July 12 - Introduction

July 12, 2007

Shit!

I don’t think it matters how long you have spent in the squalid and unfamiliar surrounds of the developing world, indeed sub-Saharan Africa itself, nothing quite prepares you for the shock of realizing that you are entering this environment that is to be your life, your existence, from that point on. The surreal bubble that a backpacker or a transient traveller exists within when they move through regions like this is so far from the reality that smacks you straight between the eyes the minute you step off the plane with the daunting new moniker of expatriate. Even the word conjures up fear when you look too closely at it… you were once a patriot, now you are now no longer.

Blantyre’s Chileka airport, somewhat dubiously granted the title of an international airfield, does little to assuage any initial trepidation. Walking across the tarmac to the handwritten ‘customs’ sign you are greeted by a chalkboard painted with a welcome note, below which you are told that the paint for the welcome note has been ‘donated by Blantyre Central Paint Supplies.’ Passport formalities are anything but, with the casually dressed African standing behind a rather hastily constructed wooden lectern ready to stamp just about anyone’s documents before moving you back to the tarmac, where you watch your bags being unceremoniously dumped atop the pile of already unloaded luggage, ready for you to pick through at your leisure.

Being driven out from the airport along the eleven kilometre road into town in a clapped out shell of a 4WD that is the University of Blantyre, College of Medicine vehicle, only reinforces the ruminations… “What the hell have we done? It seemed like a good decision at the time!” Potholes merge into the edge of the tarmac which drops abruptly into the red dirt of the roadside. People swarm along the roads, paying little attention to the cars that rattle past, nor insight into the damage one would receive should their seemingly mindless wanderings put them in front of one. They carry their lives on their sturdy heads, caring most about selling a handful of bananas or a telephone call from their makeshift roadside telephone to pay for another meal that will hopefully keep their child away from the specters of malnutrition. Relatively few cars ply the roads given the average Malawian is pressed to be able to afford enough maize for their daily nsima, let alone considering purchasing a vehicle. The wealth this would require is incomprehensible for them, thus the ‘rich white man’ syndrome is positively alive and kicking here. These are all immediately clear observations one makes, despite only having been in the country a few minutes.

Blantyre’s city centre continues the theme of failing to inspire confidence on first impressions. Ramshackle collections of dilapidated buildings that lurch one-into-the-next paint a rather untended palette, paint peeling and crumbling walls complementing the overall appearance. Banks dominate the more modern looking constructions, yet even these sit at a maximum of two or three stories and yearn for a bygone era. Cars, pedestrians, pollution and vendors jostle for position in the chaos that is the centre of this eight hundred thousand strong city… and maybe the word ‘city’ is being a little generous. Either way, this truly African swathe of existence is what we are now living in. Our home. Like it or not.