in a row was a little hard to take!!)

We went to bed soon after, mainly because the power went out and there was nothing else to do, except hang around and watch as squadrons of mosquitoes attempted to suck us dry. Allan suggested that the only improvement he would make to the Butterfly Lodge was to “burn the place to the ground and start again…” I had to agree…

The “Kitchen”, where health inspectors feared to tread….

A strong wind had sprung up while we stumbled through the darkness to our rooms. I hoped that the wind would not bring any rain with it… Being stuck here for a few days would drive Allan and I nuts… I fell asleep to the sound of leaves and berries hitting the apex of my cabin’s roof and rolling down its steep sides…

© 2008 TBMH