A Poem for Malawi

Africa

Her warm heart surrounds me.
Her smile reflected in the faces of the children
who race towards this mzungu
hoping to say hello or have their picture taken;
Her energy seen turning seeds to maize.

I taste her; she grows mouth watering bananas, mangos, avocado pears and groundnuts and more.
I could fear her as she unleashes thunderous rain that soaks everything…
I could love her under her dusk to dawn canopy of stars and stars and stars and the milky, Milky Way…
Oh my…

I hear her through the ‘boys’ who call out
“Moni Bambo! Hey Boss” or ssst ssss ssst ssss…as I wait in minivan buses or walk on rain worn streets.
Along broken roads; over bridges above mucky brown or soapy white streams; down there where the washing of clothes and bodies is done.

I see her hope, little bundles of it, being carried on the backs of women; women who work from earliest light into the night.

I feel her breath blow softly, thankfully across my face delivering fragrances and odours; sounds and silences from the fields beside me.

She has super sized…
Moths that sound like Cessna’s taking off and look the size of bats
Snails that overflow the palm of my hand
Cacti as big as a mature maple
Giant Baobab trees with trunks that look like elephant feet

Africa…
She touched me once before.
Damned if she hasn’t done it again


© legraham 042010

Maize Observations

Just as Canadian farmers are heading out to their corn fields to check for seed germination and emerging weeds, here in Malawi bags and buckets of kernels are being carried to the maize mills dotted throughout this area. There it is ground into the maize flour which serves as the staple starch eaten every day for every meal in most families. Morning porridge is pala; for lunch and supper there is nsima eaten with veggies and meats.

I find myself constantly comparing the Malawi maize production industry to that of Canada. There are some similarities: working in the hot, full sunshine; worries about weeds and fertilization, theft and adequate rainfall. Two main differences are that here the acres of maize are hand-tended, and that it is pretty much all grown for human consumption. Along the roadsides, in small patchwork fields growing up the mountains, and beside every home, hut or village is a garden with cultivated maize.

Labour intensive tilling, planting, weeding, fertilizing and harvesting happen from November to May using sweat and muscle techniques. Daily sweat is contributed by all family members with the women most visible. The fields are dotted with bent-over bodies, bright in their chitenjes (wrap around skirts) and mostly barefoot. There are likely twice as many people working as we can see due to crop height (some plants are well over eight feet tall), and the shadows made by the unrelenting sun. Children not in school accompany their mothers and grandparents to the field.

This is a country where hand tools are the norm for tilling, for hilling the rows, and for planting, seed by seed, row by row, and field by field. The maize is under-seeded with crops of sweet potatoes, squash, pumpkin, cucumbers and sugar cane, more visible now that the maize is off and also being harvested. It is almost the winter season as is apparent by the heavy jackets and scarves worn in the cool mornings and evenings. There are trees growing in the fields too, and ant hills but I have yet to see a tractor. There was one beautiful, well-matched team of oxen pulling a ½ ton cart of produce out of a village, accompanied by two boys whom I thought looked so proud and happy to have such a cool task.

About the second week of March we noticed the harvest beginning; cobs of maize were hand picked, thrown toward the end of the row to be gathered later into bags or wheelbarrows and more hours and days and weeks of work followed in the effort of transporting the harvest by vehicle, minibus, on top of heads, in wheelbarrows, and by bicycle, from the garden to the home where the kernels are hand-picked from the cob. Some folks barbeque the corn and eat the kernels directly from the cob. (Interesting item: plastic bags are used as a fire starter for the coal barbeques and the spent cobs are also burned.) Along the road, in yards, on porches are squares of white now – corn laid out on mats, sheets, chitenjes – with someone sitting (always on the ground) at the edge of the harvest as it dries, to guard against rain, free range chickens, goats, cows, thieves, wind. Maize products are the family’s food for as long as it lasts. I have seen corn drying on the top of thatched roofs too.

Sweet potatoes have been replanted where the maize has been taken off, though with winter setting in now (Mid-May) there might be no rain until the spring in September or later.

After drying in the sun the maize is shaken in flat wicker baskets, to be cleaned of dust and chaff (fines), then bagged to be stored or carried (yes, carried by whatever means possible AGAIN) to the noisy maize mills which run steadily unless shut down by a power outage. At the mill, maize is ground into flour and weighed. Another option is to sell a portion of the crop in May and buy it back later as needed. This means not having to store the unwieldy large bags in a home often already lacking in sufficient living area, as well as providing immediate cash for school tuition, sugar, clothing and more.

