Welcome to Tongole, welcome to the Big Four

Until yesterday morning, we waited for news that Vice-President Saulos Claus Chilima would visit Nkhata Bay and inspect that infamous K500 million bus depot Minister of Local Government and Rural Development Kondwani Nankhumwa graciously and proudly launched some weeks ago.

We had vowed to camp there until the Veep came but we quickly understood that our Vice-President was in mourning because of the death and burial of Sam Mpasu, courageous politician to some, indefatigable writer to others, generous family man to close family, a committed Impi to the Maseko Ngoni and just a jocund man to some of us.  May he rest peacefully.

Before we left Nkhata Bay, we went round the bay area and spent time thinking about the value of martyrdom. On March 3 1959, over 30 unarmed pregnant women, young men and women were mowed down by the Nyasaland government with the assistance of federal paramilitary police while they protested the detention of Kamuzu Banda and other politicians. While the names of the murdered are inscribed on the martyr’s memorial walls at Kakumbi, their bodies cannot be traced.

We wondered loudly why no president, except Bingu wa Mutharika, has ever made an attempt to give these people a more decent and befitting burial and erect memorial pillar.  We also wondered why foreign and indigenous academics have not been bothered about the missing bodies. Where did the bodies go? Thrown in the lake? Fed to police dogs or crocodiles or simply dissolved in sulphuric acid as the CIA is said to have done with Patrice Lumumba’s body in the Congo? Or could they be lying somewhere in a colonial museum in England?

As we walked up and down the undulating hills that characterise Nkhata Bay, we saw a Tanzanian steamer coming to dock at the broken down jetty.

“Interesting,” I said, sighing.

“What?” Jean-Philippe asked.

“You see; we Malawians claim that this lake is ours but….”

“But the ships sailing in it are Tanzanian!” Nganga finished off my statement.

“It reminds me of the statement attributed to Malawians of Indian descent…” Abiti said.

“Which is?” Jean wondered.

“Dziko wanu; ndalama wathu,” Abiti said.

“Which means?” Jean-Philippe asked impatiently.

“You own the land; we control the economy!” Nganga translated.

“Ah, I thought the economy was in the hands of Mota Ingini?”  Jean-Philippe laughed.

“How?” Abiti asked.

“Well, how else do you explain that company’s luck? The company wins all major national construction contracts! In South Africa, we should have been talking about State Capture,” Jean-Philippe joked seriously.

“That proverb reminds me of the proverb: ‘Opusa analira nyanja; ochenjera anayigwiritsa nchito’!” Mzee Mandela said, taking us back a bit.

“Which means?” Jean-Philippe wondered.

“No translation! You should have learned Malawian languages by now,” I said.

“If it is important, you will tell me,” Jean-Philippe challenged.

As we were discussing Lake Malawi, someone WhatsApped Abiti that the multi award winning Tongole Wilderness Lodge in Nkhota Kota had halved the rate for accommodation for one night that night only.

As soon as the announcement was made we rushed to pack our luggage. Two hours later we were on road. We arrived here late last night.  We are yet to explore the lodge and the surrounding areas. However, we have already been assured of bird and fauna safaris, bush walks, and canoeing in the mighty Bua River.

We will not leave this place until we have seen the big four: lions, elephants, hippos and crocodiles. All these are plenty here and offer that rare opportunity for close-ups.   By getting close to these animals, we hope to understand why African leaders are fond of calling themselves lions, crocodiles and leopards.

And why has no president named himself or herself elephant or hippo?