Nkhata Bay
Trip Start
Sep 01, 2005
1
33
72
Trip End
Ongoing
Nkhata Bay,
Malawi
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
The land was green and gorgeous. Just outside of Mbeya we climbed into a long stretch of hills which grew in size as we reached Malawi. The maize crops were tall and banana tree clusters lined tea plantations in the Tanzanian south. Reaching Malawi we entered more forest. We skirted the northern shore of the 354 mile long lake and passed through a couple of villages. Mud veneer covered the walls and tables piled with small silver fish stood by the road. These were places that easily supported small numbers of people and probably have not changed much in hundreds of years.
cichlids
Forest covered mountains dove into the immense blue lake. The sun was setting as we curved our way to Nkhata Bay. Clouds crept through the green peaks- from the taller of which we could see the water. It stretched across the horizon touching Tanzania and Mozambique as well.We arrived in the evening and found a cabin on stilts above the lake shore. One wall was screen and half of our view was of lush mountains. The other was of the clear water stretching for miles towards the South. A cool breeze flowed through the porch and between the wooden floor planks. From the bed we could see the sun rise above the water and beyond the mountains of Tanzania.
Our plan was to take a SCUBA class there. From what we had heard, it was one of the cheapest places in the world to do it, yet it sacrificed no quality neither in diving nor instruction. If everything turned out well we would stay for a week and a half or so.
After staying a couple of days we started counting backwards again, calculating just how long we could stretch our stay. The water was warm, clear and teeming with colorful fish. Speckled black granite rises like the Flatirons of Colorado out of the depths and onto the shore. The lake is famous for the Cichlid, a unique display of specific evolution. Endemic to Lake Malawi these small fish have evolved to fill specific niches
fishermen
. They vary from sand color to luminous blues and yellows. Speckled, striped, dark, light, bright and camouflaged, they appear more like tropical fish than anything that I have even seen in fresh water.We spent our first four days taking a couple of swims a day, exploring the submerged crevasses and dark underbellies of the stones. The town is relatively small. At the local restaurants a plate of rice and a whole fish costs less than two dollars. Rice, beans and greens costs just less than one. Several rastaphiles have wood carving huts selling small sculptures, tripod chairs and bao boards. At a small bakery in town, around noon, we could buy soft rolls. Bananas, pineapples, avocados and tomatoes are sold on the street. There are a handful of expatriates who own the majority of the tourist services.
I blink and two weeks have passed. We woke early this morning to watch the sun's ascent reflect on the large clouds above the sea-like lake. Around 7 we took a nap and followed it with a swim. Meals are cooked in braziers over coals. Lunch took two hours.
The porch on our cabin sits about 20 feet above the water. Looking down we can spy on small kingfishers and the shimmering sky blue fish that they hunt. It is almost difficult to trace where the past 14 days have gone. Five of them we spent learning to breathe underwater and mingling with the fish
Nkhata Bay
. The mouth brooder is an interesting one which made me double take. The female holds the eggs in her mouth and catches the male's semen. After the eggs hatch (in her mouth) the minoes continue to stay there. Periodically she spits them out and twenty to thirty ¾" long fish huddle together making a dull silver cloud. The mother circles them keeping other fish away. After a few minutes she'll open her mouth and as quick as a snap the young return to the protective cargo hold of her throat.The evening of our third day of class we sit on the porch enjoying the lingering floating feeling of our buoyancy control training. There is a white patch of necrotic skin on the tip of my right big toe that has gotten larger since I noticed it in Ipilimo. At the time I thought that I was getting an ingrown toenail so I spent half and hour soaking it and painfully prying at the edge where it meets the skin. The next day I noticed a small white patch which I presumed came from the localized trauma.
But, that patch had continued to grow since then and seeing me poke at it Erin asked what was going on.
"I don't know exactly. Ever since I thought that I was getting that ingrown toenail this white patch has been growing."
"Let me see it."
I hold my leg out pointing my toe at her
us
."I know what that is! How long have you had it?"
"I don't know, maybe since Ipilimo?"
"Oh man. I'm not totally sure, but that looks like a jigger nest."
"What do you mean 'nest'? I think that it is a patch of dead skin."