The local shop is buying maize to store in a pesticide-treated area. A hen rests on the bags piled in the corner – a natural for this country where maize is the staple starch crop and chicken is the main meat. We see fowl everywhere. They peck about in the gardens and grass. They are in transit on bikes, in bags, in boxes or baskets carried atop heads. Chicken heads jut out the round holes; hens are tied by twos and threes to bicycle handlebars. The best meat to order in a restaurant is chicken (in my opinion). This is no reflection on the quality or taste of the local popular chambo fish found on most menus – just my personal particular choice. Back to the chicken; there is chicken snackie, chicken wings, chicken pieces, chicken pizza (pronounced like pisa as in leaning tower of …) roast chicken, quarter chicken, whole chicken, fried chicken, served with 4 different bottled peri peri sauces, all being sufficiently hot to satisfy those who crave heat. Correction: peri peri is excessively hot.

Maize is the staple crop here, brought into fashion by the colonials and it grows happily in the Malawi heat. Other crops grown in Malawi include ground nuts; potatoes; tomatoes; mustard spinach; and more. Sugar cane grows in miles of irrigated fields in the south of Malawi and tobacco also has a large place in the agricultural export economy here. Free range goats, chickens and cattle share the paths and roads with everyone else. There is an abundance of fruit trees: bananas, mangoes, avocado pear, paw paw (papaya) among others. With an employment rate of just 10% growing one’s own food is a necessity and the whole nation is involved.

more Liberation Pics

Celebrating in Batheim

Chester wants one of these for poolside

More coffee...Brent didn't make this.

Dad with a young Dutchman from Markelo

Folks with the Vice Mayor of Nijmegen

Dad's bridge

Lest we forget

A Russian grave

Danku vel Frank

A few Liberation Pics by Lloyd

Brent and Callie

Henrik and Markelo's Veteran - Frank

I have no doubt the Dutch will always remember their liberators

Chester, Jan and Mary

G-J Ooplat and 'his' veteran

Claire and Rick

Frank and Mary Graham

Claire and Diny

Da Boyz

Chester, Rick, Dad, Lloyd and Brent

Rick, Janice, Mary G. and a Canadian friend in Holten Cemetery

Dank u zeer - Friendship forever

Dank u zeer! Friendship Forever!


Here we are back in Malawi, at the campus, after an eventful ten days with our Dutch friends in the Netherlands as well as family. Running water, flush toilets, showers, washing machines, electricity all day … how quickly we adapted to previously accepted norms.

I must tell you that the 65th anniversary of the liberation of the Netherlands was wonderful. Our hosts cared for us in all possible ways: food, drink, bussing, host families, rental bikes … whatever our need was, they had thought it out and provided. We felt like we were at home with meals, beds and even a washing machine. Thank you so much, all you Dutch friends who hold Canadian veterans responsible for your freedom. Special thanks to Diny and Jan Templeman and Hendrick and Hanna Bowmans and Gert-Jan Ooplat. We appreciate all you do for us and we thank you for keeping alive the memory. You cause us to know the price of freedom, the cost of occupation, and the recovery of humanity after the fear is lessened. You teach us humility: you are the ones who suffered five years of occupation. You teach us gratitude: yet you are the ones who thank us our veterans year after year. You teach us to teach our young people the lessons of war. Thank you!

Ten days and nights of comradeship: cemeteries and cenotaphs in Holten, Markelo, Nijmegen, Arnhem, Apeldoorn; crazy farmers’ golf, bicycle riding, beautiful gardens, red chestnut trees in full bloom, a BBQ in an open air theatre catered by a wonderful Markelo restaurant (aka Branch One or DeHaverkamp), a party, a dance, (who ordered all those drinks is what I want to know??), the big chair in front of Happy Smit’s Restaurant and a wonderful dinner there with our hosts, the tour to the bridge where Frank Graham was wounded and the memories …. Old and new created by that walk … thank you Gert-Jan, and Diny and Jan and Daniella and … Branch 1 and Branch 2 of the Canadian Legion of Markelo … and Hendrick and Hannah and Burger Bert and Albert Ooplat and Henrietta and Femke and all the other members of the Welcome Again Veterans Committee … how to thank everyone? … we heard Scottish pipe bands and the Canadian British Columbia Volunteer Band who shared our bus, and we rode in the Keep ‘Em rolling vehicles of the 2nd world war … so many people took part in this huge celebration of freedom and hope and remembrance. I have forgotten some …. I know that … and yet … all are so important and all are remembered in the big picture of thankfulness and especially the knowledge that there is hope and ongoing friendship between Dutch and Canadian people.


