...:::Brunei Trans Africa:::...

Thursday 17-05-07

Even our "JAMBO was happy, seeing that his name is used on a building.

The border crossing was smooth and only 100 km to go. We had no visa, therefore to Immigration first, a flat building which has not
seen paint since "1967". There is no money for such luxury. The visa office, a room of about 6 x4 m. No filing cabinets, Two tables,
two trays on them. IN and OUT.
The "IN" tray was a pile of documents and passports, reaching almost the ceiling The "OUT" empty, except some loose paper with
handwritten word scrabbled on them. In-between an officer with stamp, an empty coffeepot and a mobile phone. On the floor, on two
sides piles of visa application forms from recent years. Thousand, five thousand? Who knows?, Who cares? The shoulder height piles
were leaning to each other. Held together with strings.

The visitors were three black Africans which did not speak English, maybe from Mozambique, and one African girl in fine modern
dress enhancing the nature given attractiveness. Heir oversized bosom was squeezed in a much too small blouse. She could not
pass anywhere without guys looking. " Yes, the next" said the officer. A skinny African stood up, approaching humble the table.
The officer waved him away like an unwanted fly, looked at the woman and gestured her to sit.

She had a hard time to do that, because of her narrow skirt. Finally she managed it and gave him her passport. He looked through,
asking: "Where do you stay?" Whispering came the answer. "What? In the refuge camp? I cannot give you a visa." She looked
down to the bag on her knees and kept silent. " Are you not staying with a Malawi friend ? You have to stay with one as you need his
address otherwise I cannot give you what you want. " Her face was allover begging and expressing:" I can give you what you want".
Then this woman took a deep breath. Honestly, even if you do not believe dear reader, The blouse tensioned more and more until the
top button jumped off. "ping...." and flew into the coffeepot of the officer. He starred, first at the now more exposed bosom, then at
his pot, then at the pale face of the girl (African cannot get red in the face) and at the passport. He was disturbed. Meanwhile she took
a mobile phone out of heir burse. and wrote down the number . That clicked in him. You have to wait outside he decided. "Next" he
called us. "Fill the form" which I did. Harun went for a reload telephone card, which he gave the officer together with the application form.
"For your girlfriend".

What else can we say?

Indian came, Chinese came, Africans and two European. He finished our visa concentrated , bang! bang! It was in our passports. Fast
and efficient. When he wrote the dates, one could see his hand was shaky. He was thinking of all the pleasures the girl might give
tonight, she was just a phone call away.

In Malawi at the border

Oh dear reader, you might thought, we finally ended in a cooking pot of an undisclosed mountain tribe. Somewhere in the hinterland
of this "hungry man's" Malawi, but not so. "What a pity", some might say; but we are still alive and kicking. It was just - there was no
internet. Let us share together what has happen on the long journey to Tanzania.

Friday 18-05-07

The radiator work was done last evening. The third time. " But this time the African workshop manager said, " we guarantee you,
the job is very good.1000%! "If not?" Do not worry I send you half the money you paid,. He is Muslim. Let's see.

Sleeping at the camping ground at the golf club. It was safe. Just, we could not use the toilets as those were used also by the
gardener, the night watch man , the cleaner and so on, all not used to a sit down bowel. Their common place is usually the bush
and open grassland, where they can turn the backside as it pleases. In the toilet that created a problem.
We stay the next day in Lilonge and made a electric check up, as the charging light comes on, when the car revs are low.

Saturday 19-5-07

Malawi is a poor country. It had severe droughts and crops failed. Democratic, but promises of politicians of improvements have
failed to materialize. Except for the people in power maybe. Politician vote among themselves for pay rises of ministers, new cars and
helicopters. The poorer the country, the fatter the leaders burse. Little cash trickles down for the benefit of the people. The average
Malawian lives on 1US$/day.
The child mortality is high. 1 dies out of 10. They have a million orphans, mostly because the parents died of AIDS. We did not even
drink from a glass. Only from a sealed bottle, which we open ourselves.