"Jiggers are small bugs that live in the dirt. There are plenty of them in Ipilimo. They burrow into your skin and lay eggs in it. And, it looks a lot like this." She replied pointing to the end of my digit.
"There is one way to find out. But if this is a jigger nest, it's a big one." Erin got up to look for our first aid kit and returned with a needle, scissors and a lighter.
"They lay an egg sac," she told me as she began clipping at my skin. "And you don't really want to rupture it." Clip, clip.
"But I can't really tell if this is one. Maybe the best way to make sure is to... Oh yeah. Look at this." Erin made a small slice in the center of it and white puss oozed out.
"Ooh, that doesn't look too good," I remarked, a legs distance away from my toe
yogi
."Look closer."
I pulled it nearer to my face to get a closer look. "Oh man." I squeezed the tip of my toe. Dozens of miniature grits erupted from the slice. "Oh shit."
"Yep. That's a jigger nest. No doubt, but it's a big one." She said.
I squeezed again and dozens more of the tiny white eggs came out in a mound.
"Oh hell. That looks pretty ill. What do we do now?" I asked the pro.
"Sit back and don't worry. We used to get these often." Erin started snipping at the skin around it. I started to roll a Malawi gold non-filter.
After several minutes Erin pulled out a drooping white sack and dangled it from the scissor tip. "Check it out." It hung from the metal by a thin opaque membrane. Small pieces of skin and tiny eggs stuck to it.
"I cut it open but that was the best way of knowing what it was." She told me.
I looked at my toe. There was a small pink crater the size of a pencil eraser just below the nail. It looked slimy and there were many eggs sticking to its edges.
"Now I'll just clean this out," she said as she held the scissors in the flame. I lit the anesthetic joint.
After ten minutes the toe appeared to be cleared of eggs. I couldn't shake the image of grits erupting form my toe. I guess that that is one of the prices that we pay to come on a trip like this. We have traveled from one marvelous place to another doing what we like, when we like. The work, the only difficulties, can be a hassle but they are worth it. I think that the actual travel is the most difficult part.
There isn't a hurry in Africa like a loaded bus going down hill. There are way too many stories about terrible rides going around. One is always trying to be worse than another. By now I am feeling a little tired of it. I don't really mind the pushing, pulling and wedging that it takes to stuff the automobiles that we take, nor the discomfort of the metal chairs. I don't mind the slobbering babies that cry in fear when their mothers hold them towards us, nor the fingers buried in noses and ears. I didn't mind sitting in the back of a pickup with 10 other people in the rain being covered with a holey plastic tarp that slapped my face in the wind and smelled like fish. I don't mind the delays, the overheating, the breakdowns or the flat tires. I can handle the exhaust, the dust and the heat. I can handle the hustlers, pick pockets and cheats. I don't mind that trips can take between 4 to 20 hours depending on luck and conditions.
But, what I have grown to mind is the danger, the true danger that comes from entering these claptrap automobiles. I do mind it when the truck, or taxi or bus that I am in kills the engine when going down hill, then pops the clutch to make it back up. I do mind when it is so overloaded that any small bump make all four tires rub against the wheel well. I do mind that the busses run like slalom racers down hills, between cars, through livestock and amongst pedestrians (with bald tires on wet roads.) I do mind how close we come to oncoming traffic, and about now I am getting tired of jeopardizing our lives in these death traps.
Two days after we arrived in Nkhata Bay the same bus that we took, the national "premier" (a relative term) line either suffered from break failure or steering lock and drove off the side of a mountain killing 28 of the 50-70 passengers. I hope that the driver wasn't attempting to save gas by turning off the engine, but I really can't be sure. The danger isn't novel anymore and I want to live beyond 29.
However, suspended in water, breathing with the fish and playing with gravity for a week is a great way to ease the nerves of a person who travels by road in Africa. The sensation is difficult to describe- perhaps a cross between a spacewalk, a National Geographic spread and yoga. Breathing underwater is a wonderful sensation where the properties of daily life feel like children's games.
Too soon we left Nkhata Bay. If the lease weren't expiring on our house, or if we knew that our friends who are renting it wanted to stay longer, we could have easily stayed a month more. If we truly were with out a schedule, or without obligations back home, this trip could easily stretch well beyond a year.
I suppose that we have to save something for the next one though.
