Should I stay or should I go?

I woke up rather early with a mixed feeling. I liked this place a lot, but there were also many places I wanted to see and I still had many miles ahead of me. I took pictures of pictures of Mayoka, still hesitating what to do. I got my things ready and saying goodbye quickly as I left, I went to the village. Miguel came with me and waited till the truck I was on left. I was on my own again.

After I was dropped me off, I tried to get a ride to Mzuzu. Luckily for me a car went by and only for 600 MWK I got a seat. Queen-like travel! People in the car started calling me mzungu (which means white - just skin-wise) and asked me whether I'd call them black people. I said that I'd rather call them Malawi people, and that if they told me, I'd happily called them by their names. One lady nodded with a gesture of approval and I went on: I'm not mzungu. See the difference between the color of my shirt and of my skin?
 (My shirt was supposed to be white -it actually had earth all over it- but still served to prove my point) I'm orange, not white. And see? I've got brown dots, There's many colors in me!

People just laughed, it was good times!

We got to Mzuzu in a blink of an eye, from there took a minibus to Chitimba. I sat on the front seat with a short stout sassy lady that asked me if I could offer her a job. (Not really, no…), when she came to realize I was only a tourist she was pretty disappointed. Halfway, we stopped and bought some fruits from local women.

 What's the deal? Why do they buy so much fruit? 

Is it because these villagers sell it so cheap that it would be rude to ask for less?

Or maybe is it a kind of help towards the less fortunate?

Do they have large families and they buy such quantities to feed them?

Do they use fruit as a thanking present between neighbors?

It could've been any of the above, but as it usually turns out to be (at least in Africa), it was none of them. Shortly after our large buy of mangos. (that were packed in many bags and scattered in the front window-sill, we stopped in the middle of the road, almost seeking refuge below this imposing rock cliff. We sat there, in complete silence, the engine had also been turned off.

Slowly, baboons started to draw near. It was before we could realize that a whole clan was surrounding was. Everybody who'd bought mangos started throwing them -as happy and as naïve as Mozambican people casting food/ garbage on the road- at the monkeys.

A general frenzy raised between the animals and the soon started to fight over the food. Little by little, we started moving along the road and they would just follow us. One after the other, mangos would drop and be quickly caught, only to be taken away by a stronger baboon.

The excitement these people experienced (and their wanting to share their experience with me -'Throw, throw' they'd say to me) is something I'll never forget and understand.

After that, the scenery began to change into cultivated green hills.  Malawi, in general, was even much greener than Mozambique could ever be. Northern Malawi was so much greener than that. So green that eyes would seem to hurt.

WIth the last light, I arrived at Chitimba. Locals advised me not to go up the 15 kilometer road by myself. ('Too dangerous missy, bad people!'). Some young boys recommended me to stay at a hostel nearby, while little girls tugged at my pants offering me some small bananas. 

Hard-headed as I am, I hitchhiked. I paid 400MWK to a truck driver and got a ride for at least ten people. The distance didn't seem long, though I was prepared for a long trip: distances can be deceptive in Africa.

What I was not prepared for was the road condition. Steep slopes with big earth cracks and bumps (not bumps, big rocky bulks that made my whole body shake) were part of the nicest bits. I held to the side of the truck with all my strength and after 20 minutes my left wrist started to ache. A man took pity on me and let me sit in a cement bag. Oh holly cement bag, beloved art thou!  I tried to keep myself from bouncing with all my strength (later on, I learned I got some nice purple bruises from this ride). To top that, there was a big lightning storm towards our heading, comforting!

People would appear walking beside the road in the utter darkness. 'How do this people manage to walk along?' -Let alone finding the way back home-

The driver said he thought it was too dangerous for me to walk alone to the Mushroom Farm Campsite, so he was dropping me off in town. When we got there, only a few lights were still on: Main Road, Big Market. I could definitely tell that people over there were not that used to having mzungu visitors, even if they were excited, they remained somewhat wary of me.

My final destination for the day: Stone House at the far-end of the village. The night watchman wanted me to have a room, but my kwacha budget could not afford it. I slept on the floor, with my sleeping bag, beside a big mirror. 

Night night, sleep tight! (if mosquitoes stop pestering me)