Of course there will be pictures posted.


Now we are back at the flat at Cunima University for our last three weeks of the Malawi adventure. First order of business is to bring in the groceries and that entails a day trip to town, on the mini bus where we are, once again, the visible minority. Little kids point and stare at me amazed at the whiteness … and then they notice the even whiter, bigger man behind me. I sit ready to pop their eyes back into their sockets if need arises. It is a good conversation and smile starter with the kids’ parents too.

Walking to the market I say hello, Kodi muli bwanji to everyone and anyone and they all answer back, mostly with hello. One 14-year old walked behind me for a bit; I turned a few times as I thought I heard her speak. She shook her head when I asked, “Are you talking to me?” Finally, there was a tap on my shoulder and I had a walking companion. Aida. 14 years old, lives at the school for the deaf; she pointed to it using hand signals as we passed. “Oh, so you are deaf?” I asked in sign and words. She laughed. No. My father works at the school. Aahhh. Actually I said, “eeeeeeee” which seems to connote understanding and a few other things, like thinking, grief … more … a small welcome friendship offered and accepted.

Friendship is wonderful in every country. I’ve heard ‘azungu’ a few times as we’ve made our way along the streets, a word meaning ‘whites’ (more than one), usually said by children as a comment to their parent, but when an adult calls it out, with a sneer, mmmmmm, not so good. When in Nairobi, Kenya, on our way to the Netherlands, we saw T-shirts printed with Mzungu (that means one white person); guess who’s got new Tees.

Our friend, George, who delivers (by bike) our bottled water, boxed milk, and pop in cases (everything heavy) has new product in his store these days; now that the harvest is over and the locals have food in their cupboards to last for the next few months, they have disposable income. He is stocking lengths of fabric to fill changing seasonal needs. And the ubiquitous tailor is happily pedalling his sewing machine, crafting winter wear. In the spring, does George carry hoes I wonder? An investment opportunity?

It makes me so sad: the abject poverty. Why in this world of abundance are people starving? There are beautiful people here. There are lazy people, of course. It takes all kinds. And there are the azungu too (that’s us – the observers … )

Too much thinking for one evening; it is 11PM – 5 PM your time and the moths and mossies need to be controlled before the bug net is untied … TTFN

Do please keep in mind that we’ll have our new books coming out this summer: a book of poetry by Lloyd; Master Gardener, a novel by Claire. Also, while in Malawi, we have created a collaborative effort (with six other Canadian writers) called: The Raven Project. Stay tuned for details later this summer.

Easter in the Front Yard

Bananas are always ripening somewhere


Ironically, reading the State of Africa...in the Dark



Thousands witnessed the Crucifixion in our front yard. snuck the laundry out after they left

one pic =

Lengwe National Park

Stories of on the Road and More

We go to Netherlands next week for the Veterans’ Day celebrations, meeting up with seven of Lloyd’s family members; we are all being hosted by local families in Markelo. How generous and respectful the Dutch are toward Canadians. Thank you. Looking forward to having access to a real shower (and, yes, there have been dreams about chicken wings and Caesar salad. Is that sick? when there are such good fruits here like mango and avocado pear?) It’s not at all difficult to ingest enough fruits and veggies in Malawi, but my personal favourite – salad – is not recommended by the local (Peterborough) Health Clinic, and we follow their advice completely. So far, all is well health-wise. That said, I planted some parsley last week and hope to use it in mid-May.

The Weed Man emailed that he has done the spring clean-up at Armour Road and is coming next week to cut the grass. Is it possible we missed winter in Canada? What a shame! Here, winter has just begun with a temp of 18 degrees (ahh) and a day of rain.