Some headlines in the Malawi Media

The opposition said: The government last year wasted 30 billion. Meaning money is siphoned out or spend on unnecessary items.
That is according to the newspaper 50% of the budget, earned by growing coffee, sugarcane and tobacco. In fact they say Malawi is
the major producer of tobacco. The news papers, paints a grim picture from the social problems this nation is facing.
Poverty and desperation makes robbers and murders, therefore with the exception of night bars, public live in Lilongwe dies out latest
by 7:00 pm.

Fiona the owner of the coffee shop closes by 6.pm, at a time, when back home people sit at the streets enjoying the evening.
Why? Because her staff must reach home as long as there is still some people on the road. She tell us horrible, unbelievable stories,
which make our ears ring. Malawi is among the 10 hungriest nations of the planet.

A big chain at 6:00 pm for the door

It was an uneasy stay, as if the air is filled with fear. At the camping site guards watched over us. Until early morning, we heard
the rhythmic beat of African music from the town. Someone tries to enjoy and forget what he will will face tomorrow again.

More headlines.

          Students go into bushes around the school,                     Jealous wife cut with a razorblade the private parts of the
           the toilets have no water for 6 month.                              husbands  girlfriend.

Her husband died, and according to "Law" the widow must sleep with a man to weird off evil.

The title says it. He killed and disembodied the 14 year old girl and carry heir breasts in a plastic bag around.

And slave trade exists. The blacks against their own people. As you read on this poster

Whom to blame? Not himself? Only 14 years for spreading AIDS

When you as a visitor read this, you wonder, how far they reached in their human development. We had no reason to stay, worried
of safety we moved on North and reached later afternoon Lake Malawi, which is the southernmost of the rift valley lakes. 560 km long
and 75 km wide with a depth 760m. Clean sweet water invites for a swim. But we had been careful not to do that, as we read a tourist
got an eye infection which troubled her for a month.

We consulted a four years old lonely planet guide before, which "recommended the big blue campground overlooking the lake with
internet connection...." we realized that we were the only foreign guests on a run down camping ground. Internet? "No more since 2
years.
On the restaurant veranda a group of black drinking beer and discussing loudly, a woman shouting and commanding a drunk helper,
that was it. As it was late, we could not change anymore. Toilets and showers are in a very bad state. Somehow we came through
the night and in the morning the sun rose over Mozambique on the eastern shore, compensating with its beauty for the frustration of
this place.

Sunrise over lake Malawi

At 5:00 a ship horn waked us. By 6:00 am the "Malawi Princess" docked at the nearby harbor, discharging from heir rusty belly
hundreds of passengers. Even a Toyota parked on deck was hoisted to shore. We held the breath; but yes it went well.

"Malawi Princess" Brunei "Princess"

Transport in Malawi. Firewood chopped by parang The African woman: She is wife, a mother and a mule

The man with the bicycle went mornings to the forest, chop a young tree into 2 ft long pieces and transport now in the afternoon
the load to market. The road climbed and he had to push and balance the load up. We asked him how much he can get:
" About US$ 2.-"

Sunday 20-5-07

The first fishermen with their dug out boats were on the way for a catch of small fishes which, with the best of intentions were no
longer than a sardine tin. Twenty of them should fill one. They could use the mosquito net for fishing.

No engines; those are too costly Good morning times on lake Malawi

Our cruise to North was all along the Malawi lake. Fishing villages, drying their catch in the sun. From a road bend we noticed
smoke rising from the lake surface, that cannot be fire. Nor is the lake volcanic. We looked in the internet but found no explanation.

Fishing village Rising "smoke"

Just look close at the pictures you will see it. It rose like corkscrew on one place, disappeared and came again up in another area.
Kind of weird. The lake is 700 m deep. Do aliens live under?

It was in North-Malawi where we saw he biggest Baobab ever. Harun circumvented it. 21m, almost a diameter of 7 meter. This tree
started to grow when pharaohs ruled Egypt. He is for me the perfect individual. His wood is soft and watery, as he stores it in the cells
for dry times. He is bulky with little leaves if ever, wind and weather cannot harm him. He generates a defense system which termites,
or bugs will not like. And mostly the wood will not burn easy, cannot be used for house building as it will rot quickly. A perfect
system to stay alive for centuries. However Hornbills make their homes in it. As of now the tree tolerates that.

