MOVIE: Malawi Part 1 and Feature Film

Hola!

So, after reading the blog - you DID read the blog, didn't you?! - you'll have a good idea of what went down in Malawi.

To keep the flow of what is turning into something of a movie diary, I have set the scene in the following introduction.  When you've watched and enjoyed that, hopefully you'll be curious to see the finished 'product' that we donated to the community initiative we were helping out with.  That is, the second movie below.

Hope you like it - and please bare in mind we only had 48 hours to turn out the movie, which is damn fast by any reckoning once you know how much goes into each one! :)

Cheerio.

Malawi:  Part 1




The Tipenanzo Project.

Malawi - Cape McClear and Chembe Village

Daan and Mirjam tend to pick the nicest of spots to park up...

I'm summoned to a lakeside campsite:  my friends Daan & Mirjam have found a lovely spot and email to suggest I join them.  They're about to help with a local community project that they figure I'd enjoy too.  How right they are!

The setting is superb - meters from the gently lapping waters of Lake Nasser / Malawi, a huge expanse of fresh water famous for it's colourful little 'mbuna' fish.  The lake is so large it has a tide tugged by the moon; and the water so clear the fish make snorkelling a delight - once you've paddled twenty minutes across to the island in your kayak.

At the end of a sandy track that weaves through the middle of a local village, I find the Fat Monkey Lodge.  The lodge was named after the European guys who set it up a couple of decades ago - they were nicknamed 'the three fat monkeys' by the villagers, and the name stuck.

I find Daan & Mijam lazing by the beach - they've been here a few days already and have finished all their bike and kit maintenance.  I'm keen to take a swim and settle in, but shortly afterwards the hard work begins and the next few days are a blur of activity.

The community project has been initiated by a retired Dutch man called Gerrit.  He's been holidaying  in Malawi for years (on and off) and took his time to work out what would benefit the local village most.  They have plenty of elephants already, so another (white) one would be a waste of resources and effort.

His project started with supplying a few swings - something unknown to the local kids.  They'd never even had a rope on a branch to enjoy, and childhood finishes quickly out here. 

Gerrit found a local manager - honest and hard working - and together they planned and built a play centre.  The centre is financed by monies raised by Gerrit in Holland, using his business skills to tap the wealthy wine drinkers. 

Then came non-profit hire-purchase solar lamps (to replace with 'free' electricity the candles still used by most villagers); next comes environmental initiatives to do with recycling and collecting plastic waste.  Plastic rubbish is a plague the world over, from what I can see, so getting the kids to keep their village clean would be a great result and help the flow of tourism to this area.

All in all, a few well-thought-out intiatives are making a real difference in this village without changing the fundamental culture or feel of the place.

These flowers add a splash of colour to an otherwise dusty and drab landscape

'Tourist' is a bit of a dirty word amongst backpackers and travellers (and we include ourselves in that), but the foreign currency is needed.  Malawi remains one of the world's poorest countries, and nearly half the population is chronically malnourished - life expectancy is only 43 years (according to March 2010 Lonely Planet guidebook).  Although the country is urbanising quickly, 80% of the population live in rural areas, so any failure of the crops causes terrible problems - such as the famine in 2005.

Looking for Mbuna fish!

Keeping that in mind, anything we could contribute to local projects seemed worthwhile.  In my case, it involved working with Daan & Mijam to film and edit a short movie concerning Gerrit's main project.  He will use this to promote the donations of children's toys and finance from his old business contacts in the Netherlands.  

I'll add the video to this blog in due course, as it gives a pretty good look at the village too.

The work kept us busy and left us pretty exhausted (producing a movie normally takes me 10-15 hours, and this one had to be turned around in two days if we were to hit a particular deadline).

We left the campsite and enjoyed a superb ride up the coast of the lake until we reached another picturesque shoreside campground.  The deep, soft sand road in was horrendous (I dropped the bike going in, and coming out!), but the cool swim afterwards made up for it.  

Malawi is turning into one heck of a nice country to visit.

Z is for Zambia

You say tomato, I say... er, not today thanks.

Crossing to Zambia was pretty straight forward.  Having a Carnet de Passage makes it quite simple now: there's only a few details to fill in, compared to the multiple forms of Central America, for example - a welcome relief that speeds me on my way. 

Yet, it's already 9.30am and the sun is high, and getting higher by the mile.  The heat has me wearing a water-soaked bandanna on my neck to try and stay cool.  The trick is actually very effective, so watching those old cowboy movies on TV must have taught me something after all.