We are becoming more adept at doing the shopping here; it is so difficult compared to our customary pattern. A fifteen minute walk to the bus stop, a minimum one-hour bus ride and then we must be careful to buy only as much as we can carry and/or hold on our laps on the bus ride home. We can get a selection of fresh produce at the corner (that’s the fifteen minute walk) so yesterday, we did that on our way home. The full bags were even fuller with bread, tomatoes, potatos, and pears. Lots of heat too. The frozen meat is no longer frozen by the time we’re at the flat. If you do the math …. Going to the nearest Shoprite, purchasing two to fours bagsful of items, perhaps a trip to the bank machine because all / ALL transactions are cash transactions (**) is a minimum of 4 hours. Argh! Yes, some days I feel my time is being wasted. Lucky for me and my fellow traveller, we are easily amused with sights from the mini-bus and such, so it’s not a great hardship. Still … four hours?!?

Oh yeah, and then it’s a 10 minute ordeal to get all three of the stiff locks and padlocks unlocked. (Move on, Claire.)

It’s necessary to plan enough drinks for the trip and not leave oneself short washroom-wise. Finding a clean bathroom is quite easy in Blantyre and there is a wonderful pizza restaurant (Jungle Pizza) in the mall where we get the groceries; that has become a regular part of the trip. There is a outdoor food court, roofed, with purchasable internet access. The clientele is pretty evenly distributed between whites, east Indians, and blacks, while the pizza joint is owned by a Portuguese couple.

One full-service mall in a city of 1.5 million is hard to believe, but that is an indication of the poverty. Elsewhere in town there are many stores, thousands of stalls at the market, and street vendors everywhere so you can get everything you need, if you know where and how to find it. It’s common knowledge that there are two prices for everything – one for the locals and one for outsiders.

To save ourselves trips to town, we have befriended the owner of the small store at the corner (dry goods – he has no electricity in the store) and he travels by mini-bus to town and market for us to get the heavy bottles of water and pop and milk. He’s offered to take us to the market as we’d like to make some purchases. He said he’ll scout the prices first on his own, then we can come with him. Strange eh? There are people looking to pick pockets there too, so it’ll be good to be with him, and, as we discovered today, there is huge competition for riders on the mini-bus. Boys were running up and down the roads, trying to snag riders for their bus before they hopped onto one waiting at the ‘regular’ stop. Jeepers! It felt downright dangerous but I feared if we got off we be might torn from limb to limb. That may be an exaggeration but I can’t be sure.

So we stayed on our first choice of buses which entailed an extra transfer for us, but the trip brought us right to our door instead of dropping us off to walk the last 15 minutes. Was the stress worthwhile? Today, yes, as it was raining. And we may do the same thing again. After all, it is all about the experience.

We have met two writers here at the University. C. is a visiting professor of Anthropology from South Africa, who says she hasn’t time to write down her poetry but she does write. I hope we’ll be invited to see or hear some. She is rumoured to be working on a poem for a hip hop artist so stay tuned. J. is a secretary here and she has given us two short stories to edit as she’s entering them in a contest. Great, realistic, heart-touching stories. We purchased a book on writing English – the rules, idioms, forms – that sort of thing, to give to her, as she has a birthday coming up and it seemed appropriate and useful. Writers are everywhere; storytellers are ubiquitous.

It has been about 8 months since I’ve been to see my hairdresser. Luckily there is just one small square foot mirror (purchased by yours truly.) Did I hear someone say camping? I keep my hair up, usually in a French braid. I have a pretty excellent tan – face and arms and shoulders only – even the other blogger is a little bit darker than usual, although he doesn’t handle the sun well. And my feet have sandal-stripe tans. A great start to the summer season in Peterborough.

cough-in of mini buses; candlelit reader

 

Pictures

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Always Learning

Life skills I’d never considered needing, ‘til this year:

How to tie the ‘day knot’ in a mosquito net.
Hand-washing laundry
Taking a bucket bath (the Chichewa-language sign for this is two cupped hands throwing water over the right shoulder and then the left).
Bargaining for everything
Handing out bits of money for everything: a death; laundry; pails of water; advice
Using the two-barrelled approach on lines of ants. One shoe in each hand and, if necessary, one shoe on each foot. Ah yes, picture taking time again.
How to say a most popular word in Chichewa: “ ee”. I’m not sure of the spelling, but “ee” is a profound, attentive, thoughtful answer, used more than once in almost every conversation.
How to purchase oranges. They can be extremely sour! Ee. Sour enough to use as lemons. The trick to buying edible fruits is to ask the vendor to pick the best ones. You will pay more but good fruit is worthy.
Removing bug bodies from my keyboard ewwww
Ee.
Doing laundry by hand. Washing, rinsing, squeezing, second rinsing, squeezing, …

Did I ever mention that we have no running water here? You might think ewww! And then you might consider such conveniences as shower, bath, hot water, drinking water, handwashing, flush toilets, laundry, dishwasher, sinks, taps. It is an enigma why we have a toilet, clothes washer, and a shower yet no running water. Yet.

