Goodbye Karonga, Mangochi here we come

This is no pun. Believe it. Roselyn, Jean-Philippe, and I have been in a state of inebriation since last Thursday.  Last night, Jean-Philippe found himself in Roselyn’s room while I don’t really recall who, out of the many ever smiling Karongians, shared the bed with me.  The good news is that  the party continues until tomorrow when Jean-Philippe officially celebrates his birthday.  To say goodbye to Karonga and Karongians, Terminator, that Karongian specialist fifty-fifty mixture of Amalaula and Shivers Legal, will flow like the Songwe River. Sunday or no Sunday.

The reasons for immersing ourselves in the liquid of joy, as alcohol is termed here, are plenty. The most important one is that we have come to the end of our tour of the North and soon we will be travelling to the Eastern Region or Province mostly to visit the Republic of Mangochi, Machinga and Balaka, which districts once literally belonged to the UDF. If we find time in the near future, we will come back and visit Chitipa Boma, Misuku Hills, Nthalire, Wenya and Titi. Titi is for Chitipa what Marka is for Nsanje and Ndawambe for Mchinji. Titi is the northern-most Malawian village while Marka is the Southern-most Malawian community and Ndawambe the Western-most Malawian homestead.

We have also curtailed our tour of Mpoto because we want to emulate the President of this mighty, overpopulated, and natural resource-filled impoverished republic.  Everyone knows by now that President Joyce Banda is busy visiting villages, villagers, and chiefs trying to transform the lives of the poor by giving them cows. The cow distribution exercise was actually the subject of our unfettered debate last night.  Due to the influence of Terminator, I cannot recall who started it, but I  can still hear Jean-Philippe asking.

“There is something I don’t understand. How does your president know that this homestead needs a cow?”

“I suppose her people do some poverty and livelihood analysis and point to her where she needs to intervene,” Roselyn said, belching.

“And why is she giving out cows?”

“Because cows produce milk which, when sold, will bring in money to the poor families. Isn’t that obvious”

“But I also understand she says once the cow has a calf that calf should be given to another poor family ad infinitum, sort of cow-pass on,” Jean-Philippe went on.

“That’s also what I have gathered too,” I said.

“That’s where my problem is. How do you expect the cow to have a baby without a husband?” Jean-Philippe asked, laughingly.

“Husband?” Roselyn wondered.

“Yeah, the cow’s husband; what do you call that?”

“A bull,” I responded.

Roselyn laughed before telling us that in her secondary school agriculture lessons she learned that cows do not always need husbands to have babies. The calves could be born through artificial insemination while the milk would be induced by injections of bovine hormones.

“I guess we should go wherever she has been and give every cow recipient a bull,” I suggested, between hiccups.

“There are over two million poor households in Malawi. Will you manage to give out two million bulls?” Jean-Philippe continued.

Neither Roselyn nor I answered.

“What will you give to fishing households if you really want to emulate your president? One fish per household?”

“I suspect you are mentally tired. Some of your questions sound bizarre,” I said.

Jean-Philippe laughed. Roselyn laughed. I laughed. We laughed. Jean-Philippe asked Roselyn to go and bring some susa and matoke to cushion the effects of Terminator.  While Roselyn was away, I changed the topic and asked Jean-Philippe if indeed he was found in Roselyn’s room  by accident.