Raising our flag next to the biggest Baobab of North Malawi

While photographing, Kalina came along, barefoot. A village girl. Curious, cute and proud she was. "Take me to Brunei, your
country" she said, hopping onto the bonnet. "Kalina, that is not easy." and we gave her sandals.

It was Sunday and one must rest from "6 days hard labor and money making" in Malawi. So, all important shops were unfortunately
closed, like the telephone office. But one wonders if he guy has ever a line, or he only uses the locals naivety to drag a few coins
from a customer. In a two man operation, perhaps in the following way: customer need to call an aunt in Lilongwe: he dials for her.
but the line only reaches the rear room, where his friend plays he operator. The customer listen now to the "Lilongwe operator": Which
number you want to call? "6402...."

Moment please, and silence for 20 seconds, the customer get tension. Operator: "Now you can speak" "Hallo, Hallo" Silence in the
line. Again: "Hallo Hallo auntie" She believes almost hearing her on the other end. Then the hinter man cuts in: "Very sorry, but it
seems there is a thunderstorm somewhere, the line is bad. Sorry Madam". He calls now the bush damsel, Madam and charges her
300 kwacha....

Therefore, who can afford a mobile phone, has one.

Doors are closed on Sundays

North Malawi

      We have reached North Malawi without problems, it was now early afternoon. Detouring from the main road as the map show a
   scenic route, after 40 km, the asphalt changed abruptly into gravel with the usual corrugations, like a washboard of the old days.
   We drove alone, dust rising behind us. Slowly we climbed the road up, once a while a few huts and people. No one waved. On a lonely
   stretch of road a wood pole freshly cut, blocked our way. A group of blacks was waiting.
   Police ? Soldiers? Bandits? No uniform, but hat means little. Some carried semi automatic guns, Kalashnikovs, hanging at the waist
   level. Others had rifles. We wanted to keep going, driving slowly through, but they strolled into the road, facing us, with their weapons
   ready. Checking the doors they were locked. Reducing speed, we approached them slowly. Harun rolled the window down, but left the
   first gear engaged, one foot on the clutch the other on the accelerator, ready to speed away. I knew, we would break through the
   roadblock if they order us to get out of the car. We had discussed such a situation before.
   A young black with blood shot eyes came, walking unsteadily, his gun leveled at the door, He pushed his face into the open window,
   We could smell the alcohol. He was drunk.
   Others peered from behind into our vehicle while chattering among themselves. The young at the window begun firing questions on us:
   "Who we are? Where we came? Where we go? Who owns the vehicle? Which country?

   The men at the rear grouped again and conferred quickly in a local language, we did not understand. The youth had joined them now.
   We could feel the brewing danger. Harun in German: We do not get out of the truck if they ask us. We drive off. Get down on the floor
   as deep as you can, once I tell you."
   They may have no vehicle to pursue us, but could open fire from behind. The men looked our way. It were tense moments. Then the
   blood eyed teenager strutted towards my side and directed me to open the window, leaned through glaring at me silently.
   My stomach turned almost over. I remember the story we read where a couple was stopped by bandits, the woman raped, the man
   savagely beaten in the face with rife butts, the truck stolen.
   After a while he open his mouth and said "You-Go!" His words came slowly. Harun, without taking his eyes from him, released the
   clutch and accelerated. The other guys starred at us while we pulled away. Changing gear, we took up speed as fast as possible,
   watching their actions in the rear mirror. "Better go down" said Harun. I bowed forward as low as possible while he hunched over the
   steering wheel pacing away,looking at the mirror. Several miles further we stopped. My heartbeat was up the throat.
   "Thank you Allah" A prayer went up and we moved on. One hour later we were at the border.

If you dear reader are not bored by now, click Tanzania where our journey continues.