The burning question now is: where do we hang the laundry to dry once we’ve processed it through the various tubs of hand-carried waters? I’m thinking on the barred windows. This warrants a picture to the blog. There is a tendency here in this land where wealth is uncommon, to show to one’s best side to one’s neighbours – a visual brag that one can afford the best. This could mean an expensive car or hanging curtains with the front of the material hanging facing the street. I guess I’ll hang our pretties, cleanest, newest laundry in the windows in the front of the flat. Raggedy underwear on the back windows.

In the meantime …

the power is out. A load of laundry is in the new buckets purchased yesterday in town.
So we have candle light and Enya on the laptop. Supper is still to be cooked.

Doors and windows are closed against mosquitoes. It is so hot in here and we have six candles blazing; let’s go outside in the yard. Students and teachers are all gone home; ATM generator must be ignored to take in the night sky in this complete darkness. There are no lights. It reminds me of August 14th when ON and the eastern seaboard had an outage for 6 or 10 hours. Chaos. Here it is the norm, as is the constellation The Southern Cross and Orion’s Belt.

There is a choir practice happening; 15 or so kids’ sit on the chapel steps using cell phones to light their pages, making harmony, as we walk out of the courtyard, past the guards to see a brilliant 2/3 moon, that lights the mountains to the southwest. In the southeast lightening flashes. There are the night sounds - grass hoppers, crickets, toads and something I can’t quite identify. There are new-to-me critters every day. Half pound snails grace the brick wall. Butterflies are the size of hummingbirds while hummingbirds grow the size of sparrows, and yellow finches are as large as robins. It’s as if we said, “OK. Just biggie-size everything.” Even the vibrant colours and the heat are larger here. It is still swelteringly warm but it is bedtime. I have clean hair and feet after a candle-lit bucket bath.

Morning duties for tomorrow: sweep out last night’s carnage of insects and dirt. Check water supply, start laundry, move laundry to the next bucket, hang laundry, put away laundry, yes laundry. Ee. Adjust the mosquito net. If we get up early enough, and the power is still on we can get the coffee made. Did I tell you about the two mornings we were unable to make coffee? It was a bit of a giggle to have to drink beer before coffee. This is when the discussion arose around the merits of Drew Carey’s Buzz Beer.

(Note to Ashley: you are not the only one who says T. I. A. – This Is Africa.) On day one we held out until 3 PM for the first pot; on day two, by noon we were on the bus (a very quiet bus ride) heading to the MegaBite. An hour ride was worth that first sip. On that trip we investigated alternatives to caffeine and now have Plans B, C. and D. Thermos (B), chocolate (C), coke (D).

How soon can we bring Tim Horton’s or Starbucks over here?

Getting Around

Travels

We took a mini bus today to Limbe Market and from there caught a connector bus to Chichiri Mall in Blantyre. We loaded the backpack with an umbrella (as much for the sun as for the rain) and frozen water, and took the 15 minute walk to the bus stop. Our ice melted during that short walk.

Before we ever dared this mode of transportation to town, I’d been thinking how rude the bus riders and drivers are, beeping their horns as they drive down the road, calling out the window at us as we walked along. Noisemakers, a nuisance, I thought. Turns out the mini bus is a feat of fine transportation, with some rough spots to be worked on.

The driver drives with a focus we should all learn, while his co-pilot sidekick hops on and off, collects the fares, negotiates the fares, and closes the door. He gets a workout. On one mini bus I watched the sidekick work at every stop to keep the sliding door from slipping off its track and down the road. He was a well-muscled little man, with regular female fans at three different stops. Sweet.

The co-pilot spends much of the drive time hanging out the window calling to folk along the road to see if they want a ride. He instructs the driver how many seats are empty then the driver beeps the horn at people walking along the road, who can then signal yes or no if they want or do not want a drive. (Not so rude after all.) And … If enough folks on a bus want to go to a certain place it can be negotiated. Ten of us were driven all the way to the university door at an additional cost of 20 Kwatcha each, while one passenger received a refund of 50 Kwatcha to get off the bus early and walk an extra distance. Democracy on the bus lines in action.


