Bus Journey From Hell

Malawi has a warmth to it as if you’re returning to an old friend. It is a country we have high on our radar screen to launch KnowledgeBeat’s programs in. The gentle laid back atmosphere and friendly people cannot help but make you feel welcome despite their impoverished surroundings.

On July 10, we boarded a bus that would take us from Lusaka to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. Our bus arrived over an hour late and immediately locals appeared from every corner of the bus terminal to push and shove their belongings and bodies on board. Annie jumped inside to secure seats, booting two women from a three seat grouping in the back. Margaret and I remained on the ground to ensure that our packs got a space. As soon as the baggage doors opened it was a mad dash to get your things on the bus. I threw my entire body in front of a woman three times my size while Marge heaved our bags in my direction. Between the three of us, it was teamwork at its best.

Once onboard, the collection of smells permeating this tired vehicle was shocking. At first I thought it was just rotting cheese, then that smell transformed into rotten cheese and feces, before morphing into something I can only describe as rotting flesh. We were crammed in the back of this putrid coffin for 14 hours.

Watching the landscape transform between Zambia and Malawi was fascinating. Zambia’s dry terrain is littered with mud huts and various types of low-lying bush foliage. As we drove east the land became significantly hillier, greener and wooded. Mud huts turned into tiny log cabins and you could feel dampness in the air very different from that of Zambia. The differentiation in climate was another reminder of the vastness and diversity of this amazing continent.

We crossed the Malawian border at 11pm. The official entrance procedure required all entering persons to sign a book. One glaring problem with this system was that a number of passengers could not read or write. Another speed bump in the process was the fact that we all had to wait for this one book to become available. We crossed the border on foot and jumped into another line to hand in paperwork detailing the reasons for our visit and, yes, you guessed it, sign another book.

Upon arrival in Lilongwe, the entire bus remained asleep, negating to wake us up until about 4 a.m. Annie, however, awoke upon arrival around 2:30am, confused on why we were stopped for so long without anyone getting off the bus, she thought perhaps we had run out of fuel, watched as several violent fights and a fire or two broke out outside, and determined to stay put rather than ask questions until the mayhem had subsided. Marge and I awoke to everyone slowly lumbering off the bus. We ask the woman in front of us, “Where are we?” She answers, “Malawi!” And than says, “Are you going back to Lusaka now?” What?

Once off the bus, we went to open the baggage compartment and claim our belongings. No luck. Can’t open the baggage compartment until 5:30am due to crime. So a bus journey that was supposed to take 8 hours had taken 14 and rather than arriving at 9pm and crashing in a hostel, we were overnight hostages on the edge of the Lilongwe bus terminal. Nothing to do but laugh.

We shuffled into a café where the kindly owner agreed to make us eggs and rice while we waited for daybreak and the departure of our next bus to Mzuzu. In typical fashion, we were told the bus would leave at 7:30am, but it was 10:30am before we rolled out. Exhausted and dirty, we bounced along dusty roads in an overcrowded bus for another 7 hours.