One big stretch of riding gets me as far as Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, where I find basic hostel facilities and get an early night.  The thumping bar music and a dorm full with transitting backpackers and road-weary sales reps means I'm still looking for a peaceful sleep.  I'm too tired to plan sight-seeing, but as the guide book reports few attractions beyond the local craft markets I probably haven't missed too much.

Herding wild cats through a mouse sanctuary would be easier than getting these gals to stay still...

Another, longer hop starts at 7am, Saturday and ten hours later I pull into another hostel.  Somewhere on that 600 km stretch of asphalt I crossed another border, since today's push has seen me reach all the way to Lilongwe, capital of Malawi.

So, did Zambia register at all on the adventure-journey monitor?  Barely, I have to admit.  The timing was unfortunate: I've already seen my share of Victoria Falls and Lake Kariba, and visited a few game parks too.  Zambia's thunder has been stolen.  The rest, as they say, is history, and I've only skim read the guide book on that score.

Until I can return in the 'green' season, driving a nice 4x4 and armed with a bigger credit card, the Zambia that I remember will be limited to tomatoes and charcoal, wood stacks and roadside flea markets.  A fine diversion if you are parked up in the shade for a rest, but hardly the stuff of exciting movies - or blog posts, it has to be said!

MOVIE: Zimbabwe

Okay folks, sometimes it's all about motorbiking...  but not this time: you get a break for good behaviour.

Here's the latest movie blog for your enjoyment, and we have a watery theme for much of it.

Hope you enjoy...

Zimbabwe (3) - Victoria Falls

Victoria Falls

For the record, I stop at the Hwangay National Park on Tuesday to try and pick up some game viewing.  It's one of the most populated parks in Africa and potentially a fine value-for-money day trip.  Sure enough, there are plenty of elephants, zebra, antelope, giraffe and even a few lions to leave me happy with my choice.  The photos are better in Kruger, though, so I don't take many here.

Probably just as fun, however, are the cheerful family of Americans, fresh out of Maryland, on their first trip abroad.  They let me join their game drive and it's lovely to share their experience.  The blunt, call-it-as-it-is manner of our 3-hour drive is almost as refreshing as the two coolers of beer they load on the truck of our bemused safari guide.  Any frustration he feels when asked (politely) to explain-less-and-drive-more, is no doubt equal to the discomfort experienced by those on board when the reality of a game drive becomes clear two hours (and several litres of beer) later...   You can't jump down off the jeep for a pee.

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I make for the tourist mecca of Victoria Falls, and arrive ahead of schedule.  My friend from earlier in this motorcycle journey, Martin Yache, crosses over from Zambia the following morning and we have a great time catching up.  He's done a hellish hard ride down the west coast of Africa on his BMW 650 Dakar, and I'm happy to confirm that the riding ahead for him now will be comparatively easy.

We catch up over the next couple of days, sharing tips and reliving the best and worst memories.  Funnily enough, even after all these miles we both agree one of the best weeks either of us have had on our bikes came in Moab, Utah when we were the guests of our biker buddies Hap, Jerry, Bruce and Syaufu.  (If you locate the HD movies on my SmugMug site you'll see why!)

It's not all talk, talk, talk.  Walking the Victoria Falls park will satisfy me for an hour or two, even with the entrance fee priced at $30.  I've got high expectations.

 To my surprise, the waterfall tumbles over a narrow rip in the ground, rather than dropping off the edge of a table-like plateau as I've been expecting.  The result is nevertheless impressive - a dramatic gorge, sprung with rainbow beams, from which hang billowing clouds of mist.

I stop at most of the sixteen official, unobscured viewing points and gawp appropriately.  Walking along the cliff edge for about 1,500m I'm enjoying the variations-on-a-theme...  waterfalls in a different stage of distress:  weeping rivelets, flowing off-shoots and plunging curtains, all to the pounding hydraulic hammer beat of water falling 70m onto stubborn rock.

Keeping the camera dry is a challenge; as is finding an angle or perspective that hasn't been taken by a thousand cameras before.  There are no wooden barrels handy, and Sherlock Holmes is in London (filming) so you'll just get standard postcard shots from me.

The falls were smaller than I was expecting - both in terms of height and the volume of water passing over (certainly at this time of year - part way through the dry season).  In these respects, the Iguazu Falls in Brazil / Argentina are the more grand by comparison.  However, these Zimbabwean / Zambian wonders of the natural world are very special and I'm pleased I detoured down to this corner of the country to visit them.