I like to sit at the back of the mini bus. The seat feels most secure there (my experience so far) and there’s no one sitting behind me to want out at the next stop, meaning I don’t have to get up, get off the bus and let him out. Still, it can be crowded on the back seat. From the outside of the bus, you see only the four heads and part of the backs bouncing along down the road. Bums tending to be the widest body part, one should not base an opinion looking through the back window.

Bring only as much as you can carry and hold on your lap when squished with three other riders onto a bench seat. It is sweaty on the minibus in close quarters with fifteen people. They can fit twenty, though it isn’t legal, hence regular police checks. Filled seats make a profitable journey and give one the opportunity to get a whiff of some of the distinctive scents of Malawi, leading this introspective rider to wonder … Is it me? I believe the strong, leave-the-bus odours are not mine, being, in my opinion one of the ‘people of the lesser scents’. But who says that my scent isn’t as highly obvious as anyone else’s just because I think I smell OK?

There is usually a decent breeze coming in the open windows of the bus. I got a sunburn one day on my right arm, through the window, on a 15-minute ride, despite my trying, unsuccessfully, to make shade with my damp back pack. Back packs make your back sweaty; they can hold a lot of stuff quite securely leaving your hands free for pulling yourself into and off of a bus as the co-pilot yells, “Hurry. Faster. We can’t stop here.” Reminds me of my old curling skip.

People on the mini buses are consistently courteous, kind, and cheerful. There is often laughter. There are quiet, friendly conversations going on or people are silent, looking out the windows as I do, watching the road. It feels safe enough though the roads are rough. Pulling over to pick up and let off we sometimes drop down four inches to the shoulder of the road with a weight- shifting lean. I worried one day if I leaned hard against the door it would fall off and I’d be out, so ignoring my fear of the germs on surfaces I grasped the exposed seat frame (along with three other passengers’ hands) to hold myself upright. Note re next bus trip: carry handi-wipes in the back pack.

We’ve experienced frequent stops for gas, sometimes at a gas station, more often at the side of the road, where there are available 2-litre water bottles of fuel that with a short length of hose activated by suction from the co-pilot’s mouth can be siphoned into the tank. Generally the driver and his side-kick seem to have learned the principles of teamwork but once, when the co-pilot had spent considerable time packing four 25 Kg. bags of a passenger’s ground maize into the back of the bus, the driver decided: time to go. He got the bus moving; the co-pilot pounded on the back door to signal he hadn’t alighted the bus yet. The driver stopped, mumbling and ranting in Chichewa to the delight of the passengers. When the co-pilot did get on – finally – there was a discussion in their native tongue which dissolved into silence, broken by the chuckles of the passengers, which seemed to cause the two participants to see themselves reflected in the passengers’ reactions and they broke into hearty giggling. Malawian men giggle and it is truly infectious.

Stopped into the corner store and negotiated with the shopkeeper to deliver two 5-gallon jugs of water tomorrow morning to the flat. That saves us carrying water home from town. If it goes well we’ll make a deal with him for an on-going supply. He carries fresh-daily bread – wonderful. And he carries Sprite. And coke. There is a small market on this corner with vendors of bananas, fresh meat, tiny fish, tomatoes, avocado pears and more, as well as a tailor and shoe sales (used). Must take a photograph to give you a better idea.

Speaking of the blog photographs:

Remember to double-click on the photographs in this blog and they will get bigger. Learning every day. Thank you for your encouragement and comments and your emails. We do miss you.

Ominous skies and happy kids

Posers for the Camera...Kids at the Parish on Easter Sunday


Just a gorgeous shot

Yeah, a big storm approaching

Some more PICS for you

My Tailor...shortened a couple of pairs of pants for me


Sugar Cane....BIG business here in Malawi

Baobob Tree...google it-WOW!

Look at that sky!

Baobob Restaurant and cafe!

Fotos of de Flat

A few pics of the place. It really is nice. If we had running water and a sure spply of continuos eletricity we might think we were in Canada! well except for the Geckos that run the walls and ceiling masterfully, helping us keep the mozzies (mosquitos in South African terms) and moths in check.

The Kitchen behind the short wall...Claire can talk with me any time I'm cooking! :-)

Candles are cheap, thank goodness.

Click on any pic and it will enlarge for better viewing.

Shots from Lengwe National Park