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Victoria Falls - the town - and neighbouring Livingston surround and serve the tourist attraction.   Together, they give the area a reputation as Africa's adrenaline capital: a rival to New Zealand's famous thrill centre Queenstown.  In other words, here you can find tremendously tall bungee jumps; jet boat rides, elephant rides, lion-walking, helicopter flights and, of course, white water rafting on the mighty Zambezi River.

The latter takes my fancy, then mugs me for $160 for a raft ride and the movie footage they took of us.  A picture paints a thousand words, so click and enjoy the accompanying footage [Ed: to come!] - it's a thrilling ride down the rapids, and I can barely move my arms 24 hours later; the paddling did for me!  And yes, we did 'flip'.

After sharing the latest travel talk and news with Martin, it's time to say our au revoirs.  Will we meet next in the UK or US, we wonder?  The road is calling so we head out on our respective paths to find out.   I'm always a bit sad to leave the friends I meet (or re-meet), but I'm glad to be leaving the thump and pump of what has proven to be the town's most popular bar - it's only 30m from the tenting area, so getting an early, peaceful night was impossible.

I'm a bit groggy as I head towards the border, with a long ride ahead.

Zimbabwe (2) - Lake Kariba to Hwangay National Park

'Don't shoot!'...  words I was hoping to avoid in Africa.  It's only a little better when repeated in full: 'Do not shoot the elephant!'.  Unfortunately, the park ranger's order comes too late.  A guy pulled the trigger two minutes before. 

How did we get to this point, you might ask.

I'd like to see the bouncer who can handle this customer when he's not done with his glass...

I've had a restful day at the Warthog pub; watching the final cricket test match in front of me and, between overs, watching wildlife behind me.  The group of elephants has been browsing the trees around the campsite all day, wandering gently and causing less trouble to the holidaying South Africans than Stuart Broad's attempted out swingers.

The pod of hippos have moved off the sand bank and are bobbing about the shallow edge of Lake Kariba; the fat crocodile has slipped off unnoticed and a couple of local black lads are now knee deep in the water fishing for something.  It's picturesque, and I can only assume they know more about the feeding habits of large crocodiles than I do.  'No, well, the last two didn't...', comes the comment from the barman.

Contender for the Darwin Award 2012

With the cricket bowled I move off towards my tent, just as Ian the owner of the bar sidles up to me.  'There might be a little excitement shortly', he says with studied insouciance and a casual drag of his cigarette.  I've already noted his khaki safari shorts, light Zimbabwe accent and the battered 'old school' Land Rover he coaxes around the site.  Ian looks in his early fifties, is neatly turned out and stays aloof from the increasingly boorish (Boerish?) behaviour of the whites drinking out the afternoon and evening in the pub.  He doesn't carry the paunch or punch of an 'Al Murray' landlord, and would be more suited as understudy for the Casa Blanca role.

'Go on...', I reply equally casually.  I'm good at the poker face (read: out of touch with my emotions) and use it when the most likely invitation will be to neck spirits, hire a lap dancer or legitimise whatever shady 'excitement' the bar lays on after dark.   What he says next surprises me.

'Well, one of the elephants has a wire snare on it's leg, so we're going to tranquillise it and cut off the snare.  Might get a bit interesting, I suppose.  Do you want to join us?'.

My mind skips to the photos I have of today's elephants:  four large adults, eight large tusks.   Not-so-tall stories of elephant's stomping on humans have been circulating all afternoon.  I glance at the sun sinking rapidly behind the hills, and at the heavy trees lying broken on the ground around us.  That battered green, open top Land Rover would be flipped like a beer mat by an angry Nellie.  'Sounds good.', says I.

Got a sheepdog, anyone?

Cut to the park ranger's order, thirty minutes later:  it's almost dark now and the last thing ranger wants is a dopey elephant stumbling around the neighbouring lakeside lodge - or a stampede of its companions.  He should have said that three minutes ago.  Ian grins - 'Guess we'll have to continue now,' he winks.   

'She'll drop in a minute or two', he adds, 'and then we'll concentrate on keeping the other elephants away.'  Nice bit of forward planning that, mate.  He's asking if anyone has a proper torch (flashlight), which they don't, so the assembled trucks try to manoeuvre their headlights to illuminate the mobile tusk force.

A wide-eyed French girl and her boyfriend ask me to explain what's going on now.  I repeat Rob's latest bulletin, and translate (from English to English) that the tranquilliser dart doesn't appear to be working.  And if Nellie's adrenaline trumps the drug, we can say goodnight to the circus. 

After another ten minutes, the attempt is postponed for the following morning.

Off we go - with a bumpity-bump (of course) - and a sorrowful glance back at the shadowy group.  If we're wrong, and the elephant now collapses it probably won't survive.  And tomorrow?  Unless they get a dart in the wounded elephant in the next few days, the officials from the National Park will come to attend the animal themselves.

Based on past examples, Ian explains, they won't bring a tranquilliser gun.  They prefer an AK47.

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Monday morning.  Instead of cock-a-doodle-do, I wake to the belch and rumble of hippo as they waddle back to the water.  The air then fills to the shrill of birds and zippers as I pack my tent and load the bike.  I'm sorry to be leaving the Warthog campsite, but a ferry across the lake awaits.  I don't even learn the fate of the lame elephant, so hopefully I'll hear that from a camper couple one day.

Clemence, my personal waiter...

At the jetty, the bell tolls for me, it seems.  I'm the only passenger on the Sea Lion and have three decks, ten dozen chairs, a galley, skipper and crew to myself.  The empty vessel noisily shudders into life on the second ring of the bell and starts on the 24-hour crossing to Mlibizi, south-west of Kariba.

 It's a map-splitting journey.  Zimbabwe to the left of me, Zambia to the right: we're stuck in the middle, ploughing a bow wave along the fresh water border between the two countries.  Small fish-netting boats share the silky smooth surface of the lake, and the shoreline withdraws quickly on either side giving us ample room to cruise.

The giant lake formed in 1955-59 when the huge Kariba hydro-electric dam was finished.  The dam generates for both countries most of their required power supply.  It seems a great achievement, and even when the reservoir water level rose relocating the wildlife was achieved with Noah-like success.  Since then, the lake has proved a draw for house-boaters, luxury lodge dwellers, sports fishermen and tourists taking the ferry towards Victoria Falls, like me. 

The frequency of the ferry (and the crew's wages) have proven a bell-weather for the Zimbabwean economy.  Thankfully, after an eight year suspension, the twice-weekly service has been operating again for the last couple of years.  I'm a little surprised to be the only passenger, but the crew are cheerful and don't seem to mind.  (They'll pick up more people on the return leg tomorrow.)  Meantime, I get to wander the boat freely, and borrow the captain's binoculars to watch game from the bridge - a few elephants, antelope, hippo and sea-eagles.

This ain't no paddle steamer, but even if it were there's nobody to play poker with in the lounge, nor to smoke cigars with as the bloated Zambizi slides by.  So I chat with part-time skipper / company representative, Rob, a sun-shrivelled old guy looking towards retirement.  I can tell (more from his silences than anything) that for an ex-farmer Zimbabwe has proven a painful place to live these past three decades.  The rest of the crew are more talkative about the hard years, and point out the display case in the lounge:  the crazy currency devaluation is evidenced by bank notes that range from one dollar to one hundred trillion dollars...  (you know, for when that fifty trillion dollars bank note just won't cover it).

One trillion dollars! Mwha-ha-haa (said in the voice of Dr. Evil)

A quick dip in the lake whilst the crew check the engines; then dinner on deck as the sun slinks below the horizon.  I feel like a surrounded cowboy in the movies, as a ring of lamp lights has encircled us.  It's the luminous lures on the fishing vessels - hundreds of them, night fishing for their tiny sprat-like catch.

I select one of the fifty available mattresses and sleep soundly, waking at 6am, Tuesday morning. 

Over my Full English breakfast I watch the last few kilometres of shore line as we draw into Mlibizi.  It's very peaceful; the 'port' little more than an empty jetty.  I swap a 'hello' with a South African couple waiting (in their 4x4) to board the boat back to Kariba.   So the passenger list has increased by 200% - the kind of inflation the ferry company will welcome, but not nearly enough to cover their costs.

Fishing by lamp light

I've enjoyed spending time with the crew; hearing about their lives and learning more about Zimbabwe.   Stories about inflation, shortages, unemployment and the repressive regime have been mingled with nostalgia for the richness of times past (herds of buffalo sweeping across the plain), and measured optimism about the future - at any rate, the future will be better than the recent past.  

Sunburned and sated with lake life, I roll off the ferry at 7.15am and ride a wonderful road towards Hwangay.  This remote stretch of Africa is a joy to behold as the baobab trees point me through hills and valleys, villages and fields.